Mingling the Human & Divine

Posted on July 29, 2026 Updated on July 29, 2026

A few months ago I was walking our little dog Tito in the neighborhood, fairly mentally zoned out, when a big silver pickup truck rounds a corner and pulls directly over to stop at the curb near me. Yes, it was a little unnerving, but I stopped and the passenger side window went down. Inside is a big burly guy behind the wheel with tears flowing and he asks me if I could stop and talk a bit.

I could and I did.

The concentrated cigarette punch from the truck was enough make my eyes water, but I leaned against the door and asked what was going on. He described through his tears how he was just done, how he had damaged and maybe ruined his most important relationships, and how he wasn’t sure if there was any reason to keep going.

I think I might have reached in to touch his shoulder, and I began the litany. You probably know the words, “Brother, I hear you. I hear how bad it is and I hear how much it hurts. Going on is the way you heal. Going on is the way you repair what can be fixed, and how you atone for what cannot. God’s got you. God’s not done with you. God will go on with you.”

I know more was said and more tears fell, but I honestly don’t remember it all. High emotion has a way of making that deep recall difficult. I do know that after a few minutes, some more tears and some deep breaths he drove off. I walked Tito home and went on with my day, hopeful that I’d done anything to help.

Now we jump to this morning and Tito and I are headed out for our morning patrol. We get about half the way up my block and I see a guy in a driveway who had been prepping for some lawn work, but was now just standing there watching me approach. I got closer and he says, “Man, I’ve been watching and waiting to see you. You probably don’t remember me.”

That’s when I noticed his big silver truck and looked back at him and nodded, “Brother, I do.” He goes on to tell me that since we talked that morning he had put himself into rehab and he’s made it to 90 days sober. He told me about his new morning prayer routine and how God has helped him pick up the pieces. He said his wife recently told him, “I’m so glad to have my husband back.”

He asked if he could give me a hug and I said, “I need one!”

Over the years I’ve often prayed things like, “God, just use me. Put me in places of need.” As God has answered that prayer I’ve noticed that it’s not always a very comfortable experience. It’s almost never happened as I imagined it would or as I would choose. But God has answered the prayer, and I think I’ve been put in situations which I needed as much as I might be needed.

Some prominent voices in our public discourse have recently offered the idea that empathy is a weakness and even a damaging sentiment. Empathy is different from pity or sympathy in that it’s the ability to connect with the feelings of another, to connect with and share their humanity. I personally tend to define empathy with the words of our faith, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” Does that mean I should love my neighbor as I love myself, or maybe on a deeper level I love my neighbor because they are me, and I am them?

I believe empathy is a muscle that when strengthened allows us to hold onto one another past any fears or barriers that arise. It’s the strength to make a connection and to love. Empathy is the power of presence, to truly be with someone beyond simple proximity.

The late and great Howard Thurman once wrote that “…hatred often begins in a situation in which there is contact without fellowship, contact that is devoid of any of the primary overtures of warmth and fellow-feeling and genuineness.” (Jesus and the Disinherited, 1949.) Digest that for a moment: contact without fellowship. How much hatred and accompanying fear festers in our society because we allow proximity without the effort of empathy and compassion? How often do we avoid contact, much less fellowship?

The next time any voice asks you to hate someone, to fear someone or to hold someone at a distance, the best response would be to take a deep breath, draw nearer and to flex that muscle of empathy. See the other person’s humanity, their value and beauty, even if those come in forms and expressions that are new for you.

I’m going to keep praying for God to put me in the places of need, without specifying that it be another’s need or my own. Though it’s not always easy, I’m going to keep stretching myself to lean in and empathize with others. I believe that in such empathy and presence we again mingle the human and the divine, incarnating the healing wholeness modeled by our Christ. I know I felt Christ’s presence in that hug.

AMDG, Todd