Thin Air, High Hope

The cows have been moved. Along one of my favorite walking routes, they were taken away to make space for development. Tonight, as I walked past the empty field, I felt a twinge of sadness. And then, honestly, I felt a little silly. Who gets sad over cows?

I paused and asked myself: Would God really mind that I felt sad over the fate of these cows that had become dear to me? And as hesitant as I am to speak for God, I don’t think so. I can’t imagine standing before Him someday and Him asking why I cared so much.

Of course, this is only a little bit about cows. It touches on a broader conversation I keep hearing: what deserves our concern, what deserves our sadness?

There’s a lot of talk right now about “toxic empathy.” Warnings that we might care too much, or about the wrong things. Fears that if we let our hearts lean too far into empathy, especially as Christians, our priorities will unravel. I find this fascinating because what I see in Scripture is God cautioning far more often against apathy, complacency, and a hardened heart. His sharpest words are usually reserved for those who refuse to care:

“Now this was the sin of your sister Sodom: She and her daughters were arrogant, overfed and unconcerned; they did not help the poor and needy.”
—Ezekiel 16:49

I’ve read much of the material around the idea of toxic empathy, and while I understand the fears that motivate that train of thought, I think they’re misplaced… much like my cows. I don’t believe the answer is to take something as pure as empathy and turn it into a cautionary word. That would be like warning someone not to love too much. Is that even possible? Or is the real issue, as C.S. Lewis reminds us, that we need to order our loves properly?

“It is probably impossible to love any human being simply ‘too much.’ We may love him too much in proportion to our love for God; but it is the smallness of our love for God, not the greatness of our love for man, that constitutes the inordinacy.”

The solution, then, is not to care less, it’s to care more. If we chase after God’s heart, we’ll be moved by what moves Him. But if we harden ourselves, second-guessing every moment of tenderness or grief, we only shrink our already imperfect love.

This isn’t about guilt or about tallying up what we are or aren’t doing. It’s about being willing to notice. To see the person in front of us. To let our hearts respond when we hear something sad or unjust. If we’re moved by someone’s story, even if they’re far from perfect (who among us is perfect??), let ourselves be moved. Let judgment give way to curiosity until a path of love becomes clear.

And when we can act, act. When we can speak up, speak. When we can give, give. And when all (or maybe always) we can do is pray, pray with sincerity. But don’t shrink back out of fear that we’re caring “too much.”

So if next time you find yourself feeling grief over something as trite as a herd of displaced cows, go easy on yourself. You still care. And I’m very much convinced that the world needs people who care.