Before moving back to Oklahoma, the word empathy wasn’t part of my daily vocabulary. I don’t remember hearing it much or seeing it lived out in any meaningful way. Over time, as I’ve heard it more and watched how it’s used, I’ve found myself asking a deeper question—especially as I’ve watched families face the weight that often comes when a loved one begins to anchor their identity in questions of sexuality or gender. These are not abstract issues. These are real sons and daughters, people deeply loved by God, more than any parent could, and who often carry real pain, questions, and confusion. I have sat with many who are trying to make sense of their lives and their experiences. I don’t take that lightly, as I also am a parent of a daughter who has had her own conflict with identity, and questions of whether or not she is non-binary, while still anchored to a gay identity.

Empathy, rightly understood, reflects the heart of the Father. We see this clearly in Jesus. He met the woman caught in adultery with both compassion and truth. He engaged the woman at the well with kindness that exposed her deeper realities. He touched the lepers, healed the broken, and wept over Jerusalem, longing to gather His people.

Jesus embodies empathy by the mere fabric of His life, which we seek after.

But His empathy never led Him to affirm what was contrary to His Father’s will. It always led people toward truth, freedom, and restoration.

Over the past several decades, a significant shift has occurred. Empathy, for many, is no longer about understanding someone’s experience. At times, it gets reshaped into something that demands agreement. The simple “I see you” can turn into “I must validate you.”

When empathy is redefined this way, it starts to take people in a different direction. What starts as understanding becomes agreement, then tolerance, and eventually permissiveness.

I’ve watched this happen over time. People who once held firmly to what they believe the Scripture teaches, have felt the pressure to walk it back. Not always because they stopped believing it was true, but because they didn’t want to be seen as unloving. Accusations, cultural pressure, and painful personal situations have a way of pressing on the heart. Over time, that pressure can cause people to question what they once knew.

These situations are rarely simple. They are often filled with love, fear, misunderstanding, and a deep desire on all sides to be seen and known. Recently, I spoke with a mother who told me she felt tormented. Her daughter, who was once gay and now identifies as a man, told her she would take her own life if her mother didn’t affirm her identity. This is where things become deeply conflicting and painful. What her daughter is asking for begins to function as pressure, and that pressure settles into the heart of a parent who sincerely wants to love well. The demand itself becomes coercive, even though it is framed as a desire for compassion and understanding. Saying this does not mean that someone’s pain isn’t real or that their experience should be dismissed. It simply means we have to be honest about the weight these expectations can carry in relationships.

We have to be honest about what is happening.

Scripture gives us language for this. For instance, in Romans 1, Paul describes what happens when truth is suppressed. It doesn’t happen all at once. It begins with a shift, a willingness to set something aside. Over time, what was once clear becomes questioned, and what was once questioned becomes affirmed.

This is not just something “out there” in the culture. This is something we all have to wrestle with. I’m reminded of Aaron in Exodus 32. The people grew restless. Moses was gone. Fear and uncertainty gripped them. They demanded gods to lead them. Aaron didn’t stand firm. He yielded to the pressure and helped fashion the golden calf.

This came from weakness, not strength.

And it led to destruction.

That story lingers because it forces a hard question: Are we, in our desire to love well, yielding to pressures that harm the people we care about?

Are we saying yes to things we know are not true because we feel the weight of being seen as unloving if we don’t? It’s not a simple place to stand, especially when it involves our children, our family, or people we deeply care about.

Scripture does not leave us without guidance. In 1 Corinthians 13, we are told that love “does not rejoice in wrongdoing but rejoices in the truth.” That means love and truth are not in competition with each other. They belong together.

So, what does that look like in real life?

I think it sounds something like this:

“I see you.”
“You matter.”
“I care deeply about you.”
“And because I love you enough to always be a person of truth, I cannot step outside of what God has said.”

That kind of love is not easy. It doesn’t remove the tension. It doesn’t always resolve the relationship the way we hope it will. But it keeps us anchored in Christ.

God has not asked us to choose between truth and love. He has called us to live and walk in both.

I am still learning what that looks like, and I know I don’t always get it right. I am still asking the Lord how to love people well without stepping outside of His truth. I don’t have every answer, but I do know this:

Empathy, when it is separated from truth, does not lead where we hope it will.

But when it is anchored in truth, it can point people to Jesus, who is full of grace, mercy and truth.