Empathy

The question ‘Will he?’ quickly became ‘When will he?’; then it was just a matter of days before the No 10 goodbye podium was being wheeled out for the 7th time in the last decade. Sir Keir Starmer’s speech had a familiar structure: the list of achievements, putting the country first, resignation, the timetable for replacement. Then, the final words, Starmer’s voice breaking with emotion: ‘And when I leave the biggest job in the country, I shall spend more time on the most important job. Being the best husband I can to my fantastic wife, Vic, who has been a rock by my side, through good times and bad. And being the best dad I can to my beautiful children, who are my pride and my joy.’

Suddenly, this distant political spectacle came home with a thump. Even the hardest-hearted CEO, the dustiest civil servant, the most whip-em-and-flog-em Starmer-hater, felt a lump in their throat for this good man who had tried his best but who, according to his own MPs, had failed.

What was it that evoked this response? I suspect it was simply empathy: Starmer’s heartfelt words, the mention of his family, and the sight of him standing alone at that podium, allowed us to put ourselves into his shoes, so that we could recognise his humanity and respond to the reality, emotion, and pain he was enduring.

Empathy, I believe, is at the heart of Christian life. Putting yourself in another’s place, and seeing their outlook, is key to reconciliation and justice, and can be a trigger for us to move from sympathy to action. Jesus took empathy to a new level: he didn’t just recognise the reality of human existence from a distance, but he actually lived it, knee-deep in all its joy, chaos, and darkness.

Duncan McCall