Laplace and those dancing atoms

(I used to have an education blog.  This was the 2009 post that marked the point where i moved from writing mostly on the creative potential of maths and science and learning with IT , to questions of God and faith. Both topics did, and still do, compel me, but seemed better to seperate the forums.  The old blog is currently off line, but i repost this one, from 2009. here, for a particular context.)

There is a famous account of Laplace being asked, when giving an account of his cosmology, of how the heavens worked - "where is the role ascribed to God?" He is supposed to have replied, “I have no need of that hypothesis”. That is, his system worked without saying – ‘this bit follows these laws, but this bit is where God comes in – the Deity adds a force here, etc’.

In less grand terms, we might imagine a cook who produces a book of recipes without any reference to Providence or Creation; and the recipes still work just fine without any overlay of folklore or piety that might have been customary in previous generations. The question is whether this omission is just a question of efficiency of communication - whether its just that there is no immediate need to mix cultural or religious context with the instructions on slicing tomatoes - or whether the separation goes to the very core of things?   Are carrots and communication and commerce all ultimately the blind consequences of dancing atoms, which are themselves the consequences of some random properties of quantum flux - a universe that happened to pop into being - or is there another realm of explanation and integration underlying all this- which all draw on for meaning even while ruling it off as ''not science''?

Short of positing God behind the Big Bang, the original event, this separation of technical detail from metaphysical perspective seems, to a scientific mind set, to be the most practical way to proceed, since science tends to wants only the minimum (and often reductionist) perspective it can work with. And indeed one does not really want an aircraft mechanic or brain surgeon saying – “we know we'll run out of fuel or anaesthetic but that bit is where God comes in”; the understanding wants to holds without predicating that sense of explicit intervention*. This is so well established as to seem unremarkable. vindicated by technological planning a million times over. The only question is how complete is this account and approach, not in terms of mechanistic gaps (lets leave that question - quantum impossibility of full specification etc - alone) but does the separation that makes sense in cookery or astronomy or physics, ultimately need to be reconciled with another frame of reference; indeed does it already presuppose one, however disregarded the assumptions are?

It's true to the history to note Laplace was evidently a theist and Christian. While he is known for viewing the universe as entirely mechanistic, he drives home the point by imagining a mighty intelligence able to stand apart from this and see all of history - and calculate the future - all from the deterministic path of the atoms. This imaginary intelligence is conceived as outside the system - variously described - by others - as a demon or God. This is hardly part of his science per se - since he disavows that hypothesis - yet his imagination still posits such an omniscient observer to illustrate the point. And while he certainly promoted a deterministic and mechanical view of nature, it is not clear he actually imagined every act of human will was predetermined by the blind and inevitable pathways of atoms. So we have a sense of another view or realm of human existence.

Indeed reconciling a mechanistic universe with any notion of self determination is an unresolved paradox for any single minded scientific view - since even those who are convinced the "God hypothesis" has been falsified and should be permanently dismissed, like to retain a sense of independent personal action and moral indignation, which hardly emerges from that view of the universe. Galileo, Descartes, Newton and most of the ‘scientists’ (a 20th century word) also embraced some version of faith... so whatever separation of science and religion we now see in their name, was not necessarily developed in them; that is, while they may have methodologically bracketed off theology from ‘natural philosophy’, it did not rule out general faith in Creator, or, for that matter, Saviour.

We tend not to bother with these aspects of their thinking; we’d rather pull Newton’s laws away from his theology; we ignore his lengthy attempts to use his new understanding of the heavens to reconcile dates and appearances of comets with biblical prophecy, just as we leave behind his prolific experiments in alchemy. Poor Newton, genius that he was, evidently didn’t attend popular schooling 101 to see how his science should have ruled all these aspects out of court (or so 101 asserts).  We also take a Cartesian ‘frame of reference’ as to mean a coordinate plane for geometry, or the logical frame of thinking that privileges cognition as a basis for identity- (I think therefore ....) Some might deplore the divided personality and view of the world that tends to arise from this approach - logical categories and primary qualities (mass, extension) here as the main game, while secondary qualities, and the human condition, take a much less privileged role over here; but nevertheless most assume we can rule off his references to a Deity, or ignore his own account of a personal vision that propelled him into philosophy, not least to address sceptical currents of his day. 

So popular history – including the science text book version - simplifies and purifies these ‘scientists’, extracts and codifies their science, removes most of the context; removes whatever theism was involved, and often casts them, or at least their science, as the enemy of the ‘stories of religion’. (Just as science truncates the ‘scientific method’ to the  merits of controlling variables and testing hypotheses, as a demonstration of logical purity. And, of course, that’s good, but its hardly all that’s going on in as a ‘scientist’ ponders the next step, maps their experiment to reality, deals with insight, etc.)

Above all moderns tend to imagine Galileo’s dispute with the Catholic church as the paradigmatic example of how religion has opposed the ascent and reign of science - uninformed by any subtler grasp of the history. (Peter Slezak, who happens to be atheist, has a much more nuanced view, he notes Gaileo's friendships with many of the cardinals, comments on his faith, and sees the real issue behind the issues is who had the right to interpret scripture – so while religion indeed ''got in the way’, both science and faith were politicised in a way that we forget and over simplify).

 In any case it is worth distinguishing between methodological naturalism as practiced by many of these ‘scientists’ (‘my method will proceed without direct reference to God; does not need that hypothesis’) and naturalism in a broader more encompassing sense; there is no God. They are not one and the same. Indeed, its arguable that the materialistic scientist in the latter sense, is much less common than many assume- - those who follow Newton and other early pioneers who reconcile theism with scientific method, seem more common historically. While we might not so readily proclaim on nature as a ‘second book’ of revelation today, it's notable that many still do not equate their science with atheism. (Claiming that the faith of historical scientists was just social conditioning of their day will hardly do to explain it; one might just as well see the explosion of western science as drawing on, depending on, an underlying faith in a rationally structured universe, which itself derived from this heritage -  i’m not the first to suggest that of course).

I’ve written various ponderous posts here over a few years, without broaching all this; but i’m feeling i need to write on that dimension.My own faith, for the record, is more immediate than it may appear from these writings, and i have no intention of defending it with reference to history or philosophy; trying to make its seems suitably reflective, intellectual, academically respectable. I’m not really going to make much effort to quote Whitehead, and the deep and insightful commentaries he writes on science, religion and education, as much as i did draw from his insights in earlier days. Nor Plantinga on methodological naturalism, or even CS Lewis, for a clear exposition of the reasonableness of faith, or a recent reading of Latour, on how the crossed out God is part of the modern set of pacts with has left us with multiple omissions in how we see science, society and religion. Instead of doing that, casting things in that respectable and somewhat academic light I’ve decided to start another blog  [2018: ie this one], which starts with a faith commitment just assumed up front, taken as given, not as needing defence or justification. Simple observation and experiences of faith as conceived and worked out in life, with a reflective edge i guess. There is overlap of course between the educative questions of this blog and faith - i reflected on it often enough when i worked in Catholic schools – and maybe opening the door in that blog will feedback here; or open other ideas that are better located here. I might thrash out more cross over post in this style.

*(Divine intervention may happen or be vouchsafed in other ways, and we might be well persuaded it's happened / happening,  but it's not part of science per se, which really has to limit itself to a smaller frame ("step out of the shot, honey").  Insisting divine intervention is written directly into the science is like claiming to know the life and loves of a lab technician by reading their best lab reports. We might admire the work but other, less scientific channels will be needed to get past a vague sense that someone is there, a logical mind of some kind, and to move to know the real person - it's ok to admit the science itself doesn't give a grid for that.  As soon as we start to conjecture  what the lab technician might be like, we've left the process of the science per se, as typically defined.  Once we know the person, we might admire    the work more, admire every detail of their technical handwriting, and find it a confirming evidence of who they are - but the pure process of science itself, it's  models and conjectures,  can't add that dimension of personal knowledge. )

2021 Post script :  now, that's the sort of view I got to, over the years.  Now, I wonder if quantum mechanics will end up positing "the role of the observer", into the science in a much deeper sense - the correlation with our thinking, the mysteries of how reality exists, tis observed, interacts with us, the processes of quantum entanglement of matter at larger scales. That's a loose grab back of wonderings, but maybe the subject / object distinction will be forced back into view, won't be so easily able to just suppress the observer into the dispassionate passive voice;  the subject's role in choosing the frame, their view of it, etc.   That's a loose philosophical wondering - and maybe it might not ever get into the physics per se, but i wonder if it's part of it at a deeper level. AN Whitehead's view of creation as coming into being every instant, brought forth by God, also appeals, there.  You can wonder these things as a scientist or a mathematician (Davies, Whitehead) - you just have to know you're generally doing philosophy, at this stage of things.

water into wine

I wrote this a year ago, and have let it age for a bit.  

The gospel is strange.   

Its strange like the rainforest is strange. Rich, deep, restorative, good fruits. 

Take a peek.  

Oh, and we know that Holy Spirit experience is often known as ‘new wine’; there can be a parallel realm of intoxication, and it can be startling, abrupt, to the cultured palate.  And that Jesus of course turned water into wine. 

 A friend dropped my  daughter off last night.  They’d all been together after school. 

The friends daughter is at the local high school. They’re all bright, joyful girls,  with the normal ups and downs.  They’ve found something in their faith that many adults would envy, more up than down, but deep as well. Happy kids, who like playing music, games, chatting online.  And who love God.  

The older girl and another friend  are in the same language class at the local high school. A  couple of days ago, they were studying at lunch time. It must have been a bit dry, and they giggle about a memory of something.  

Others want to know what’s funny, so they open up on the unlikely topic.  The private joke was a reference to a word that one of them found themselves repeating once, in a recent spiritual encounter. The rolling currents are still close to the surface. So they’re bold enough to own the moment, and disclose it, not particularly needing to sidestep the raw, potentially awkward material of tongues. 

So the exotic story – a repeated word in a God encounter  - is met with typical year 8  scepticism in the high school.   

“So, if God is real, turn this water into wine. Jesus could, right?”   says one, pushing forward a water bottle. 

There’s a current of joy running through these two.   A little intoxicated perhaps, from touching on that high moment from a week or so previous. 

They’re a little taken aback at the challenge but don’t melt in panic and fear.  They’ve seen a lot of unusual things in recent months. And not playing the deferral game.  

They look at each other.   The bell goes for end of lunch.  

 “Well, we can pray.  Don’t blame us if it doesn’t happen though. God might not want it to”.    

So, they get  the original sceptic who issued the challenge,  to pray.  Which initially sounds like. 

“Yo, Jesus my homey,  turn this water into wine” 

“No,  you’ve got to pray like you mean it”  

The classmate, maybe getting a bit influenced by these two now, gives it a go. “Jesus, if you’re real, please turn the water into wine” 

One of the believing pair tastes the water. “Nup, still water” .. .and passes it to the sceptic.  Who also tastes it.  Her eyes widen.  “Its wine”. 

The first takes it back – and the smell, and the taste, confirm a change has taken place. The third friend also tastes, and all  three agree, and double check, against any shadow of emotional delusion, that the goodness has materialised in the bottle. 

I know how reliable this account is, can triangulate other aspects, of family, character,  occasional taste of wine at dinner.  It will be third hand to any reader, but I know they're not smelling bubble gum and imagining things. 

Taste and see that the Lord is good.  

So …  the kids finish a quarter of a water bottle between them.  

When I hear the story later that day, I wonder what the school policy should be.  “In the case of students turning water into wine, they should refrain from intoxication. “.  Although the  Education department is probably more afraid of proselyting than alcohol, it seems.  

They don’t need to worry – the students don’t think to keep any of the wine, to prove anything to a wider circle. As if scientific models of proof and widespread conclusions are how they were thinking, or what this organic moment needs.  No, its like in the original story, the “first sign by which Jesus revealed his glory”, as John puts it.  It’s an inner event, intimate, off the radar of the crowd around them. That story makes the point that only the servants, behind the scenes, knew what really happened.  The terms of this event have a similar obscurity.

So no demonstrations to the principal’s office or at assembly.  Just a little moment with a few year 8 friends.  And they just go off to maths when the bell brings, leaving the chips to lie where they fell.  

The friend who tasted the wine wants to come along to a meeting with the group who has help spin up this faith.  

 I happen to hear all this, from one of the girls, later in the day, after afternoon tea has fed the teenage hunger.  She had already told the story a couple of times to Christian friends –happens to be the day they all meet after school,  and so engages in the story again, and yet, in a balanced way, also not thinking too extravagantly about it.  No artifice and no wide eyed hype. 

 “After all, we do believe in God”.   And “Well, mum, we couldn’t not try … its just normal to share”.  Mum, who hadn’t expressed her own faith in high school in this outward manner, doesn’t think its normal, and is drawn to  a fresh wonder at what’s happening with these teenagers.  She believes its like Jesus to do this, feels like Him, but seeing it, on a normal Tuesday, is another thing.    

We have all seen a lot of healing miracles in recent months.  Their idea of ‘normal’ is moving into a different place. 

(Interestingly another Christian in the class had been rather offended at the initial conversation. Not at the ecstatic tongues – she knew about that.  But “you cant just pray for a miracle to happen”.  Something to follow there  .. .what patterns did she think were being broken in this direct and bold faith.) 

And a footnote for those who might like a stronger taste of reflection.
Those used to the refined wine of reflection, might think up other ways to frame this. For example, the account of Babel, a Genesis story, might still have some cultural credibility in some circles (though possibly not at the state high school).  Thus, Melbourne Uni’s language studies building, has long been named the Babel Building – an ironic reference to the original story where God fragments language, in order to frustrate humanity’s unified but fallen attempt to build a tower into the heavens.   

And we might help them pause and  reflect that the original Acts 2 outpouring of the Spirit, can be seen as a reversal of that Babel division, with all the diaspora Jews hearing the “praises of God in their own language(s)” – a sign that babel is undone, and new foundational unity is blessed, as the church is born. Thats for reflecting on later, perhaps.

They actually might be interested in all that context -  they're tuning in deeply, and it is a language class after all -  but in the moment the wine of encounter is too fresh, has too many bubbles fizzing,  for that sort of reflection. These two students  just moved with the experience, not sliding this moment onto the table with some clever references. That can come later. The new wine is fresher than that, probably fresher in them because served without any of that.  

Veggie Tales for Grown ups, part 2

Eating our veggies (part 2).

I heard someone say once: The good news about church is … its like family. The bad news about church is … its like family.

I like Anglican church. Its like family. I know its gentle ways. I know its goodness. I also know what it is to be ‘confirmed” into an agnostic state at 12, to go an Anglican school, live in an Anglican college, and find the faith so gently hidden, whittled down to traces so gently positioned, that I, and all my peers, seemed to miss it.

That’s costly, missing God for years. I needed to go looking well outside its tea and scones. Maybe local family is a deeper question there.

I also know that the deepest thing I saw for 20 years, happened back in Anglican church. Buses pulled up outside that place, 3 nights a week, bringing people from all round the state, to the renewal. The ‘Toronto blessing’ had landed in Vic in an unlikely, faithful little church. We were in a good penty church by then, old school in its depth. But even there, some of us travelled across Melbourne a couple of nights a week, for the deeper presence in this little Anglican church. Solid preaching and worship, then they’d push the chairs back, for a few hours of gentle prayer ministry. A third of the room rolling in joy and laughter . A third lying still, or deep in tears. And how deep it went. A third chatting. Sometimes carried people who couldn’t stand, pinned to the floor, out to their car at midnight. And good old tea and scones served out the back. Packed every night – every night at least half were new people, by the show of hands. 

It was a bit controversial in Vic Anglican circles (much less so in the UK, where a third of the churches were opened up in renewal).

But when we discussed that season, as we started a new prophetic meeting (affectionately dubbed ‘fruity Friday’) a couple of years ago, the fire just rolled in again. We were soon all lying on the floor, weeping, (or touched in flames of joy).

Even churches that aren’t into 5 fold models of leadership, don’t aspire to go after all of the things of the Holy Spirit, can be training grounds. So, recently, I learnt a lot about God, and myself, and even the prophetic, at the local Anglican church. We’d landed there, looking for a safe place. (Sometimes you need that – but that’s another story.)

They didn’t really do spiritual gifts– just avoided those passages - but a couple of us were asking questions. Do you want this word that is stirring? They wanted to be biblical, so after a couple of years of discussion they opened up a regular section for spiritual gifts in an evening service.

The drawn out process was not comfortable, but grounded me in making a biblical case for the gifts, and a fuller experience of the Spirit, which is really the point. It was gradually influencing some.  

The expression was a 6 week preaching series on the Holy Spirit, and a regular 5 minute window each Sunday night, for the next couple of years (“We come now to the part of the service where if you have a spiritual gift, a word, a prophecy, a tongue, some gift of healing, that you feel to bring, now is the time”).

If you missed that 5 minute window, you missed it for the week. The tightness of that constraint was actually good training. It was like a narrow beach you could surf from just the right angle.

It taught me to move quickly when the impression of the Spirit came, to collect thoughts and scriptures quickly.

Some people got healed in those windows. At 7, my daughter started to have visions in those moments when the wind of the Spirit gently blew. I learnt to watch her for the counter attack in those times as well – new openings can be contested.

God would often – almost invariably - place something on me in that window. I resisted it once, feeling it wasn’t right to go up every week, wanting to create more space (there was a little flow of others). But the conviction about missing it was worse- in that place it seemed He wanted me to move with it each time (that can change in different seasons & places though).

They also opened up a prayer and praise night, which was often deep and powerful.

We also ran a small group, which looked a bit like ‘fruity friday’, improvising our way into deep things. We probably needed that extended freedom.

I met John Steele at that church - passionate Anglican minister preaching on the baptism of the Spirit - and he taught me a lot, in a year of meeting in his home.

We left that safe and sturdy Anglican church when the assistant pastor left to go to Tassie – we knew our 6 years there were up. God even let us know when they would go – they had asked us to pray into their 5 year plan for staying there, but before we all left the car park that night, Deb and I both heard something; the year they would actually go, only 18 months later. It unsettled them at first, and it wasn’t what we wanted to hear either, but it panned out that way.

Church reformation is good. Returning to biblical forms of leadership is very good. Being open to the Holy Spirit is excellent. But even when some of those principles are in question, the local fellowship can still be a family, a key place for growth, at least for a season. We pushed into some teamwork, in spite of the clergy-laity divide. We stepped on each others toes occasionally in that process, but we sorted it out, and growth happened.

So, just an example, that even when some things don’t seem fully optimal or released in all we value, even these forms of family can be places of reciprocal blessing. They might be giving us vegetables when we wanted icecream. Or we might be advocating for meat and wine when they were serving bread and water. Or a bit of both, shared meat and drink. Either way it can be good.

Veggie tales, for grown ups (Part 1)

Eating our veggies (Part 1).  Maybe i should call this Veggie tales, for grown ups.

(Might do a few of these).

One of the first books I read on the prophetic was Growing in the Prophetic, by Mike Bickle (and Michael Sullivant).

 Mike was pastoring a church at the time -he was not a prophet - in Kansas city.

  He had some very gifted prophetic people in his church. The ‘Kansas city prophets’ became well known (and made some mistakes as well).

  At first Mike was kind of intimidated by them. After all, he was not prophetic like them, could barely move in personal prophecy, and he had people like Bob Jones floating around (Bob would do things like tell people the dreams or visions they had had, and then interpret them). So for a season he hesitated to bring correction to them, even though he was the pastor.

 Things came to a head one Sunday. Some bad behavior among the prophetic ones was on show. They had ‘dueling prophets’ in the service – trying to outdo each other with huge prophetic words. It was competitive and immature and everyone could see it

 Afterwards a line of 10 people came up to him – when are you going to sort this out?

 He started to realize he, prophetic or not, had the grace to pastor and administer and lead these people.

  The book reads like a manual of war stories, partly exciting prophetic stories, partly a manual of things to not do. Definitely worth a read.

  Another time - or maybe this same time - a couple of them got offended, and decided to leave the church. They also announced that all of the promises and blessing God had used them to help release and declare, would now be retracted.

He felt that was ridiculous, and he stopped being so intimidated. Later one or maybe both apologized and came back and were able to function in a more healthy way.

Prophetic people need the local church, with all of its challenges and frustrations, and its other forms of leadership. Prophetic people need pastors, and leaders –the full mix, with apostles and teachers and evangelists.

(part 2: growing in the prophetic in a cautious Anglican church)

Pastoral Pitfalls

Shepherds (Part 2):  Limits of Pastoral Ministry  

This follows on from a post I did a little while ago, on the pastoral heart underpinning all branches of ministry.  It rounds it out, with some counterbalancing issues and risks.

It starts where the other one ended, that passage about God himself being a shepherd.

“He carries his lambs close to his heart.”   (Isaiah  40.12)

So, being carried as a lamb, is not an end in itself. It that should take us somewhere - should be "carried along" - the original context was return from exile; the homecoming. It should also bring us close, to hear his heart. 

Pastoring cultivates prophetic hearing

So to put that together, one can say that a common fruit of true pastoral ministry, should be the knowledge of His heart, or development of greater prophetic insight. Does that perhaps seem a stretch? Well lets look at a couple of examples.  

Think of John, leaning on Jesus at the last supper. That place of intimacy, of being carried close to his heart, means he is enjoying love and care. It also means he can communicate better with Jesus. The others at the table request that he ask Jesus a difficult question – who was the betrayer among them?

Simon Peter motioned to this disciple and said, “Ask him which one he means.”Leaning back against Jesus, he asked him, “Lord, who is it?” 

And John does get an answer from Jesus, one that triggers events to roll forward. So being carried close to his heart, means the intimacy is deeper; the prophetic question and answer, the dialogue with Jesus, is richer – more is entrusted there. 

And where does that hearing of His heart lead, in John’s case? To a gospel that is quite unique, draws out different aspects of the life of Jesus, son of God, than the 3 "synoptic" ("summary") forms. John's gospel is written last, and seems he has been entrusted with reaching further afield, both deepening and simplifying the cultural terms - he speaks of light and life, more than kingdom. 

For a second example of how pastoral care leads to prophetic heart, consider David's famous revelation of pastoral care: 

The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing.
He makes me lie down in green pastures. 
He leads me beside quiet waters, he refreshes my soul. 

And so being led by a shepherd, indeed Yahweh himself, in green pastures, leads to the still waters, the deep, the place where visions of the heavens form. 

Its notable that he skips straight past any idea of human pastors to Yahweh as Shepherd, and declares His first work is to get us to lie down- the place of surrender, reflection, of interior vision.   

Consider John again from that angle, he is entrusted with more than a unique gospel; he is also given the final vision of revelation. He had been one of the three in the inner circle, had leaned on His chest in intimacy, had written a gospel naming himself as the one that Jesus especially loved ... and yet when he sees Jesus afresh after the resurrection, he falls down as though dead at the fresh revelation: 

The hair on his head was white like wool, as white as snow, and his eyes were like blazing fire.  His feet were like bronze glowing in a furnace, and his voice was like the sound of rushing waters. 16 In his right hand he held seven stars, and coming out of his mouth was a sharp, double-edged sword. His face was like the sun shining in all its brilliance.When I saw him, I fell at his feet as though dead.  (Rev 1)

So, pastoral ministry is not an end in itself. It carries us somewhere. It should develop ones who know the voice, who hear it resonating in all sorts of new ways, who know the Voice and the Person. The safe space should lead on to greater vision.

Pastors can cultivate teaching, and practical care 

As well as developing prophetic hearts, pastoral care can underpin other modes of ministry. It commonly leads  to teaching. This is well understood - the famous charge to Peter, "feed my sheep" is often interpreted as "provide teaching".  Similarly Mark 6:34 says Jesus was moved with compassion when he saw the crowds, saw them like "sheep without a shepherd" … and it launched him into teaching.  

And we know Jesus showed practical compassion for those who needed food, after days of teaching, and that leads to the feeding of the 5000. So teaching, and literal food and care, are more obvious pastoral expressions. (I've emphasised prophetic development as it's also a natural fruit of pastoral ministry, but less commonly understood to be so). 

Limits and risks of pastoral ministry

The point is that pastoral ministry is not an end in itself, and should not be left to itself.  The word pastor occurs only once in english translations of the bible, and that in a list with 4 other roles (Apostle, Prophet, Evangelist, Pastor and Teacher are all identified as ascension ministry gifts to the church).  We're on shaky ground if we major on that gift (or any ministry gift) without the counterbalancing  expression of other roles. 

Many have noticed that a mild version of the pastor/teacher gift is running most churches - and so its bumpy and underpowered, like a car running on only 2 cylinders, but designed for five. In many places the sheep may get warmly welcomed, and may get fed, endlessly learning, but nothing much else will happen.  Those aspects are great if part of an ecosystem that cultivates the full expression, but is a problem otherwise.  Strengths, if left alone, also become limiting weaknesses. Consider how that works here. 

Emotional sensitivity can appear to be prophetic, but  .. 

Pastoral people are sensitive to others emotions. They can be intuitive, and read how people are feeling.  That's often a good thing and the other roles benefit from that foundation.  It means people are emotionally balanced, not unnecessarily treading on people’s toes.

But there are some traps to watch out for here.

That sensitive reading of the heart, and the flow of compassion, can become a subtle substitute for the true ministry of the Spirit. For those who are called down John’s path, building from pastoral intimacy into prophetic heart, that natural sensitivity can actually overload the heart with too much intel, a flood of unusable discernment.

One of the early books on the prophetic movement, The Elijah Task, by John and Paula Sandford, addresses this – there are those who pick up heart issues so easily, just by being near people, that it overwhelms them. They called it “burden bearing”, and insist that the gift must be surrendered at the Cross, in order to be healthy and useful.

In these cases the heart is so attenuated, so tuned to every passing pain, even to these just walking nearby, that the emotional radar needs to be brought into order. That sense of connection may seem to be abundant, and at first glance may look like prophetic intel. However its just the human spirit picking up issues from people, and compared to what God wants to say, it's still from a lower realm. It can leave the recipient overwhelmed – touched with the feeling of every passing issue, but not able to address most of them. 

Some intercessors also have a similar issue – in their case not just picking up issues in the room, but also remotely. Both modes need to be surrendered to be healthy –the channel  does not always need to be “open”.  Its like trying to listen to a radio station that keeps getting interference from 6 other stations.  It needs to be surrendered and tuned only to the right issues.

And even when its valid to pick something up via this empathetic sensing, the Holy Spirit wants to move us into and past that empathy for others' heart and troubles, to the revelation of what heaven thinks about it. What is His voice saying about it?  

An example may help. I saw this play out once at a conference.  I recognised a  colleague, a chaplain from a school I’d taught in, on the other the of the room. We'd been in a regular prayer group.  I knew she had been through some hard times.  And now from the other side of the room I could feel her pain as I thought about it. My eyes welled with tears of compassion, and I might have reached out in that compassion, if we’d been in proximity. 

But then I thought out the teaching we’d just heard. The speaker had explained how he often prayed for sick people, and often saw healing. He explained his method was counter cultural, because he refused to major on empathy – he could not sit by a hospital bed and empathise in sombre tones. Some may be able to do that, but for him it undermined faith and the dynamic of healing. So instead of that solemn empathy, he would come and release laughter. Joy was the medicine he had to give, and laughter was the container. And indeed many people got healed as he laughed over them. Joy was the higher frequency input they needed, and stepping down into too much empathy was unhelpful for healing. 

Sometimes he’d be asked “can you come and pray, but could you not do the laughing thing?” But for him it was one or other, come with healing laughter, or no point coming at all.   (Notice how Jesus removed the mourners out of the room before raising the girl, and Proverbs affirms that laughter does good like a medicine). In that sense, the new wine can be brash, raw, startling.  Light does not empathize with darkness, and for some that means emotional separation. 

And so I asked Him that day - how do You want me to see that chaplain’s situation? – the one I’d just been in sympathetic tears over. Instantly I saw a field of flowers where she was running and dancing. The sympathetic pain I was feeling gave way to joy. A wave of it went through me, as deep as the tears had been, but in the opposite direction, and I could not help but laughing loudly. 

 (Similarly Paul says, we don’t grieve as the world grieves – we have hope. The emotional cycles need to be genuinely moved through but can happen more quickly - sometimes much more quickly - with this wine in place.) 

Surrender the gift of burden bearing in order to stay effective

So, we sow in tears, reap in joy (Psalm 126). We have to move through the tears, though they be valid, to the joy. 

So … pastoral sensitivity is valuable. Compassion can motivate, and empathy is good. However the sensitivities of the heart are not, in themselves, God’s word on things, and if we’re going to see healing and life and full revelation, we have to keep all that surrendered.  Otherwise empathy can become a gooey substitute, an emotional fly paper that captures all sorts of issues.  

Others don’t start with that pastoral compassion in place, and need it developed. Paul says he learnt compassion some through all of his battles, You can see that in 2 Corinthians 1 – the extreme difficulty leads to revelations of God as “Father of Compassion”. 

Strong leaders often get that added as they mature; the pastoral heart is sometimes carved into place over time, as discussed in part 1. Conversely those gifted with it from the word go, those wired to be pastors, need to realize that while they carry a gift that the body needs, one that can help catalyse other ministries in their early stages  – it's also a gift that can become unbalanced and overloaded, and thus diminished effect, if its not well integrated and laid down.