“You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? And if you greet only your brothers, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? You therefore must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.
(Matthew 5:43-48 ESV)
But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.
(2 Corinthians 12:9 ESV)
I think what has bothered me the most, what has broken my heart in the last year, has been the difficulty considering another reality than one’s own. We can all find “evidence” to prove our point. We can all find someone who agrees with us. We can all argue our position until we’re blue on our face. But in doing so, we lose sight of individuals. People who have experiences that differ from ours, but who are no less worthy to be heard. Pride loses sight of individuals in the shadow of ourselves, and often goes so far to say that those whose experiences differ are worthless.
I’m not here to argue points. I’m not here to demand a shift in thinking. I won’t endorse a political party, or make predictions about the evils that are certain to follow election day, or even discuss the merits of personal freedom, gun control, or what is perceived as Christian “persecution” in America.
I’m just asking you to listen. To hear the voices of other humans, who were created in God’s image the same way you were, who have struggles and fears and sin and heartbreak and regrets just like every other person.
The nurses who say they are beyond exhausted. They are weary. The school administrators faced with impossible choices and receive hate spewed over the phone. They already had the weight of each student to carry. The people of color, who live in our communities (never mind the ones in cities) who have been told horrible things. They already feel marginalized and unwanted. The neighbors who have lost a loved one to Covid, or spent weeks anxiously beside a hospital bed, or are desperately trying to protect a medically fragile child. They have forgotten how peace feels.
It breaks my heart because over and over and over I have heard words spoken in pride, in self-righteousness, saying boldly, “because your reality is different than mine, you’re wrong. You’re a liar. You will not get compassion, a listening ear, or a consideration, because my reality and my feelings and beliefs are more important than yours.” Being right, being justified, has become more important than being merciful. Being heard is more important than hearing others. Pointing out specks in eyes has become a spectator sport. Proving a point, no matter how many people get trampled, is encouraged.
We’ve forgotten the upside-down, backwards way of the kingdom of God. We’ve become preoccupied with this kingdom, this world, these fleshly bodies. We’ve forgotten that Jesus said the first will be last. He told us to love our enemies. Paul and James said we should rejoice in our suffering. We should count our trials as joy. We should be thankful for our suffering, we should glory in our weakness. And with a heart filled with child-like faith – humility – we should live our lives in complete dependence on him.
What do we have to prove but the goodness of God? What do we have to shout from the rooftops but the promise of eternity with Christ? What banner do we dare raise but the one of perfect love? What should we shower on others but compassion, brotherhood, and faithfulness? What culture should we work to create but one of discipleship and worship?
While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. He suffered under the weight of all my sin. He took it all, so he could be with me. He went to the depths of hell so he could have me in his family. So he could fully adopt me. So he could place a crown on my head, whisper in my ear, walk every step before me. So the Holy Spirit could live fully in me.
What do I do in turn? To sinners? To neighbors? To someone whose reality looks different than mine? Who is hurting? Who is afraid? Who is unheard and forgotten and lost? Do I dare embrace compassion over anger? Can I chose to listen instead of being heard? Can I see the fear and pain?
Do we dare chose humility?
Threads of a Remnant 