When I was nine, I liked most everybody, and most everybody liked me. That year, I discovered that remaining likable required that I not like certain other people. What a hard lesson. Soon my words were full of filth and conceit. This should be reason enough to hate him. But I don't. Not nearly enough. Not yet.
When I was thirteen, I was innocent and naive, and had just developed my first junior high crush. It was sickening and wonderful: I would write sappy love notes that I knew I would never send. That summer, I was tagging along with my older brother and his friends. They got bored, and the teen with a house to himself suggested watching a pornographic movie. Nobody moved or disagreed. Nobody yelled, "Go home Anthony, you're too little." I froze, and I knew within minutes that there weren't any do-overs. This should be reason enough to hate him. But I don't. Not nearly enough. Not yet.
When I was twenty-three, I was in love with a young woman that was beautiful beyond my wildest imagination. We wrote each other letters, gave each other gifts, and largely affirmed how our relationship was spurring one another towards Christ. She went home to visit her parents, and had some issues from her past brought to the surface. She returned quiet and afraid -- afraid that our relationship was no different than with the other boys who had manipulated her. She broke my heart. God faithfully brought me through the recovery process, but the long and painful journey left its residue of lies. Even this should be reason enough to hate him. But I don't. Not nearly enough. Not yet.
During my ministry years, God introduced me to a number of young people in need of healing. Some had been subject to abuse, and others were products of a lifetime of rejection. I encouraged them to work through the pain, sharing that God intended our pain to be redeemed as a testimony for His Glory. More often than not, these loved ones determined that is was a much better thing to push aside the past than to hurt and be redeemed. In the end, what have I accomplished? This should be reason enough to hate him. But I don't. Not nearly enough. Not yet.
As God builds His church, the fear and pride of men have masked a holy unity. We preach community as a value, until it requires our personal discomfort. We grieve the Holy Spirit with our own sacred practices, and ask God to bless the fruit that we have sown with our own hands. We spend more time defending our positions and politics than being His hands and feet. And this should be reason enough for us to hate him. But we don't. Not nearly enough. Not yet.
Holiness appears to come at a premium. The enemy offers me the world: my wants, my comforts, and the love of mankind, and he doesn't ask any questions. Since I was a little boy, this world has been for the taking. I seize it for the joy of the moment, and reject the blood that makes me clean. God has never offered me any of these things. Instead, He provides an unadulterated, authentic version of everything I've ever needed. And it costs me my life. Satan offers the streetside knockoff, and it doesn't require an ounce of patience, stewardship, or gratitude.
I will not spit on the feet of a trusted friend, nor do I cherish the gift that I despise. As much as I'd like to reject my sin, I recognize a deeper conflict at work. It is not enough to hate the corruption of glory, if I do not love the Creator of all things good. And I do not love Him. Not nearly enough. Not yet.
The third time he said to him, "Simon son of John, do you love me?"
Peter was hurt because Jesus asked him the third time, "Do you love me?" He said, "Lord, you know all things; you know that I love you."
Jesus said, "Feed my sheep. Very truly I tell you, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go." (John 21:17-18)
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