In 1949, civil rights leader and author Howard Thurman penned the following words in his seminal work, “Jesus and the Disinherited”: “During times of war, hatred becomes quite respectable, even though it has to masquerade often under the guise of patriotism.”
Written in the shadow of Japan’s attack on Pearl Harbor and the surrounding atrocities of World War II, Thurman’s scalpel- precise articulation of the way hatred works its way into our hearts and somehow becomes “respectable” rings just as true today, some 70 years later.
My interest in these words, however, extend beyond the context of war. Whereas Thurman had the backdrop of global conflict to buttress his views, I’d like to suggest that in today’s climate we don’t even need war, per se, to create the kinds of contexts wherein otherwise good and honorable people permit hatred to take up residence in their hearts.
Between nonstop overtly partisan news coverage, social media buffoonery and strife within our families, we have more than enough soil for hate to find roots. But to return to Thurman’s point, the miracle here is that hatred — an experience unique to humans that, under normal circumstances, one might assume would be viewed as less than noble — somehow has become “quite respectable.” Add the detail about it “masquerading under the guise of patriotism,” and I hope you’re as disturbed as I am. How did we get here? How is it now considered patriotic, or even low-key virtuous, to hold hatred in our hearts toward others?
An autopsy of that magnitude is both beyond the scope of this article and outside the purview of my expertise, so rather than ruminate on how we got here I’m far more interested in what we do about it. In other words, if we take for granted that hatred has become almost commonplace in our culture (hatred for systems, hatred for our political opponents, hatred for politicians, hatred for ourselves, the list goes on …) and, even worse, it is often celebrated as a good thing (you’re often looked down upon if you don’t demonstrate a kind of hatred for “them”), then where do we go from here?
I imagine most people would confess to feeling fine with just a little bit of hatred running in the background of our consciousness. However, I agree with Thurman who later in the book says, “Once hatred is released, it cannot be confined to the offenders alone.” If we have even an ounce of hate in our hearts, it will leak. It will spread. It will infest until, again from Thurman, “It destroys finally the core of the life of the hater.”
One of my favorite movies from 2018 was a bit of a sleeper and, even though I’m a pastor and you might be tempted to roll your eyes when I tell you, please know that I have a general allergy toward most media portrayals of anything biblical. But the film “Mary Magdalene,” starring Rooney Mara as the titular character and Joaquin Phoenix as Jesus of Nazareth, shocked me with not only its gorgeous portrayal of Mary (the Apostle to the Apostles), but the imaginative way in which it showed how Jesus affected people, left an indelible impact on me. One scene in particular stands out as I reflect on hatred’s capacity to destroy our core.
Jesus is preparing to speak to a group of women but first leans to ask Mary, “What shall I teach?”
“Are we so different from men you must teach us different things,” Mary quips in response, prompting another woman, Susannah, to reply with, “We are women. Our lives are not our own.”
Jesus, looking to cut past the layer of societal limitations and get to a deeper truth says, “Your spirit’s your own. And you alone answer for that. And your spirit is precious to God. As precious as that of your husband … or your father.”
I think part of what made (and still makes) Jesus so radical was his insistence on people’s inherent worth and value. Humans are beloved and precious simply by virtue of being alive.
Whatever else they may be in the world’s eyes, whatever labels or identities they might posses — rich/poor, Black/White, male/female, and so on — the fundamental reality is that their truest identity is that of a beloved child of God. Though the world may try and make you something else and, as Susannah attests to, try to take away parts of who you are, it cannot touch the truth of your pure essence.
But Susannah raises another point. “Then who should we obey? If God commands one thing, but our husbands, our fathers tell us another?” Jesus tells them to “follow God, even if that means people judge you or persecute you.” Taking it a step further, Jesus then adds that if they do judge and persecute you, “You must forgive them.”
Susannah immediately pushes back. “Forgive them?” she exclaims, and then proceeds to tell the story of a local woman who endured unspeakable atrocities at the hands of men in the village. In the court, before they were sentenced, one of the men cried out, “God, forgive me.”
Susannah, staring down Jesus, then whispers, “But I’m not God.” In other words, though the perpetrator might ask for and even hope for forgiveness from God, he ought not waste his breath on her. She has no forgiveness to offer someone who committed such crimes.
Jesus pauses, looks directly at her, and says (favorite line of the entire film), “How does it feel to carry that hate in your heart?”
A simple question, until you try and answer it. How does it feel to carry that hate in your heart? He goes on, “Does it lessen as the months go by? It seeps into your days … your nights … until it consumes everything you once were. Those men, they too, were filled with hate. You are strong sister, but you must forgive. There is no other way to enter the kingdom of God.”
Echoing the sentiment of Howard Thurman from above, hate is a poison that laughs at our belief that it stays put in one place.
The Jesus of the Gospels (not the film) taught, “You have heard it said, ‘you shall not murder,’ but I say to you anyone who is angry with their brother or sister, anyone who says ‘you fool!’ will be in danger of the fire of hell.”
We intuitively know that physical murder is wrong, yet we kid ourselves if we think we can possess merely a murderous spirit in our hearts without being utterly overwhelmed by its ruinous effects.
Hatred, though nursing it might feel good for a while, is lethal. There is no other outcome. If our hope is to live lives of freedom, of peace, of love, (or, as Jesus called it, the Kingdom of God) then we have no choice but to release hate in total. Which means we must choose the path of forgiveness. Even for (especially for) those we’ve reason to hate.
In the Gospels we read about those who departed Jesus’ company because his Way was too hard, too much, too impossibly impractical.
Platitudes like “bless those who curse you,” and, “love your enemy,” and, “forgive 70 times 7 times,” while they may sound pleasant, actually require significant amounts of courage and strength. And when it comes to applying such practices toward those we hate, toward those who offend us most, toward those who’ve wronged us or stand for everything we’re against, it can feel darn near impossible at times.
But in light of the lethality of hatred, I don’t see that there’s any other way. Carrying any amount of hate in your heart will consume everything. You must forgive. I know it’s a heavy ask, but you must. And if, when you try and muster your courage to extend such forgiveness, if all you can manage is but the size of a tiny mustard seed, well that is enough. If it can move a mountain, then it can move the poisonous hatred from your heart.
Colby Martin co-founded Sojourn Grace Collective, a progressive Christian church in San Diego. He is the author of “UnClobber: Rethinking our Misuse of the Bible on Homosexuality” and “The Shift: Surviving and Thriving after Moving from Conservative to Progressive Christianity.” You can reach him at [email protected]