For the sake of your name, LORD, forgive my iniquity, though it is great.
Psalm 25:11
I don’t like ugly people.
I’m not trying to be senselessly provocative, and I’m certainly not making a moral statement. But it is a true statement.
If you live in a normal, American, middle-class neighborhood, with normal, American, middle-class neighbors, you may not know any ugly people. What’s more, the magic of suburbia is such that it’s likely that you never have to encounter ugly people in your day-to-day life. Except, perhaps, at Wal-Mart.
In a poor, high-density neighborhood, you don’t get that luxury. Where I live, a lot of people are impoverished. Many of them are ugly. They wear ugly clothing. They have terrible hygiene. They speak with slurred, ugly voices. They didn’t finish college, or high school. They aren’t the kind of people I want to be friends with, or spend time on.
Sometimes, they ask for help. Or money. I don’t give it to them. They’ll probably just buy drugs anyway, right?
The doctrine that all men are image-bearers of Christ can be repeated to the point of cliché. I know it by heart. But even so, my heart doesn’t really know it. When I walk past a vagrant, I’m much more likely to think white trash than eternal, glorious reflection of the Creator.
In the evangelical world, it’s popular to focus on big-ticket sins you can write books on conquering. Addictions like pornography and alcohol. Social problems like marital unfaithfulness and divorce. But beneath the surface of my life, I know there’s a world of deep, rooted sin that I can’t even begin to comprehend. There’s so much pride and hatred stored up that I could spend a lifetime fighting it, and never achieve victory.
Wishing that someone would cease to exist is the highest level of hatred I can think of. But as I avoid eye-contact with the undesirables smoking on the porch of my apartment building while littering the yard with Corona cans, this unspoken wish passes through my mind. When I take an honest look at my heart, I see more Hitler than Jesus.
Even when my mind tries to mask the hate in nice little thoughts.
Wouldn’t it be nice if this neighborhood were a little more... gentrified?
Full of quirky young people who listen to Grizzly Bear and repair bikes?
What if that charming Victorian could be restored to a single-family home, with a responsible, middle-class family inside?
Perhaps there wouldn’t be so many of THOSE people here...
Maybe that’s one of the reasons I don’t like ugly people. My heart’s reaction to them reveals my true self. It shows that despite the fact that I’ve gone to church every Sunday since I was born, I’m more inclined to hatred than love. I’d rather lock myself inside and read a book about God’s grace than show grace to anyone who doesn’t reach my standard of personhood.
It turns out that I’m ugly too. Fortunately, there’s someone else who doesn’t just like ugly people, but loves them. And better yet, forgives them.
great post. a lot to consider here. But one caveot i would add is that drunkards, drug addicts, or vagrants turn us off for a very specific reason; that being their unpredictability, the potential for actual danger or harm to befall us if we interact with them. The internal signals that something could be dangerous doesn't always equate "hate" or racism or bigotry or whatever. Sometimes that instinct is wrong, but sometimes it's good judgement. And sometimes maybe we cloak hidden distastes for "others" from ourselves under the guise of self protection. None the less disliking dangerous behavior isn't always "hate".
ReplyDeleteYour last couple of posts have been so applicable to my life it's almost alarming. This whole thing, in particular, is splendid - and evidence, I think, that God not only forgives ugliness but takes it away, pieces at a time. Keep the posts coming. They're good.
ReplyDeleteThanks for this great reminder Abe!
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