In my last post, I talked about how hard it can be to love people. Now I want to talk about what love is.
Perhaps that sounds silly. Love is just love. But there are as many interpretations of love as there are varieties. Today, I want to talk about brotherly love, the platonic (i.e., non-romantic/sexual) kind of love that we have for our families, our friends, our neighbors, people we’ve never met, and even those we wish we hadn’t—a sort of general, multipurpose love, or goodwill.
If you’re wondering what this kind of love sounds like, listen to Beethoven’s Ninth. The fourth movement is largely taken from Schiller’s “Ode to Joy” and can be partially translated from the German as follows:
Joy, beautiful spark of divinity,
Daughter from Elysium, . . .
Your magic brings together
What custom has sternly divided.
All men shall become brothers,
Wherever your gentle wings hover. . . .
Gladly, just as His suns hurtle
Through the glorious universe,
So you, brothers, should run your course,
Joyfully, like a conquering hero.
Be embraced, you millions!
This kiss is for the whole world!
I always listen to the Chorus when I’m very happy or very sad. Amazingly, Beethoven was almost entirely deaf when he composed it and felt devastated and diminished by the loss. Never again would his own ears hear the beautiful melodies within his mind! And so it was that at the conclusion of the work’s premier—a premier that he attended but was too deaf to conduct himself—he was met with a deafening silence. Did Vienna approve? Had his inner ear failed him? Then the contralto, Carline Unger, went to his side and gently persuaded him to turn around. The audience was on its feet, filling the Kärntnertortheater with deafening applause. And if that’s not a true story, it should be. Brotherhood of man, indeed. Vive le fraternité!
But the Ninth aside, we can sometimes get a better sense of what an abstract idea is by discussing what it isn’t. I have a theory about this. It rests on the premise that good and evil aren’t equal, opposing forces, as Taoism teaches: what we call “good” is of God and what we call “evil” is merely the absence or corruption of that. Before the beginning, there was only good and the autonomy to choose—not the autonomy to choose evil, per se (because evil didn’t exist yet), but the autonomy to not choose good—i.e., the autonomy to reject God and His goodness. We call this autonomy “freewill.”
Now, how that first seed of rebellion, of such-muchness, was planted in the mind of Lucifer—surrounded as he was by the visible manifestation of God’s presence, known with shivering reverence as the Shekhinah Glory, a glory reflected in his own name (“Son of the Dawn/Morning,” “Morning Star”)—how that first seed of rebellion was planted in the mind of Lucifer remains a great and terrible mystery. But rebel he did and, rebelling, fell—he and humanity with him. And ever since, freewill has been used to reject God as well as to accept Him.
This theory could also explain why we’re psychologically wired to notice differences rather than similarities (taking evil as the deviation and God as the norm), and why negative assessments come easier to us than positive ones.
Say you’re reviewing a film, for example, and the film is good. Unless you’re an experienced critic, you’ll probably find yourself saying more or less the same things about all good films: good script, good plot, good pacing, good characters, good costumes, good set design, good cinematography, good film editing, etc. Like, no sh*t, professor; tell us something we don’t already know. Of course, a good writer will choose a variety of adjectives, but the reason that each element is good will be more or less the same for all of them. A “good” book/film/person is simply good, whereas we have no trouble explaining in detail why a “bad” book/film/person is bad (just ask anyone who hated the 2022 Persuasion). It’s not just negativity or maliciousness. It’s the fact that evil is smaller than good: evil is just bits and pieces of goodness that have been chipped off the old block and corrupted (the Old Block being God in this metaphor, if He’ll pardon me). Satan doesn’t have the power to create, only to corrupt. Thus, if we were to chisel off all the evil in the world, we’d be left with only God and His goodness—a rather too infinite “only” for us poor finite humans to grasp. In the same way, a lover might have trouble explaining why they love their beloved. Thus, my suggestion that we break God into smaller, more manageable bits by first focusing on what love isn’t.
Now, if we were talking about love in a strictly romantic/sexual way, I might begin by saying that love isn’t lust. But in terms of brotherly love, the greatest source of confusion for most people appears to lie at the intersection of love and truth. Many times as an English major, I had to sit through secular literature courses where students (and even professors) openly admitted to never having read the Bible but still felt authorized to make negative comments about Christians and Christianity.
In terms of brotherly love, the greatest source of confusion for most people appears to lie at the intersection of love and truth.
Now, I could ask why these would-be scholars were discussing religion in a literature class. Or why they were violating their own liberal/secular maxim of “respecting everyone’s beliefs” in an environment founded on rational objectivity. Or why they thought that it was permissible to disrespect Christianity in a traditionally/predominantly Christian nation, where their fellow classmates are more likely to be Christian than any other faith, but wouldn’t have dreamed of making similar remarks about other religions. But by far the two most common misconceptions about Christianity were the ideas that (a) Christianity could be divorced from the teachings of the Bible, and (b) Christians were hypocrites for not “loving everyone”—by which they meant accepting everyone’s beliefs without judgement (oh, you mean, like you and Christians/Christianity?), even if those beliefs violated the teachings of the Bible, which they openly admitted to never having read.
Obviously, the two fallacies go hand in glove. As soon as you attempt to divorce Christianity from the Bible, truth can be whatever you say it is/want it to be, and you’re no longer talking about Christianity but essentially making up your own religion. Remember, Christians believe that the Bible is the divinely inspired Word of God, His love letter to humanity, so that poor finite humans walking in darkness could see a great light and, by its radiance, glimpse His infinitude (Isa. 9:2, 1 Pet. 2:9). For unless the Greater reveal itself to the lesser, how can that which is mortal begin to comprehend that which is Divine? If God didn’t exist, we wouldn’t have the sense that there’s Something Else Out There. And having the sense that there’s Something Else Out There if no such Thing exists is like having the nagging suspicion that you were originally born with hooves instead of feet, despite all evidence to the contrary, which isn’t a sign of faith but of insanity.
So, let’s start there, with the idea that love means never taking issue with anything that anyone says or does. Now, it would be impossible to address this misconception of love without first addressing the command to “judge not” (Matt. 7:1–5, Luke 6:37, NKJV). That’s because this misunderstanding of love is based on a misunderstanding of this verse, which is often misquoted, even by Christians. And it would be impossible to address the command to “judge not” without first addressing the command to speak the truth in love (Eph. 4:15).
Now, this isn’t the time or the place for a full exegetical analysis of these verses. Suffice it to say that if God wants, expects, and commands us to speak the truth in love, being truthful can’t be the same thing as being judgmental. In fact, if you look closely at the “judge not” verses, you’ll notice that they’re more about hypocrisy—i.e., having a spirit of condemnation that harshly criticizes another as if you don’t have faults yourself, without realizing that this is actually a greater fault than whatever fault you’re criticizing. We can therefore conclude that being judgmental actually refers to a spirit of hypocrisy caused by a lack of self-awareness—i.e., a lack of spiritual insight, which leads to moral blindness, which results in double standards between ourselves and others. I’d argue that most of life’s contentions are caused by an inability to make this connection. “Only connect!” as E. M. Forster would say.
If God wants, expects, and commands us to speak the truth in love, being truthful can’t be the same thing as being judgmental.
Now, you could argue that “speaking the truth” doesn’t refer to confrontation but simply to not telling lies or teaching untruths as spiritual doctrines. This is supported by Ephesians 4:15 and v. 25, which goes on to say, “Therefore, putting away lying, ‘Let each one of you speak truth with his neighbor'” (NKJV). If these verses were all that we had to go on, a case might be made for never saying or doing anything that could cause offense, but v. 26 continues, “‘Be angry, and do not sin’: do not let the sun go down on your wrath, nor give place to the devil” (NKJV). In other words, it’s better to have it out with your brother than to hate him in your heart. Or as Booker T. Washington beautifully put it, “I will permit no man to narrow and degrade my soul by making me hate him.” For what does it profit us to turn the other cheek if forbearance leads to pride and silence to sanctimony (Matt. 5:39)? Man might be fooled by these outward shows of humility “‘but the LORD looks at the heart'” (1 Sam. 16:7, NKJV). For this reason, Jesus said, “If your brother sins agains you, go and tell him his fault” (Matt. 18:15, NKJV).
Now, obviously, it would be impossible to obey Jesus’ command if love dictated that we could only tell people what they wanted to hear. God never intended us to use “love” as an excuse for not speaking the truth, any more than He intended us to use our Christian liberty as a license to sin (Rom. 6). In fact, not speaking the truth when compelled to do so isn’t just a form of disobedience but of apathy. Love without truth is just as false as truth without love (1 Cor. 13). They’re two halves of the same whole. This is where the Taoism symbol is actually useful in representing how truth and love should always be intermingled. Love always demands truth and truth sometimes demands that we say hard things in a loving manner.
Love always demands truth and truth sometimes demands that we say hard things in a loving manner.
Thus, love doesn’t mean turning a blind eye to Christians who are living in open violation of biblical principles because obedience to God’s commands is the very bread and butter of Christianity. It’s how we know that we’re saved. The only caveat is that we’re not called to confront unbelievers in the same way, not because they’re not violating Christian principles but because they haven’t made a commitment to follow God’s laws. In such cases, it can be difficult to know how to proceed if they have questions about their behavior. What do you say if they ask if they should move in with their boyfriend/girlfriend, for instance? If they were Christian, the answer would clearly be “no.” But unbelievers haven’t made a commitment to follow these principles, even though they’re still guilty of violating them.
Sometimes, you have to settle for giving Christian advice from a secular perspective. For example, everyone knows that they shouldn’t date someone who’s abusive. So, it might be an opportunity to point out that love never behaves in this manner (1 Cor. 13). But whatever you tell them, please, for the love of God, don’t tell them lies like “you deserve better.” No one deserves anything but hell and damnation. And as harsh as that sounds to modern ears, those are precisely the kinds of truths that we’re supposed to be speaking. “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me!” (emphasis mine). Don’t emphasize God’s grace to the point of de-emphasizing human wretchedness, when it’s precisely our wretchedness that makes His grace so sweet. Don’t diminish the magnitude of Jesus’ sacrifice so that you can pretend that you’re really quite a lovable chap, as if His love for you has anything to do with you being lovable. As if He needed your love because the perfect union that He’s always shared with God the Father and God the Holy Ghost/Spirit wasn’t quite cutting it.
So much contemporary “Christian” music falls into this category. Essentially, the artists thank God for how lovable His love has made them and how worthy they are now that He’s saved them like insecure, secular souls desperate for validation. And the irony is that it’s actually a form of false humility that diminishes the very One that they’re claiming to worship! Oh, it’s praise, alright—but of whom? It’s enough to make you vomit in your mouth. Give me the good old hymns any day of the week. Give me the old, offensive words that actually meant something—words like “sin” and “hellfire” and “damnation” or, better yet, “perdition.” Give me abomination and anathema, blasphemy and brimstone, harlot and heathen and heresy. And then give me absolution and alleluia and amen, handbreadth and handmaid and husbandman, imputation and incarnation and intercession, justification, propitiation, and salvation.
But I digress.
We’ve established the fact that “speaking the truth in love” sometimes compels us to make moral judgements about other’s behavior and that this isn’t the same thing as being judgmental or unloving because Truth and Love always walk hand in hand. Taking all this into consideration, the question for me remains: Is it permissible for Christians to be salty? Is there a place amidst all this admirable humility and meekness and gentleness for a certain degree of criticism and sarcasm and individuality? Are we permitted to retain our own personalities or must any trait that seeks to subvert the Christian pattern be cut out? Is it just prideful arrogance that makes me rebel against “milk-and-water Christianity”? Am I just making life harder for myself by stubbornly kicking against the goads (Acts 9:5, 26:14)? Or does God work differently through different people depending on their personalities and spiritual gifts?
First, when I say “milk-and-water Christianity,” I’m not talking about liberal theology that permits heresies to creep into the Church and water down the gospel. I’m talking about Christians who are so sweet, sugar wouldn’t melt in their mouths. The kind of Christians who wear purity rings and protect their “special gifts” above all others and refuse to watch R-rated films. Christians who are so heavenly minded, they’re of no earthly good. Christians who, if they were to write a self-help book about their struggle with X, the X would end up being something relatively harmless, leaving the rest of us feeling a bit disillusioned because we assumed that it would be something that we could actually relate to, like masturbation.
More than them, I’m talking about the kind of Christians who, while not being that innocent themselves, still consider “family friendly” to mean no sex, no drugs, no drinking, no swearing—i.e., nothing that real sinners deal with in real life. Christians who avoid taking a hard line against premarital sex, despite the Church’s desperate need for such sermons, possibly because they and their spouse were among the eighty percent of Christians who don’t follow that command. Christians who feel uncomfortable with divisive doctrines like God’s wrath and low-key sneer at Christians who embrace the “vengeful” parts of the Psalms, as if it would be better to remove those “embarrassing bits”—which, incidentally, account for seventy percent of the text—despite the fact that many of them were written by a man that God Himself described as “a man after My own heart” (1 Sam. 13:14, Acts 13:22, NKJV).
Now, do I believe that these Christians are as sweet and innocent as they make themselves out to be? No. Maybe if they were one of the Twelve . . . But even among that hallowed throng, you have the man who betrayed Christ, the man who denied Christ, and two powder kegs who wanted to incinerate an entire village (Luke 9:51–56). Like, no, dudes—no.
All the same, there’s nothing wrong with being harmless as long as it doesn’t make you useless. I’m not asking these precious Christians to be less sweet; I’m asking them to be more salty. I’m asking them to compliment their sweetness with an equal amount of saltiness to prevent their sweetness from becoming saccharine. I’m asking them to be as brave as lions and meek as lambs, “as wise as serpents and harmless as doves” (Matt. 10:16, NKJV). And I’m asking them to hold their opinions about this aspect of Christianity as loosely as I’m holding mine. Disagreements shouldn’t be turned into doctrines. And pending further insight, given the biblical roster of sinners and saints at our disposal, I find it impossible to believe that the “Old Testament God” is less acceptable than the “New Testament God” or that the fierce and fiery bits of the Bible are less desirable than the meek and gentle ones. That if I blog, it can only be in a way that drips honey and oozes balm. That we can’t be honest about our humanity—as if, in accepting Christ, we become these perfect cookie-cutter creations that would be more at home in The Stepford Wives (2004).
Does godly zeal still demand that we “gird our loans” and put offenders to the edge of the sword (1 Pet. 1:13, NKJV)? Of course not. But God is the same yesterday, today, and forever, despite our being under a “new covenant” of grace (Heb. 8:8, 13; 13:8; NKJV). The establishment of that covenant didn’t symbolize a turning of His nature but merely a staying of His hand (Jas. 1:17). He still expects His saints to burn with righteous zeal for His glory and honor even if the application of that zeal has changed. And I believe that this should be reflected in the strong but loving manner in which we interact with each other, sometimes causing pain to cauterize greater evils.
As Christians, we have rid ourselves of the idea that morals are the same thing as manners. That love requires us to be polite all the time. That being loving is the same thing as being “nice.” Manners aren’t stand-ins for morals. Doing the “done thing” while seething with rage doesn’t score points with God any more than a Catholic reciting their rosary with their mind on their laundry list. You might as well just bop the offender on the nose. At least then you wouldn’t be tempted to claim any moral superiority, which is worse than losing your temper. Outwardly, it might appear that doing the right thing with the wrong attitude is still superior to doing the wrong thing with the wrong attitude. But if “the LORD looks at the heart,” is that truly the case (1 Sam. 16:7, NKJV)? Too often, we pay lip service to principles while behaving as if they’re false. Moreover, if Jesus warns us that many things we say and do will cause offense on account of the gospel, does it then follow that we’re the ones who are at fault (Luke 21:10–19)?
We have to rid ourselves of the idea that morals are the same thing as manners. That love requires us to be polite all the time. That being loving is the same thing as being ‘nice.’
The social pressure to be “nice” can be particularly tough on women. There’s this idea that what’s sauce for the gander isn’t sauce for the goose. If a man is forceful, he’s “confident.” If a woman is forceful, she’s “aggressive,” “unprofessional,” “out of line.” Men now have permission—nay, the prerogative—to bring the b*tch to heel like they’re God Almighty. And the double standards can get even more interesting in religious circles. And by “interesting,” I mean insidious.
Fortunately, I’m not talking about marital love, so I don’t have to get into the wildly popular doctrine about submitting to your husband (1 Pet. 3:1, 5). All I’ll say about that is that the Bible commands it. So, if you don’t like it, don’t marry. God never intended Christians to “have their cake and eat it” (i.e., have it both ways). He never intended us to enjoy premarital sex like unbelievers, or, once married, to experience all the joys of marriage without any of the frustrations. He never intended our lives to be so safe and convenient that we were engorged to the point of spiritual apathy by our own prosperity and entitlement. And as “unfair” as it is, He never expected wives to have quite the same autonomy as men and unmarried women. Unlike men, we have to choose. So, stop playing God and choose wisely. And that’s me not getting into it (more on this in another post).
Peter digs the submission hole a little deeper by also exhorting wives to have “a gentle and quiet spirit” (1 Pet. 3:4, NKJV). But before the ladies finish sharpening their kitchen knives, this is in the context of general Christian submission, unity, compassion, love, tenderheartedness, courtesy, etc. (1 Pet. 2:11–18, 3:8–12, 5:5–6). And this exhortation is addressed to wives, not all women, as many sources misstate—though it could certainly apply to all Christians in light of the other verses. Furthermore, 1 Peter 3:1, 5 says “submissive to your/their own husbands,” not “all husbands” or “all men.” And the main purpose appears to be to woo unbelieving husbands to Christ, assumably because some of Peter’s female readers were already married before their conversions. It’s therefore my conclusion, until such a time as better theology might present itself, that men and women share equal autonomy outside marriage and church leadership, and that no Christian is called to a greater degree of humility, gentleness, graciousness, respectfulness, etc., than any other (Col. 4:6). In fact, a case could be made for men to exhibit a greater degree of sanctification as church leaders and heads of their respective families (more on this in another post). No precedent for an Angel in the House here.
And speaking of the Angel in the House, I’d caution my female readers against priding themselves on their submissiveness at other women’s expense. I don’t say this because kindness, meekness, gentleness, etc., are bad qualities but because women who try to boost their ratings by throwing other women under the bus are often getting their self-worth from men rather than from God. And men aren’t the best judges of character when their perceptions are motivated by self-interest. Men have been taking the path of least resistance since Adam failed to knock the fruit from Eve’s hand. Of course they’re going to praise your submissiveness if it means that you’ll make a martyr of yourself on their behalf. Heck, they’ll even reinforce your insecurities if they prevent you from noticing that you’re out of their league. I speak from experience. As soon as overcoming my social anxiety disorder allowed me to be as feisty as I am demure—my, how the worm did turn! And I’m not nearly as badass as some women think that they are. In comparison to them, I’m still totally vanilla. It just goes to show how worthless the praises of most men are. Praise from a righteous man is like a crown of honor; praise from a worthless man is like so much trash.
Now, in asking if it’s permissible to work out our faith within the context of our own personalities, there are two forces at work: character and personality. Character includes a “bad self” and a “good self,” also known as the “old/natural man” and the “new man,” which begin their epic struggle for dominance as soon as we’re born, possibly even before that (Rom. 6:5–6; Eph. 2:14–16, 4:20–24; Col. 3:9–11). This spiritual duality is the same for everyone, while the specific traits that form a person’s character and personality differ from individual to individual. Some people are more complex; others are less so. The latter generally have an easier (though not to say “better”) time of it than the former.
We can’t know what was in the mind of God when He was creating our individual personalities, but there are a few points that should be made about them. One, personality is neither as important nor as permanent as character. Character is the process of becoming more like Christ, which can and should affect our personalities over time. Two, God didn’t create some personalities “good” and others “bad.” It’s possible to have a bad character; it’s not possible to have a bad personality. Specific personality traits are only bad to the degree that they violate Christian character.
For example, say that you’re a chatty Cathy who never lets anyone else get a word in edgewise, and you grew up thinking that this made you extroverted (because all extroverted qualities are good, right?). This isn’t a personality problem; it’s a character problem. It’s pride, rooted in the lie that everything you say is inherently more important than anything that anyone else says. So, growing in Christian character would mean learning that everyone has an equal right to be heard, which would help you become a better listener and make you more welcome at social functions.
The wisdom doesn’t lie in choosing truth versus love or saltiness versus sweetness or ‘masculine traits’ versus ‘feminine traits’ but in knowing how much of each thing you should be at any given time.
Now, I don’t know about you, but I often feel that I have at least two personalities in addition to my dual character (no, I’m not talking about multiple personality disorder). On the one hand, there’s my “feminine side”: loving, kind, compassionate, considerate, courteous, intuitive, perceptive, idealistic, romantic, whimsical, feminine without being girly, ladylike without being prudish, gentle without being a pushover, with just a touch of the old soul, the free spirit, the airy fairy (“Oh, is that what this button is for?”), and the long-suffering saint. On the other hand, there’s my “masculine side”: truthful, intelligent, rational, pragmatic, satiric, witty, funny, opinionated, impatient, perfectionistic, determined, with just a touch of the lone wolf, the righteous crusader, the absentminded professor, and the crusty old prophet (“F*ck all and sundry but also bless”).
For the reasons that I mentioned above, most men love my “feminine side” until (ironically) they meet my “masculine side.” Women generally hate both but that’s because I’m “different.” Women can bear anything but that. Engaged? Sure. Pregnant? Absolutely. Promoted? Hell, yes. Some can even keep their cattiness in check if you’re younger or better looking than themselves. But woe betide the young, attractive woman who doesn’t play by the rules as if they don’t apply to her. The nerve! The audacity! She’s clearly doing it on purpose to show us up. Our animosity can’t possibly have anything to do with the fact that we’re catty b*tches. That would suggest that she’s better than us. And the whole point of all this passive-aggressiveness is to prove that she’s only human. Maybe if we antagonize her enough, she’ll snap (proof!) and then we can all go out for cocktails.
Now, obviously, I only have one character and one personality, designed to work in tandem, neither of which has a “masculine” or a “feminine” side. Nevertheless, I sometimes struggle to integrate these opposing elements of my personality in a way that doesn’t alienate them—or myself. What’s helped me—and I hope it helps you—is the knowledge that, like truth and love, it doesn’t have to be all one thing or the other. You’re allowed to be all the things you are, just not in every circumstance, to the extent that you might wish. The wisdom doesn’t lie in choosing truth versus love or saltiness versus sweetness or “masculine traits” versus “feminine traits” but in knowing how much of each element you should be at any given time. As the wisest man once said, “To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven”:
A time to be born,
And a time to die;
A time to plant,
And a time to pluck what is planted;
A time to kill,
And a time to heal;
A time to break down,
And a time to build up;
A time to weep,
And a time to laugh;
A time to mourn,
And a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones,
And a time to gather stones;
A time to embrace,
And a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to gain,
And a time to lose;
A time to keep,
And a time to throw away;
A time to tear,
And a time to sew;
A time to keep silence,
And a time to speak;
A time to love,
And a time to hate;
A time of war,
And a time of peace.
(Eccles. 3:1–8, NKJV)
In conclusion, love isn’t just a feeling; it’s a decision. It’s not just a warm regard; it’s an act of the will. It’s the ability to treat everyone with a certain degree of respect and consideration, despite how well we know them or how little we like them. It means not being unjust to people that we don’t know or like and not showing misplaced loyalty or undue favoritism towards those that we do (Luke 20:21, Gal. 2:6, Jas. 2:1–13). In this sense, those of us who find it more difficult to like people can still love them as truly or more truly than those who only love people that they like (Matt. 5:43–48, Luke 6:27–36). And though liking people as much as we love them is “a consummation devoutly to be wish’d,” it’s a waste of time and energy to manufacture feelings that we don’t have (Hamlet III.i). So, let’s not beat ourselves up over strengths that God didn’t give us and focus instead on loving people as sweetly and saltily as we can. And if you’re having a particularly hard time of it—if Satan is throwing you one monkey wrench after another—remember Beethoven’s Ninth, volume up, on repeat. I absolutely defy you—after the Chorus has sped up and slowed down, building from crescendo to crescendo until it bursts forth in unrestrained jubilation at the end—I absolutely defy you not to be transported.
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