In my context growing up (and quite possibly in yours as well) we were taught that to be a loving Christian meant three things: love everybody as if they were your neighbor, recognize that everybody is a sinner, and hate the sin that they commit. We were taught that when we do this, we are acting like God, who loves us while hating our sin.
There is something about this that has deeply bothered me, but I've never really been able to helpfully articulate why it is that it bothers me as much as it does. I want to talk, first a bit about what seemed to have been at risk, and then see what other ways there are of articulating it that safeguard what needs to be safeguarded while hopefully opening us up to a more holistic approach.
When I was taught, "everybody is a sinner" what seemed to have been at stake were two things: the need to put human language around the fact that sin happens (well, lots and lots of sin happens), and almost to create a reason for redemption. If we are perfect, why send the savior? But that doesn't make an awful lot of sense really, because then the coming of Christ into the world to die and rise again is very nearly predicated off of the fact that I can mess up. One only needs remember the example of a father who knows that his presence with his children will help them become full adults. They may be naughty children in addition to being only half formed -- but it is a bit absurd to imagine that their nautyness is the only reason their father would be their father. At the very least, if that were the only reason, he'd be a jolly awful father.
As far as putting language around the fact that a terrible lot of sin happens, and even that a large amount of sin is done by those I know, and even by me, I don't think it is necessary, either from Scripture or experience to say that we are therefore sinners. As far as Scripture goes, God said after creating both man and woman, "behold, it is good." How can something that God created as good become bad through it's own actions? Very often in the textual witness in Scripture we see humans sinning and God coming in and rescuing those who repent and punishing those who don't. We language that says "all have fallen short of the glory of God" (which, I mean, is somewhat obvious really -- we aren't God!) but I don't for a minute think that means we are sinners. We sin all the time, terribly, and beyond our ability to control really. We are also sinned against all the time, in very very terrible ways. But are we therefore evil?
In a sense I think it is a bit too simplistic to say we are sinners, to say that we are evil. It sort of short circuits the whole redemptive drama. If we are totally depraved, then our destruction is justified, and our redemption is easy. By contrast, if we are still complex, if we are good, who do evil, then our recovery becomes a bit harder. For we have to deal not only with our sin and weakness, but with our guilt and shame about that sin and weakness as well.
And for me anyway, this is where the rub is. We were taught to "hate the sin" -- and we were taught that God also hates sin, so we are being like God when we love sinners and hate sin. One question that was never asked though (at least in my context -- it may have been asked in your context) was, "what does it do to a person to teach them to hate part of what they do?"
When we are taught to hate at least a part of what we do, we are essentially splitting our own selves into that which is "ok" and that which is "terrible." We suppress as much as possible that about us which we hate, and focus as much as possible on that which think is "ok". But wait a minute here. hold the phone. press the pause button.
What else is sin if not this very splitting? Sin is that which splits; divides, takes what is whole and good and makes it separate and divided. Sin divides humanity from God, from nature. Sin isolates one human from another human. But sin also separates us from ourselves. I don't see how this doctrine, "love the sinner, hate the sin" doesn't in fact encourage and actually end up aiding this splitting tendency of sin in a way that ends up enacting the splitting of the self.
Very often it seems that the path to wholeness and healing of the soul is only through accepting all the fragmented parts that comprise us. This path of acceptance is a path of open humility, because it forces us really to accept that we are just like everyone around us. This acceptance isn't a reluctant sort of grinding the teeth while admitting our weaknesses. Rather, it is a fully robust and open eyed statement, "I sin." It is not a, "I sin, and I hate my sin."
I think that once we have come to a place where we can accept ourselves completely as we are, then and only then can we begin to heal. God never heals only a part of us. Rather, He insists upon healing all of us. Very often we can spend many long years coming to terms with all of the parts of our soul we have been hiding from our own view. Instead of further burying these parts, and cultivating hatred towards them, shall we not accept that we ourselves are not completely us without them? Only then, at that point, can we be healed. If the leper hated his disease to the point of denying its very existence, would he ever have cried out to Jesus to be healed? Or, would he have been healed, but been like the nine lepers who went on their way and didn't respond by coming back and giving thanks?
In conclusion to this much to long blog post, I think the thing we were taught, "love the sinner but hate the sin" is not only merely inaccurate, but capable of cultivating attitudes in the heart that making healing difficult. It fails to take into account that in us which is still good even though we do regularly sin, therefore misplacing the emphasis of Christ's redemption off of renewal and on to sin removal. It also teaches us to necessarily hate the weak parts of us that continue to make us sin. When we learn to hate ourselves, we buy into the damage of sin by furthering the isolation that it naturally already causes. We learn to face God (if at all) with tremendous shame and guilt, instead of humility and hope.
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