The Stupidity of Hate

Let's say I hate you. I don't, but for the the sake of building an argument, let's just say it. I hate you, so much so that I am consumed by the depth and breadth of my contempt. I think about hating you day and night, and I shout out obscenities throughout the day just thinking about you, because I've developed a Tourette's of bitterness. *##@*! No doubt about it. I hate you.

It's the kind of feeling that one cannot shake. It's deep and abiding; the sort of hostility you are sure you can hold in your hand and roll around like a hard, slick marble. You can discern it's weight in your palm, and your skin memorizes how it smooth it is. You know what it is through and through. Hatred.

I don't like you, so the mere possibility of a conversation is shut down. There is nothing to talk about, really. You are vile and disposable. You cannot do anything right. Everything you do has an ulterior motive or selfish agenda. If you sneeze, I will tell everyone who would listen how rude you are to expel your germ-ridden, gooey nastiness into the air from which the world has to breathe. Yes, your existence negatively impacts the whole world. Indeed, your existence forces me to hate you. You are a skin and oxygen thief.

You aren't really human in my hatred. In fact, you can't be, because I have to objectify you over and over again to push you as far away from what I think is good and worthy and human. You are an animal at best, certainly not a child of God, or even someone that should (or will) have access to God. To hell you shall go. My hate doesn't necessarily come as a result of something you did. I simply hate you, and even if we once got along, I decided to hate you from the beginning and was just waiting for the precious moment when my precious animosity could live.

Because we have determined you are worthless, I can name you. I don't care how you maintain who you are, I will say who you are, and speak for you. Mute is the only volume I require of you. I have convinced many others that you are pathetic, unintelligible, and proof of evolution. I do so hate you.

Ok, enough. I need a holy pause. Even this exercise makes me feel slimy. I don't hate you, really, not because I couldn't. I don't because there is absolutely nothing that can change the fact that we were made by the same Creator who said that creation was good. Hatred is the refuge for people who are lazy in their engagement with others, and are predisposed to the negative. It takes a lot of energy to close social distance, to become friends with people different from you. In my healthiest moments, I don't use my energy for something so draining and selfish. Hate is just stupid. It is the state of being where one loses one's humanity based on a false reality we made up of others. This sort of animosity chips away at us every moment we sink into that murky, stagnant pool.

Hating others lowers the bar, and becomes an oversimplified way to be in the world. There is no need to be well-informed, no reason to be thoughtful or intelligent in discourse. In hatred, you can be stupid without apology. One can say, "I simply want you gone, and if I want you gone, I no longer care how you go."

Now to what spurred this entry. Wagging fingers forces one to write for the sake of sanity. Smug arrogance, and over-spinning of events makes one respond. Racist overtones and explicit hatred is flying so much, we all feel sick and dizzy to varying degrees, and apparently there is no end in sight. What spurred me to write is the amount of times I hear people on CNN and other media outlets saying some version of: "I support this person, because he represents the best chance to beat Obama." What? If I were a viable candidate, I would be offended. You don't care about my qualifications, my character, my vision-- just that I can be your mythic hero in a time of perceived or manufactured crisis? There is something implicitly wrong with that paradigm.

Some would suggest that displacement at all costs is not hate. It's simply standing against a failed President with failed policies. Bull. This is pure, unadulterated, school yard-variety bitterness in its many forms, veiled in a thin veneer of "patriotism" and a "return to the good ol' days". This hatred is the residue of the potty that has never been cleaned in our American history of deep racism, sexism, classism, rampant bullying, and an acceptable national oppositional defiance that is dangerous. It is one that has been nurtured for so long that some believe it isn't hatred. It's lost its distinction because its old, deep, concrete evil. We've not been honest as a country, and we have not pursued healing in healthy ways.

Let's stop the madness. The great thing is the opposite of love is fear, not hate, and with love, hate doesn't stand a chance. And there's nothing stupid about that.

Being Nice

I received a phone call last night. Anyone who knows me knows that even if you call me at 3:17 a.m., I usually am pretty good about clearing my throat enough to sound like a human. You know, I want to be nice. I want the call to be pleasant, even if what we are discussing isn't. Well, this particular call came just after a very long day, at about 9:15 p.m., and I was not nice.

It started off badly, because I recognized the number that popped up on the phone. I sighed through an inaudible, "Dang it," and really didn't want to answer. It was a call from a person who strikes me as one of the most insecure and passive aggressive people I've ever met. When I saw her number, I already knew that it would be an event, because every time I have engaged with this person, I have ended up completely drained of energy.

So, because I am a "nice" person, I answered, praying that God would transform us both so we could speak to each other without stress. What's funny is that the person who called takes her role in my play of being nice seriously. Her voice dripped with pure honey as she detailed what she needed from me. No genuine greeting. Just her requests that she spent all day writing down so she wouldn't get nervous and forget (She told me she did this...yikes!) She was only asking for something I had already given above and beyond.

My not-yet-a-friend laid into me with her requests and waited for my response. During the thick, unbearable pause, I breathed deeply. I prayed. I moved around in a not so comfortable chair, trying to gain some wisdom from the fibers of the pink fabric covering it. I remembered some techniques of centering prayer, but knew I didn't have time to do it...and suddenly, a still small voice said, "Kelle. You don't have to be nice."

Let me tell you that I didn't curse her, nor did I verbally lay her out as only a Black woman can do. I told her that she was attempting to get something out of me that I didn't owe. It wasn't about money, and I told her as much. I told her that I was not going to be available for fulfill her deep desire to remain present in my life when her season was over.

Something grew in me in those moments. I realized that I don't have to be nice, and that if being nice is my only goal, I was leaving myself open to be taken advantage of over and over again. I realized that they many times I had prided myself in being nice, I wasn't fully present or honest. It was a masquerade, my attempt to be what everyone supposes a Christian, woman minister is. Nice is about ego, about maintaining "the look" with no depth. However, I have to be authentic. This is what each of us are called to be--always.

Well, I wasn't nice, but I was kind. I was assertive and fair. We resolved the issue, by collaborating instead of back off and giving parts of ourselves we didn't want to give.

"Nice" is no aspiration. Be real. Be you.

The Well of Living Well

Facebook is a great tool for social networking. It can also truly reveal that many people are full of fear, insecurity, and have been brutally hurt by the words and actions of others. Without any negative judgment, I see profile pictures of beautiful people who appear to "have it all", who write a series of depressing status updates and seem on the way--if not already there-- to deep depression and the anxiety of desperation.

There is no simple solution. I'm not one who believes in catch-all fixes, either. I am not one to say, "They're married/single/healthy/paid/well-traveled/connected..." Really. However, I am sure of one thing. If we keep looking outside of ourselves for something that should come from the well that God carved and created within us, none of us will ever find the key to our liberation.

Where is your healing? You are healing you have been waiting for all of your life. You are responsible for finding it in the halls of your own soul. God put it there long ago, and your desire is the only map you'll ever need.

There is nothing worse than accepting the awful things people have said about you. People can be mean! Acknowledge the  destructive things you've said about yourself, those terrible, untrue things you've taken on as another skin. There is no greater sin than believing in God, but refusing to believe that you are no temple in which God will dwell. Where is God if God is not near to you?

We hear spoken death all the time, that we are not good enough, that our mistakes are eternal and everlasting. Today is your day to let lie that go. Misery is not your friend unless you choose it to be so.  Wait no longer for someone to free you. Free yourself!

Reconciling Act: The person who finds freedom fastest is the one who understands that they create their own keys. Step into it. Live freely with the confidence of God.