Loving the sinner.....not hating the sin

Not sure I totally agree with this guy, I need to read over what he has to say more and think about it, but he definitely has some good points, and inspired a blog post from me that is yet to be written.

The first article is located here: http://redemptionpictures.com/2013/06/20/i-cant-say-love-the-sinner-hate-the-sin-anymore/

The second is here, which is the story behind the first: http://www.registeredrunaway.com/2013/10/04/these-hallowed-grounds-all-i-have-to-offer-by-micah/

by Micah J Murray: Why I Can’t Say Love the Sinner / Hate the Sin Anymore

I thought we just needed to try harder. Maybe we needed to focus more on loving the sinner, and less on protesting his sin.

But I’m done. I can’t look my gay brother in the eye anymore and say “I love the sinner but hate the sin.”

I can’t keep drawing circles in the sand.

Even if I was able to fully live up to that ideal, I’d still be wrong. I’d still be assigning him an identity, viewing him as something other, something different.

Not human. Not friend. Not Christian. Not brother.

Sinner.

And despite all my theological disclaimers about how I’m just as much a sinner too, it’s not the same.

 We don’t use that phrase for everybody else. Only them. Only “the gays”. That’s the only place where we make “sinner” the all-encompassing identity.

Then we try to reach them, to evangelize them. We speak of “the gays” in words reminiscent of the “uncivilized headhunters” from those epic missionary stories – foreign and different and far away, the ultimate conquest for the church to tame and colonize and save. Maybe we accept them in our midst.

But even then, it’s sinners in our midst – branded with a rainbow-colored scarlet letter. They aren’t truly part of us.

Even that word “them” makes me cringe as I speak it, as if my brothers and sisters are somehow other, different from me.

It’s a special sort of condescending love we’ve reserved for the gay community. We’ll agree to love them, accept them, welcome them – but we reserve the right to see them as different. We reserve the right to say “them” instead of “us”. We embrace them with arms full of disclaimers about how all the sinners are welcome here. And yet, they’re the only ones we constantly remind of their status as sinners, welcome sinners.

In all this, we turn our backs on all the gay brothers and sisters already in our church, already saved, already following Jesus. Our us vs. them narrative leaves little space for those who didn’t choose to be gay but did choose to follow Jesus. Using “gay” and “sinner” interchangeably, we force them away from the Table and into the shadows.

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They say Jesus was a friend of sinners, but he didn’t describe himself that way. His motto wasn’t “eating and drinking with prostitutes and tax collectors.” Those were the labels used by the religious community, by the disapproving onlookers. What’s amazing about Jesus is that when he hung out with sinners, he didn’t act like they were sinners. They were just his friends. People with names.

Defined as beloved children of the Creator, not defined by their sins. Icons of God’s image. His brothers and sisters.

It was the Pharisees who looked at them and scrawled “sinner” on their foreheads. It was the accusers who drew circles in the sand with themselves on the inside and “those sinners” on the outside.

Those words, “a friend of sinners”, were spoken with an upturned nose and a self-righteous sneer.

And that’s the same phrase the church has adopted to speak of our own brothers and sisters – “Love the sinner, hate the sin.”

It’s the same self-righteous sneer heard in the words of those who dragged the woman caught in adultery to Jesus: “What should we do with such a woman?” They defined her by a moment. She was “one of those”. Not a sister. Not a human. Just a pawn in a political debate. A sinner.

But Jesus knelt with her in the sand. Unafraid to get dirty. Unafraid to affirm her humanity. “Neither do I condemn you, go and sin no more.”

He could have said “You’re a sinner, but I love you anyways.” But she knew she was a sinner. Those voices were loud and near and they held rocks above her head.

Jesus refused to let his voice join theirs. By telling her “go and sin no more”, he affirmed that sin is not her deepest identity. It’s not how he saw her. It’s not who she was at the core of the being.

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I am a sinner.

But before I was a sinner, I was created in the image of God. While sin has twisted and smudged that image, it can’t erase it. Sin, my sin, is so terrible that it killed Jesus. But it doesn’t define me any longer. I am a new creation.

Because of Jesus, “sinner” is not how God sees me. It’s not how I see myself. And it shouldn’t be how I see my brothers and sisters in the church.

There is no condemnation for those who are in Jesus. To look at my gay Christian brother and say “God loves the sinner” is to set myself against Jesus and bring condemnation again to those he’s already redeemed.

So I’m done.

I’m done with “Love the sinner, but hate the sin.”

I won’t say it anymore.

I’m done with speaking as if I’m different, better than you.

I’m not going to define anyone by their sin. That’s not my identity. It’s not yours.

We are icons. We are children of the Creator, redeemed by Jesus. We are brothers and sisters. And today, that’s enough.


 All I Have to Offer by Micah, written by registeredrunaway

I actually don’t remember how Micah and I became friends, but yet, here we are. I do remember, at first, being skeptical of him. It goes without saying, he’s a very talented writer, an honest one, a voice that brings out the freshness of following Christ in the aftershock of a shifted from childhood worldview. But as I often am regarding straight white writers that enter the LGBTQ conversation, I was skeptical of him.

 

Thing is, Micah has shown me, time and time again, that this is something strapped to his heart. We’ve had wonderful, fruitful dialogues about current happenings, how the faith is changing, what love really looks like, and through our friendship, I’ve seen that this matters in such a real deep way to him. It’s quite moving.

 

Today Micah brings us a story and a reflection of a time when this became very true in his life. I am so honored to have him share here today.

~ ~ ~

Before I even read between the lines, I knew what you were really saying.
Angry. Struggling. Confused. Alone.

We had been friends for a while, in the very loose sense that people our age use that word. Friends.

We passed each other from time to time on the internet. We have never met in “real life”.

But you wanted to know if you could talk to me.

Pacing in my backyard with they phone pressed to my ear, the first time I heard your voice you were saying “I’m gay.”

I had already told you that I wouldn’t have any answers, no easy fixes for how to reconcile being gay and being a Christian. So I listened.

And then I was angry.

I was angry that you had to call me, a stranger from the internet.

I was angry at everyone in your life that should have been there to listen face-to-face, across the table from you.

I was angry at your parents, your Christian friends, your church. For abandoning you in the shadows.

 For pushing you away. For condemning “people like you” so many times that you couldn’t even speak.

I had already told you that I wouldn’t have any answers, so I listened. That’s all I had to offer. (I wish there was more I could do.)

I listened as you talked about living your teen years so desperately dedicated to loving and serving Jesus.

I listened as you told me about leading Bible studies in college.

I listened as you recounted your struggle to stay sexually pure, and your desire to save yourself for the wife you prayed God would bring you someday.

And I realized you were just like me.

Just. Like. Me.

But  there was a part of me that wanted to dismiss you anyway. To lable you as “other”. To call you “them” instead of “us”.

To think of you as a “sinner”, not a brother.

In that moment, I realized the arrogance of my own system. How I thought I knew everything I needed to know about you with that one word – “gay”. How quickly my mind raced to draw a circle in the sand around myself, with you on the outside. How naturally the word “them” rolled of my tongue when I spoke of you, to you.

And I was angry at myself.

Even as I said “them”, I apologized. I didn’t know what else to do.

But something changed in me as your story spilled out and I paced in the back yard listening.

For me, “gay” can never again simply be an “issue”, an “argument”, a “culture war.”

It has a story. It has a face. Yours.

The next day I sat down and wrote, “I’m done with saying ‘love the sinner, hate the sin.’ I’m done with speaking as if I’m different, better than you.”

I don’t know what else to do. I’m still here to listen. It’s still all I have to offer, but it’s yours.

And if you’re reading this today, I want you to know three things:
I’m sorry I drew that circle in the sand with you on the outside. I was wrong.
I’m grateful that you were brave enough to tell me your story.
And I love you. Not as a “sinner”, but as a brother. As a friend.