I don’t know about you, but I have a hard time grappling with facts I don’t like.

Sometimes they’re medical. Sometimes they’re scientific. Sometimes they’re political. Or dealing with a particular policy. Sometimes it’s my own kids.

Sometimes it’s my own heart.

I think we’ve all been there. I’ll give just one, very personal, example.

I am pro-life. I’m even more pro-life than lots of Christians, because my personal conviction is that, if it were me, I would not consider rape or incest to be a reason to abort. Because I believe every life is that sacred. (This is a belief that leads me through other stances too, on everything from assisted suicide to how to react to someone coming violently into my home.) I am well past the point where I think I have to force my opinion on anyone else, or for that matter, that this nuance-free opinion holds for anyone but me. My conviction–not yours. And it’s an untested, untried conviction. So who knows if it would change if my circumstances did? As I learn more? But I digress. (And I don’t bring this up to debate those fine points right now, LOL.)

Because I’m pro-life, I’ve always been appalled at the Roe V. Wade ruling, especially as I read things explaining how it’s bad law. I’ve been horrified at the fact that the same teenage girl who needs parental permission to take Tylenol at school can be given an abortion without parental knowledge. (Makes no sense to me. But again, not the point here, LOL.)

So a month or so ago, I asked my statistics-loving-husband to look at the math for me. How can we track abortion rates against legislation? I was ready for my point to be proven: When we encourage good decisions, we see less abortion.

My husband spent a good long while digging into studies, comparing them, looking at the methods used to gather the data…all those things that make my eyes cross but bring him endless, incomprehensible-to-me delight. And then he said, “You’re not going to like this.”

Because what he found was not what I wanted to be true. He found that, in fact, the stricter the laws, the more abotions are being performed. When pro-life politicians are in charge, abortions increase.

Well, he was right. I don’t like this.

Now, let’s clarify that this is nationwide data–because while some states’ rates are down because they outlawed it or have greater restrictions on what’s possible, all states have not. So people cross state lines. I live in West Virginia, but it’s really easy to just drive to Maryland. And such is the case most places.

Again, I’m not bringing this up because of the issue of abortion, or to lead to the argument of “Well just make it illegal everywhere!”–I’m bringing it up as an example of how I grapple with things. Here’s how my internal thought processes went:

No. I don’t want to believe that.
But it’s true.
I don’t want it to be true. Can I just…not believe it?
Don’t be a moron, Roseanna. Denying it doesn’t change that it’s true, and it doesn’t solve the problem.
Okay, fine. (Tyrant!) Let’s think it through. What do I learn from this data?
I learn that changing a law doesn’t change behavior.
Hmm. I think it’s even more than that. I think I learn that strict laws about things that label people (like “sinner” or “slut” or “easy” or “shameful” or “bastard” or “illegitimate” and hence “unworthy, unlovable, inexcusable, undesirable, unacceptable” cause fear. Panic. And those things lead to more of the behavior that I find deplorable.
Another truth I don’t like.
Right?! Because it takes the easy answer (legislation) off the table–if something causes MORE of the thing I want it to cause LESS of, then it’s not working. Which leaves us where?
With hard answers. Like…
Like actually changing hearts.
And it gets worse–we need to not just convince people of a point of view, we have to actually provide an answer to help them battle their fear and reduce their panic.
That takes a lot of work.
Mm hmm. And not just with or for THEM. Not just the physical work. It takes emotional work in ME. Because I have to be willing to meet those women in their grief. I need to be able to cry with them in fear of the future. I need to be willing to get down in the muck with them and promise to be with them as I try to help them stand again…and mean it. Not just say it. Mean it.

I bring this up because our country is in a lot of turmoil right now as different groups shout for change. One side hates this policy. Another hates that policy. Both, if they’re being honest, probably have things where they have to grapple with sides of the argument that they don’t like. Don’t want to be true.

We can deny the truth. But it doesn’t solve the problem.

We can keep trying to legislate our point of view. But that doesn’t ever change the other point of view.

We can tell the other voices to shut up and remove them. But that doesn’t build peace. That builds resentment that will backfire.

We can just get rid of policies that aren’t working. But that doesn’t solve the root problems that led to them.

So I’m going to posit this: If we condemn something, we have to also think through an alternative to the very real problems that “something” is trying to address. It’s not enough to ban it–be it abortion, DEI, books, ideas, rights, definitions, or “bad law.” Whatever “it” might be, that doesn’t work. All it does is make divisions run deeper, tribalism grow stronger, “us versus them” prevail, hatred spin out of control, bitterness fester, and ideals turn into violence.

We have to grapple with the truth: if the Good we are pursuing is not accomplished by the measures we have taken, we need to change the measures. But we can’t stop there. We have to find something that works.

This holds true for ALL of us, both sides of the aisle, conservative or liberal. We cannot shout about our rights and yet knowingly trample on others. We can never achieve justice by injustice. And we cannot let ourselves fall into the trap of “I’ll do this thing I hate in order to stop someone else from doing it first or doing it worse.”

Friends, that is not the path of righteousness. That is not the path of peace. That is not the Way of the Cross. That does not save hearts. That does not preach the Gospel. That does seek His kingdom. It seeks our own.

I really want to just be able to set good rules, for people to follow them, and for it to make the world a beautiful place. And to be sure, we need rules and laws and guidelines for a country! But we all have to grapple with the reality that it doesn’t always work.

Sometimes it’s going to be “my” laws that fail. Sometimes it’s going to be “theirs.”

What would happen if, instead of crowing about it when it’s them, we sat down and said, “Okay. So let’s get back to the problems that started it all. What’s another solution?” instead of just tearing each other down?

It’s not easy. I don’t like doing it. But you know…when we do…I think we draw a little closer to the Kingdom of God.

Let’s talk about Helen Keller.

You’ve probably heard of her. As a child, a fever left her both blind and deaf and yet she went on to become famous for being an author and activist for those with disabilities. I imagine you, like me, have heard her story and have stood amazed at how this brave soul overcame her obstacles.

When I learned that she was an author banned by the Nazis, it made sense to me–my research had included the sad fact that children born with disabilities were being forcibly euthanized by the late 1930s in Germany, and to my mind, it would make sense that they’d want to get rid of evidence like this woman who had overcome her disabilities and inspired others to do the same.

Turns out, I was missing a step. They didn’t start by banning all books by Helen Keller (though they did by the end–the final Nazi ban list is of authors, not titles). Nope. They started by banning one. It was called How I Became a Socialist.

I’ll admit it. I didn’t realize Helen Keller was a socialist. And when I saw this a couple weeks ago, do you know what my first reaction was? My heart sank. I drew back. And I thought, Okay, maybe she’s not the best example to start my series on books-banned-by-Nazi-Germany leading up to the release of The Collector of Burned Books. I’ll keep looking.

But then, over the next few days, my own reaction kept haunting me.

Why was I willing to dismiss someone’s story just because I don’t agree with her politics? Especially when the socialism she subscribed to hadn’t even been experimented with yet? She believed in an idea. Other people (myself included) disagree with that idea. But either way, she is still a remarkable person who did remarkable things and made a HUGE difference in this world. And even if she subscribed to it knowing what I deem its failings…the same questions stand.

Does one opinion, stance, or belief define a whole person? Is it reason to condemn a person? To stop listening to them entirely? To cancel them? To ban them?

Years ago, when what we’ve come to call “cancel culture” really began to gain ground, I spoke out against it. At the time, some of “my” books and understandings were being challenged or condemned or removed. Suddenly Gone with the Wind was on the “out” list, as was To Kill a Mockingbird, and of course, Huckleberry Finn. And I cried out, “NO! We have to keep reading these books! Even when we don’t think like they do anymore, we HAVE to keep reading these books! They teach us so much about our history and the viewpoints they had and why they had them and why we DON’T anymore!”

At St. John’s College, where I went to school, we read the foundational texts of western society. Something many students find odd at first is that in our science classes, we read people whose theories have been completely disproven. We read people who are WRONG. Even as 21st century students who KNOW they are wrong. We know the entire universe does not revolve around the earth. We know, for that matter, that the heavens are not a physical dome that surrounds the earth, on which stars move around just for us. We know that our blood does not sneak from one chamber of the heart to another through pores.

So why do we read those “wrong” texts?

Because without knowing where we came from, we cannot understand where we are.

Read that sentence again.

I cannot appreciate and deeply understand the “correct” facts if I don’t know how we got here. What it’s built on. What we used to believe. And this is important in science, because we’re always learning more. How can we reason our way through new, conflicting theories if we don’t understand the foundation? And that’s what my school focuses on: equipping its students to reason through any argument about any topic. Science, math, literature, philosophy, religion, music…anything.

So “cancel culture” disturbs me at the deepest level. It’s fine not to like a book or idea. It’s great to reason through why and identify where we, and where society, has shifted and changed. To discuss whether those changes are good or bad. This is healthy. This is necessary.

But then tides shift, and those doing the cancelling begin to lose control. What, then, is our response?

All too often throughout human history, our answer is to cancel them right back. “You try to take away my books? Well, take this! I’ll take away yours.” We react exactly like I reacted to Helen Keller. We draw back from the people whose viewpoints don’t exactly align with our own, and we begin to cancel them because of one belief or stance or viewpoint.

Now, there is a lot of nuance to this topic. We cannot read everything. We cannot teach everything. We have to make decisions. And where decisions are made for groups of people, there will be HEATED disagreement. Someone’s going to go away angry, hurt, and feeling victimized. And when it involves our kids? Hoo, boy! Watch out! We’ll be debating this till the end of time, I guarantee it!

So let’s keep it to us. Adults. Christians, even.

What is the godly, Christian response to ideas we don’t agree with? To people who oppose our beliefs? To books that stir up trouble or even hate? Is it to lash out? Strike down? Remove all evidence? Cancel back those who try to cancel us?

I feel like we’re in Ancient Egypt right now, where new pharaohs physically eliminate the evidence of those who came before them. They send out craftsmen with chisels to wipe the very name of their predecessor from any monument.

But then we look at our own Bible. There, for all to see, the writers, inspired by God, memorialize the most heinous of human actions–even actions performed by their own patriarchs. They tell us about incest, rape, and murder. They tell us about prostitutes and adulterers and pagan worshipers. Some stories pass judgment (think of all the times we read “this king acted wickedly in the sight of God”) and other don’t (we never get any indicator of “good” or “bad” in the story of Jacob with his two wives and two concubines). But what we do see are consequences. Consequences of Abraham taking Hagar. Consequences of Jacob having twelve children by four women, all in competition with each other. Consequences of the king given wisdom and riches falling away from God when he takes wives who lead him astray. God still works through and on and in and with them. Thanks be to God!

Hearing and reading those stories is still necessary. Because we have to understand ourselves. Our evil motives as well as our pure. We cannot forget the bad just because it shames us. We cannot remove ideas because we don’t agree with them.

Now, we do have to decide what we promote. What we condone. And again, we’re never all going to agree on that. But even when we teach this thing…we still have to preserve that “other” thing, especially when there are still people who believe it. Especially at certain levels–higher levels. Colleges, universities. Governments. These places, above all, need to preserve. To collect. To explore. To invite reflection. To teach respectful dialogue.

Because when we remove a book…it’s usually not long before we remove the author. When we cancel an idea…it’s usually not long before we cancel the people who hold that idea.

I’m guilty of it. Are you? Is this how God wants us to view each other? His children?

I promise you here and now: we will disagree about something, you and I. Maybe it’s a fine point of faith. Maybe it’s a political view. Maybe it’s got something to do with science or medicine. Maybe it has to do with marriage and divorce. Or abortion. Or whether purple is really the most beautiful color in the world (I mean, duh. 😉 ). Some of our disagreements we’ll laugh over (like colors). Some we’ll be distressed by. All, we can learn from each other about. We can have conversations that aren’t about winning, but about learning.

So I promise you one more thing: I will never cancel you. Even if we agree on nothing, I will not cancel you. I may have to pause, to regroup, like I did with Helen Keller. I may have to pray about my own heart and biases. I may decide that I’ll refrain from certain actions that don’t align with my conscience, even if yours insists it’s great or even necessary. I may even have to step away if “conversation” devolves into “shouting match” and one side or the other is concerned with winning rather than learning. But if so, I’ll do it with respect, and I’ll do it with the hope and prayer that we’ll have another conversation later. Because you are the beloved of the Father. And if Jesus called both a Zealot and a tax collector to His table, I darsay there are both Republicans and Democrats, Conservatives and Liberals, Gay and Straight, Pro-Life and Pro-Choice people there too.

He invites us all. But here’s the thing friends–once there, He calls us all to look at our own hearts. To confess our sins and change the actions that are sinful and displeasing to Him. To love each other, to put aside our differences. To let go of OUR understanding in favor of HIS understanding. We ALL have opinions we need to set down at the foot of the cross. And it takes a lifetime. Probably more, honestly. I imagine we won’t any of us have perfect understanding until we stand before our perfect God and He reveals all to us.

So for now? Let’s default to love, and to looking at our own hearts FIRST. Let’s default not to canceling, but to considering. And let’s never, never make the mistake of dismissing a person because of an idea.

²³ When He got into the boat, His disciples followed Him. ²⁴ And behold, a violent storm developed on the sea, so that the boat was being covered by the waves; but Jesus Himself was asleep. ²⁵ And they came to Him and woke Him, saying, “Save us, Lord; we are perishing!” ²⁶ He *said to them, “Why are you afraid, you men of little faith?” Then He got up and rebuked the winds and the sea, and it became perfectly calm. ²⁷ The men were amazed, and said, “What kind of a man is this, that even the winds and the sea obey Him?” ~ Matthew 8:23-27 (NASB)

In a book study in my church a few weeks ago, we were give four Bible passages (the one above, Matt 8:1-3 [leper who was cleansed], Matt 9:2-7 [paralytic whose friends brought him to be healed], and Matt 9:20-22 [woman with the issue of blood]) to read and then asked, “Which one do you most connect with or relate to?”

We talked through all of them, but in my group, the first, gut reaction was that we connected with the story of the disciples on the stormy sea. Because which of us hasn’t felt as though we’re in the midst of a storm at some point in our lives? Who among us hasn’t been in a literal storm that was scary? But even more, who hasn’t been in an emotional or circumstancial one?

Much like the disciples, I bet our instincts were right-on. We know to run to Jesus, just like they did. We know to cry out, “Save us, Lord! We’re dying here!”

But when we read that passage above, it becomes clear that Jesus’ method of saving them was not what they were expecting. They were shocked. HUGELY shocked. This–calming the very wind and waves–was not something they thought He could do.

So…what did they expect?

As I pondered the question, only one thing came to mind: they were expecting a normal, human reaction. They expected Him to wake up from His nap and lend a hand. They expected Him to maybe grab an oar or a line to a sail. Maybe even to lead them in a prayer for salvation asking God to calm the seas.

Jesus didn’t do that. He didn’t react as a human would. He didn’t do the human thing. He calmed the wind and the waves. He spoke, and it was so. Nature obeyed.

Then look at that story in Matthew 9:2-7, when the paralytic is brought by his friends to Jesus. They were obviously expecting something physical–a healing. Why else bring someone to a healer? They were demanding an appointment with the Great Physician.

But again, what did Jesus do? He looked at the faith of those friends and the paralyzed man and said, “Take courage, son. Your sins are forgiven.”

He was still paralyzed at that moment. Let that sink in. He’d come to Jesus for a healing in his legs, but Jesus looked and saw something much more important. He saw souls in need of a savior, and He offered that man the better good. He offered Him eternity. Salvation. Forgiveness.

And what does the man do?

We don’t actually know–we don’t see his reaction. But the Gospel writers certainly didn’t record any complaining on the part of the man or his friends. Nor do we see them saying, “Hey, wait a minute…who do you think you are? You can’t forgive sins.” Nope, only scribes were thinking that. And it was in response to their disbelief that He healed the man physically too, to offer them something visible.

But it wasn’t His first response. His first response, as always, was more concerned with the soul than the body. And I like to think (since we’re not told otherwise) that when that man had his sins forgiven, he was too overwhelmed with the peace and joy of that to even care that his legs still weren’t working right.

Then Jesus issued a command: “Take up your mat and go home.”

I love that, unlike some healings we see, where Jesus physically acts and the results follow, this one relies on the faith of the recipient. What if the man had shaken his head and said, “Lord, I can’t. That’s why I’m here.”?

My guess is that healing wouldn’t have followed, because he didn’t follow the word of the Lord. But he does. As simple as that. He stands up. Rolls up the mat his friends had been carrying him on. And he goes home. Presumably he had that faith even before he came, otherwise why would they have done so?

But I imagine it was all the more intense because he’d just been forgiven. Something no man could ever do for him.

Doctors can help heal us.
Prophets raised the dead and healed people many times.
The disciples themselves healed plenty.

But only Jesus could look a man in the eye and say, “Your sins are forgiven.” That was the real miracle done that day. The miracle of Jesus tending not the human, physical need, but one so much deeper. So much bigger.

How often, when we take our hurts and our troubles and our broken hearts to God, do we expect Him to react like us? Like humans? To tend to the physical in regular ways?

What if instead of lending a hand in the boat, we expect Him to calm the seas? What if, instead of fixing our circumstances, we trust Him to heal our hearts?

What if we expected our God to do something more than our human selves can do?

If you’ve ever been a child (especially one with a sibling) or had children or been a classroom full of children, chances are you’ve encountered a situation like this: there has been an argument. It seems HUGE. There have been oaths sworn about never talking to someone again, about hating them, about being so angry. There have been threats to run away, perhaps even tiny pink suitcases packed with all the most precious things–My Little Ponies, a toothbrush, a favorite stuffed animal.

Then the authority figure steps in. Oh, we all know those scowls, don’t we? We know the look on our mom’s or dad’s or teacher’s face–and if we’re parents ourselves, we know what it feels like on our own face. When it was us as the child, we felt that tightness in the chest. The burn of fury. The certainty that they didn’t understand.

Then come the words: “Apologize to your sister” or “Hug and make up” or “Sit down and work things out.”

And what is the response, every…single…time? “But…!”

Somewhere in the argument is a but. Maybe it’s the first word: “But she started it!” Maybe it’s somewhere in the middle: “I would, but…”

What happens next? Did Mom just say, “Yeah, you’re right. She’s mean. You have a right to be angry. In fact, you should hit her back. Then you should stand over her and gloat. And finally, you know what you should do? You should tell her she hates this family and is a disgrace to us all and that it’s about time she gets what’s coming to her. Oh, and while you’re at it? Tell her I told you to do it.”

Of course not. What did she really say? “I’ll handle your sister’s punishment if she did something wrong. Your job is to forgive her and ask to be forgiven. You’re not faultless here. Now go to your room and think about it.” (Okay, yes, sometimes Mom is so frustrated by now this is shortened to just, “I said go to your room!” But you get the idea.)

We’re grownups now. No Mom or Dad or teacher standing over us to referee our relationships or attitudes. But we’re not off the hook. Because we have a Father who’s even more a stickler than our parents were. And we know what He says:

Love your enemies.
Pray for those who persecute you.
Love and do not hate.
Forgive your brother seventy times seven times.
Keep no record of wrongs.
Turn the other cheek.
When they take your coat, offer your shirt too.

I am grieved at how I’m seeing Christians act today. I don’t honestly care about your politics or who you voted for or what side you come down on on certain issues. I don’t care if we agree or disagree on current events.

What I do care about is the bitterness, darkness, and gloating I’m seeing in people who are supposed to follow the Light. I’m seeing people who want to turn over the money tables but aren’t so keen on loving the money changers. I’m seeing a lot of people who, like the disciples, are eager to call down fire and brimstone on the town that didn’t accept the Gospel, but I’m not seeing many people advocating for mercy–the very mercy Christ offered those offenders.

You know what I’ve had to start doing? Every time I see a post that espouses something I don’t agree with, I remind myself of God’s perfect call concerning that person: LOVE THEM

And then I examine my gut reaction. Is it, “Yes, Lord. Help me to love them better. Draw them ever closer to you. Remove the speck from my eye so that I can love them better”?

Or is it, “But they’ve been trampling on my rights for years!” or “I do love them, but they’re getting what they deserve!” or “But they’re wrong and I’m right!”?

If my answer to “love them” includes a “but,” then I’m doing it wrong. Then I’m the one who needs to ask for forgiveness. Because my job in this world is not to be the parent, doling out punishment. My job is to LOVE THEM. God will handle the ultimate sorting, and if I’m sitting in my room smirking at the thought of those other people being punished, then I am not loving them. If my first concern is for what I stand to gain instead of what someone else stands to lose, then I am not loving them. If my attitude turns someone away from Christ and His Church, then guess what? Not only am I not loving them, I’m damaging the very thing I should be pursuing.

If I apply a label to a person, stance, or action and use that label as an excuse for why they should be dismissed or treated poorly, then I am not loving them. And if my first reaction to someone pointing it out is, “But this isn’t about God’s love, this is about justice,” then guess what? I am not loving them. God loves mercy more than justice.

Why does it matter?

“Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you.” (Col 3:13)

So…how did the Lord forgive us?

He gave up everything He had (a home in Heaven) to come into our filth.
He gathered not the self-proclaimed righteous, but the sinners to His table.
He healed every disease.
He welcomed the stranger.
He forgave those who hurt Him.
He died to take our sins on Himself.
He called a political dissident (a Zealot) and a tax collector for Rome and made them part of the same inner circle.

Church, we’re not just acting like the world right now instead of Jesus. We’re acting worse than the world, because we know better. We are not children any longer. When God tells us to love our enemies (which He has never stopped doing), you know what we need to do?

We need to check our “but”s. If any sneak into our response, then we had better stop right there, fall to our knees, and pray for forgiveness. There is no room for but in God’s love.

With my Patrons & Peers group, I’m reading a book called Devotional Classics, which has excerpts from all sorts of theologians from a variety of Christian backgrounds. A few weeks ago, we read a bit by Bernard of Clairveaux. He was talking about the four levels of devotion we go through.

First, we love ourselves for our own sake. Then we love God for our own sake. Then we love God for His own sake. Then, rarely, once in a while, we get a glimpse of how to love ourselves for God’s sake.

As we discussed this as a group, I mused that this growth can be explained as “circles” of faith.

Every human begins life with self-centered focus. This is perfectly natural. To quote one of my college professors, “Every baby is a tyrant.” And it’s true! We have to be taught to think about someone other than ourselves (and some of us are more successful at learning this than others, LOL). We are, at the core, the centers of our own universes.

I remember when I was a child, maybe six or seven, I was sitting in the car with one of my parents. We’d pulled to a halt at the end of our long, winding road, where it intersects the main thoroughfare through town, Rt. 28. I couldn’t tell you what season it was or where we were going. But I distinctly remember this moment where I looked at one of the cars driving by, saw the driver through the window, and had this strange epiphany.

I realized that was a person in that car–one I didn’t know. Whose name I didn’t even know. I realized that they were driving somewhere I wasn’t going, for a purpose that had nothing to do with my life. I realized they had joys and pains, friends and enemies…all very different from mine.

It’s at once silly and profound, but it represents a huge turning point in my young life–that point where I realized it wasn’t about me. When I realized that I had nothing to do with most of the world. I saw my own smallness, and instead of just being humbling (though it is that), what it really did was throw the doors of the world wide open.

It made me aware of all the many stories playing out all around me…stories I could learn if I looked beyond my own nose.

My circle expanded. It suddenly went beyond just me, my family, and my friends. It expanded to include strangers.

It’s likely no coincidence that was about the same time in my life when God and Jesus went from being vague concepts I learned about in church to beings that I loved. When I looked beyond me, much as Bernard says would happen, I began to see that there must be Someone greater than me, and that Someone is God. I realized that God loves me, and so I loved him back.

In this second phase, this second circle, we realize that God will hear our petitions, and so we make them. But a bit of the transactional still lingers in our understanding and in our thoughts.

We love Him because He first loved us. We love Him because He sent His son to die for us. We love Him because we eat and are filled. We love Him because of the signs and wonders. We love Him because He created. We love Him because He saved. We love Him because He answers our prayers.

We love Him for what He does.

This, too, is natural. After all, Jesus came to do things. He performed signs and wonders. But what did He say so many times in the Gospels? He accused people of having little faith because that was all they cared about.

Our circles are still too small. It’s still to close to that “me-centric” way of seeing things. But how do we expand it?

That comes when we separate our love from the transaction–both love of God and love of others. We stop loving Him for what He’s done and begin to love Him for who He is.

The same holds true of the people around us. We need to love people, not because they believe what we believe or think what we think, not because we like what they do or because they helped us out…we need to love people for who they are.

Image-bearer.
God-made.
Beloved of the Father.
Worthy of salvation.

It isn’t easy–neither having that love of humankind nor of God. And I don’t know about you, but I need constant reminders to stay in that circle. It’s so, so easy to slip back into “me.”

But you know what? That circle still isn’t the end-game. Not according to St. Bernard, and not according to God, and not according to our own experience either. You know where we really want to be, even if only for moments at a time?

That fourth circle, that fourth level of love and devotion is when we can see ourselves clearly, as God sees us.

We can see our smallness…and our greatness. We can see who we really are, apart from what we do. We can see how much He loves us and love ourselves in that same way, not with self-interest, but with pure grace, pure mercy.

In those moments, we know how we fit in the world. We might just be one little person in one little car on one little road in one little town in one little county in one little state in one little country…but He loves us. He loves us so much that He sent Christ to die for us. He loves us even though we’re petty and selfish and greedy. He loves us, and not because of those good deeds we did or how often we read our Bible. He loves us, not because of what we’ve done or dream of doing or refrain from doing.

He loves us because we are His. And so, in those glimpses of eternity, we love ourselves because we are His. 

Those moments are always fleeting. Just glimpses of our true place in our Father’s heart. But they equip us, friends, to go back to that third circle and dwell there with purpose.

Because when we see ourselves through God’s eyes, we see everyone else that way too. And you know what happens when we view others through God’s eyes?

We love them. Not for what they do. For who they are.

Who do we need to work on loving with God’s love today?