A Scary Kind of Love

While hiking in Switzerland this past month, I came to a town in which one of my favorite hotels is located. It’s a very Swiss hotel, not overly expensive, with a wonderful view of the mountains. I stay there at least one night every time I go to Switzerland. And last month I intended to stay there again.

But the man at the desk turned me away. “You have no reservation,” he said, “and the hotel is full for the night.”

I tried to coax him to find a way to let me in: “I come here every year … you’ve always had a room for me before … I only have this one night … this is my favorite hotel.” Most New England inn keepers would have caved in to my efforts at charm, but not the man at the desk of the Swiss hotel.

When I realized his mind was made up, I was really piqued. But not so that he would have noticed. Christians, after all, act nice. But inside I felt rejected and disappointed. I really wanted to say as I went out the door, “I never liked your stupid hotel anyway. I only stay here because it’s cheap.” But the truth is that I did like it. Strange, the conflicted attitudes that breed like bacteria in the human heart when one feels rejected.

Then in my Bible reading a day or two later, I came across that story in which the disciples of Jesus sought accommodations for themselves and the Lord in a Samaritan village. They, like me, were turned away. But on this occasion, the issue was more than just a no-vacancy problem. The disciples were Jews, and the Samaritans held them in contempt. We’re talking real animosity here.

As I brooded on the Bible story I remembered first that the Samaritans violated the principle of Middle Eastern hospitality: one never turns away someone in search of shelter and replenishment. I should have reminded my Swiss “friend” about that.

But returning to the story, I saw that the more important thing had to do with the disciples’ handling of the matter. Their attitude was far uglier than my feelings at the Swiss hotel.

“Lord,” they asked when they returned to him, “do you want us to call fire down from heaven to destroy them?” How’s that for going over the top? Thankfully, I did not say (or think) that when I was told there was no room for me at the Swiss hotel.

Fire from heaven? Three years with the Savior (give or take) and this is the best reaction the disciples can come up with? One might want to question the discipling ability of Jesus.

The feelings of the Twelve toward the Samaritans is just plain hateful. You want to ask them if they’d forgotten, among other things, that there were children in that village.

So what’s in the human heart that generates such vindictiveness? What is it that causes us to feel justified to wish ill toward an adversary, to speak bitterly to (and about) those with whom we disagree, to support spokespersons who are capable of communicating in the meanest of ways?

The same day as I read the Bible story, I came across this comment from another source: devotion leads to hatred. Since I have tried to live a devoted life (to Jesus), I immediately rejected the comment. But when I remembered the story of the disciples and their attitude, I revisited the idea that devotion of a kind might indeed lead to hatred. And I became very uncomfortable.

I wanted to ask, “What kind of devotion are we talking about?” Can devotion actually go off the rails and become something else? Can we become blinded by devotion and end up being more like those we think of as the undevoted?

One day Jesus was asked about the great commandment. “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with your soul and with all your mind,” he answered. If he’d left it there, he would have enjoyed universal agreement from those who’d posed the question.

The fact is that these words, left alone, describe a popular, even naïve, kind of devotion which permits people to indulge in bias, arrogance, and even murder in the name of God … if they “love” him enough. The words themselves provide a terrible license to say, “I love God, and since you don’t, you are nothing. And since you are nothing, I can speak of you, treat you, and scorn you in any way I choose.”

But the Lord went on in his response to the question. “The second is like (the first) … meaning there are really two (not one!) great commandments, and they are like con-joined twins: they cannot be separated. “Love your neighbor as yourself.” Everything, in the law and the prophets, he added, hangs on the connection of these two ideas, he said.

In that one paragraph, Jesus united all the teaching of Scripture, everything he came to do and say. Your love for God is evidenced and defined by your love for your neighbor. And we all know what Jesus meant by the word “neighbor.”

For me this was a fresh burst of insight and renovation of spirit. Devotion to God without devotion to my neighbor can indeed lead to hatred because it is a devotion made up of words and self-centeredness. Devotion to God without the qualifying force of the second commandment does in fact lead to calling fire down from heaven. It permits a rather sophisticated, self-righteous perspective that leads to slander, scorn, gossip, hateful talk, and various behaviors that can lead to forms of violence. And I find the roots of all of these things deep within me.

All this thinking because a Swiss inn-keeper couldn’t find me a room.

Oh, I found another hotel.

Gordon MacDonald is editor at large of Leadership and interim president of Denver Seminary.

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