There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven… a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace. Ecclesiastes 3:1-8
If I had to choose the ugliest, nastiest word in the
English language I think I would probably opt for “hatred”. To me it conjures
up sheer spitefulness and viciousness: I can’t help seeing in my mind’s eye a twisted,
snarling face and hearing horrible words. Hatred is the polar opposite of love,
forgiveness, compassion, goodness, all that we associate with the God revealed
to us in Jesus. Ugh!
I remember, then, the sense of shock I felt when I first
read Ecclesiastes 3 and reached verse 8. Apparently there is “a time to love and a time to
hate”.
What are we to make of
such a verse?
We are often encouraged
to “accentuate the positive”, so let’s start by stating boldly that there is
such a thing as holy hatred. That may seem strange, but it’s obvious
when we stop and think about it: the Bible calls us to hate or “abhor” sin
(Romans12:9), as God himself does. In this respect we may even look at
ourselves and, if we are honest, feel that it would be good if we hated a bit more
rather than a bit less. (I doubt if the writer of Ecclesiastes had this meaning
in mind, but it seems a natural spin-off to me.)
The poet and
hymn-writer William Cowper (1731-1800), who experienced what today would be
called serious mental health problems (they probably called it “melancholy” in
his day) captured something of his misery and the inner hate it gave rise to,
in the beautiful hymn “O for a closer walk with God”: Return, O holy dove,
return,/ Sweet messenger of rest!/ I hate the sins that made thee mourn,/ And
drove thee from my breast. His self-hatred may have been over-acute because
of his depression; but haven’t we all, as serious Christians, known something
of that dark mood?
The word hate is never
used of Jesus, but his attack on the “teachers of the law and Pharisees, you
hypocrites” (Matthew 23:13-39) is
ferocious enough, I think, to be described as “holy hatred”, an utter
detestation of what the Pharisees stood for (though not, I am sure, of the
people themselves).
It’s also slightly
disconcerting, perhaps, that he used physical force in his act of “cleansing
the temple” (John 2:13-17, Matthew 21:12-13), though I think it was the sheer
force of his personality that had that powerful effect, and that the “whip of
cords” never actually hurt anyone.
Whatever, I can only
say that while I find it easy enough to dislike various things which
seem contrary to the things of God (“disapproval” would be the rather
self-righteous, pompous word), I know little of holy hatred.
Thinking along these
lines – of an angry Jesus - prompts
us to reflect on the place of anger in our attitudes.
God forbid that we
should ever give in to unjustified anger, to temper or loss of control. But is
there never a place for plain speaking, for honest rebuke, as long as it is
delivered with humility? As I look back on my life I can’t help but wonder how
much better a person I might have been if, at times when I had fallen out of step
with Jesus, some Christian friend had “taken me aside” (assuming, of course,
that I had been humble enough to take note!).
The New Testament tells
us we should “admonish” or “rebuke” one
another (Colossians 3:16) – though before we do so we had better be sure (a)
that we’re right in what we feel we must say, and (b) that we say it in the
right spirit! To fail to lovingly admonish a fellow-Christian is often, I
suspect, down to turning a blind eye to scripture through a cowardly failure of
true love.
We have come a long way
from Ecclesiastes 3!
But that is often the
way Proverbs and Ecclesiastes work – they don’t so much lay down doctrine as
set a hare running, to stimulate reflection and questioning which we can follow
through in the rest of the Bible. They read pretty much as a random collection
of observations, comments, personal experiences and opinions, often leaving us
scratching our heads. By delving into the New Testament (especially, say, by
looking at Jesus when he was angry) we are provoked into taking a look at
ourselves and wondering if we have missed something important.
What the writer of
Ecclesiastes offers us, not least in chapter 3 verses 1-8, is an extended
meditation on the ups and downs of life in this fallen, sinful world. “This is
just the way things are”, he seems to be saying – “so get used to it and work
out for yourselves how you should respond, especially as someone who believes
in a loving and holy God”.
We should not take his
ruminations as law. The second part of verse 8, for example, “a time for
war and a time for peace”, doesn’t end all discussion on the rights or wrongs
of pacifism: it’s just the way things are. Jesus, let’s remember, also taught
that as long as this world exists there will be “wars and rumours of war”,
without implying any approval of war.
Neither does verse 3,
“a time to kill and a time to heal”, close down all debate regarding assisted
suicide. It too is – well, just the way things are. Which is why on so many of
these questions equally committed Christians come to opposite views.
So where does this
leave us? There’s an old cliché that we should “hate the sin but love the
sinner”. That perhaps sounds rather glib; but I can’t find much fault with it,
can you? Isn’t that precisely the attitude that took Jesus to the cross? I
think that the writer of Ecclesiastes, if he had known what we know about Jesus,
would have gladly nodded his head.
O Lord, give me a
holy hatred of sin, and a heavenly love of all that is pure and Christlike! Help
me, too, to accept the ups and downs of this earthly life with faith and
perseverance, and to look to that day when all sin, pain and sorrow will be
wiped out for ever. Amen.
Through all the
changing scenes of life,/ In trouble and in joy,/ The praises of my God shall
still/ My heart and tongue employ.
Fear him, ye saints,
and you will then/ Have nothing else to fear;/ Make but his service your
delight;/ Your wants shall be his care.
Nahum Tate
(1652-1715) and Nicholas Brady (1659-1726)
