Hatred

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)