Part III

[it casts out fear]

Sometimes loving people means embracing conflict rather than running from it. As Donald Miller likes to say, “Every good story has conflict.”

Gary A. Haugen uses an illustration that I’d like to share here in his book Good News about Injustice:

“Courage is an odd gift because it’s one we rarely think we’ll want or need. It’s like trying to get my preschoolers to put on their coats when there is no hint of winter’s bitter cold inside our toasty home. Squirming and objecting, the doubt that it’s as cold as all that outside, and more to the point they’re not sure they even want to be going out.

Similarly, as a North American Christian I am not all that eager to accept the gift of courage that my God extends to me. I’m not sure I want to go to the places where I’ll need it—to the places where virtues become risky. Sometimes staying indoors feels risky enough.

But then Jesus gently lets me know that I’m not living with a domesticated God. His prodding sounds much like the appeal my wife and I give to our own children to get them out the door: ‘Mom and Dad are going outside. We’ll help you with your coats if you want to come with us.’ Likewise, I hear Jesus calling, ‘I’m going outside to a world that needs me. I’ll help you with the courage you’ll need if you want to be with me.’”

I am not courageous. I am the type who would rather avoid the need to develop courage by simply avoiding situations that would call for it. I don’t think God is going to allow me to stay indoors. I don’t think I want to, not if He isn’t there.

Some fears I face (and I imagine other people do to) of loving other people:

(a) I’m afraid of what they think of me (see part I).

(b) I’m afraid of our differences. It’s hard investing in some one knowing inevitably that you will misunderstand and be misunderstood. Loving people who are different than you (and everyone is, at least a little) means inevitable screw-ups and inevitable work to fix the screw ups.

(c) Getting too attached and getting hurt.

But C.S. Lewis makes a lovely quote for point C.

“There is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one,     not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket — safe, dark, motionless, airless — it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.”

And now we have to ask ourselves the question, are we going to have safe, passive love for the people around us? Or are we willing to take risks?