A Hate That Some Call Holy

Before I begin, I want to be clear — I’m not a pastor, and I didn’t grow up with formal religious training. I’m not here to be your spiritual authority, and I never want to be the reason someone gets lost in the wilderness. Like many, I did grow up in church. And I’m deeply grateful for parents who taught us what it meant to serve others, to seek justice, and to believe that each of us holds responsibility in the world around us.

My childhood was far from perfect, but one thing stayed constant: faith in God. That faith carries me and has carried me through some of the hardest chapters of my life — including incarceration and extended stays in psychiatric hospitals. Through it all, faith became the most sacred thing I held on to. It gave me peace in prison, and it revealed the sacredness of sisterhood.

What I’m sharing today isn’t about having all the answers. It’s simply what I’ve gathered — from scripture, from prayer, from watching how Jesus treated people. I’ve learned from the Bible and the Torah, from Father Malcolm Boyd’s raw and real “Jesus, Are You Running With Me?”, and even from bold feminist 70’s and 80’s voices like those in Off Our Backs.

And this is me — doing my best to follow Christ in a world that far too often confuses power with righteousness, and fear with faith.

There are two words that shape everything, love and hate. 

Two words that define our theology, shape our politics, and weigh heavily on our hearts.

Two words used in the name of God — sometimes rightly, often recklessly. We live in a time where everyone claims they’re standing for what’s right. Many say they’re defending God’s truth. Many say they are loving as God commands.

But what if the world has taken those words — love and hate — and twisted them through the lens of power, not Christ?

There is a kind of divine hate in Scripture — a hatred of injustice, of pride, of cruelty, of sin that devours the vulnerable. But it never leads to harm. It never excuses domination. It never glorifies violence. God’s hate always flows from a desire to restore — never to destroy.

Human hate, though, wears another face. It dresses itself in righteousness, but it excludes. It claims to protect, but it silences. It says it defends children — but forgets the child in poverty, the child at the border, the child under bombs.

And somehow, this hate gets baptized — and called faithful.

There is a kind of hate that calls itself holy. It wraps itself in moral certainty. It claims to know who belongs and who doesn’t. It declares what counts as sin — but always points the finger outward. It draws lines Jesus never drew.

Then there’s the quieter hate — the polished, procedural kind. It wears a suit. It waves a flag. It says it’s not hate at all — it’s tradition.

It says it loves God and country. But somehow, its God always looks like them. Its love has a hierarchy.

Its gospel builds walls, not tables.

This is where love becomes something else. This is where faith becomes nationalism. This is where Christianity gets twisted into White Christian Nationalism.

It’s not in the Bible. There is no command to build a kingdom of race or dominance. There is no verse that says a nation must be “Christian” by force.

There is no scripture that supports exclusion in God’s name.

Yet both sides claim to love. Both quote scripture. Both say they hate what is evil. So we’re left here — divided by definitions. One side offers walls. The other, a table.

Maybe the truth isn’t found in who speaks louder —but in who welcomes wider.

Jesus didn’t just preach love. He embodied love. 

He touched lepers. He dined with outcasts. He lifted women in a patriarchal world. He forgave his executioners. He died for enemies.

Christian love is uncomfortable. It breaks our categories.

It lifts the lowly, warns the powerful.

It invites — it never forces.

It doesn’t coerce, conquer, or colonize.

“There is no Jew or Gentile… slave or free… for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”

“Love your neighbor as yourself.”

“Perfect love casts out fear.”

We are caught between many voices claiming God.

Some carry crosses.

Some wave flags.

Some extend mercy.

Which one builds the kingdom of Christ?

The one that fears difference — or the one that embraces every nation, every tribe, every soul?

The one that draws borders — or the one that says, “Come to me, all who are weary…”?

This isn’t about choosing political sides.

This is about choosing truth. Not cultural truth. Not national truth. But Gospel truth.

We don’t get to say God is on our side.

We only get to ask: Are we on His?

And that answer won’t be found in a voting booth or a party platform — it will be found in our posture.

Do we wash feet?

Do we welcome strangers?

Do we love without expecting return?

That’s the Gospel. That’s the call.

Let us not confuse our flag with our faith. Let us not mistake power for righteousness. Let us not redefine hate as holiness.

Not just for us, but for all.

Scripture References (NIV):

Galatians 3:28 – “There is neither Jew nor Gentile, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”

Matthew 5:43-48 – “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you…”

Revelation 7:9 – “A great multitude… from every nation, tribe, people and language…”