Accept It, You're a Hate-Filled Christian

Being an evangelical Christian, of course, I grew up with vicious hatreds implanted deep within my heart.  Hatred (I refuse to use “hate” when the proper word is “hatred”) for women who obtain abortions.  Hatred for gays.  Hatred for criminals and illegal aliens.  Hatred for people of other faiths.  Hatred, basically, for anyone unlike myself and my cru.

I am a Christian, therefore I must be a hater.  I eat hatred for breakfast — and yes, it takes like hate.  So, at least, I’m told.

For a long time, I resisted this argument.  I spent time with people who had abortions, and with friends who were openly gay, and with people whose faiths were diametrically opposed to my own — but I never felt hatred toward any of them.  Love, yes.  Compassion, to be sure.  Concern, sometimes.  But not hatred.  Someone must have spiked my haterade, because I couldn’t seem to find within myself all these hatreds that, I was told, seethed and festered deep within me.