Love the "Unlovable"

The sun had already found it’s way to bed for the night, and the evening was so perfect it was almost unearthly. It was one of those nights of impeccable weather; one that you wished would just last. The temperature was so perfect you couldn’t feel it, yet there was a slight breeze softly kissing your face. Although the brightly glimmering stars were veiled by the array of city lights, you could catch the brave shimmer of one here and there. The darkness had settled lightly, bringing with it peace. It was freeing; not heavy or depressing. The air held a hint of excitement, like electricity and joy were mingling together freely. It was impossible to step a foot past the doorstep without sensing that activity. And it was all perfect…just perfect.

It was on this evening that three of my siblings, my dad, and myself chose to go for a stroll. We were headed back home when, upon gaining the top of a small hill, we saw someone walking towards us. From the silhouette framed against the streetlight I could see baggy jeans, a rappers hat, a large jacket flapping limply, and small wisps of smoke curling up from the glowing end of a cigarette. I stiffened slightly and grumpily wondered why this unpleasant sight had to meet my eyes near the end of my perfect walk. And I judged him.

As we drew nearer I inwardly grimaced at the smell of the cigarette smoke and I moved up closer to Dad and my brother. I didn’t want anything to do with this man but quietly and peacefully pass him. A part of me was scared too, and I was thankful that I was with men. But then, I saw his face. This man, this look-alike to a street bum, was not a “man” after all. He was a young teenager! I would guess only fifteen or sixteen, but definitely not old enough to be legally smoking. I thought,

“What in the world is he doing smoking?”

After a quick glance at his face I looked in front of me and walked on. We passed him with a polite “good evening” and I let out a sigh of relief. I warily looked over my shoulder at him walking slowly down the long sidewalk. My second thought came,

            “I bet he’s a mess.”

But as I turned around my conscience suddenly smote me with guilt. Questions flooded my mind, threatening to overflow my processing capacity.

“Who was he? What circumstances had brought him to this position? Was his family a wreck? Did he even have parents to love and guide him through his treacherous teen years? What horrible pull, peer pressure, or pain had brought him to the pitfall and relief of smoking? What was his story?”

            As I looked back again, this time pity at the forefront of my thoughts, I was slightly dismayed to see that he had turned around and was following us. For a brief moment the disgustingly selfish and sinful side of me didn’t want to meet him. The hypocrite and Pharisee inside didn’t want to talk with this “lowly” person…I didn’t want to get remotely close with something so “dirty”. And yet, the Holy Spirit inside was faithfully fighting the Devil’s slimy whispers. A hint of genuine sorrow pierced me. Then, a voice from behind shattered right through the thoughts that were hotly battling inside.

            “Are ya’ll church goin’ folks?”

            “What?!? HE just asked THAT?”

             We all stopped and turned around in surprise to await this mysterious person. He slowly walked up to us, and began a conversation with Dad. He was awkward, and seemed a little slower mentally. He asked if we were church folk, and if any of us were teens. Upon the confirmation that two of us were he invited us to join his church’s Sunday evening Bible study at a friend’s house! Dad carefully handled the conversation, and asked questions about his church and the Bible study. But then things got a little funny.

            The young man couldn’t remember what they were currently studying in the Bible, and said that he had short-term memory loss. He told us that last year he had been in a very bad skateboard wreck, and was in a coma for a little over two months. He told us that he had received level 4 brain damage, and the doctors had told him that he would end up paralyzed. Dad tried to give him his phone number, but nobody had a pen or pencil. The young man said he couldn’t put it into his phone because it was stone dead. Dad asked for his number, but he didn’t want to give it. He said his phone wasn’t very reliable anyway, since it had been damaged during the wreck. However, he offered several times to walk with us to McDonalds to get a pencil. Dad courteously closed out the conversation, telling him that we had a church but thanks for the invite. Then we moved on.

            My thoughts began rolling again.

            “Was he really going to church? Was the Holy Spirit working in him? Was his phone really conveniently stone dead and unreliable? Why couldn’t he tell us what they were studying? It seemed like he may have been on some kind of drug. Did he just want a meal from McDonalds? Was his story about the wreck true? That would at least explain the lack of memory and awkwardness.”

            As we continued down the street to our house we discussed him. What was true? I didn’t know. We didn’t know. We had no idea, and it will likely never be our place to know. However, my sweet sister pointed something out. At some point, somewhere along the way, a church or a Christian had made a positive impact on this young man’s life.

            As I lay in bed that night I thought everything over. My sis was right. He obviously had come across some Christian or group of Believers who had taken him in and had accepted him; despite his looks, his manner, and his habits. Someone had put aside their judgments and critical thoughts of him and loved him like Christ.

            “I should love him like Christ.”

            Yes, indeed I should. I am called to love like the Lord. 1 Peter 1:22 says,” Since you have in obedience to the truth purified your souls for a sincere love of the brethren, fervently love one another from the hear.” Unheeding and unmindful of his looks, his background, his lies, and his filth…and ever mindful that he is a human soul, oh so cherished and loved by the Lord. As Dell Tackett, the teacher of a course called The Truth Project, once said, “There is no mere mortal.” Think about that.

             “There  is  no  mere  mortal.”

            We are all equal, and all helplessly wallowing in sin and despair. And yet, not one of us is a mere mortal. We are all unconditionally loved by the Lord, and we as believers are called to love unconditionally too. We are called to love the “unlovable.”  

            I am called to love the “unlovable.”

              After all, we’re all “unlovable.” Yet we’re all loved.