When I was about four-years-old, I threw a hissy fit that was so big; it registered a 12 on the Temper Tantrum Richter scale. Although I can no longer remember what it was about, I vividly recall running into my closet screaming, throwing my toys everywhere and letting my mother know in no uncertain terms that it was all her fault. Whatever injustice had befallen me, she was behind it and in a grand crescendo to my tirade, I turned to her with tears in my eyes and let loose with the three meanest words in my young vocabulary. “I hate you!”
Now, if I had to guess, I am sure my mother wanted to take me over her knee and give me the spanking I probably deserved. Not only for my awful outburst, but the mess I’d made as well. Instead, she sat on the edge of my bed, waited until I finished and then gave me a small, sad smile. “But I still love you,” she said.
It was a simple statement, but in one fell swoop, the woman was able to diffuse my entire arsenal, end the conflict and reduce me to a sniveling, sobbing heap. My mother was a big believer in the idea that you could do more with love than you ever could with anger and whenever I told her about some kid at school who didn’t like me, she would always encourage me to “kill them with kindness.”
It was her version of “when they go low, we go high,” but it was advice that I often found very difficult to follow. Why would I want to circumnavigate conflict with congeniality? It seemed to me that the far more effective solution was to hold a long-term grudge and make a mental note of every slight so that when the opportunity presented itself, I could fight fire with fire while defending the moral high ground.
“But don’t you see, Julie? You are giving them what they want,” she told me. Some people thrive on the drama they can create. They feed on the negative energy you hurl at them. They absorb what they need and deflect the rest in yet another insult that winds up only hurting you.”
“So I’m just supposed to turn the other cheek?” I asked. “What if I get hit in that one too?”
Mom told me that loving my enemy was more than merely ignoring the argument or passively letting them win it. She believed that when you return love to someone who wronged you, you mitigate his or her power. You don’t gain the upper hand on them, but you begin to level the playing field. Maybe not right away, but in time when they tire of trying to goad a reaction from you. They move on and so do you without a lot of harsh words between you. You may not become bosom buddies, but you learn to co-exist for the time being without a lot of awkward feelings. Who knows, you may eventually be able to laugh about it.
Loving and praying for your enemy is a courageous act. It is easy to avoid foods we don’t like, people who don’t like us, and work we would rather not tackle. But where is the personal growth that comes from stepping outside one’s comfort zone? When we love and pray for our enemies (both real and perceived), we are not only being selfless, but we are showing compassion, gaining perspective and striving to bring them closer to God.
My mother was pretty smart. When you “kill” someone with kindness, it does not mean bringing about a grisly end to their scorn, but it deadens the pain it causes inside us and deflects that pain so that it not only avoids harming others, but also does not ricochet onto the person who tried to inflict it in the first place. It’s the super power we all possess and one we should use more often.
Today’s readings for Mass: DT 26; 16-19; PS119: 1-2, 4-5 7-8; MT 5:43-48
