it's cool to hate

I think I might have learned to hate when I was in high school.  Elementary school is not really a time where you run into a lot of social hierarchy.  There is some, but it is below the surface, and there are generally only a few kids here and there that are truly outcasts (God be with these individuals, wherever they are today).  In middle school, however, all the hierarchy comes to a head.  I didn’t feel it too much in 6^th grade, but in 7^th grade, it hit me like a punch in the gut.  Suddenly, there it was:  cool kids, uncool kids, cheerleaders, football players, skateboarders, preppies, freaks, poor white trash, gang bangers, untouchables.

But I didn’t hate anyone yet, and no one was really my enemy.  The reason for this is not because I was popular, in fact, far from it, but because I was unsure of my social standing at this point.  I still had dreams, as I think many do when first confronted with the social hierarchy, of climbing the ladder and being popular.  Looking back on this is laughable.  If you were to follow me around during my middle school years, you would know that every day was proof that I was not cool enough, witty enough, or smart enough to ever get very high on the ladder. 

By the time high school rolled around, I was jaded and bitter.  I knew my place, and I knew it wasn’t really going to change in the next four years.  It’s around this time that I really learned to hate.  I hated the whole system, and the people who enforced it.  I hated people who topped the social hierarchy, and did their best to keep others in their respective places.  I hated social climbers, willing to step on others in order get a higher place, I hated teachers who seemed to reinforce the hierarchy, and at times, appeared to down right enjoy it.  I hated school spirit, football games, and pep rallies.  Most of all, I hated seeing people get picked on, almost as much as I hated being picked on. 

Allow me to clarify for a moment.  Some of this anger was probably holy.  Some of the anger was simply anger about injustice, and dehumanization.  Such things should make us angry, and we should feel no need to hide that or apologize for it.  Instead, we should make every effort to confront those who would oppress, or exploit others, while comforting those who have fallen victim to predators and systems of injustice.  What was going on in my youth, however, was not all holy.  In fact, the majority of my anger led to sin, specifically self-destruction, and the destruction of others. 

Let’s fast forward.  I’m almost twenty-five years old now.  Jesus saved me from self-destruction almost eight years ago, and he continues to show me the difference between his hate of injustice, and sinning in anger.  But I still have my doubts that I have completely made my peace with high school.  I must confess that even my desire to work at a high school is in hopes of making it a safer, less miserable place for students who feel the weight of the system.  I still find myself thanking God that I don’t have to attend the pep rallies, and irritated at teachers who “loved high school so much they wanted to come back and teach at one.”  I still get angry at all the homophobic things that were said, and are still said.  I still feel my heart pushed towards hate from time to time.  But I hear God saying “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you.  I do not give as the world gives.  Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not be afraid.”