What are you seeing online these days? If your social media feed looks anything like mine, there seems to be no shortage of people arguing about Christianity, the Bible, theology, and who has supposedly gotten all of it wrong.

Which sins are worse than the others? Was Paul teaching a different gospel than Jesus? Is the Book of Enoch some secret, suppressed book of the Bible that somebody does not want you to read? Which version of Christianity is the correct one? Who is going to hell? When will Jesus return? Are Christians supposed to be pro-Israel or anti-Israel? Was part of the New Testament originally written in Hebrew? Which Bible translation should we be using? Which church has the right doctrine? And, of course, somewhere out there somebody is very confident that they have finally figured all of this out. And the list goes on.

A lot of it comes packaged as clickbait, because apparently “Here is an interesting question worth thinking about” does not generate nearly as many clicks as “CHRISTIANS HAVE BEEN LIED TO FOR 2,000 YEARS!” The more shocking the claim, the more likely we are to stop scrolling. The more certain the person sounds, the more tempted we may be to assume they know something we do not. Before long, we can find ourselves tumbling down one rabbit hole after another, chasing theological controversies like a weary traveler following road signs that promise the destination is always just over the next hill.

Now, I am not saying those questions are unimportant. I have asked quite a few of them myself. If you have read much of what I write, you already know I enjoy digging into strange manuscripts, theological disagreements, history, philosophy, science, biblical interpretation, and occasionally things that make other people wonder why anyone would spend an afternoon researching them. I like questions. Deep questions are often where the interesting stuff begins.

But there is an old expression that keeps coming to mind: majoring on the minors.

It means becoming so preoccupied with secondary matters that we lose sight of what is primary. We can become so consumed with determining whether someone else has every theological detail arranged correctly that we never stop to ask whether our own lives are actually becoming more Christlike. We may know exactly where we stand on Paul, Enoch, Israel, eschatology, denominations, manuscripts, and Bible translations, yet remain impatient, prideful, angry, unforgiving, unkind, or completely uninterested in the person standing right in front of us.

And that raises a much deeper question for me. What if some of the questions we spend the most time arguing about are not the questions that matter most?

The Real Secret Has Been There All Along

The real secret is right in front of you. It has been there all along, in every translation, from the very beginning of Christianity. It is not hidden in some suppressed manuscript, buried in an ancient monastery, encoded into the Hebrew letters of the New Testament, or waiting for someone on YouTube to finally uncover it.

The real issue is much more uncomfortable. Do you love God?

And I do not mean affection for God. I do not mean liking God when He answers your prayers the way you hoped He would. I do not mean feeling close to God when life is going well. I mean real ἀγάπη (agapē, self-giving love). The kind of love Paul describes in 1 Corinthians 13. Patient. Kind. Not envious. Not boastful. Not proud. Not self-seeking. The kind of love Jesus did not merely teach but demonstrated on the cross.

When Jesus was asked about the greatest commandment, He answered that we are to love God with all our heart, soul, and mind, and to love our neighbor as ourselves. He said that the Law and the Prophets hang on these commandments. In other words, if you want the executive summary, there it is. Of course, human beings being human beings, the next question becomes obvious: Who exactly counts as my neighbor? Jesus answered that question with the parable of the Good Samaritan.

We sometimes lose the force of that story because “Good Samaritan” has become such a familiar phrase. But the Samaritan was not simply some pleasant stranger who happened to be walking down the road. Jews and Samaritans had deep religious, ethnic, and historical tensions between them. You could probably substitute any group today that you instinctively distrust, dislike, or regard as being on the wrong side of things, and begin to recover some of the discomfort Jesus intended.

And notice something else. Jesus was not saying that theological differences did not matter. In His conversation with the Samaritan woman at the well, He plainly acknowledges that Jews and Samaritans disagreed about worship, and He does not pretend those differences were irrelevant. Yet in the parable, the Samaritan possesses something the religious figures walking down the road somehow fail to demonstrate.

Love for his neighbor. Perhaps even love for someone who might ordinarily have regarded him as an enemy.

That becomes even harder when we remember another command from Jesus: love your enemies. Again, ἀγάπη (agapē, self-giving love). Not “agree with your enemies.” Not “pretend they are right.” Not “have warm fuzzy feelings about them.” Love them. Seek their good. Refuse to dehumanize them. Pray for them. Treat them as people who still bear the image of God.

And if we slow down and really dwell in the Old Testament, this love is there too. Israel is repeatedly commanded to treat the foreigner with dignity, to provide justice for the vulnerable, to remember that they themselves had once been foreigners in Egypt. God continually provides a way for His people, corrects them, restores them, calls them back, and refuses to simply abandon them. “Passionately pursuing” might be one way to describe the story. God keeps pursuing His people.

Then Jesus brings that story into focus when He says that there is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. And then He does something remarkable. He leads by example. He lays down His own life. Willingly. Not begrudgingly. Not because someone forced Him to. Not while muttering about how undeserving everyone was. He willingly gives Himself.

So perhaps before we ask who has the correct eschatology, who has the right canon, who understands Paul correctly, who has the best translation, or which theological tribe has managed to get everything straight, there is another question worth sitting with for a while:

Am I actually becoming a person who loves like that?

I Am Not Picking Up Stones

Now, you may feel like I am tearing you down, like I have suddenly climbed into the pulpit for some hellfire and brimstone Jonathan Edwards sermon.

Not so fast. I confess freely that I have not mastered loving God and loving my neighbor either, let alone loving my enemy. I am not standing here picking up stones to cast at you. I can see the writing in the sand well enough to know that I have my own sins to deal with. That is part of what makes this so uncomfortable.

The central message sounds so simple: love God and love your neighbor. Jesus says the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commands. His life demonstrates it. His teaching continually returns to it. Yet somehow this simple command may be one of the hardest things human beings have ever been asked to do.

Paul seems to understand that frustration intimately. In Romans 7:15–20, he describes the strange conflict within himself:

“For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.”

Then again:

“For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing.”

I totally feel him.

There is something painfully human in those words. I know what I ought to do. Sometimes I genuinely want to do it. And then I discover that wanting the good and actually doing the good are not always the same thing. I regret that I cannot love like Christ loves. I suspect most of us, if we are being honest with ourselves, know exactly what Paul is talking about.

However precisely we define sin theologically, one of its most obvious effects is that we fail to express that true ἀγάπη (agapē, self-giving love) toward God and toward one another. Something in us continually bends inward. We protect ourselves. We justify ourselves. We calculate the cost. We decide who deserves our compassion and who does not. We draw circles around the people we are willing to love and then become remarkably creative in explaining why everyone outside the circle does not quite qualify.

So ask yourself another uncomfortable question: Do you truly love your neighbor?

Sure, most of us would probably help our neighbor in a genuine life-threatening emergency. We would call 911. We might run into the street to pull someone away from an accident. Some people would unquestionably risk their lives for another person.

But would we risk our reputation for them? Our comfort? Our money? Our social standing? Would we inconvenience ourselves repeatedly when nobody was watching? Would we still seek their good if they voted differently from us, worshiped differently from us, lived differently from us, insulted us, or belonged to a group we have learned to distrust?

We cannot even seem to be nice to one another online. That should probably tell us something. Humanity as a whole seems remarkably unable to love our neighbors consistently, much less our enemies. Certainly there are shining examples of people who seem to have come much closer than most of us. We can think of someone like Mother Teresa, or countless less famous people who have quietly spent their lives caring for the sick, the poor, the lonely, and the forgotten. They give us glimpses of what self-giving love can look like.

But even the people we hold up as examples remain human. That may be the point. The standard is not Mother Teresa. The standard is Christ. Mother Teresa freely admits she does not live up to the stand of Christ. And when I look at that standard, I am not interested in throwing stones. My hands are already full enough dealing with my own.

Maybe That Is the Secret

Maybe that is the secret. We can’t. But He can.

When I love God, when I remain open to Him, when I allow Christ’s love to flow through me rather than continually trying to manufacture it out of my own limited reserves, something begins to change. True ἀγάπη (agapē, self-giving love) ultimately has to come from a pure source, and that source is the Trinity itself. I am not generating divine love so much as learning to participate in it.

This is where my image of the Dance with God keeps coming back to me (see my other blog post on spiritual formation). When the dance is in step, when I stop fighting the movement and begin flowing with Him in something approaching harmony, I am slowly molded into the likeness of Christ. Not instantly. Not perfectly. Sometimes I step on toes. Sometimes I completely miss the rhythm.

I am not there yet. None of us are. Perhaps on the other side we will finally know what that perfect harmony feels like. But now is the time for practice.

So let us try a thought experiment.

Think of the person you hate the most. I mean really think about it. Maybe it is an ex-spouse. Donald Trump. Nancy Pelosi. A billionaire. A Palestinian. A Jew. A transgender person. A Christian. Someone who hurt you personally. Someone whose politics disgust you. Someone whose religion you despise. Someone whose behavior you consider evil. To each their own. You know who occupies that particular dark corner of your imagination.

Think about everything you believe they have done wrong. Think about all the ways they have hurt people, betrayed people, corrupted something you value, or represented everything you oppose.

Now imagine that I give you a choice. You can punish them. Personally. You get justice, at least whatever you think justice ought to look like. No appeals. No restraint. You may punish them however you want. Torture is on the table. You can inflict any intense physical or mental pain you want.

Be honest for a moment. Have you ever fantasized about something like that? Maybe not literally torturing someone, but watching them finally get what they deserve? Watching them humiliated? Defeated? Exposed? Ruined?

Come on, be honest.

There is a dark place in the soul where thoughts like that sometimes live. We generally do not like shining lights into those rooms. We would rather close the door, straighten the picture hanging beside it, and pretend there is nothing inside. But bring it into the light. Look at it. Let the hatred speak for a moment. Good. Give in. I can practically hear the Emperor cackling somewhere in the background. And that is precisely why we need to look.

Many of us will actively avoid examining these parts of ourselves because we prefer the image we have constructed of who we are. We would rather believe hatred belongs to other people. Extremists. Bad people. Those people over there. Too much for you? Perhaps this is adult food. If it upsets your stomach, I understand. But I am not sure spiritual maturity always comes from eating dessert.

Now let us change the thought experiment.

The person you were just imagining punishing is standing before you again. But this time you have another choice. You can die for them. You can take their place. Yes, you read that correctly. You can willingly give your life so that this person, the person you may despise most in the world, can live.

Yes, I did the old switch-a-roo. You noticed. A moment ago, I gave you the chance to punish the person you hate most. Now I am asking whether you would die for them instead. Could you do it? Can you honestly say yes?

That is a hard one for me. I would like to think I could, but when I really sit with the question, stripped of the heroic version of myself I would prefer to imagine, I am not so sure. I would like to think I am that kind of person. I would like to imagine that, when the moment came, something heroic would awaken inside me and I would step forward without hesitation. But if I am being honest, I do not know that I could. I suspect I could not.

Maybe even if part of me wanted to, another part would still whisper, Why them? Why should I die for them? They deserve what is coming. And yet this begins to show us what Christlike love actually means.

Christ did not merely love people who agreed with Him. He did not merely love the people who understood Him, followed Him, or treated Him kindly. Christian theology makes the far more uncomfortable claim that Christ gave Himself for sinners, for enemies, for people who rejected Him, mocked Him, betrayed Him, abandoned Him, and nailed Him to a cross.

That is an entirely different order of love. I am not writing this to bring you down. I am standing in the same place. I can admit that there are rooms inside my own soul I would rather keep locked. But we have to know where the garbage is before we can clean it out. We have to know where the skeletons are hidden before we can open the closets.

Teresa of Ávila imagined the spiritual life as an interior castle, filled with rooms through which the soul moves toward deeper communion with God. I like that image. But if we are going to let Christ wander through the castle, we probably should not be surprised when He starts opening doors we hoped He would ignore. Maybe spiritual formation is partly learning to hand Him the keys.

A Change of Perspective

If you have followed me this far, you may have realized something. The main point of Christianity is not all those issues people use as clickbait.

The next time you find yourself worried about one of these controversies, stop for a moment and ask a different question. Is figuring out whether the Book of Enoch should have been in the Bible going to make me more Christlike? Is determining whether Paul preached a different gospel from Jesus going to help me love God more deeply? Do I really need to settle once and for all whether Protestants, Catholics, or Orthodox Christians represent the “right” branch before I can love my neighbor? What about Israel? What about LGBTQ+ issues? What about prophecy, denominations, manuscripts, politics, worship styles, or whatever controversy the algorithm has decided we absolutely must resolve today?

Those questions may matter. Some matter considerably more than others. I am certainly not suggesting that theology, ethics, history, or truth do not matter. Anyone who reads this blog knows I enjoy wandering into those forests myself.

But maybe we should worry a little less about winning every argument and a little more about becoming like Christ. Love God. Love your neighbor. Love your enemy. And not merely with affection, tolerance, or politeness, but with ἀγάπη (agapē, self-giving love). Those are Christ’s words. And if we are not entirely sure what that kind of love looks like, Paul gives us a pretty good place to start: patient, kind, not envious, not boastful, not proud, not dishonoring others, not self-seeking, not easily angered, not keeping a ledger of wrongs.

That alone ought to keep us occupied for a while. I suspect that as we learn to walk in harmonious step with God, many of the other questions begin to find their proper place. Some will remain important. Some will become secondary or tertiary. And a few things we once thought were terribly important may turn out not to matter very much at all.

Do you see the change in perspective? If love becomes the focus, the hierarchy changes. Before worrying about all the extra stuff, focus on loving God with all your heart, soul, and mind. Focus on loving your neighbor as yourself. Then try the really difficult move Jesus gave us: love your enemy.

Once you perfect that, feel free to move on to the minors. I suspect we will all be practicing for quite some time. Keep the main thing the main thing.

And do not get discouraged. We have a most excellent Dance Partner, and for now we are still in practice mode. We will miss steps. We will stumble. We will occasionally move in completely the wrong direction. But the Dance Partner does not abandon us because we missed the rhythm. We listen again, find the beat, take His hand, and try another step. Perhaps one day we will be ready for the great ball. For now, practice.

And when you feel that old temptation to let the anger, contempt, or hatred flow through you, remember that there is another current available. Don’t let the hate flow through you. Let God’s love flow through you. “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” ἀγάπη (Agapē). Maybe the real secret was never hidden at all.

For Reflection

• Matthew 22:34–40 — Jesus summarizes the Law and the Prophets: love God and love your neighbor.
• Mark 12:28–34 — Parallel account of the greatest commandments.
• Luke 10:25–37 — The Good Samaritan and the question, “Who is my neighbor?”
• John 4:19–24 — Jesus and the Samaritan woman.
• Matthew 5:43–48 — Jesus commands His followers to love their enemies and pray for those who persecute them.
• Luke 6:27–36 — Another extended teaching on loving enemies and doing good to those who hate us.
• 1 Corinthians 13:1–13 — Paul’s great description of ἀγάπη (agapē, self-giving love), especially verses 4–7.
• 1 Corinthians 13:13 — “And the greatest of these is love.”
• John 15:9–13 — Abiding in Christ’s love and the claim that greater love has no one than laying down one’s life for another.
• Romans 5:6–10 — Christ dies not merely for friends but for sinners and enemies.
• Romans 7:15–20 — Paul’s struggle: doing what he does not want to do and failing to do the good he desires.
• John 8:1–11 — The woman accused of adultery, the stones, and Jesus writing on the ground.
• 1 John 4:7–12 — Love originates in God: “God is love,” and His love is demonstrated through Christ.
• 1 John 4:16–21 — Abiding in love, God abiding in us, and the inseparability of loving God and loving others.
• John 15:4–5 — “Abide in Me.”
• Galatians 2:20 — “It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me.”
• 2 Corinthians 3:18 — Being transformed increasingly into the image of Christ.
• Romans 8:29 — God’s purpose that believers be “conformed to the image of His Son.”
• Leviticus 19:33–34 — Treat the foreigner as the native-born and “love him as yourself.”
• Deuteronomy 10:17–19 — God loves the foreigner and commands Israel to love the foreigner as well.
• Exodus 22:21 — Do not mistreat or oppress the foreigner.
• Deuteronomy 24:17–22 — Justice and material provision for the foreigner, orphan, and widow.
• Zechariah 7:9–10 — Practice justice and mercy; do not oppress the widow, orphan, foreigner, or poor.
• John 13:34–35 — “Love one another. As I have loved you…” By this, Jesus says, people will recognize His disciples.
• 1 John 4:20 — Whoever claims to love God while hating a brother or sister is a liar.

Excerpt

Christianity can get buried beneath arguments about doctrine, politics, prophecy, and controversy. But Jesus kept the center remarkably clear: love God, love your neighbor, and even love your enemy. Maybe the real challenge is not solving every dispute, but becoming more like Christ.

Before We Argue About Everything Else