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Works of Love V: Love Makes a Feast

[From Part I Chapter II.C, "You Shall Love Your Neighbor"]

“You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. (Matthew 5: 43-5, ESV)

“Men think that it is impossible for a human being to love his enemies, for enemies are hardly able to endure the sight of one another.”[1]
I must say, this applies absolutely to me. I find it so hard to love the people I don’t like, or who don’t like me. It feels wrong, like it’s the opposite of what I’m supposed to do. And yet Christ orders us to love our enemies, and to pray for those who persecute us. But how? How do I get myself into the mindset of one who loves their enemy? Kierkegaard continues:

 “Well, then, shut your eyes—and your enemy looks just like your neighbor. Shut your eyes and remember the command that you shall love; then you are to love—your enemy? No. Then you love your neighbor, for you cannot see that he is your enemy. When you shut your eyes, you do not see the distinctions of earthly existence. And when you shut your eyes, your mind is not diverted and confused just when you are to listen to the words of command. And when your mind is not disturbed and confused by looking at the object of your love and the distinction of your object, then you become all ears for the words of the command, which speaks one thing and one thing only to you, that you ought to love your neighbor.”[2]
In a way, Kierkegaard is saying that it really is impossible to love your enemy, because when you love them they are not your enemy, but your neighbor. So often our love is tempered by what we see. We look at a person and judge how much love they are worthy of, and then act accordingly. Christ says that we are to love our neighbor, which includes everyone. And so, if we are prone to getting caught up in the particulars of who a person is and whether they deserve our love, we should simply close our eyes. That is, forget about who the person is. Ignore the specifics of what they have done and look at them simply as a creation of God, worthy of love.

But we should be careful not to think that Christian love is an abstract, impersonal thing. When we decide whether to love we must close our eyes to the particulars of the person. But love itself is never child and attached. To love a person we must see them. We must know them as an individual. Giving to "the needy" in the abstract is not love. Giving to this needy person is closer to love, because love cares about that person as an individual--not as an economic statistic. 

The best way to guard against this cold, detached charity is to seek the joy that ought to come from giving out of love. Cold charity sees generosity as a task, a sacrifice, a burden to bear nobly. Genuine love gives with a sense of joy. Kierkegaard explains this using these words from Christ:
“When you give a dinner or a banquet, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, lest they also invite you in return and you be repaid. But when you give a feast, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind.” (Luke 14:12-13, ESV)
Kierkegaard observes from this passage:
“[I]n the beginning a less festive expression, dinner or banquet is used. The word feast is first used when the discussion is about inviting the poor and crippled. Do you not think that this is what Christ meant, that this inviting of the poor and crippled is not only what we should do but that it is something far more festive than eating a dinner or supper with friends and relatives and rich neighbors; this out not to be called a banquet or a feast, because inviting the poor makes the feast…. He who feeds the poor but yet is not victorious over his own mind in such a way that he calls this feeding a feast sees in the poor and unimportant only the poor and unimportant. He who gives a feast sees in the poor and unimportant his neighbors—however ridiculous this may seem in the eyes of the world.”[3]
My favorite Christmas tradition is my family’s Christmas Eve dinner. We open presents on Christmas Eve, so everyone who’s in town comes together for Christmas Eve and Christmas dinner. Since my mom does a lot of the cooking for Christmas dinner, my Dad started volunteering to cook dinner on Christmas Eve. Of course, my Dad bought Papa Murphy’s pizza, and that has been our tradition ever since. Now, don’t get me wrong: I love my family’s cooking, and Christmas dinner is always great. And yet the dinner of take-n-bake pizza can be just as fun and special as the big dinner the next day, because it isn’t the food (as excellent as it is) that makes the meal: it’s the atmosphere of love between the members of the family which makes even pizza into a joyful feast.

This is what love does: it creates joy. And so, if we help the needy out of love, there should also be a joy. Of course there are often challenges in showing love for the needy—sacrifices of time, resources, etc.—but if love is really there, then we should find a joy arising from the labor because our neighbors are as worthy of our love as anyone, and we could no more see them as a burden than we could a member of our own family. 

When we choose whether to love, we must close our eyes, ignore the person we see, and choose to love the child of God. But once we have decided to love, we must open our eyes, see the person for who they are, and sure them genuine, joyful love. We must love them in a way that is personal, that is real, and never abstract and detached.

Dear Father,
Shield my eyes from the distractions of particularities. Make me oblivious to the things that distract me from loving. Make me forgetful of grudges, and blind to enemies. Give me clarity to see the neighbor in the ones I call my enemy and who call me theirs. May I see all as your children. But also deliver me from cold, detached charity masquerading as love. Never let me try to live in the abstract. Give me eyes that see, not the statistic, but the person--and a heart that lives the person joyfully.
In the name of Jesus Christ,
Amen.



[1] Søren Kierkegaard, Works of Love. Harper Perennial, 2009, p.  65. Emphasis in original.
[2] Ibid., 64-5
[3] Ibid, 91-2.
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