Liars

I hate liars. 

I know I'm not supposed to say hate, but does that mean it's okay to feel it as long as I don't admit it? 

Don't get me wrong. I don't hate people who lie. 

I lie on a regular basis and try to be aware of it. On good days when I find myself oozing into untruth to either look better or sometimes worse than I am, I stop and correct myself. On normal days, I just stop and switch subjects to something like raisins. (Raisins are truly worthy of all venomous hate, especially when you think they are chocolate covered peanuts but then bite into raisins.) On bad days, I keep going in my grand illusion until someone who knows  and loves me tells me to cut out the bullshit. 

There is a difference between people who lie and liars who've encased themselves in so much untruth that there is nothing left to hold onto and love. Liars are impossible to love because there is nothing real revealed, no exposed cracks where one can grab hold. 

True affection in the midst of delusion is impossible. 

It's like saying one loves a Kinder Egg in its tidy packaging without ever having tasted the chocolate or played with the toy inside. (Not that I'm endorsing Kinder Eggs since the traditional version is illegal in the US according to a 1938 law banning a non-nutritive substance hidden inside food).

I'm afraid if I don't hate liars, then I will become apathetic and dismissive of those trapped in layers of protection trying to appease others with disguises and masks. I'm afraid that I will submit to the distance and miss out on a chance of true relationship and love. 

So I hate liars. The word hate comes out of the roots that mean "sorrow, grief, pain, and regard with extreme ill-will." I hate liars because it hurts so much to be kept at a distance, to feel like you can't be trusted to love their true selves. Sometimes I think only feelings as passionate as hate, pain, or grief can break through the casing and expose something real. 

And you know what is funny, as soon as something honest, whether it is the worst or best thing about the person, bubbles up love becomes possible.  Finally, whether it is ugly or beautiful, there is something tangible that can be held onto with the grip of love.

I hate because I want so desperately to love.

I read what I wrote and immediately want to backpedal on the word hate. I immediately want to soften it, but then I remind myself that nothing soft can break through a cage. Hate shakes us hopefully enough to crack something open that can be loved. Niceties do nothing more than add to the layers. 

Flannery O'Connor knew this amazingly well. It is Mary Grace, the ugly girl who throws a book at the petty main character and tells her "go back where you came from you old warthog from hell." It is Mary Grace's hate that cracks open the tidy facade so love may salve what is real.

Nadia Bolz-Weber said, "The things we say in church are true but seldom honest" this past week at the festival I attended. That keeps rolling around as I think of all the ways churches dodge and soften love into niceness that adds another layer in our protective coating.

Jesus rages at hypocrites because he knew the facade we put on keeps us at a distance from the love he pours out. 

I hate liars so I don't dismiss or avoid them, but so I can crack away at them (and me dammit, I know I'm not above times of Teflon) until we find what is real and wrap it in love.