Christian Almanac: Where Faith Meets Real Life
Episode 17 Transcript
Love Them Anyway
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It’s one thing to love people who love us back.
It’s another thing to love someone who avoids us, criticizes us, misjudges us, dismisses us—or maybe makes it very clear they don’t like us at all.
That’s where the command to love one another stops being sweetly sentimental and starts becoming deeply practical—and sometimes deeply challenging.
I’m not talking only about romantic love or the love between family members and friends. That love certainly has its issues, but for the most part, it’s easy to do.
I’m talking about how Jesus commanded us to love. He said it so simply and yet so powerfully.
“I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.” (John 13:34, NRSVUE)
Christian love is not limited to people who are easy to love. Jesus calls us to love others as he loves us, actively, unconditionally, and sacrificially, whether or not that love is returned. Maybe even especially if it’s not returned. Jesus said:
“If you love only those who love you, why should you get credit for that? Even sinners love those who love them! And if you do good only to those who do good to you, why should you get credit? Even sinners do that much!” (Luke 6:32-33, NLT)
Ouch!
These passages are not complicated. They’re not hard to understand. But in their own way, they’re as challenging as the dark passages we discussed last week.
The idea of loving others often shows up incorrectly in two opposite ways:
First, we reduce love to politeness. We think that if we’re courteous, civil, and non-confrontational, we have fulfilled Jesus’ command. Courtesy matters, but Christian love goes beyond basic good manners.
Being polite is good. Being considerate is good. Being kind is good. But Jesus said, “As I have loved you, so you must love one another.”
That raises the standard.
His love was active, not passive. He moved toward people in mercy. He noticed the overlooked, touched the untouchable, welcomed the outcast, and stopped for people others passed by.
His love was unconditional, not based on whether people deserved it. He loved people before they had their lives cleaned up, their theology straightened out, or their gratitude fully formed.
His love was sacrificial, not convenient or self-protective in every moment. He gave himself for people who misunderstood him, rejected him, abandoned him, and nailed him to a cross.
For us as Christians today, loving like Jesus might look like refusing to retaliate when someone has wronged us. It might look like praying for someone sincerely, even when we don’t like the person or they clearly don’t like us. It might look like speaking truth without cruelty, showing basic human dignity, or helping when there is a genuine need—even if the relationship is strained.
The other mistake we sometimes make is confusing love with approval. We think loving someone means we have to act as if their behavior is fine, or keep trying to get close to them, or remove boundaries that are there for a reason.
But that’s not what Christian love requires.
Loving someone who doesn’t like us—or who is rude, harsh, or difficult—doesn’t mean we chase their affection. It doesn’t mean we pretend the relationship is healthy. And it doesn’t mean we keep putting ourselves in a position to be mistreated.
It means choosing to reflect Christ in how we think, speak, respond, and act toward them.
It means understanding that love is not a feeling we wait for; it’s a Christ-shaped decision we practice.
And it can be hard to do.
The reality is that most of us can love people who love us.
We can be patient with people who appreciate us. We can be generous with people who are generous toward us. We can overlook irritation when the relationship is warm and mutual. We can say, “That’s just how they are, but we love them anyway.”
Jesus understood that, but he made it clear that loving only the people who love us back is normal human behavior, not the distinctive mark of Christian discipleship.
We can love someone without pretending they’re easy to love.
Some people are difficult. Some are harsh. Some are manipulative. Some may simply not like us, no matter what we do. This is life and relationships in the real world.
When someone doesn’t like us, the temptation is to mirror them—to become cold, sarcastic, dismissive, defensive, or secretly pleased when they struggle.
But Christlike love drives us to a different place. It prompts us to ask different questions:
How can I speak about this person without bitterness?
How can I respond without escalating the conflict?
Is there a practical good I can do without pretending the relationship is healthy?
Can I pray for them honestly—can I pray not that God would prove me right even though that’s what I want, but that He would work in both of us?
Christian love does not require denial. It does not require us to call wrong behavior right. It does not require us to keep putting ourselves in the path of repeated harm.
You can love someone and still have boundaries.
You can forgive someone and still be wise.
You can pray for someone and still limit their access to your life.
You can treat someone with dignity without trying to force a closeness that does not exist.
Remember that the goal is faithfulness to God, not necessarily a changed relationship. When we expect something in return for our love, it’s not really love. It’s a transaction.
Sometimes when we love as Christ commanded, the relationship will soften. A door will open.
Sometimes the other person changes, but sometimes they don’t. Either way is okay. It’s not about them.
Our call to love is not based on the other person, on whether they appreciate our love. It’s based on who we belong to and whose love we’re reflecting.
So pause for a moment and think about someone you find difficult to love. You’ve probably got at least a few in your world—I know I do. I don’t mean an enemy who is out to harm you. I mean someone who irritates you, who dismisses you, or who just makes it clear they don’t like you.
Now ask yourself:
What would it look like to love that person in a Christlike way?
Not dramatically. Not publicly. Not in a way that invites more conflict. In a Christlike way.
It could mean praying for them. It could mean refusing to speak poorly about them. It could mean responding to them with patience instead of sharpness, or setting a boundary without resentment. And it could even mean doing one quiet good thing and expecting nothing in return.
Loving someone who doesn’t even like you is not easy, and it may never feel natural. But it’s one of the places where our faith becomes visible—not because we’re pretending the relationship is simple, but because we’re allowing the love of Christ to shape us when our own love runs out.
When we come back, we’ll take that same idea of Christ-shaped love and look at it through a simple principle: first, do no harm. What would change if we applied that to our words, choices, and everyday relationships?
What would change if your faith shaped how you lead, decide, and treat people at work?
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Welcome back.
Let’s talk about a principle most of us have heard: “First, do no harm.”
We usually connect that phrase with doctors. It’s commonly associated with the Hippocratic Oath, although the exact phrase does not actually appear there. Still, the idea is clear: before you treat, fix, heal, intervene, or help, be careful that you don’t make things worse.
We expect that from doctors. We want them to think carefully, act responsibly, and consider how their decisions affect someone’s body, health, and life.
That’s a good standard for doctors.
But why only doctors?
What would happen if we applied “first, do no harm” to our conversations, relationships, leadership, parenting, churches, workplaces, emails, social media posts, and everyday decisions?
Before I speak, post, advise, react, correct, criticize, or step into someone else’s situation, what if I paused long enough to ask: Am I about to help—or am I about to do harm?
That sounds simple. But it’s not easy.
Most of us do not set out to hurt people. We don’t usually wake up thinking, “Let me see who I can damage today.” But we can do harm without intending to.
We can do harm with careless words, rushed judgments, sarcasm that cuts deeper than we meant it to, advice given before we understand the situation, or correction delivered publicly when it should have happened privately.
We can do harm by repeating something we had no business repeating.
We can do harm by sharing information online before we know if it’s true.
And yes, we can do harm while believing we are helping.
That’s one reason this principle matters.
“First, do no harm” does not mean we never act. It doesn’t mean we stay silent when truth needs to be spoken. It doesn’t mean we avoid hard conversations or pretend problems are not problems.
In fact, sometimes silence does harm. Avoidance can do harm. Refusing to protect someone vulnerable can do harm. Failing to set a needed boundary can do harm.
So this is not a call to passivity. It is a call to wisdom.
It’s a reminder to ask, “Will this help, or will this harm?” before we act.
And that lines up beautifully with Christian values.
In Ephesians, Paul writes, “Let everything you say be good and helpful, so that your words will be an encouragement to those who hear them.” (Ephesians 4:29, NLT)
That is a practical standard.
Not just: Did I say what I wanted to say?
Not just: Was I technically right?
Not just: Did I get it off my chest?
But: Was it useful for building up? Was it needed? Did it give grace to the person who heard it?
That doesn’t mean every word has to be soft or pleasant. Sometimes grace sounds like truth. Sometimes love requires clarity. Sometimes building up means correcting something that’s weakening the structure.
But motive and method matter.
There’s a difference between necessary pain and careless harm.
A doctor may have to give treatment that causes temporary discomfort because the goal is healing. In the same way, there are times when we have to say something hard, make a difficult decision, confront a problem, or set a boundary.
But even then, Christian love should shape how we do it.
Before I speak, I can ask: Am I saying this because it’s needed, or because I’m irritated?
Before I correct someone, I can ask: Am I trying to help them grow, or am I trying to prove I’m right?
Before I post something online, I can ask: Is this true? Is it necessary? Will it inform, or will it inflame?
Before I give advice, I can ask: Do I understand enough to be helpful?
These aren’t complicated questions. But they can slow us down—and that may be exactly what we need.
So much harm happens because we move too fast. We reply too fast. We assume too fast. We share too fast. We judge too fast. We correct too fast.
It’s not that we’re trying to be harmful. Sometimes we’re just not being careful.
And care is part of love.
Think about ordinary life.
A joke that embarrasses someone in front of others. A comment that makes a child feel foolish. A confidence that gets shared as “just a prayer request.” A social media post that makes us feel bold but leaves others wounded or misled. A harsh email that goes out because we wanted to respond while the frustration was fresh.
None of these may seem dramatic in the moment. But they can leave marks.
Again, this doesn’t mean we should be afraid to speak or act. That wouldn’t be healthy either.
There are times when doing no harm means stepping in, not stepping back.
But even then, we can ask God for wisdom in our timing, tone, motive, and method.
Romans 12:18 says, “If it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.” (Romans 12:18, NIV)
I appreciate the realism of that verse. “If it is possible.” Sometimes it’s not. “So far as it depends on you.” We cannot control how every person receives what we say or do.
But we ARE responsible for our part.
Here’s a practical filter we can use.
Before we speak, post, correct, advise, forward, decide, or respond, we can pause and ask:
Will this help?
Could this harm?
Is it true?
Is it necessary?
Is this the right time and tone?
Am I the right person to say it?
And maybe most important: What would love require here?
Maybe for you, the place to practice “first, do no harm” is in how you respond to irritating emails, how you talk about someone who frustrates you, what you share online, how quickly you give advice, or how you correct a child, an employee, a friend, or a spouse.
For most of us, this will take practice. We won’t get it right every time. We will still say things we wish we had not said. We will still act too quickly sometimes.
But we can grow.
We can become people who pause before we wound.
People who tell the truth without using it as a weapon.
People who help without taking over.
People who correct without humiliating.
People who set boundaries without cruelty.
“First, do no harm” is a difficult standard. But it’s worth trying.
Because Christian love is not only measured by the good we intend to do. It’s also reflected in the harm we’re careful not to cause.
I’ll be back in a moment with this week’s real life tip.
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Have you ever looked at a photo of yourself and thought, “That doesn’t look like me” or “I’m not photogenic”?
This week’s real life tip is about understanding why that happens. Sometimes the problem isn’t that we don’t like what we look like. It’s that we don’t recognize what we look like.
We can’t see our own faces directly. We can see other parts of our bodies, but to see our faces, we look in mirrors. But a mirror image is reversed. It’s familiar to us because it’s what we see every day, it’s that reflection we see every morning. A photograph shows us the way other people see us. And because our faces are not perfectly symmetrical, that can look a little “off” to us.
And that’s why we often don’t like the way we look in pictures. The photo simply doesn’t match the version of our face our brain expects to see.
So before you reject every photo of yourself, pause. Look at it again later. Ask whether it’s truly unflattering, because some photos are, or is it just unfamiliar.
And be kind to yourself. The people who love you are not studying your face for tiny imbalances or imperfections. They’re seeing YOU, the person they know and care about, not a collection of tiny details to be judged.
Thanks for being here. See you next week.



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