“I have a friend who practices creative hatred. That’s what she calls it.” So wrote Nickie McWhirter in a newspaper article (Hating the CreativeWay, K.C. Star, July 7, 1980). Her friend says that “creative hatred gives a person a kind of warm glow…. It is rewarding on many levels.”
She describes the situation of two women who lived in the same apartment building, one directly above the other. “The woman upstairs liked to party well into the night, accompanied by loud music, then sleep until noon the next day. The young woman downstairs liked to bed down early, rise at dawn and play classical music up near the threshold of pain, sometimes accompanying the music on her flute, which she played poorly. After several months of downstairs pounding on the ceiling for quiet at 10:00 p.m. and upstairs pounding on the floor for quiet at 9:00 a.m., the two could not abide the sight of one another. The flutist downstairs discovered the disco darling got little or no hot water in the upstairs shower if the downstairs shower was also running. Creatively, downstairs rushed to turn on her shower whenever she heard the upstairs shower begin. Upstairs was outraged. Something had to be done. After weeks of pondering revenge, upstairs hit upon the perfect plan. She planned a trip, a weekend out of town. Before locking up her place with the brand-new double locks she had installed – and somehow forgetting to leave the new keys with the building supervisor – she set her electric alarm clock for midnight and flipped the switch to the loudest buzzing position. She placed this raucous device on the floor, pulling up the carpet a bit, right onto the hardwood floor directly above the bedroom of the woman downstairs. The floor made a wonderful sounding board. That Friday night, as downstairs was sleeping soundly and blissfully, the buzzer exploded into its imitation of a sawmill. The noise continued for 36 hours, despite calling the supervisor who saw no reason to break down a door just to shut off an apparently malfunctioning alarm clock.”
Creative hatred is but one way to describe that old, old urge that courses through our veins. We call it revenge. When have been harmed in some way, revenge runs hot and we want to get back at the person. Oh, we may stick a thin veneer of politeness over our Christianity, but, as one woman counselor used to say at a Christian camp that I directed, “I don’t get mad. I get even.”
Certainly, if anyone was justified in plotting revenge, it was David. His conduct was blameless, yet the king of Israel hunted him to murder him. David had done nothing wrong. In fact, from his youth, he showed a zeal for God. He stepped up to face the giant Goliath. He accepted the king’s appointment as an army officer. He put his life on the line repeatedly in fighting the king’s battles. Furthermore, the king’s son and he were best friends. He married the king’s daughter, with the king’s approval. While David was secretly anointed by the prophet Samuel to be the next king, David did not seek it. He did not boast about it. Yet, King Saul tried repeatedly to kill him. David had an open and shut case for revenge against the king. And, when the opportunity to exact his pound of flesh in revenge is handed to David on a silver platter, what does he do? His response instructs us in how we handle our desire for revenge.
The current scene in David’s life begins with the king receiving new information about David’s whereabouts. He marches down with 3,000 picked troops to find and destroy David. He gets close to David’s hideout the very first evening, because David can see them setting up camp. Darkness falls and the king’s soldiers sleep out in the open; arranged in an outer circle, then a smaller circle, and another, until, at the very center, the king and his army commander, Abner. It quickly becomes a story filled with suspense as David and his nephew, Abishai, decide to sneak into the king’s camp. How can they possibly thread their way through the sentries and 3,000 soldiers and not get caught? Yet, into the camp they stealthily pick their way. They are like Indians, watching where each step will fall, careful lest they make any rustling sound. Incredibly, the sentries do not detect them. They step around and over sleeping, snoring bodies. No one awakes. Farther in, they quietly creep until they arrive right at the sleeping form of the king, with Abner next to him, and next to him his spear. Abishai stands over the king. You can see the white of his teeth. He leans over to David’s ear and whispers, “God has delivered your enemy into your hands. Now let me pin him to the ground with one thrust of my spear….” (26:8)
Consider the situation from David’s point of view. He has this urge to go into King Saul’s camp. A person could interpret that as God urging him to do so. The two make it into camp without being detected. That, too, could be interpreted as a sign that God wanted them to do this. In fact, just a bit later, it actually says that God caused a deep sleep to overcome the soldiers. It would be easy to interpret what happened as a sign that God was putting together the circumstances. They arrive at the sleeping body of the king and, less than a foot from his head, the king’s own spear is stuck in the ground. They wouldn’t even have to learn over to pick it up. Isn’t that proof that God wanted them to kill him? If anything screams, “Kill the king,” surely the spear stuck right there for them to use is proof. And, David probably recognizes the spear as the same one Saul threw at him at his banquet. What poetic justice to kill Saul with the same spear! All the anger, all the hurt Saul has caused David gathers into that one spear. How easy it would be to take up the spear and act on his revenge.
In Judith Viorst’s children’s book, I’ll Fix Anthony, the younger brother writes,
“My brother Anthony can read books now, but he won’t read any books to me. He plays checkers with Bruce from his school. But when I want to play he says, ‘Go away or I’ll clobber you.’ I let him wear my Snoopy sweatshirt, but he never lets me borrow his (play) sword…. When I’m six, I’ll fix Anthony.”
David places his hand on the spear and pulls it out of the ground. He and Abishai leave.
Revenge is not part of our playbook. We keep our hands off the spear of paybacks. It’s not in our job description. It seems there is something particularly demeaning in a Christian seeking to get back at a person who has harmed him. Maybe because there is a general understanding that Christians offer forgiveness, and revenge is the opposite of forgiveness. Taking vengeance is a hypocritical act.
In fact, when we plot revenge, we are breaking the eighth commandment: Thou shall not steal.” For God declares, “Vengeance is mine. I shall repay.” (Deut. 32:35) The right of exacting justice for a wrong done is not ours to take. It belongs to God. God is the One who judges. God is the one who decides how justice will be carried out. We cross the boundary into God’s territory when we plot revenge, whether we carry it out or just think it. David shows us that our responsibility is to remain innocent. Listen to David’s witness. He tells Abishai, “The Lord himself will strike him; either his time will come and he will die or he will go into battle and perish. But the Lord forbid that I should lay a hand on the Lord’s anointed.” (26:11)
Let’s put it in different terms. Presbyterian Christians place special emphasis upon the Sovereignty of God. We pay attention to the Scriptures and we see over and again that God is not only mighty God; God is Almighty. The universe is in his hands and under his control. All things dance in time to his rhythm. Even evil done is forced to dance to God’s tune. This awareness of the all-mightiness of God’s power and the all-knowingness of God’s mind and the always presence of God leads us to understand that God creates, controls, elects, knows, accomplishes, and sends his only Son for us all. But, when it comes to revenge, we somehow forget God’s Sovereignty. We decide we must take matters into our own hands. Since we have been harmed, and our emotions run hot; therefore, we must exact an equal amount of hurt on the other person, and add a bit of interest. But God says, “vengeance is mine. I shall repay.”
While revenge is not part of our job description, seeking to remove the hurt or putting ourselves out of the way of further hurt is very much a choice of Christ followers. Notice that David doesn’t stay in camp. He climbs another hill and puts a safe distance between himself and Saul and then awakens Saul to plead his case for innocence and for the king’s compassion. Just because we have been struck by someone doesn’t mean we stand up again and request they hit us again. What David’s life does show us is that the urge to get back is not worthy of our new standing in Christ.
In fact, revenge is a burden that we carry until we decide to put id down. It is a burden that can be broken when we heed Jesus’ words, “Judge not, that you be not judged.” (Matthew 7:1) When we think about vengeful thoughts and allow our emotions to continue unchecked, we pass judgment upon those who have harmed us. The difficulty in judging others is that we fall under the same judgment. Has someone been unkind to us? Haven’t we been unkind to another? Has someone spoken critically about us? Haven’t we spoken critically about another? Has someone lied about us to our harm? Haven’t we lied about another? We stop our thoughts of revenge – we rechannel our hot emotions – when we consider that we are as guilty as anyone else. We, too, come under the judgment of God. We, too, are desperately in need of the mercy of God. We quench our thirst for revenge, not by plotting and carrying out our plans, but by drinking from the mercy and grace that is ours when we confess our feelings and thoughts to Jesus and receive his forgiveness and his grace for ourselves, too. We overcome revenge by receiving Christ’s forgiveness for us and offer it to those who have harmed us.
Charles Wesley authored two of our hymns this morning. His brother had a meeting with a General Oglethorpe: “Said General Oglethorpe to Wesley, ‘I never forgive.’ Said Wesley to Oglethorpe, ‘Then I hope, sir, you never sin.’” (Discipleship Journal, issue 46) God’s mercy and grace is large enough to cover those who harm us. God’s mercy and grace is large enough to cover even us.