The Hateful Heart’s Rotten Fruit

By Andrew R. Duckworth

In a divided time such as the time we live in, it is easy to point to the other and see the “problem.” This is nothing new. Division has a long, sad history that has torn apart family, dissolved friendships, sparked wars, etc. Such is the rotten fruit that comes from hatred.

In the town I grew up in, there was “us” and then there was “them.” I found myself among the thems, one of few Catholics in a nearly all Protestant town. In polite conversation, the topic never arose. But, finding polite conversation could often be a challenge. I remember one too many times being out to eat, and matters of faith would arise from other tables. It was hard to ignore. They made sure of it. In some ways, there was a pressure to keep quiet, not from family, but from those in town who were sure that Roman Catholics were practically demon-possessed. We would speak of such matters at home, not in public. In some ways, and perhaps it is a terrible comparison, it felt like Elizabethan England. Worship Catholic at home, but don’t bring it into public eye, and still attend required Anglican service. But the older I got, the more bold I became—not because I knew the truth and others did not, but because I was sick to death of feeling as though I must be quiet. For the Protestants in town, we didn’t just bear rotten fruit. We were the rotten fruit.

If it wasn’t the Catholic-Protestant divide, it would have surely been something else. We love to divide into tribes of some sort, find our similarities and note the stark differences. But division is present everywhere via hatred we don’t notice even we carry.

I remember the well-placed slights that some would remark in conversation. Did they actually hate me? Well, I’m not sure. It’s possible they just didn’t understand and were led by what they were told. “You worship bread, am I right?” Of course not. If the person asked it out of just ignorance, of course it wasn’t from a place a hatred. A genuine question warrants a genuine answer. But, if it was a premeditated question for the sole purpose of scoring points, one can only describe such action as rotten fruit. The point is not to gain in understanding, but to shutter understanding all together. And it doesn’t have to be a question. Often it is a comment of slight, a simple word that lets you know the person could not care for you if they were given all of Bill Gates’s fortune, a subtle shifting in language to make sure that you’re uncomfortable—rotten fruit.

No one is immune from harboring hatred. We are just as capable of becoming angry and hating in our hearts as the next. The difference should be discipline. Are we to give in to such feelings? Are we to grasp hold of the feelings and keep them around like a companion? Or, are we to understand what these feelings are and understand the harm that can flow from them?

I do not harbor hatred for those from the town I grew up in. I felt hated by them plenty, but I do not hate them. I often feel sorry for them. For such pride in faith and “being saved,” many of them seem to have completely missed the point of Christ’s ministry. I don’t often pray for them as I should—a fault of mine—but I do not hate them. Plenty of my friends are from that town, and I hope they don’t have stories similar to mine.