I Hate Fighting

“Because of his grace he declared us righteous and gave us confidence that we will inherit eternal life.” Titus 3:7

I hate fighting. I hate trying to prove that I am right. I hate arguing my way into being accepted. I cannot stand wrestling to be understood, even at the risk of being even more misunderstood. I hate the energy it takes trying to prove that I’m an okay guy. I hate fighting.

But I still do it. I fight nearly every day to portray myself as a good person. I measure my words, fight my instincts, and hope that everything I do leads you to the conclusion that I am worth your time. I become flush in the face when trying to explain something that I desperately want you to agree with. I hate being wrong, but even more, I long to be right. Not “right” in the sense that my opinion is true, and yours is not. I want to be “righteous”; I want people to think I am good.

So, I avoid confrontations. God forbid that I tell the truth to someone who has hurt me, they might not like me anymore. I make sure to say nice things to people. “Love the dress, is it new?” “Wow, your apples are twice as sweet as last year.” I put my books out where people can see them; at least the books that indicate I am serious about the world, God and, well; serious about serious things.

I fight to prove I am right-eous; even when it is painfully obvious I am not. I earned money the way many boys and teens did when I grew up; I had a paper route. I started when I was ten, delivering the Los Angeles Herald Examiner. I hated Sundays. I had to wake up at 5, and deliver papers the size of watermelons; many times making two trips back home because I couldn’t take them all on one run on my bike.

Then, in high school, after moving up north, I delivered the Contra Costa Times. Riding my bike, I had bags that hung down either side of the handle bars. On a good day I could stuff about 30 newspapers on each side; plus my pack of cigarettes. Oh, you didn’t know? Yes, I smoked when I was in high school.

My parents asked me several times whether I had ever smoked. With my Camels safely stuffed in my canvas newspaper bag beside the house, I answered, “No, of course not.” You can argue that I was trying to avoid punishment, but I think, more than that, I wanted to be right. I was willing to lie about smoking just so my parents wouldn’t think less of me for puffing my ill-gotten tobacco. (It’s hard to get cigarettes when you’re 16, neither parent smokes, and you can’t legally buy until you are 18). Yes, I hate fighting, but I do it anyway, hoping to appear right.

It even happens in political campaigns. I know; shocking! How many have had a scene like this play out? Our current president has been chased by ugly rumors like a pack of rabid dogs. In the effort to set for the truth, two things can happen. First, people assume you support the president. (No, just wanting to keep truth front and center). Second, others will be quick to say that he has done his own share of lying. Here’s where I am going with the observation. Our desire to be “right” supersedes our desire to empathize with someone we disagree with.

It is sort of an emotional logic that I think plays out like this: 1. I do not think person A is a good person. 2. People are saying evil things about person A. 3. If I agree, it will appear I agree with person A. So…4. I keep the lie afloat, or balance it by making sure to show person A also says evil things. We want to be right so badly, we fail to empathize with someone we disagree with.

Guess what. The fighting is over. Seriously, the bell has rung; no more rounds. It’s all done! Gentlemen and women, go to your corners, towel down, and take it easy. Because of God’s grace, He has declared us “right”! He has declared us good. He has declared us righteous.

The fight is over. Come now, to the middle of the ring. Anticipate the decision. Stand either side of the referee after the sweaty fight that nearly cost you everything and await the scoring. What is this? Both hands; both hands are held up? How can this be? There was clearly no tie here, someone must be the winner!

Yes, it used to be that way. We used to have to fight our way to the top. We used to have to wrestle unceasingly to prove our worth. But, in His grace, He declared us righteous, and…we will inherit eternal life. It doesn’t say “win”, it says “inherit”. Father God has put an end to every reason we fight for recognition. You ARE righteous, by His grace. Simply by believing that God declared you righteous based on Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross.

Stop fighting. You don’t have anything else to prove. The Father of all has gracefully accepted you, what else do you have to fight for? The Creator of the universe has deeded His goodness to all who believe. We are heirs of the King of kings. You are as high as you can ever go, there is no greater perspective than from the throne of the Most High.

You can let it all go now, lay down every argument now. You can stop the drive to win at any cost, you can let loose of every bit of twisted reasoning to try to prove how smart you are. It is all over. The drive to be recognized is finished. The Lord of lords has accepted and recognized you as His own.

Don’t wait until you die to inherit eternal life. Live it now. Lay down the impulses to show how right you are, instead, live in the confidence that God Himself has already declared that you are righteous. Be a truth-teller, no longer fearing what others think. Be a lover of people, especially those who are addicted to seeking recognition. They need it so much more. Who cares what people will think because of who you associate with? Your name is already up there right next to the Father of Creation.

And, Mom and Dad, I’m pretty sure you figured it out, but, in answer to your question. “Yes, I am sorry, but I did start smoking a little in eighth grade and continued until shortly after high school. Camels were my favorite. I hid it from you because I didn’t want you to think less of me. Sorry for lying to you. Oh yes, and I should have never worn flannel shirts, sweat in them, and smoked at the same time. Dead giveaway, right, Mom and Dad?