Those who persecute you

As most of you know, I’ve read my share of constituent letters in my time. I’ve taken hundreds of telephone calls and responded to thousands of emails. I still remember the first major legislative issue that inundated my inbox: the Terri Schiavo case in March 2005. During my tenure, I’ve read a good number of emails from self-proclaimed Christians. Some have been the source of encouragement. Others… not so much. Some statements made by brothers and sisters in Christ have been hateful, ugly. Their characterizations of various public figures or public policies, their shrill demands, seem to reveal that they place more stake in this world than the next. In many cases, they speak as if they fear the next congressional action that could-might-possibly restrict their freedom far more than God Himself.
I am not saying Christians should not stand up for our historically-recognized liberties. I wouldn’t be in the job I was if I didn’t believe that. I praise God for the advocacy organizations and individuals that keep people informed and engaged on the issues facing our nation, especially those fighting to protect the unborn. But I am also beginning to see that the manner in which we approach these issues is so very important – and that our manner is determined entirely by the overflow of our love for those created in God’s image.
But where does that love come from? From this obedience:

“Bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use you and persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven.”

Hmm. Church, how are we doing in our praying for those who spitefully use and persecute us? Yes, I know you sent an email to your congressman. But how often have you prayed for the eternal soul of the one reading that email?
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Here’s the picture that keeps coming to mind: a man who, some two thousand years ago, spent his life persecuting the church. Not persecuting as in cosponsoring a bill that changed the tax-exempt status of churches. Persecuting as in overseeing the cold-blooded execution of saints whose only crime was clinging to Christ. He was on his way to hunt more Christians when he was intercepted by Jesus. The convert was struck by blindness and was brought to the nearest town.
Meanwhile, the Lord appears to one of his followers, Ananias, and instructs him to go to this one, this murderer – specifically a murderer of Christians. Ananias replies the same way any of us would have.

“Lord, I have heard from many about this man, how much harm he has done to Your saints in Jerusalem. And here he has authority from the chief priests to bind all who call on Your name.”

I don’t think Ananias believed that God didn’t know this was the case. I get the sense that, between the lines, he is asking God whether now is his appointed time to die. If he was to go before this persecutor, like Stephen before, to serve as a witness to the Truth. But God responds in a manner that probably took Ananias’ breath away.

“Go, for he is a chosen vessel of Mine to bear My name before Gentiles, kings, and the children of Israel. For I will show him how many things he must suffer for My name’s sake.”

This man, who embodied two entities so opposed to the church – the Roman government and the Jewish authorities – a chosen vessel? How could such things be?
I can’t even think of a modern equivalent. What if God told you that Mahmoud Ahmadinejad became a Christian? That Vladimir Putin or Hu Jintao had become followers of the Way? What if a heavenly host told you to minister to the newly regenerated spirit of Harry Reid or Nancy Pelosi?
I wonder how many of us would have the courage to do what Ananias did:

Ananias went his way and entered the house; and laying his hands on him he said, “Brother Saul, the Lord Jesus, who appeared to you on the road as you came, has sent me that you may receive your sight and be filled with the Holy Spirit.”

Brother. I’m not sure I would have the strength to say that to someone who I knew was responsible for the death of anyone, much less people I knew. I do know my own heart well enough to recognize that I sometimes have a hard time thinking and speaking well of those on the other side of the aisle, and they’re not persecuting me – not really.
I have a feeling that more than a few members of the early Christian church prayed for Paul long before his conversion. And I’m absolutely positive it was difficult for them. But Christ’s command was also fresh on their minds: pray for those who spitefully use you and persecute you. And look what happened on account of those prayers.
I wonder what would happen if we prayed like that.