Dec. 9: How to live civilly in an uncivilized world

  Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. ¹⁰ Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves. ¹¹ Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. ¹² Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. ¹³ Share with the Lord’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality.

¹⁴ Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse. ¹⁵ Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn. ¹⁶ Live in harmony with one another. Do not be proud, but be willing to associate with people of low position.^[c] Do not be conceited.

¹⁷ Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everyone. ¹⁸ If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. ¹⁹ Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: “It is mine to avenge; I will repay,”^[d] says the Lord. ²⁰ On the contrary:

“If your enemy is hungry, feed him;
    if he is thirsty, give him something to drink.
In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head.”^[e]

²¹ Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.

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Right. Everything I wrote above is a direct quote from the 12th chapter of Paul's epistle to the Romans. In this context, verse 18 is the important one. "If possible, live at peace with everyone." I'm of the opinion that it's always possible. Problem is that much of the time, our own pride gets in the way.

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For more than half my life now, my parents have lived in a corner bungalow in Braeside, a middle class suburb in southwest Calgary. I had the privilege of living there from 1993 until 1998, when I finally left home for good. During my tenure there, we had a next door neighbour who was - to put it nicely - a real piece of work. He was friendly when we first moved in but somehow, he got it into his head that our entire family was out to get him. He became a real jerk and would routinely leave long foulmouthed tirades on my dad's answering machine about any slight, both real and (mostly) perceived.

I tried being friendly to him a few times. Always got the same result: middle finger salute and an invitation to perform an impossible sexual act on myself. I went over there on Christmas once, thinking that, on that day, he might be filled with good tidings of comfort and joy. He wasn't. He yelled at me some more and threw a dinner tray at me.

Once he called the police on us, thinking we were trying to burn his house down. His evidence: My brother, who had been mowing the lawn, had left a gas can on the fence. 

Another time, he yelled and swore at my brother while he was walking home from school. Yet another time, he called the police on us again because someone had parked their car about a quarter inch into his precious disabled parking spot. Truly, the guy never missed an opportunity to be a jerk.

Full disclosure: He was in a wheelchair. At one point he had been a successful businessman and then an industrial accident took away pretty much everything he had. I think he might have been married and that his wife had left him after he wound up in the wheelchair. He lived with his mother. When the mom died, he got a mail order bride from overseas. He is dead now. The mail order bride, to the best of my knowledge, still lives in that house.

It was hard living at peace with the guy next door. What made it easier was that we were able to pity him. I think we all knew that the accident had messed up his brain a bit. I don't think he was completely evil but I do think life had dealt him a series of blows that he never recovered from.

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But I am a bad man. That's because I never tired of hearing stories about the crazy man next door. After I left home, I used to ask my dad if he'd had run-ins with the guy next door and dad would usually tell me he had not. Soon I understood that my father was irritated by those questions so I stopped asking them.

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Someone once told me that by the time you're 30, there will be at least two people who think you're an angel and at least two who think you're the devil incarnate. I don't know anyone who thinks I'm an angel.   

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I knew about Romans 12 when I was in Grade 7. That's because there was a bully in my class who was always trying to pick a fight with me. What would happen is he would insult me or shove me or sabotage my schoolwork and if I said or did anything about it, he would tell me to meet him behind the Petro Canada at 3:30. That was the designated fighting spot at St. Stephen's.

But I always chickened out. I always found an excuse not to go. He would call me on it the next day and I would quote Romans 12 to him. This didn't do much. He would just pick on me anew.

One day, I got tired of the constant bullying. I resolved that if I got shoved again, I would shove right back and if he challenged me to a fight, I'd accept. I remember psyching myself up on the walk to school that day. I decided that I would fight dirty if I had to. I told myself to take all that pent up rage and take it out on him. I would make him think he was in for an easy fight and then I would take him down and pound him over and over again until I broke his nose.

And then the bully walked into the classroom with a broken arm. Later, in gym class, I offered an opinion as to how he broke the arm. My theory involved a certain vigorous late night activity that the bully might have been engaging in with the help of a Playgirl magazine. Some of the guys laughed. The bully didn't. I thought I'd feel good about putting him in his place but I didn't. Quite the opposite.

The bully recovered from his broken arm and then, two days later, he broke it again. Everyone started calling him stupid and he wasn't much of a bully after that.

Google tells me that he is a middle school teacher somewhere in southern Alberta. And you know what? I'm happy to hear that. I think if he lived next door to me, we might live in peace.

Even if there is Petro Canada right up the street.