Love, Not Certainty

When a Christian reads in 1 Corinthians that "now we see through a glass, darkly," it takes place in the midst of an articulation of love. And what this means, practically, is this: certainty is not a Christian posture of living.

Christians cannot act as if they are certain about anything: not even about the existence of God, not about gender or sexuality, not about politics. Certainty is the sure enemy of the Christian in their attempts to live life on this side of heaven.

And so what are you left with? Love.

You don't know the answers. You don't. You think you do. You think your idea of sex and gender is immutably fixed in the heavens. It isn't. You think your ideas of economics were set in the stars by Adam Smith himself. They weren't. You may even think that God was put down in a book by Moses or Thomas Aquinas or Milton, but God wasn't, and God can't, be bound in leather and trapped in words.

You don't have certainty on this side of heaven. The only thing you have is love. You can't fully know any other human person, but to live as a loving person means you never stop trying. And that sure as hell means you don't tell anyone they can't go to the bathroom. It sure as hell means you don't deny them health care. It sure as hell means you fucking listen when they tell you what they're dealing with, instead of telling them that they don't exist.

You might can be a Christian and be an anti-trans bigot—after all, we're all sinners. Even a transphobe can change. You can, ironically, be a Christian while still lacking a Christian posture towards the world. But if you want to be a better Christian, you have to try to change that posture. And a Christian posture, at least according to 1 Corinthians, is one of loving humility. Because you don't see things clearly, and you never will in your life before the end of all, and the final hope.

Your only choice, in that circumstance, is to love, love, love.