You have spoken a hard word, and you have sealed it with a final “So be it,” as if to shut the door on any other outcome. But take care, for this resignation sounds less like the patience of the saints and more like a settling of the soul into a bitter peace. When the Lord taught the multitude, He did not say, “Blessed are they who are hated, and who know it and accept it.” He said, “Blessed are the poor in spirit.” The poor in spirit is the one who is awestruck and trembles at the commandments of God, the one with a contrite and humble heart, utterly broken. This is the sacrifice God will not despise. Have you offered that? Or have you offered a heart already steeled against the world, counting up those who hate you and finding a strange comfort in the number?
You speak of the few, the elect, who will love you. But I ask you to consider which love you seek. For what seems honorable in the judgment of the many is often not so by the nature of the thing. The world gives its honor to the strong, the self-assured, and those who claim spiritual victory with a loud voice. But we give more abundant honor to the feeble and less honorable members of the body, not because the world esteems them, but because of their very need. If you have become a spectacle of hatred, it may be the pruning of the Husbandman, who purges every branch that bears fruit so that it may bring forth more. Persecutions are sent to make believers stronger, not to confirm them in a suspicion of the world. The branch does not say to the vine, “Behold how few find me sweet.” It simply abides, and bears fruit, and receives the knife again that it might bear more.
What you call hatred from the many may indeed be the world’s recoil from the truth. But what is death in a soul? Let us learn from the rich man who feasted while Lazarus lay at his gate. His soul was dead while his body lived, not because he was rich, but because he had no tremor of mercy, no awe at the command to love. His heart was stone. The letter of knowing you are elect can kill, if it does not breathe the Spirit that gives life. The Gospel takes hold of robbers and the dead in sin, and by baptism delivers them, making them alive from the dead. True life in the soul is not found in surveying how many hate you, but in the labor that cries out, “Nevertheless, in a contrite soul, and in a spirit of lowliness, may we be accepted.”
Do not be quick to claim the portion of the prophets as if it were already fully yours. Faith goes beyond human reasonings and lowliness, as when Israel passed through the Red Sea, hoping where reason could see no path. They both believed and they feared. You have spoken of the hate you will bear, but have you likewise prayed with fear and trembling that you might pass through the sea of this present trial without your soul becoming hard? For there is an acknowledging of truth that is not from reasonings but from faith, a truth that leads to godliness. If this truth is in you, it will not make you a herald of your own rejection. It will make you a supplicant for those who hate you, a broken heart offering prayers for the very ones who revile you, knowing that the providence of God for the salvation of outsiders was always His main object, even when a branch seems cut off.
Therefore, do not build your house upon the count of your enemies. Instead, go up into the mountain to pray. Seek the loneliness and retirement where the soul can be quiet before God. There, far from the noise of who loves and who hates, you will find that the Spirit gives life where the letter of your declaration would bring death. And do not say, “I will be hated, so be it,” but rather say, “Lord, in the storm, when the wind is contrary, bid me come to You upon the waters, and if I begin to sink, stretch out Your hand, and let not my heart grow hard in the midst of the trial.”