The power of the internet combined with the ease of social media gives us the power to say something and within a nanosecond it is distributed across the world. That same power means that you can speak without thinking—and you can never get your words back. In an age of instant news and zero editorial oversight (everyone is a journalist), our words can cut deeper than any sword.

But it isn’t just “the internet” that diminishes and bullies and demeans others. Sometimes it is you. And me. And we do it without thinking. And it has consequences. We don’t just debate ideas. We crush the people who have views that don’t line up with ours.

We establish our position, we “hang out” with people like us, and then we attack those who disagree. It is “us” versus “them” – and we find energy in establishing our position and destroying the people on the other side. It is a cancel culture.

Us versus them sells. It creates headlines. There are entire news channels on TV and talk shows on the radio that make bazillions by pitting one group against the other.

• Republican vs Democrat

• Liberal vs conservative

• Pro-life vs pro-choice

• “Black Lives Matter” vs “All Lives Matter”

• Evangelical vs Mainline

• LGBT vs traditional family values

• Red state vs blue state

• Homeschool vs public school

• The top 1% vs the 99%

This is the story of our planet. All around the world, for all of history, the us’s have been killing the them’s. Nazi Germany. Al Qaeda. ISIS. The Crusades.

But it’s not just world wars or regional conflicts. It’s not just news headlines and talk shows. Sometimes it is your Facebook page. Or your twitter updates. Or your conversations with close friends. Or the thing you talk about in your church life group.

This is perhaps never more apparent than during the United States presidential election. Tomorrow is election day, and I’m watching the rhetoric among friends on social media get very personal:

No one who loves Jesus can possibly be voting for Donald Trump. 

A vote for Joe Biden is a vote for killing babies.

Brene Brown, in her book Braving the Wilderness, summed it up quite succinctly regarding the 2016 election. She wrote: 

“Here’s what I believe:

“1. If you are offended or hurt when you hear Hillary Clinton or Maxine Waters called bitch, whore, or the c-word, you should be equally offended and hurt when you hear those same words used to describe Ivanka Trump, Kellyanne Conway, or Theresa May.

“2. If you felt belittled when Hillary Clinton called Trump supporters “a basket of deplorables” then you should have felt equally concerned when Eric Trump said, “Democrats aren’t even human.”

“3. When the president of the United States calls women dogs, or talks about grabbing pussy, we should get chills down our spine and resistance flowing through our veins. When people call the president of the United States a pig, we should reject that language regardless of our politics and demand discourse that doesn’t make people subhuman.

“4. When we hear people referred to as animals or aliens, we should immediately wonder, “Is this an attempt to reduce someone’s humanity so we can get away with hurting them or denying them basic human rights?”

“5. If you’re offended by a meme of Trump Photoshopped to look like Hitler, then you shouldn’t have Obama Photoshopped to look like the Joker on your Facebook feed.

“There is a line. It’s etched from dignity. And raging, fearful people from the right and left are crossing it at unprecedented rates every single day. We must never tolerate dehumanization—the primary instrument of violence that has been used in every genocide recorded throughout history.”

— Brene Brown, Braving the Wilderness: The Quest for True Belonging and the Courage to Stand Alone, (Random House, 2017).

We have lost the ability to “agree to disagree.” We have stopped treating people with the dignity that every human being deserves. We don’t seem able to discuss or debate a weighty topic without attacking the person who takes the other position.  I recently heard a clip of a commentator debating deficit reduction say of the other side: “I wish they were all f***ing dead.”

That’s strong. But it is symbolic of our culture. It is also symbolic of how we sometimes think about others. We might choose different words, but sometimes we just wish they didn’t exist.

• They don’t think like I do.

• They don’t see the world like I do.

• They don’t treat people like I think they should.

• They don’t stand for what’s right like I do.

• They don’t care about the poor as much as I do.

• They lack compassion.

• They care nothing about national security.

Maybe you’ve never said it out loud, but sometimes you just wish they would go away.

Jesus used some harsh language at times. He occasionally got angry at people. But in every single case, his anger was toward those in his own camp—usually the religious leaders. His anger was because of how the “us’s” were mistreating the “thems.”.

So, how did Jesus treat the “thems”? How did he act toward those were not in his tribe?

Let’s consider Zaccheaus. He was an outcast. He was both extremely well-known and extremely disliked. He was the guy who took money away from the poor and gave it to those who had plenty. He took money from his own kind, the Jews, and gave it to the occupying Romans. And for that service, he was rewarded well. He charged extra to pad his own pockets, and as such was very wealthy. His wealth didn’t come from working hard—but because he had unjustly taken money from others.

Zaccheaus made his living by exploiting the helplessness of others. He cared only about himself. He was protected by the Romans, so the Jews couldn’t hurt him personally. They could only hurt him relationally and socially by ostracizing him.

None of us love paying taxes, but I don’t think we look down on IRS employees like people in Jesus day would look down on the tax collectors. Perhaps a better modern-day analogy is how most Americans view white supremacists. Most of us have little tolerance for people who treat others poorly because of the color of their skin or their ethnic heritage. Zaccheaus was similarly considered the scum of the earth.

So how does Jesus act toward Zaccheaus? Does he mistreat him? Does he publicly humiliate him? Does he treat him with disdain or disgust? Does he write an open letter to the editor condemning his actions? Does he go on a tirade on Twitter lifting Zaccheaus up as an example of what is wrong with the world?

He does none of that. In fact, he does something quite unexpected.

Then Jesus entered and walked through Jericho. There was a man there, his name Zacchaeus, the head tax man and quite rich. He wanted desperately to see Jesus, but the crowd was in his way—he was a short man and couldn’t see over the crowd. So he ran on ahead and climbed up in a sycamore tree so he could see Jesus when he came by.

When Jesus got to the tree, he looked up and said, “Zacchaeus, hurry down. Today is my day to be a guest in your home.” Zacchaeus scrambled out of the tree, hardly believing his good luck, delighted to take Jesus home with him. Everyone who saw the incident was indignant and grumped, “What business does he have getting cozy with this crook?” (Luke 19:1-7)

This was not Jesus’ best moment. This was not the way to build credibility with his followers.

He publicly and loudly agrees to go to the house of one of the most-hated men in the community. This is the guy that pretty much everyone thinks is the worst man on the planet. Not only does Zaccheaus take advantage of the poor—he does it for the enemy.

He could have easily built a stronger bond with his followers by condemning this man. His followers would have cheered him on if he had stopped to hurl accusations toward the greedy man in the tree. Instead, at great risk to his own reputation, his first move is to offer to spend time with him.

And isn’t it interesting—he doesn’t invite Zacchaeus over for coffee. He doesn’t expect Zacchaeus to take the first step and come into his world—instead, he makes the first move. He says, “Let me come into your world.”

This was so unexpected. It was counter-culture. It actually may have been one of Jesus’ best moments. It’s the type of move that no one expects, and so everyone notices.

It’s as though he was saying, “I know who you are. I know what you’ve done. I want to talk to you. I want to understand you.”

He moved into Zaccheaus’ world. And by doing so, he was saying, “Your baggage, the way you’ve mistreated others—it doesn’t make you a lost cause. In fact, it makes you the most likely candidate for my love and grace.”

And isn’t that what we all want to hear? 

It’s what we want to hear from Jesus. But also from the people around us. It is what others want to hear from us. It is by extending a hand, seeking to understand, treating the unlovely with love and favor—that is when we make inroads into someone else’s life.