A Glimpse into Hate

Dr. Nick’s Reflection Blog: A Glimpse into Hate

June 29, 2025

Today broke me a little.

At my part-time job, I encountered a man whose heart was filled with hate—and he made sure I felt every ounce of it. He didn’t just insult me. He degraded me. He used words I won’t repeat, slurs that have no place in civil society, and threats that left me shaken. The kind of encounter that feels less like a bad moment and more like an assault on your soul.

I’ve dealt with rude customers before. We all have. But this wasn’t just about impatience or entitlement. This was pure, pointed hatred. It came from a place so cold, so narrow, so void of human decency that I walked away asking myself, “What is happening to us?”

And then—because sometimes life pours salt into open wounds—I saw a post online about a man who died tragically in my hometown. A horrifying, inhumane death. Yes, he was undocumented. But he was also a son. Possibly a father. A neighbor. A person. And the comments? They weren’t mourning a life. They were celebrating a death. “That’s what he gets.” “One less illegal.” “He deserved it.”

It hit me like a punch to the chest. Since when did we start believing that someone’s immigration status dictates their worth as a human being? Since when did being born on the “wrong” side of a border mean your life doesn’t matter? Since when did death become entertainment as long as it doesn’t happen to us?

I sat with all of this for hours, and the only thing I could think to ask was: What would Jesus do?

Because the Jesus I was raised to know—the one who healed the outcast, touched the leper, forgave the thief, and dined with the despised—would not have laughed at that man’s death. He would not have condoned the hateful tirade I endured today. He wouldn’t turn his back on the hurting, the wandering, the brokenhearted. He would run to them.

And yet, so many people who claim to follow Him are spewing the kind of venom I heard today. Using His name while behaving in ways He would never condone. It’s heartbreaking. It’s exhausting. And frankly, it’s frightening.

The world feels heavier lately. Wars rage on. Innocent people are slaughtered. Hatred is emboldened and celebrated in the open. And even in the simple, everyday acts—like a door slammed in someone’s face or silence in the face of suffering—there’s a kind of coldness that didn’t used to be so normal.

I keep thinking about two hymns from my Catholic upbringing. They won’t leave my mind.

“Whatsoever you do to the least of my people, that you do unto me.”

and

“Make me a channel of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me bring your love.”

They’re not just songs to me—they’re prayers. They’re pleas. Because right now, I don’t want to carry the weight of this pain alone. I need something bigger than me to hold onto.

And I want to be clear: I’m not perfect. I have bad days. I mess up. But I try—every single day—to lead with love. To be kind even when it’s not returned. To speak gently, even when the world shouts. So when someone launches hate at me with such force, it doesn’t just sting—it leaves a mark.

Today, I felt the spirit of the enemy. Not just in the man’s words, but in the darkness behind them. And it reminded me: the devil doesn’t always show up in the obvious ways. Sometimes he slips into our anger. Our prejudice. Our coldness. Our silence.

But here’s the truth I’m holding onto tonight:

Hate didn’t win today. It tried. It made me cry. It made me question. It made me want to give up on people. But it didn’t win.

Because I still believe there’s more good than bad. I still believe kindness is worth choosing, even when it’s not returned. I still believe that every person matters—citizen or not, saint or sinner, clean record or not. Human is enough.

So tonight, I’m praying—for peace, for compassion, for a world that learns how to love again. And I’m praying for that man too. Not because he deserves it, but because I need to. Because if I don’t root myself in grace, I risk becoming what hurt me today.

And I won’t let that happen.

So if you’re reading this and feeling like I did today—shaken, hurt, confused—know this: You are not alone. You are not the only one who still believes in decency, compassion, and kindness. And even when it feels like love is losing, it’s not. It’s just quieter. But it’s still there.

And so are we.

—Dr. Nick