How to Love a Particular Kind of Enemy

Today’s reflection is by Bondings 2.0 contributor Michael Sennett.

Today’s liturgical readings for the Seventh Sunday of Ordinary Time can be found here.

I’m sitting in an empty room wrapped in a heavy blanket of darkness. The faintest outline of a display and the soft velour seat give away that I’m in a movie theater. The screen is bare, no images yet projected onto it. Down the aisle a door squeaks open. Footsteps. Someone slides in next to me, passing over the hundreds of vacant seats. Neither of us make eye contact, but I know who’s sitting with me: Jesus. Without warning, the whirring of the projector cuts into the silence. Jesus pats my arm and whispers “and now for the feature presentation.” Scenes from my life flood the screen. Memories of joy and sorrow. Moments of hope and despair. Am I dying, I wonder to myself? “You’re very much alive, in more ways than you know” Jesus responds, sensing my anxiety. Laughter, gloom, hate, and love. People who have hurt me. People I have hurt. Picture after picture I’m recalling the times I’ve failed to love others. “I’m sorry,” I tremble to Jesus. “I should be kinder.” Jesus chuckles. “Everyone has their moments.” Suddenly the film freezes. I’m looking at a younger version of myself. 14-year-old Michael. The age I realized I’m transgender. My hair isn’t cut short yet. A goofy smile is trying to cover up the sadness in my eyes. “I remember them,” I say with an urge to turn away. Self-hatred isn’t exactly a blockbuster. Jesus waits. “When I was that person, I hated them,” I say. “Now I love them with my whole heart.” A new slide moves onto the screen. “Do you love them?”, Jesus quietly asks. I focus on the image, me blowing out candles on a cake, taken on my 29th birthday this past October. I hesitate. I ache to say yes, but I know the truth. Jesus knows the truth. “Not as fully as they deserve. Not always with the kindness or tenderness I extend to family and friends.” Jesus squeezes my hand. Before I can blink, Jesus is gone. My prayer ends far too soon. 

I have to admit it: sharing personal prayer outside of my private journal is scary. My heart and soul feel exposed—the price we pay for solidarity. Vulnerability is an essential building block to fostering and maintaining community. Through my prayer, I gained clarity on the grace of self-love and its value to community life.

In today’s gospel reading, Jesus does not mince words: we are to love one another. That’s easy enough, right? He teaches us, however, that love not only includes but extends especially to our enemies. Ah, the catch. Doing good unto our foes isn’t always comfortable or pleasant, and that’s ok. Part of our responsibility as disciples is to follow in Christ’s footsteps in spite of tough circumstances. 

The challenge of loving an enemy, however, weighs more heavily on the body, mind, and soul when they are the one staring back at us in the mirror.

Depression, anxiety, and self-loathing grip many in the LGBTQ+ community, and LGBTQ+ Catholics are no exception. I’m no exception. I’ve navigated the highs and lows of mental health throughout my childhood, teenage years, and now into adulthood. Queer people are at greater risk for poor mental health than our cisgender and heterosexual peers. Mental health problems are not inherent to our identities. They are the result of  prejudice, oppression, rejection, and fear  LGBTQ+ people are burdened with. Multiple scientific studies have confirmed the harm that these experiences cause to the mental health outcomes of queer people. 

It’s not that I actively consider myself my own enemy. I truly don’t. The self-loathing that once riddled my mind evaporated years ago. Subconsciously though, I’ve retained messages of transphobia throughout the years. As an adult, I can recognize that none of those messages were true. Yet, those younger versions of me still exist, wounded by the harshness. During anxiety attacks, when I’m not thinking logically, these thoughts can resurface, and drag me into sorrow. 

The current, constant attacks against the trans community have also resurfaced these thoughts, especially given the frequency. Every. Single. Day. How am I supposed to feel a sense of self-worth when there’s an influx of hatred at my fingertips every morning, afternoon, and night? Tuning out is not an option. I refuse to be ignorant to the dangers facing my community and the communities of my neighbors. 

Community. Community is what I’ve found to be the answer. 

Earlier this month, I had a panic attack. It was late at night, and it felt like firework had exploded in my lungs, burning up all the air I needed to breathe. I reached out to a friend, who’s a priest, and asked if there was even the slightest possibility that God could hate trans people. I felt silly asking the question—I know God loves everyone. But what if I was wrong? The priest  didn’t make me feel silly: he responded with reassurance that God is love. Deep down I knew what his response would be. I think what I was really searching for in that moment wasn’t confirmation of God’s love, but for someone to be with me in my fear. Years ago, I would have kept my worries to myself, afraid of being a burden. But I’m not a burden, so I reached out and he showed up for me. Because I’m worth it. 

So many people have showed up for me recently. Friends, family, and even acquaintances have called or texted, unprompted, to remind me that they care. I’m especially appreciative of the lesbian, trans, and gay elders who have reached out. I admire so deeply their lifetime of perseverance through Stonewall and the AIDS crisis. Now here they are once again, loving their community through crisis, and helping their LGBTQ+ siblings to love themselves.

The work of self-love isn’t easy. It requires unlearning the lies we’ve been told about who we are and leaning into the truth that God delights in us exactly as we are. This truth isn’t reserved for moments when we feel strong, confident, or faithful. More importantly, it’s true in our weakness, our doubt, and even in our self-loathing. God’s love never falters, and She calls us to love in the same way, starting with ourselves.

—Michael Sennett (he/him), February 23, 2025