There is a habit as old as humanity itself: when we are afraid, we look for someone to blame. And we rarely blame an individual. We blame a category. Whole peoples, whole faiths, whole ways of life get stamped with a single word — dangerous, dirty, less than human. History keeps repeating the pattern. The label changes; the mechanism stays the same. And each time, we are convinced that this time the label fits.

But let’s say it plainly, because it needs to be said plainly: Jewish people are not evil. Palestines are not evil. Muslims are not evil. Gay people are not evil. Migrants are not evil. No ethnicity, no religion, no sexuality, no passport makes a person evil. Whenever a whole group is declared to be the problem, we can be almost certain that we have stopped looking at people and started looking at a caricature.

Where Evil Takes Root

Here is the uncomfortable truth Jesus keeps pulling us back to: evil is not a tribe we can point at from a safe distance. Evil is not “them.” Evil is a reality that runs through every human heart — mine included.

Jesus spoke about this with striking bluntness:

“Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? … You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye.” 

Matthew 7:3–5

Notice what He does not say. He does not say, “Look harder at your brother — you’ll find the speck if you squint.” He says the plank is in your eye. The moment I am certain that evil lives somewhere else — in that people, that party, that family, that neighbor — is precisely the moment I have stopped being useful to God’s work of healing. Satan, the accuser, delights when we spend our energy accusing each other.

Paul makes the same point when he describes the Christian life as a struggle “not against flesh and blood, but against … the spiritual forces of evil” (Ephesians 6:12). Paul’s words challenge us not to mistake a human community for the spiritual evil we resist. We can oppose someone’s harmful actions, protect those at risk, and set firm boundaries without making that person’s identity a synonym for evil.

And yes — that means evil can also be found in me. In my resentment, my pride, my indifference, my quickness to believe the worst about someone I’ve never met. None of us is beyond temptation, and none of us is beyond the reach of grace.

One Common Enemy

Instead of labeling one another — even when others have labeled us — we are called to recognize our common enemy. From a Christian perspective, that enemy is Satan, the devil, not another human community.

Peter urges believers:

“Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Resist him, standing firm in the faith…” 

1 Peter 5:8–9

His words invite us to turn away from mutual suspicion and toward shared resistance to evil. Joining forces does not require agreement on every belief. It means refusing to let our differences become excuses for hatred. We resist the devil not by attacking people, but by telling the truth, protecting the vulnerable, rejecting cruelty, and loving our neighbors. And we remain responsible for our own choices; naming the devil never excuses our own wrongdoing.

The Antidote

When evil draws us toward hatred and suspicion, Jesus calls us back to love. Love is the antidote — not more suspicion, more walls, more anger.

When Jesus was asked which commandment matters most, He gave a double answer that is really one answer:

“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’ … The second is this: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.'” 

Mark 12:28–31

Jesus names two commandments, but they flow together as one movement of the heart: love upward toward God, love outward toward the neighbor — and love toward ourselves, which is how the words “as yourself” are meant to work. Treating ourselves with compassion is not a third commandment; it is the soil in which the other two grow. When someone asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”, He answered with the story of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25–37): a man from the despised group, the one his listeners would have labeled, is the one who shows mercy. The neighbor was not the person on my side of the fence. The neighbor was the one who crossed the road.

What Love Does

Love is not a vague feeling; it shows up in small, concrete acts:

  • Listen before you judge. Ask a real question before forming an opinion about a person or a group.
  • Refuse the easy joke and the rehearsed resentment about people who are different.
  • Check a rumor before sharing it. Much of what circulates about “those people” was never true to begin with.
  • Help the person in front of you, even — especially — if they carry a label your circle distrusts.
  • Own your own plank. Repentance starts at home, not across the street.
  • Join forces across the labels. Pray for people on the “other side,” serve alongside them, resist the accuser together — he is strongest where we are divided and weakest where love unites us.

None of this means calling wrongdoing good. Love does not mean having no discernment; it means refusing to make another person’s identity a synonym for evil.

Where It Begins

So before we ask which people we should fear, perhaps we should ask a different question: whom are we being called to love — and to stand beside?

With God’s help, we can examine our own hearts while joining our neighbors in resisting hatred and protecting one another. Our neighbor is not the enemy. Love is how we stand together against evil.

“Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?” … “The one who had mercy on him.” Jesus told him, “Go and do likewise.” 

Luke 10:36–37

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