RECENT weeks have offered us many examples of conflict and violence.

A young woman, working in a London department store, was confronted by a former boyfriend who shot her dead before turning the gun on himself. The horror of Hurricane Katrina was not only in the damage it caused, but also in the vulnerability it revealed: the poorest sector of society in the American South was seen as a neglected underclass, and neglect too is a form of violence. And then there is Iraq, where tension between Shia and Sunni simmers and erupts, leaving innocents maimed or dead, while soldiers are shot at, wounded or killed. It would be easy to give many more examples. These are offered at random to illustrate the variety of conflict and violence which afflicts us today on different levels: personal, social, and international. How are we to respond?

The Christian answer, heard in churches again this weekend, echoes the Book of Deuteronomy: “You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind . . . your neighbour as yourself” (Matthew xxii, 37-39). Is it an answer made bland by repetition? If so, perhaps we need to recognise afresh the kind of love which is in view.

Love of God and love of neighbour are not to be separated; they are linked inextricably. From the Christian viewpoint, those who love others, but do not believe in God, are none the less honouring him. What is more significant, however, are those who claim to love God while hating others: they are lying (I John iv, 20). Love of God without love of the neighbour is a charade.

Who, then, is my neighbour? It is the question that prompts the parable of the Good Samaritan, finally forcing the lawyer who asked it to acknowledge as his neighbour someone for whom he instinctively felt utter contempt. But our neighbours may not only be those we despise; they may include also those we hate, those to whom we are most bitterly opposed. We must love them as well. How can that be possible?

There is a saying in the Sermon on the Mount that may seem completely bewildering. Jesus instructs his hearers: “You must, therefore, be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Matthew v, 48). I wonder how much misery has been caused to earnest, well-intentioned people who have seen this command, tried to obey it, failed, and slumped into depression. How can anyone match the perfection of God? What can that mean? The key lies in the word which is so often overlooked — “therefore”.

The command to be perfect is not only a command; it is also a conclusion. In the preceding passage our common assumption that we are to love our neighbours and hate our enemies is radically revised. We are told instead that, besides loving our friends, which is unremarkable, we must also love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us. Why? Because by doing so we will mirror God’s activity, “who makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and the unjust”. The image is used to illustrate that God does not discriminate, but treats everyone equally.

All of us, good and bad alike, are loved with the same limitless love, and that is how we are called to love in our turn both friend and foe. That is how we reflect the perfection of God: “You must, therefore, be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.” Words which, taken in isolation, may overwhelm us as an ideal beyond our reach can, when seen in context (while they still beggar the imagination) be recognised as real and practicable, shaping our response to violence, while they test us to the limit.

Tested to the limit, we often fail. And so some dismiss us as hypocrites, while others regard the very strategy as spineless. But violence can only beget violence and, left to itself, will never end. To find healing and peace we have to change. The love of enemies is not weakness, but something strong, rooted in balance and maturity. Its demands are profound, but it can begin modestly, amid the irritants of daily life.

Monsignor Roderick Strange is the Rector of the Pontifical Beda College, Rome