You’d think it’d be a hot-bed of pulsating sweetness. An endless procession of sugary tea and apple-checked old ladies. That’s what Christianity is all about, right? Benevolence and good intentions. But when I read about the heroes of faith, that’s not what I see. They’re passionate and godly and brave and kind. They’re excited and despairing and hopeful and a million other things besides. But ‘nice?’ – No.
‘Nice’ is hard to relate to. It’s pleasant, well mannered and polite. You could take it home to meet your parents, except you’d have to make conversation on the way. It will never say anything wrong. But it will never stray from small-talk either.
Nice looks friendly. But the sugar-coating is an armour that keeps others at bay. Nice you see, deals in pleasantries, but not relationships. Relationships after all, entail risk. Vulnerability. A sharing and a stretching beyond what’s comfortable. ‘Nice’ people don’t hurt – and they don’t get hurt either. They’re not flaky or messy and they don’t make mistakes.
‘Nice’ is a label for things that don’t really matter. Perfectly pleasant. Neutral. No strong views on either side.
‘Nice’ is not broken or needy. It changes no-one. It doesn’t need rescue and it doesn’t need help.
It’s a biscuit. And it’s a holiday destination.
But it’s not a person. And it’s not a Christian.
‘Nice’ is my nemesis.