There are lots of animals that are cuddle-worthy; ones you immediately want to grab and squeeze and hold.
Porcupines are not normally one of them.
Since I was a young boy, I can remember being taught that porcupines are dangerous; able to inflict great pain if you touch them.
I was taught to keep my distance from porcupines.
Fortunately, I never ran across many outside of a zoo, but you can bet I would have taken off immediately if I had.
That’s ironic, as I’ve spent the better part of two decades hanging out with teenagers, or as I call them: human porcupines.
I’ve pressed-in to people who others find tough to get close to. I’ve embraced those it can be difficult to wrap your arms around.
It isn’t really a teenage thing though is it?
Let’s face it: some people are just plain prickly; they have abrasive personalities and aggressive tendencies and off-putting attitudes, that seem perfectly designed to generate distance between them and those around them.
There are those we cross paths with every day that are simply tough to love. They fill our school hallways, our offices, even our living rooms, and they push us to the perimeter; far out of reach.
It can be easy to think that they actually want this distance; that they are purposefully brandishing their barbs because they crave this permanent space, but the truth is, the porcupines are trying to protect themselves.
This is their defense. It’s not their desire to inflict violence, but it’s the way that they shield themselves from violence.
The thing that you learn as you pastor people, is that there is a story that preceded you. There’s a path that people have walked, that led them to the place and condition they are when you meet them.
So you try to uncover that story. You come across people who have all kinds of emotional armor on, and your job is to see underneath; to the softer places.
You look beneath the quills.
The saddest thing about the porcupine people, is that they most sharply repel the one thing that they most urgently need: touch. They’ve been so damaged by people, that they fight to retain space, yet all the while craving the closeness.
I’ve met thousands of teenagers who confound those around them, by seeming content with the distance;, happy with the isolation.
Trust me; they’re not.
No one is.
What that means for us as we approach the porcupines, is that we have to move closer; to brave the pain of their hurtful words and the razor-sharp points they’re showing, and embrace them.
That may mean we get hurt.
It may mean we are rejected.
It may mean we get a face full of quills.
As a follower of Jesus, I take my lead from him. He was a relentless pursuer of people; not just people who seemed pleasant or likable or cuddle-worthy, and not just people who reciprocated.
When I read the stories of Jesus, I see someone intentionally removing distance between himself and those who lived on the far edges.
I see someone enduring pain, to have proximity with those in pain.
Jesus modeled Tough Love. He moved to the abrasive, and the messy, and the prickly, and he extended his arms.
He hugged porcupines.
People hurt because they hurt.
Love hurts.
Love is tough.
Love anyway.
