Who is My Enemy?

If God tells me to love my neighbor and my enemy… could they be the same person?

We’re comfortable with the idea of loving our neighbor. We might even pride ourselves on it, serving in the community, showing kindness to those around us, doing what we can to “be the hands and feet of Jesus.” But then Jesus goes a step further. He doesn’t just call us to love our neighbors—He commands us to love our enemies. And that’s where it gets uncomfortable.

It’s one thing to love someone we like. It’s another to love someone who has hurt us, betrayed us, or opposed us. The command is clear. In Matthew 5:44-45, Jesus says, “But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven.” This isn’t an optional add-on for the super spiritual. It’s part of what it means to be a child of God.

In His Sermon on the Mount, Jesus wasn’t softening the Old Testament Law. He was fulfilling it and elevating it. He wasn’t telling us to merely tolerate our enemies—He said love them. Pray for them. Bless them. The Greek word for “enemy” in this passage is echthros, meaning someone who is actively hostile or opposed to you. Not just a difficult personality or a person who annoys you, but someone who stands against your peace, your purpose, or your God-given identity. And yet, we are still called to love them. Not with shallow sentiment, but with the love of Heaven, a love that doesn’t come from us but flows through us when we yield to the Spirit.

Here’s the part we don’t like to admit: enemies aren’t always far away. They’re not always “out there” in some vague political or cultural category. Sometimes, they’re people we know, people we trusted.

They might be the classmate who bullied you behind your back and then smiled to your face.
They might be the friend who disappeared when you needed them most.
They might be the church leader who betrayed your confidence or used their position to manipulate.
Suddenly, “enemy” gets personal. And that’s exactly what Jesus addresses when a lawyer in Luke 10 asks, “Who is my neighbor?” hoping to justify himself. In response, Jesus tells the story of the Good Samaritan—a man considered an enemy of the Jews, who becomes the hero by showing mercy and compassion. The religious leaders pass by, but the outsider acts in love.

The message is unmistakable. Jesus is saying: Your enemy might be your assignment.

So why love them? Why choose mercy when everything in us wants justice, or at least distance?

Because Jesus loved us when we were His enemies.

Romans 5:10 says, “While we were God’s enemies, we were reconciled to Him through the death of His Son.” Before we ever repented or turned toward Him, Jesus bore our sin and welcomed us into His mercy. He didn’t wait for us to deserve forgiveness; He gave it freely. That’s our example.

Loving your enemy doesn’t mean trusting them again. It doesn’t mean pretending that what happened didn’t hurt. It means choosing to surrender your right to hate. It means refusing to carry bitterness like a badge of protection. It means asking God to bless someone you may never speak to again, not because they deserve it, but because you’ve been loved undeservedly, too.

We forgive not because they’re worthy, but because we want to be free. We bless not because they’re good, but because God is. We pray not because it’s easy, but because we know that resentment will rot our hearts if we don’t.

And what’s really at stake here?

Not just your peace. Your heart. Your witness. Your freedom.

Unforgiveness can feel like protection. It can even feel righteous. But it’s a trap. It keeps us bound to what they did. It holds us hostage to pain that Jesus already died to heal. When we refuse to love our enemies, we’re the ones who stay stuck. But when we love them as Christ did, when we bless, release, and forgive, the kingdom of God begins to break through in us.

So who is your enemy?

Maybe it’s someone from your past you swore you’d never think about again. Maybe it’s someone you still sit across from at the dinner table or see on Sunday mornings. Maybe it’s a person who never said sorry and never will.

Jesus isn’t asking you to feel warm fuzzies toward them. He’s not asking you to deny the hurt. He’s asking you to carry your cross. Because the cross doesn’t just forgive you, it teaches you to forgive others. It reshapes your definition of love, not based on who deserves it, but based on who God is.

Your enemy may never change. But love will change you. And maybe that’s where real healing begins, not when they make it right, but when you release the need for them to.