My faith teaches me to love the sinner but hate the sin. However, it doesn’t say what to do about a terrible personality. So I consulted with God to figure out which category yours falls into. He’s helped me to understand that your personality counts as a sin, but that I shouldn’t be too harsh about it. So I disapprove of you in the gentle spirit of love.
Now, before you object, let me inform you that I have a Constitutional right to express my religious beliefs, even as I process your request for a motorcycle endorsement on your driver’s license. I can legally and righteously say that your habit of telling off-color knock-knock jokes, but not actually laughing at any of the ones that are really funny, has no place in the waiting area. That boy there just wanted his learner’s permit, but now you’ve given him a horrible but inevitable lesson about going to the DMV. For shame.
Of course, as a duly appointed official of the state, I cannot deny you service. However, I can resent the way you’ve made your head look. Growing the remaining hairs from the top of your head into an elaborate set of mullet curls, combined with a protruding beard that appears to be unnecessarily braided with children’s art beads, makes you look like Blackbeard the John Adams President. The way you’ve let your ear hair grow repulsively bushy is not helping either. You’re far from godliness, mister.
Perhaps the most offensive thing about you—I mean, your inborn tendencies, because I love you inside somewhere—is that you have the audacity to flaunt your weirdness in a public place that provides essential governmental proof of your identity and legitimizes your right to ride the iron horse. Oh, yes, I know your dirty slang. I may be devout, but I am not naïve. You can take your softtail and grab a handful of your ape hangers when I’m done. Just watch out for the cherry tops. They’ll be watching you and your kind.
I just want to be able to do my job without compromising my convictions. You’ve made it tough, but there’s nothing tougher than God’s love. He’s going to love you through that disorienting odor of polyester sweat mixed with guacamole. He’s going to love you through that tendency to suddenly glare at people with an incredibly flexible side-eye. But I don’t have to. I just have to love the sinner. And that’s definitely you.