God’s Image, My Irritation: Learning to Love the People Who Frustrate Me

 

by Bart Denny

I believe every human being is created in the image of God—the imago Dei.

Genesis tells us, “God created mankind in his own image” (Genesis 1:27). That declaration comes before differences in nationality, politics, occupation, social standing, education, religious affiliation, or usefulness to society. People have worth because God made them. Their value isn’t something the government grants, the culture recognizes, or actions and opinions I personally approve of.

I believe all of that.

The harder question is whether anyone could tell I believe it by the way I treat people who frustrate me.

James confronts this inconsistency with uncomfortable directness:

“With the tongue we praise our Lord and Father, and with it we curse human beings, who have been made in God’s likeness” (James 3:9).

That verse doesn’t allow me to separate my theology from my tone. I can’t praise the God whose image a person bears while casually belittling, mocking, or dehumanizing that person. James isn’t suggesting that every belief is true or every behavior is acceptable. He’s reminding us that the person we’re speaking about—or speaking to—still bears the likeness of the God we worship.

It’s easy to affirm the imago Dei in the abstract. It’s much harder when the image-bearer in front of me is loudly political, aggressively ideological, or determined to make every conversation about identity, grievance, or partisan loyalty.

Some people wear their politics like a uniform. They seem ready to turn every news story, social interaction, or casual remark into another skirmish in the culture war. I often find myself wanting to challenge them, correct them, or point out the contradictions in their thinking.

And, to be honest, Christians can frustrate me too.

Some believers seem fixated on doctrines I consider bizarre, questionable, or secondary. They may act as though the preservation of the gospel depends on one particular English translation. They may talk about the timing of the Rapture as if the exact order of end-times events were a central test of Christian faithfulness. They may treat disagreements over baptism, church authority, or the legitimacy of other Christian ministries as though those questions determine the purity of Christ’s body.

I’ve got opinions about all of that. Strong ones.

Then there are people who aren’t especially political or doctrinally eccentric. Some people are just plain disagreeable. They interrupt. They complain. They assume the worst. They create conflict wherever they go. They drain the energy from a room and leave everyone else wondering what just happened.

These are the moments when the doctrine of the image of God has to become more than just a line in my theology.

A Person Is More Than a Position

One of the great temptations of our age is to reduce people to categories.

Conservative. Liberal. Progressive. Fundamentalist. Calvinist. Arminian. Charismatic. Traditionalist. Gay. Straight. White. Black. Educated. Uneducated. Woke. Reactionary. Pretribulational. Posttribulational. Muslim.

Categories can help us describe ideas, movements, beliefs, and experiences. But they become dangerous when they replace the person.

The man standing in front of me isn’t just his political opinion. The woman posting online isn’t just her position on sexuality. The church member who won’t stop talking about the Rapture isn’t just his eschatology. The difficult person isn’t just the latest difficult thing she did.

Every person has a story I don’t fully know.

Every person has hopes, fears, wounds, relationships, disappointments, and longings. Every person was created intentionally by God. And because Christ “died for all” (2 Corinthians 5:15), every person is someone for whom Jesus gave Himself.

That doesn’t mean every belief is true, every behavior is acceptable, or every disagreement is trivial. The image of God doesn’t erase moral discernment. Scripture still calls us to recognize truth and error, righteousness and sin, wisdom and foolishness.

But the imago Dei reshapes how I practice that discernment.

It reminds me that I’m never dealing only with an argument. I’m dealing with a person God made, and whom Christ loves.

Contempt Is Not Discernment

This distinction is crucial because Christians can easily disguise contempt as discernment.

We tell ourselves we’re defending truth when we’re really enjoying the feeling of being right. We call it boldness when it’s actually irritation. We call it discernment when we’ve stopped seeing the person and started seeing only the error.

Contempt shows up in sarcasm, mockery, dismissive labels, exaggerated caricatures, and the smug satisfaction of winning an argument no one else found helpful.

It’s possible to be correct and still be unkind.

It’s possible to defend sound doctrine in a way that dishonors the God whose truth we’re defending.

It’s possible to identify someone else’s error accurately while remaining blind to our own pride.

Paul tells believers, “Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves” (Philippians 2:3). That command doesn’t apply only to people who are agreeable, sensible, or theologically sound. Humility is most clearly tested when I’m dealing with someone I believe is profoundly wrong.

Paul also tells Titus that Christians are “to slander no one, to be peaceable and considerate, and always to be gentle toward everyone” (Titus 3:2). Then he gives the reason: “At one time we too were foolish, disobedient, deceived and enslaved” (Titus 3:3).

In other words, remembering God’s grace toward us should drain the arrogance out of our correction of others.

Jesus was never confused about truth. He confronted hypocrisy, exposed false teaching, and spoke with startling directness. Yet He also saw people others dismissed. He listened to people others ignored. He ate with people religious society had written off. When the rich young ruler turned away from the cost of discipleship, Mark tells us that “Jesus looked at him and loved him” (Mark 10:21).

Jesus didn’t dilute the truth for him. But neither did He stop loving him when the man was unwilling to receive it.

The closer we grow to Christ, the less comfortable we should become with contempt.

Listening Is Not Surrender

One practical way the imago Dei can reshape our interactions is by teaching us to listen.

Listening doesn’t mean agreement. It doesn’t mean pretending every idea is equally valid. It doesn’t mean giving up conviction or refusing to speak truth.

Listening simply acknowledges that the person in front of us is worth understanding.

James gives us a simple but demanding pattern:

“Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry” (James 1:19).

I’m often tempted to reverse that order.

I’m quick to speak, quick to become irritated, and slow to listen—especially when I’m convinced I already understand the other person’s argument.

But James adds that “human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires” (James 1:20). My indignation may feel righteous. It may even arise in response to something genuinely wrong. But anger doesn’t automatically become holy simply because I’m defending a position I believe is correct.

Instead of immediately preparing a rebuttal, I might ask:

“What led you to see it that way?”

“What are you most concerned about?”

“What do you wish people who disagree with you understood?”

“Am I hearing you correctly?”

Those questions can reveal that a political argument is tied to fear. A doctrinal fixation may be connected to a desire for certainty. A harsh personality may be covering insecurity, grief, or years of disappointment.

Understanding doesn’t always resolve disagreement. But it often softens contempt.

It also gives me a better chance of responding to what the person actually believes rather than to the caricature I’ve created.

Not Every Argument Is an Assignment

Sometimes listening reveals that a conversation isn’t worth continuing.

That may be one of my biggest areas for growth.

I can get pulled into pointless discussions because I want to correct something that seems obviously wrong. I want to expose weak reasoning. I want to answer the questionable claim, the strange doctrine, or the political slogan.

But not every error needs my response.

Not every argument is an assignment from God.

Not every conversation is worth my energy.

Ecclesiastes says there is “a time to be silent and a time to speak” (Ecclesiastes 3:7). Wisdom involves knowing the difference.

Paul warned Timothy against “foolish and stupid arguments” because “they produce quarrels” (2 Timothy 2:23). He then described the posture of a faithful servant of Christ:

“The Lord’s servant must not be quarrelsome but must be kind to everyone, able to teach, not resentful” (2 Timothy 2:24).

That verse challenges me because it doesn’t merely ask whether my argument is correct. It asks what kind of person I’m becoming while making it.

Am I becoming quarrelsome?

Am I becoming resentful?

Have I started treating disagreement as combat?

Am I looking for opportunities to teach—or opportunities to demonstrate that I’m smarter than the other person?

Sometimes wisdom speaks. Sometimes wisdom listens. Sometimes wisdom says, “I don’t think this conversation is helping either of us,” and walks away without hostility.

Refusing a pointless argument isn’t necessarily cowardice. It may be obedience.

The Person Is More Than the Victory

Before I jump into a difficult conversation, I need to ask myself some uncomfortable questions.

Am I trying to help this person, or defeat this person?

Am I speaking because truth requires it, or because my pride has been poked?

Is the other person actually open to a real conversation?

Am I emotionally steady enough to speak with grace?

Would silence be wisdom rather than cowardice?

Could I say what I’m about to say while genuinely wanting this person’s good?

Those questions expose my motives.

They remind me that winning a point isn’t the same as loving a person. A clever response might earn applause from people who already agree with me while pushing the other person farther away.

The goal of Christian speech isn’t merely correctness. It’s faithfulness.

Scripture doesn’t force us to choose between truth and love. It commands us to hold them together. Paul describes Christian maturity as “speaking the truth in love” (Ephesians 4:15). Truth without love can become brutality. Love without truth can become sentimentality. Christian faithfulness requires both.

Paul continues:

“Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up” (Ephesians 4:29).

That doesn’t mean every word must be soft or affirming. Some loving words confront. Some faithful words warn. Some truthful words make people uncomfortable.

But even corrective speech should have a redemptive purpose. Is what I’m saying intended to build up, clarify, restore, or help? Or am I simply releasing my irritation?

Colossians 4:6 adds, “Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt.” Grace and conviction belong together. The Christian’s speech should be truthful without being cruel, clear without being demeaning, and courageous without becoming needlessly combative.

The person is more valuable than my rhetorical victory.

Practicing the Image of God

The doctrine of the imago Dei becomes real through ordinary habits.

It means learning someone’s name.

It means making eye contact with the person serving our food or ringing up our purchase.

It means refusing to interrupt.

It means treating the socially awkward person with patience.

It means honoring the elderly, listening to children, noticing the lonely, and showing respect to people who don’t have anything to offer us.

It means refusing to join in when our political allies mock the appearance, intelligence, accent, or personal struggles of someone on the other side.

It means remembering that the person who irritates me most still possesses a dignity I didn’t give and therefore don’t have the right to take away.

It also means loving people who don’t love me back. Jesus said:

“Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Matthew 5:44).

Most of the people who frustrate me aren’t actually my enemies. They’re just people whose views, personalities, or habits get under my skin. If Jesus commands me to love my enemies, surely I can learn to treat an irritating neighbor, an argumentative church member, or an obnoxious stranger with patience and dignity.

Maybe most of all, practicing the imago Dei means praying before arguing.

“Lord, help me see this person the way You see them. Keep me from pride and contempt. Give me wisdom to know when to speak, when to listen, and when to stay quiet. Let my words serve their good and honor You.”

It’s hard to pray sincerely for someone’s good while holding onto contempt for them.

Prayer reminds me that I’m not the Holy Spirit. I can speak truth, offer reasons, ask questions, and bear witness to Christ. But I can’t force another person to see what I see. I can’t argue anyone into spiritual transformation.

The outcome belongs to God.

Would They Know?

I still believe ideas are significant.

Truth is vital. Doctrine is weighty. Politics can be consequential. Moral questions are serious. Some beliefs are wrong, some teachings are harmful, and some behaviors need to be confronted. 

But God’s Word doesn’t merely correct everyone else’s errors. It corrects my attitude, my motives, my tone, and my conduct.

Romans 12:18 says, “If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.” Peace isn’t always possible. Some people refuse it. Some conflicts can’t be avoided without compromising truth. But Paul places responsibility on me to examine what depends on me.

Did I listen?

Did I speak truthfully?

Did I speak graciously?

Did I refuse contempt?

Did I genuinely desire the other person’s good?

Did I treat that person as someone made in God’s likeness?

The doctrine of the image of God forces me to ask a deeper question.

It’s not just, “Do I believe this person bears God’s image?”

The real question is:

Would they know it from the way I treat them?

That question reaches beyond theology books and into conversations, social media posts, church disagreements, family conflicts, and my reactions to people who test my patience.

The imago Dei isn’t just something we believe about humanity.

It’s a way of seeing.

And when we really see people as image-bearers, God’s Word should reshape the way we listen, speak, disagree, correct, forgive, and love.

About the Author

Bart Denny is a pastor, teacher, retired U.S. Navy officer, husband, father, and occasional recovering argument-winner. He serves as lead pastor of Pathway—A Wesleyan Church in Saranac, Michigan, and teaches Christian leadership as an adjunct professor. After years in the military, government service, ministry, and higher education, Bart has encountered no shortage of strong personalities, louder opinions, and people who see the world very differently than he does. He writes from the conviction that truth matters, but so does the way we treat the people with whom we disagree. Like much of what he teaches, this article grows out of an area in which he is still asking God to help him become more like Jesus.

All Scripture quotations are from the Holy Bible, New International Version (2011, Zondervan).