I know what that’s like…

At the European Evangelical Alliance conference in October 2026 on the theme “Hope for Europe,” I repeatedly met people who seemed to be plagued by deep pain and suffering—whether regarding their country (Ukrainians, Armenians), their people (Roma), or the situation in their own lives. For some of the people I spoke with, the pain seemed to have already crossed the line between suffering and hatred. No, they no longer seemed capable of loving their enemies—who had done them so much harm and, in some cases, continue to do so daily—as Jesus had commanded (Matt. 5:44). “They’re not even human anymore—they’re animals, yes, demons that must be destroyed,” I heard them say time and again. A profound process of dehumanization seemed to have set in, one that denies the “evil other” any human dignity and thereby puts oneself at risk of losing one’s own humanity.

As a so-called Russian German, I, too, have gone through experiences that constantly filled me with hatred and revulsion toward the people around me

There’s no question that encountering my suffering fellow believers brought me to tears time and again. I can understand their pain all too well. As a so-called Russian German, I, too, have gone through experiences that constantly filled me with hatred and revulsion toward the people around me.

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I was born in a Siberian-Kazakh deportation village for Germans. Like animals, my family was driven from their homes and settlements in 1941, crammed into Soviet cattle cars, and deported to Siberia. My grandfathers and other relatives were killed, and the family was abandoned in the middle of the steppe to “die off.” I could barely speak when I already heard people calling after me that I’d be better off never having been born, and that I’d best be buried quickly.^[2]

That’s how I grew up. If there were people I hated, it was all those Soviets around me. I quickly identified the worst among them—Kazakhs, Jews, Russians, Ukrainians, and even Germans like myself. Soviet politicians, in other words. No one made my life as difficult as they did. 

I became a Christian, joined an Estonian congregation, but my deep aversion remained. Then I refused to serve in the Soviet military and literally experienced hell on earth. ^[3]And once again, it was representatives of those very nations that had sealed my family’s terrible fate. I had refused military service, had joined the pacifists, but as the humiliations intensified, I was ready in my heart to kill every last one of those monsters. And this hatred growing within me soon became even more painful than the experiences of oppression themselves. I prayed, implored God for help, but for a long time nothing happened. 

But then, at Easter 1975, it happened. On Maundy Thursday, a secret service officer took me into the so-called Lenin Room, yelled at me, and gave me one day to decide. I was to change my attitude, or else they would be done with me before Easter.

I left his office, found a quiet corner on the camp grounds where tall grass grew, knelt down there, and began to weep bitterly. Thoughts of self-pity and hatred choked me. “Jesus,” I cried out inwardly to the Lord, “you went to the cross for me; you were humiliated to the very end. My sufferings here are nothing compared to that. Please, grant me your love for these inhuman beings.” 

The inner struggle must have lasted for hours, but then suddenly an invisible force pressed me to the ground, and an indescribable love filled my body. I became calm, and all pain and hatred were gone.

In dehumanization, one denies the human dignity of the person causing the pain by attributing all sorts of identities to them. It is an attempt to get one’s own pain under control

Hours later, I was standing before the officials again in the Lenin Room. When I told them that I would rather die than deny my Lord, one of the officials cried out, rushed at me, and tried to punch me in the face with all his might. But his fist stopped right in front of my face, and suddenly the man shouted loudly—and completely unexpectedly to me—“Why do you love me?” Did I love him? Apparently so. For my heart was full of peace. I was ready to die. 

Soon the officers left me alone. No, the harassment didn’t end there. Soviet hell had only just opened its gates. But from that moment on, God’s deep peace dwelt in my heart, and I was able to love my enemies. I no longer saw them as inhuman beings, as Soviet beasts, but as people just like myself. And God loved them, too, and His grace was open to them as well.

Many years have passed since 1975. Today I love the Jews, Ukrainians, and Russians, as well as other members of the world’s diverse community of peoples. Even though I still encounter people among my contemporaries who degrade me as well. Yet they cannot take my dignity away from me. I received that from Jesus, and love as well!

 

Dehumanization is not an option

Back then, I tried to overcome my pain through the rejection and degradation of my enemies. I did not succeed. Instead, I increasingly lost my own dignity in the ever-blinding hatred I felt toward my enemies. And soon it was not just specific individuals, but entire ethnic groups to which these people belonged. Then all Russians, all Kazakhs, and so on came under general suspicion. This is a process that has been very well described by psychological science.^[4]

In dehumanization, one denies the human dignity of the person causing the pain by attributing all sorts of identities to them—be they animal-like, object-like, or even religious. This is an attempt to get one’s own pain under control. But in principle, it does not succeed. Instead, one becomes increasingly embittered, loses the ability to judge objectively, and with the loss of sound and objective judgment, one also loses one’s own dignity. The dehumanization of others results in the dehumanization of one’s own personality. Therefore, this cannot be an option for us as human beings. It makes us sick and vulnerable. We, as Christians, in particular, should not fall into this trap, and where it has happened, we should seek ways of liberation.

 

Finding help in Jesus

Jesus said to His disciples: “Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matt. 11:28). In Jesus, our wounded hearts find rest and peace. He took upon Himself not only our sins but also our suffering and pain (Isa. 53:4). In Him there is true comfort. For He knows that God does not overlook evil. The perpetrators will not escape their just punishment. The Apostle Paul writes in Romans 12:19: “Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath; for it is written: ‘Vengeance is mine; I will repay, says the Lord’.”

Whoever tries to take revenge—even if only in words or by humiliating their enemies—becomes embittered and loses their own dignity; but whoever leaves it to God finds peace and strength.

The Church does not dehumanize the perpetrators, but offers them the path to repentance and forgiveness at the cross of Christ and the restoration of their human dignity

That—precisely that—is the experience of many, very many people who turn to Jesus with their pain. I have not only experienced this firsthand, but have also witnessed it time and again—for example, in Rwanda after the 1994 genocide of the Tutsis by the Hutus, or in Armenia after the war between Azerbaijan and Armenia over the Armenian enclave of Nagorno-Karabakh.

It is Jesus who heals the wounds and transforms hatred into love for one’s enemies! He reconciles people to God and to one another (2 Cor. 5:18–19).

 

Mission of peace

The church of Jesus has therefore also been entrusted with the mission—indeed, the ministry—of reconciliation (2 Cor. 5:18). It will always stand on the side of the disadvantaged, the wounded, and the suffering, and stand by them in their pain—not as an avenger, but as an ambassador of reconciliation. It has taken up the banner not of bitterness and hatred, but of the all-overwhelming love of Christ. It does not single out certain peoples and declare them to be subhuman, but knows that it is sent to all the peoples of the earth to make them disciples of Jesus (Matt. 28:19).

Of course, this does not mean that the Church of Jesus overlooks injustice and violence in the world—neither in private life nor in society. On the contrary, it recognizes the evil on the battlefields of Ukraine, Gaza, Iran, and elsewhere; it names and denounces it, yet in doing so does not dehumanize the perpetrators, but offers them the path to repentance and forgiveness at the cross of Christ and the restoration of their human dignity. Only in this way does it act in accordance with Christ. For he valued his own status as God, was equal with God, and emptied himself for sinners like us in order to save us. And just as he did, we Christians should also have this mindset (Phil. 2:5–11). It is not hatred, but love for our enemies that must govern us. We leave justice to God!

Johannes Reimer, professor of missiology and the author of several publications on the topic of peace and reconciliation.

 

Notes

1. For the story: Johannes Reimer: Grandpa Hans Tells the Story: The History of My Parents. (Bergneustadt: Self-published, 2022).

2. I recounted this story in my novel The Refuser. (Basel: Brunnen, 1996).

3. See, for example: Bernhard Leidner, “Dehumanization.” In: Encyclopedia of Psychology, https://dorsch.hogrefe.com/stichwort/dehumanisierung (Oct. 14, 2026).