I HAVE LIVED in California all my life. I grew up in the East Bay, across the water from San Francisco. My wife and I met in college there, married, and moved to Southern California on our second anniversary for me to attend seminary. We’ve lived in Southern California ever since. Our kids were born and raised here, and the likelihood is that my wife and I will live out our lives here.

Even though I’ve lived longer in the southern part of the state than the northern, part of me still longs for the kind of climate I grew up with: foggy mornings, mild temperatures, neither too much rain nor too little. Though I’ve adjusted to living here, it’s still hotter and drier than I would like.

But in recent years, things have changed throughout the state. We’ve had several years of record drought. As I write this, it’s winter — what should be the rainy season. But here in Southern California there’s been well less than an inch of rain in the last seven months, and in most areas, it’s well below half an inch. Such conditions, combined with the strong dry winds that blow in from the desert, are why we keep having wildfires that burn out of control, scorching thousands of acres, and sometimes even creating billions of dollars of property damage or taking lives.

So we pray for an end to the fires. And we pray for rain.

But in doing so, nobody thinks for a moment that if — or God willing, when — the rain falls, it will only fall on the homes of those who are praying, or only on the homes of Christians. The blessing of rain is for everyone, without distinction.

And Jesus seems to think that this should tell us something about God.

AS WE’VE SEEN, Jesus tells the crowds that despite what they’ve been taught in the past, hating your enemies is not the godly or righteous way. Here again are his words, but this time, with the justification that goes with them:

You have heard that it was said, “Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.” But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. (Matt 5:43-45, NIV)

It’s true that the evil and the good have different eternal destinies. But how sure are we about who fits which category, about who’s destined for paradise or perdition? Our judgments are colored by self-centered biases and prejudices. Only God knows who may yet repent.

Think, for example, of the prophet Jonah. God called him to preach to the people of Nineveh, a famously prominent city of the ancient world. This was the last thing Jonah wanted to do, because Nineveh was an Assyrian city, and Assyria was responsible for the defeat and exile of the northern kingdom of Israel. As a native of the northern kingdom, Jonah would have considered Assyria to be not only an enemy, but the enemy. Preach repentance to them, Lord? No way.

You know the story. Jonah tried to run from the call, but God compelled him to go. The prophet therefore walked through the streets of the city (begrudgingly, I imagine), preaching the sermon God gave him, which may have consisted of only one line: “Forty more days and Nineveh will be overthrown” (Jonah 3:4). You’d think the people would have written him off as some foreign crackpot. But no: everyone up and down the social ladder, all the way up to the king, repented and begged God to avert the coming disaster.

This was not the outcome Jonah wanted. He wanted the Ninevites to get what they deserved. So he got mad. He sulked. He even told God, See? Didn’t I tell you? I knew this was going to happen. That’s why I ran the other way. I know you’re a merciful and compassionate God, but this isn’t right. So please, Lord, just kill me now.

God, of course, didn’t kill him. But he did go on to teach him an unforgettable lesson about compassion, which you can read for yourself in Jonah 4.

FOR THE ANCIENT Israelites, rain was a blessing, literally and metaphorically. Listen, for example, to the words of the prophet Ezekiel as he describes a time of peace, of rich and abundant shalom, that God will grant his people:

I will make a covenant of peace with them and rid the land of savage beasts so that they may live in the wilderness and sleep in the forests in safety. I will make them and the places surrounding my hill a blessing. I will send down showers in season; there will be showers of blessing. The trees will yield their fruit and the ground will yield its crops; the people will be secure in their land. They will know that I am the LORD, when I break the bars of their yoke and rescue them from the hands of those who enslaved them. (Ezek 34:25-27)

There will be safety, security, and sweet sleep; there will be freedom from oppression and slavery. And…there will be showers of blessing: rain in its season, rain to make the crops grow and the trees bear fruit. The people of Ezekiel’s day did not take rain for granted.

I used to, but I don’t anymore.

When the sun rises to bring light and warmth, it rises for everybody. When the rain falls to quench the earth, it falls for everybody. These are ways in which the sovereign God cares for his creation, and everyone benefits. Where these blessings of the created world are concerned, there is no us and them.

Jonah knew of the compassion and mercy of God, but unfortunately, it didn’t change his attitude toward the Assyrians. Nevertheless, the compassionate God was patient with Jonah, gently correcting his mindset. And centuries later, Jesus taught that it is blessed to be merciful — which includes being compassionate toward those whom we might consider to be enemies, whoever they are.

That may sound like a tall order. How does one go about doing that?

As it turns out, Jesus has a suggestion.