This sermon was preached with Covenant Presbyterian Church in Southfield, MI and was focused upon
1 Corinthians 13:1-13. A written manuscript is below.
“Love.” It’s a simple word, and we use it all the time. But love — maybe it’s not such a simple concept. And then there’s this passage — familiar, familiar, familiar — read at a million-and-one weddings. But maybe it’s not so simple and straightforward either. There’s much to hear again — to hear anew. There’s much to challenge us, much to invite us to sit back and reflect, much to move us to gratitude. And there’s much to invite our questioning. I mean, what is love, anyway?
I wonder — do we ever really ask ourselves that? It’s a worthwhile question. When’s the last time you’ve asked yourself, What is love? And other than that Night at the Roxbury song with the same name, when’s the last time you’ve heard anyone ask it? My hunch is that we might not verbalize the question very often — even to ourselves — but I bet we’re asking it with our lives all the time. And we can ask it this morning too: What is love?
So how do we begin to ask that question? We could try to ask it as objective investigators — step back from love, this “object” of our study, pull out a few dictionaries or maybe a Wikipedia article, and try to define it. But I have a feeling we’d walk away unsatisfied. Because the truth is, there’s much more at stake in love than a definition. We aren’t simply objective observers. We don’t even want to be. We don’t want to be removed from love. We want to be immersed in it — surrounded, caught up, nurtured, and found in love. We don’t want to be researchers. We want to be participants.
But just for fun — did you know there’s actually a Wikipedia entry for “love”? Who knew? Here it is: “Love is any of a number of emotions and experiences related to a sense of strong affection and attachment…” Well, there you go. Good ol’ Wikipedia.
As Wikipedia says, love is unusually difficult to consistently define. And you know what? I’m glad. How boring would life be if love were nailed down on paper — confined to some stale, crusty, written-in-stone definition? If we narrowed love to a single paradigm, we’d start scolding every beautiful, creative, out-of-the-box expression of love that didn’t fit the mold. I’m glad love can’t be buckled down like that. I’m glad love is unusually difficult to consistently define.
Here’s something I love about this beautiful passage that the Apostle Paul wrote to the church in Corinth. Our translation this morning says, “Love is patient. Love is kind. Love is…” and so on. But in the original Greek text, every single description of love is a verb. That kind of love isn’t just an “is.” That kind of love acts.
Here’s a sense of what a verb-filled translation might sound like: “Love lives long-hearted in adversity. Love practices kindness. Love envies not, boasts not, swells not with pride. Love does not act unbecomingly, does not seek the self, does not provoke to anger, does not calculate evil. Love does not rejoice in injustice, but rejoices with the truth. It covers all things, entrusts all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never perishes.”
That kind of love is active. It can’t be pinned down to paper. It’s alive — in here, among us; out there, transforming the world; beyond us, swirling about and working in ways we can’t begin to comprehend. We’re not love researchers — thank God. Love is verb-like. We’re participants.
We’re also recipients. The scriptures aren’t always asking, What is love? Sometimes they’re also asking, Who is Love? Who is God — this One-Who-Loves, this One who is Love — and how does this Loving One love us? Who are we when we are found in this Who — this One who loves? Love is active. And love is personal. Love acts — immerses, surrounds, nurtures, and finds us. We are held fast and secure in the One Who is Love. We’re recipients — and participants — acting on that love toward others, spreading its influence.
Think about children — how do they begin to understand love? Someone once sent me an email that’s made the rounds for years — responses from children who were asked, “What is love?” Here’s how love has acted for them:
Billy, age 4, said, “When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You just know your name is safe in their mouth.”
Karl, age 5, said, “Love is when you go out to eat and give someone most of your French fries without making them give you any of theirs.”
Danny, age 7, said, “Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and takes a sip before giving it to him, to make sure it tastes okay.”
Noelle, age 7, said, “Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, and then he wears it every day.”
Bobby, age 7, said, “Love is what’s in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and listen.”
Mary Ann, age 4, said, “Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him alone all day.” And then there are the funny ones:
Karen, age 7, said, “When you love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come out of you.”
Emily, age 8, said, “Love is when you kiss all the time, and when you get tired of kissing, you still want to be together and talk more. My mommy and daddy are like that. They look gross when they kiss.”
What are the concrete expressions of love that have held you up? And where might you find them in the days ahead? Love tends to act. Sometimes, it looks like a phone call. Sometimes, it looks like a hug. Sometimes. it looks like truth-telling. Sometimes, it looks like a meal, or care, or a form of advocacy.
Where will love find us? How will it act — in patience, in kindness, in relationship? This week, let’s look for it everywhere. And let’s live in gratitude that it’s finding us, even now.
—Renee Roederer
Smuggling Grace 