Advent: Love

‌So here we are, beginning our final week before the arrival of our Emmanuel; our God with us, as it translates to English. Obviously, we have a Church calendar that tells us what to observe and when and proposes even how we ought to do it—a very helpful tool for designing and leading worship directed towards God; you miss nothing. But, as I began this series 4 weeks ago with hope, you’ll remember I advocated for a longing, an inner quieting, fasting, and directing of one’s self towards waiting, cultivating that sabbath within ourselves. Now, I can’t imagine any one of us trying to tell that to a 9-month pregnant Mary, and in that same way, all analogies fall apart at some point. It is my prayer, then, as you heard from Chaplain Baek in the weeks passed, qualities of peace and joy. Today we tie them all together with love.

Transition:

I try to do that in a way in which; that is to say that it is my hope, nevertheless, that they don’t fall apart. Because they’re not independent, in fact, if you try and grasp these qualities in that way—independently, that is—they can indeed do nothing other than fall apart. I think it could be helpful to look at them as spokes on a wheel; if one is shorter, it’s no longer round, and, really, it’s got flat spots that maybe indicate you may need to do some introspection and self-examination—the true intent of this season. The wheel itself is a representation of our faithfulness to God; you see, the Advent meditations are the core fruit of the Spirit.

Scripture:

As Paul tells us in Galatians 5:22-23, “but the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, 23 gentleness, and self-control...”

I want you to notice that this passage starts with a “but.” Besides informing my high school English teacher that I can indeed start a sentence with a preposition, I want to direct our attention to what the “but” is all about.

Now, rather than a physiology lesson, if we look at verse 19, we see what Paul is differentiating between a different kind of behavior addressed. He says, “19 the works of the flesh are obvious: sexual immorality, moral impurity, promiscuity, 20 idolatry, sorcery, hatreds, strife, jealousy, outbursts of anger, selfish ambitions, dissensions, factions, 21 envy, drunkenness, gluttony, and anything similar.”

Transition:

I want to make the distinction here, the same one I believe that Paul is, by starting these two statements that are in obvious relation, in different ways. That “the works of the flesh are obvious” and the “but” by which he describes the fruit.

This morning, it is my hope to take a look at some theologies of love from the Bible, some common aspects; what love is, what it is not; how they look in practice and discover some ways we might cultivate it within ourselves.

Point 1:

First off, the Biblical depiction of love is very different from our world and culture’s depiction today. While many define love as romantic or even as a wholesale supportive disposition, the Bible’s definition is fundamentally active, based not on what we feel but instead on what we do. This is firstly why Paul differentiates what is “obvious” and what may not be so obvious, those issues of our heart that are, perhaps, not seen. Still, their motives are not always clear, especially when done truly selflessly.

Exposition:

Love is fundamentally active because the good news of divine love imposes its own obligation: to love God and to love others as God does. Jesus instructs us in Matthew 5:44 to “love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” He cites Leviticus (19:18 ) in his response to the Pharisee who asked him what the greatest commandment is—this isn’t the commandment on the tablet but God’s exposition on it, in which He adds, “the second is like it, you shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments depend all the law and the prophets.”

Love for our neighbor is nowhere defined but everywhere illustrated. In the parable of the good Samaritan, “neighbor” is shown to mean anyone near enough to help, and love involves whatever service the neighbor’s situation demands. The parable of the sheep and goats, found in Matthew 25, shows love feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, and visiting kindness upon the sick and the imprisoned.

Love heals, teaches, defends those criticized or despised, pronounces forgiveness, comforts the bereaved, and befriends the lonely. We are to love others as He has loved us and as we love ourselves. As First Corinthians 13, the love chapter notes, love does good without expecting reciprocity and never returns ill-treatment. It is my conviction that love deals specifically with human weakness and wickedness. I think love lacking a definition, a box in which it fits within—because it’s boundless, is rather poetic if you think about it. In the same way that God is love, He speaks from fire in a bush, an uncontainable, non-depictable—describable, yet inexhaustive form who calls Himself “I am.” Not a name that can be known, in the same way that a word has a particular meaning; His name does not propose limits as there are none.

Jesus prays for Peter, but not that he shall be spared temptation; he rebukes disciples, warns Judas, and accepts that love means having to lay down his own life, as Scripture tells us, while we were still sinners.

The Gospel, the anglicized word for euangélion, Latin for ‘good news,’ is the same root used in evangelism. That word may have baggage for many people who may have been preached at and otherwise run over by the bus that is the mainstream evangelical church, but that good news is simply that you are loved. That you’ll never be more loved than you are right now and that you are a child of God.

What the Messiah’s love is not, however, is timid meekness or sentimental mildness. It was an imperative. To God, the outstanding sin is lovelessness, the willful omission of any possible good, passing by on the other side while others suffer, ignoring the destitute at one’s gate, and withholding forgiveness. Lovelessness is made worse by self-righteousness, faultfinding, and the religious insensitivity that ignores another’s distress in order to preserve some petty ritual regulation.

The Bible is very specific on this standpoint; First John, chapter 4, starting in verse 16, that “whoever remains in love remains in God, and God in him.” Furthermore that “he who loves is born of God.” “He who does not love does not know God,” nor “the message” of the Gospel; “is in the darkness,” “is not of God,” and “remains in death.” Stating finally that, though “no one has ever seen God,” nevertheless, “if we love, … God abides in us,” and we in God.

Summary:

So, the Bible’s definition of love is fundamentally active, carrying obligation for the believer. Biblical love has God as its object, motivation, and source, calling it the fruit of the Spirit, and stands in opposition to the temptations of the flesh; the lust of the eyes, or the pride; which is impatient, unkind, full of envy, boastful, proud, dishonors others, self-seeking, easily angered, keeping record of wrongs and delights in evil while fearing the truth. It only has self-interest, never trusts, is full of despair, and lacks any perseverance. In other words, “obvious”—to men, at least. Recall Jesus made mention in Matthew 7 of those who will call out to him, “Lord, Lord, did we not … do many mighty works in your name?” “He who does not love does not know God,” “the hearts of those people are far from him.” The willful omission of any possible good is lovelessness, outstanding sin.

Transition:

So, we’ve covered what Biblical love is and isn’t, what it looks like, as well as what it doesn’t; but I want to talk a little about how to cultivate love as a spiritual discipline. Now, I say that on purpose, fully realizing love is the fruit of the Spirit of God, but this isn’t the Matrix; you can’t download love. Furthermore, Paul commands husbands to love their wives (Eph 5:25), so there is a choice in the matter.

Point 2:

There are some traditions within Christianity, don’t quote me, but I believe they’re predominantly Puritanical traditions and offshoots of Methodism, and Wesleyan, with particularly early colonial American roots that tend to put a lot of weight on conversion narratives, some even requiring a testimony for membership. Now, I’m not a good storyteller, so that would scare me to death, and I’m not sure I want to be found in opposition to having a children’s program or belief that we can raise them in a manner in which they are exposed to God—and I have kids, so may God have mercy on me that they won’t necessarily need a life of sin to turn from; but there’s a smoking cessation campaign from which I want to borrow their slogan, and it is that “every great how needs a great why.”

“Patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control,” I believe, all flow out of love, joy, peace, and love in particular. Still, Henri Nouwen, in his book, Life of the Beloved, says we are both now, and yet must become the beloved; referencing the baptism of Jesus, the clouds parting, Spirit descending upon and the Father speaking, “this is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” We are the object for which the ultimate price was paid, referred to as the Passion. How precious then are we to him? If we cannot accept that we are beloved, how can we expect to become so or even love ourselves, much less love others?

That’s a tall order in and of itself, but it also has implications for how we regard others. Brené Brown says in her book, Rising Strong, says that “the most compassionate people … assume that other people are doing the best they can.” She warns that living the opposite way, assuming that people aren’t doing their best, leads to judgment and self-righteousness and can only lead to disappointment. She adds that self-righteousness always ends in self-loathing and not being good enough yourself.

It’s important because an ancient perversion of the Gospel called Gnosticism is alive and well and is essentially an intellectual approach to our faith, “giving no heed to love,” as St. Ignatius described it in the 16th century, essentially 1,500 years after it was one of the leading controversies that provoked John to write his epistles. It’s where we’re left if we regard our faith as something we attain, be it knowledge or nirvana, “faith without love is dead,” as Paul told the Galatians.

If it robs you of your compassion, is it helpful? What if you had it on the highest authority that others, perhaps people you think are taking advantage of you, weighing you down, were indeed doing their best? What would it mean, what would it cost you—that you be patient, kind, non-envious or boastful, not proud, not dishonorable; selfless, not easily angered, or keeping record of wrongs—not delighting in evil but rejoices in the truth?

Transition:

It is the reason the liturgical calendar starts with Advent, fitting, I believe, that we begin with weeks-long meditations on the fruit of the Spirit in celebration of the coming—and eventual return of the King who left in his stead the Comforter, the Advocate, Counselor, and Strengthener, who can be everywhere at once. It is by love he came, and through love he left us the ability to bear fruit in keeping with our repentance.

Illustration:

I want to end with a story about a Sergeant I once had. He was your typical leader for his time, probably, maybe he was your Sergeant, your father; the point is, he had a lot of authority over me, particularly on my deployment, and made life particularly miserable for me at one point in time. The suffering he inflicted resonated with me; much of you also probably have deeply repressed those early childhood traumas. I felt powerless and developed an ulcer; at night, suffering nightmares about work, only to return to them day after day. In short, I hated him—but that hate did not affect him. It was only after I began praying for him that God changed my heart. Forgiveness allowed my embittered heart to cultivate love for him. It did not change our relationship, but forgiveness is love in action, the withholding of which only hurts the one who is suffering.

This illustration is two-fold: first, that we damage the likeness we share with our creator if we inflict the violence on ourselves that approaching self-knowledge with the same regard as a tapestry to be painted over does, as well as that love requires nothing in return—if it requires anything of anyone, it is not love.

If we do not love ourselves or are unwilling to show love to ourselves, we cannot internalize that we are lovable or capable of genuinely loving others. Though it may look like love, perhaps even it is obvious, but its intent is selfish gain.

The forgiveness I worked through freed me—it is cruel that the one who is wronged be the one who must do the work, but it is your cross to bear—your barrier to love, not the others. Do they have their own baggage leading them in their inability to do anything but leave damage and affliction in their wake—certainly! But praying for them, forgiving them is both an act of love to others and self-love. It is the only way to break the cycle of hate and begin your healing—and enables the Spirit to work in them.

Conclusion:

I leave you with the promise of Jesus recorded by the Apostle John (Ch 15:10-12) “10If you keep My commandments, you will remain in My love, just as I have kept My Father’s commandments and remain in His love. 11I have told you these things so that My joy may be in you and your joy may be complete. 12This is My commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.”

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