1 Corinthians 12:31 - 13:13 (links validated 1/16/25a)

In his remarkable book, One Lost Soul: Richard Nixon’s Search for Salvation, Daniel Silliman (Eerdmans, 2024) describes President Nixon’s desperate longing to be loved. It at least suggests yet another reason why Paul called love “the greatest of these.” Nixon, writes Silliman, “could not make peace with his own vulnerability. He could not accept his frailty and human need for empathy and grace. He could not accept responsibility for what he had done or be seen to be accepting responsibility. He could not believe that if people heard he was crying in the White House, trying to write his resignation letter, their hearts would go out to him. “‘Can you imagine,’ [Henry] Kissinger said, ‘what this man would have been had somebody loved him’?” That suggests that love is great in part because it helps empower the beloved to flourish so that they may live as God intended before God and with their neighbor.

always good insights!

In his book, Caring and Commitment, (Harper and Row, 1988) Lewis Smedes tells the story of James Ettison who fell in love with a gentle and lovely woman named Alice. When they married, they settled into a life largely characterized by happiness. But just two years after their wedding, Alice’s car skidded on a stretch of ice and into oncoming traffic. Though Alice survived, Smedes says she did so only after tilting “toward death for a year.” She was, however, never the same again...

In her wonderful volume of sermons entitled Help My Unbelief (Eerdmans, 2000, p. 87-88), Fleming Rutledge recounts Mike Wallace’s interview of the great French film star Jeanne Moreau. Cornelius Plantinga says that in it Moreau “completely locked Wallace up into inarticulate bafflement.” Wallace tried to get Moreau to bite on his conspiratorial statement, ‘There’s a feeling in America that passion in a woman of a certain age is unseemly.’ After a long pause Moreau said, ‘They’re right.’ This astonished Wallace: a French woman, veteran actress in R-rated films, downplaying passion? Wallace obvious discomfiture revealed itself in his ‘Passion is unseemly?’ ‘Oh, come on,’ Moreau replied. ‘Passion! When you get to sixty, you know about love. Love is not passion.’ ‘But there’s nothing wrong with passion,’ Wallace protested, his face a picture of disappointment . . . Moreau replied, ‘I would hate—I would hate to still be overcome with passion.’ As though she were a wise grandmother talking to a teenaged boy, Moreau explained, ‘I have passion for life, but I know about love. Love and passion don’t go together. Passion is destructive. Passion is demanding. Passion is jealous. Passion goes up and down. Love is constant.’ As Wallace tried to recover, Moreau added, ‘Compassion. That’s what love is about. You give even more than you receive.’ It was, summarizes, Plantinga, as if Wallace was talking from a “secular, sensualist perch, and Moreau from 1 Corinthians 13. He was talking about eros. She was talking about agape. And her preference for agape made Wallace ‘gasp and stammer’.”

In her latest book, “The Primacy of Love” scientist and theologian Ilia Delio quotes Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, who insisted that: “Love is the most universal, the most tremendous and the most mysterious of the cosmic forces.” Writes Delio, “By declaring love a cosmological force, Teilhard indicated that love is an energy ‘present from the Big Bang onwards, though indistinguishable from molecular forces. In his poem ‘The Eternal Feminine,” Teilhard speaks of cosmic love in the voice of wisdom,” WISDOM SOPHIA: “‘I am embedded in the force field that is driving the cosmos towards greater novelty, towards greater integrity, and eventually towards greater consciousness.’”...

He came to visit my mother in the hospital not long after she was transferred from Wake Forest Baptist Medical Center to Iredell Memorial Hospital. He has always considered her his “second mother.” The evening of his visit wasn’t a good one for Mom. She slept throughout his visit. He finally walked over to her bed and whispered, “I love you.” She slurred, “I love you, too. I always have.” He left before she finished what she had to say to him. Just after "I always have" came the words, “I always will.”...

Back in 2018, in February, I was wrapping up a three-week visit to churches and church leaders in several African nations. On my last night in Nairobi, I received a call asking whether it would be possible for my boss, Bishop Michael Curry, to preach at the royal wedding in Windsor that May. The answer, of course, was yes and, fast-forwarding three months, he preached a thirteen-and-a-half-minute sermon in which he used the word love some sixty times. Almost two billion people saw or heard that message. And one of the most important questions that came out of that experience was, “Yeah, but does this love thing really work?” As my boss would reply every time, “It’s the only thing that really works.”...

I was reading about redwood trees the other day. Redwood trees can grow up to four hundred feet in height – roughly the same as a thirty-five-story building. They are the largest and tallest trees on earth. Interestingly, they do not reach these amazing heights by sinking their roots deep into the ground. They grow to these heights by sending their roots out horizontally and connecting with the other trees. They are tall, because they bear each other up...

Amy grew up in the First Presbyterian Church of Santa Fe, New Mexico. She was active in that congregation. She was known especially as one of the best ringers in their bell choir.Amy was also a very bright young woman. In the late 1980s, after graduating as valedictorian of her high school, she went off to study at Stanford University, where she was a member of the diving team.While at college, Amy became passionately concerned about the apartheidsystem in South Africa. She won a Fulbright Scholarship to study at the University of the Western Cape, in Cape Town.That’s where Amy was on August 25, 1993 when she offered to drive a friend home to Gugulethu, one of the notorious “townships” where black South Africans were then forced to live under the apartheid laws.Amy never made it to her friend’s home. Gangs of angry black youths were wandering the streets that day, causing mayhem. They were throwing stones at delivery vehicles and at cars driven by white people. They toppled one delivery truck over and set it on fire.The mob surrounded Amy’s car and pulled her out of it. There, on the streets of Gugulethu, they stabbed and stoned her to death. Yes: stoned her to death. Sounds positively biblical, doesn’t it? Amy was 26 years old...

"Back in November at a Zoo in Russia, a 3 year old Siberian tiger named Amur was awaiting dinner time. A goat named Timur was thrown into his pen. Amur would normally pounce on whatever was thrown into his pen, be it rabbit or goat. But for some reason these two seemed to give each other the once over. The animal experts said that this had happened once before - another goat, the prey, didn't demonstrate fear or weakness so the tiger, the predator kind of left him alone..."

"91 year-old, Johnny Barnes is a Bermuda native who embodies the LOVE that dwells in him. How might we embody the LOVE that dwells in us? What does, would, could, will the embodiment of LOVE look like in you?..." with video

"In his provocative study, The Politics of Discipleship, Graham Ward develops a nuanced account of Paul's political theology of the body in 1 Corinthians. Ward argues that when Paul deploys the ancient civic image of the body politic to the resurrected body of Christ, he announces 'a new ecclesial politics' which calls into question dominant social and cultural value systems concerning the human body—'class notions of embodiment, ethnic and sexual ideologies'. Significantly, Ward locates 1 Corinthians 13 at the heart of this political ethic..."

"theologian Leslie Weatherhead says that…‘Love in the New Testament is stern and strong and severe and virile. It is not sloppy and sentimental and weak…Love is all the things St Paul described…. , but it has steel in it as well as tears and a smashing power greater far than dynamite. Love suffers, entreats and endures, and fools think this is weakness. But those who oppose love take up arms against the whole universe. They will be broken, not love. For love is invincible..."

Last year, a news article from the New York Times was circulating quite a bit, showing results from a scientific study suggesting that – in completely non-scientific terms – two strangers might fall in love with each other by following a certain set of instructions: the pair answers 36 questions in a conversation with each other. The questions are increasingly more personal...The whole experiment even became the subject of an episode of Big Bang Theory.

At the age of 89, Dr. Mac had been very ill, in intensive care. He would not live much longer. He was home, briefly, and David took some time off to go stay with his parents and help out. Later, he wrote this recollection: One afternoon I sat with him in his study, winter sun streaming in across shoulders and brow that were more precious to me than I could count. I reached out a hand and touched him on his arm, needing to connect with him past the fear and loss that had rested on our doorstep and still roamed just out of sight. He turned to me, put his hand on mine, and smiled as slow tears ran down my cheeks. He looked out the window, out beyond the cedar moving there in the chill wind. “I haven’t had many friends in my life.” His statement startled me. I didn’t know where he was going or what he was trying to say…

I’ve been having great fun listening to the audio version of Bruce Springsteen’s new autobiography, Born to Run: narrated by the author himself. Far from the typical celebrity tell-all, Bruce relates his life story with humility and risky honesty. One of his most important relationships growing up — some would say the one that’s at the heart of the book — is his relationship with his father, Doug. Doug was a World War 2 veteran, a working-class kind of guy who held a variety of unsatisfying jobs, from janitor to factory worker. In the evening, after supper, he would sit at the kitchen table in their cold-water flat in Freehold, smoking cigarette after cigarette, downing more than a six-pack of beer each night. He’d say barely a word, except when he was angry. Then he would become verbally abusive. Bruce describes what it was like, as a teenager, to walk past that darkened kitchen, to see the cigarette glowing ominously red, never knowing whether he would be met with indifference or rage.

Years ago, Donald Rumsfeld, then Secretary of Defense, was answering some questions about the war in Afghanistan. The reporters wanted to know how certain Rumsfeld was, based on military intelligence, about the strategy he was proposing. Here’s how he responded: “There are known knowns; there are things we know we know. We also know there are known unknowns; that is to say we know there are some things we do not know. But there are also unknown unknowns — the ones we don’t know we don’t know.”...

Let’s close with a little poem by the Pulitzer prizewinner, Maya Angelou. It’s called “Touched by an Angel,” and it goes like this: We, unaccustomed to courage exiles from delight live coiled in shells of loneliness until love leaves its high holy temple and comes into our sight to liberate us into life. Love arrives and in its train come ecstasies old memories of pleasure ancient histories of pain. Yet if we are bold, love strikes away the chains of fear from our souls. We are weaned from our timidity In the flush of love’s light we dare be brave And suddenly we see that love costs all we are and will ever be. Yet it is only love which sets us free.

While at college, Amy Biehl became passionately concerned about the apartheid system in South Africa. She won a Fulbright Scholarship to study at the University of the Western Cape, in Cape Town. That’s where Amy was on August 25, 1993 when she offered to drive a friend home to Gugulethu, one of the notorious “townships” where black South Africans were forced to live under the apartheid laws. Amy never made it to her friend’s home. Gangs of angry black youths were wandering the streets that day, causing mayhem. They were throwing stones at delivery vehicles and at cars driven by white people. They toppled one delivery truck over and set it on fire. The mob surrounded Amy’s car and pulled her out of it. There, on the streets of Gugulethu, they stabbed and stoned her to death. Yes: stoned her to death. Sounds positively biblical, doesn’t it? Amy was 26 years old.

In a few weeks it will be Thanksgiving. Extended families will come together, across the miles, and sit down together at the dinner table. Many are dreading the encounter. One such person is a woman named Deena Winter. Deena’s a journalist. I read about her in a column she wrote online. Not long ago, Deena unfriended her own uncle on Facebook. She’d posted some things she’d written that reflected her own political viewpoint, and what he said about her in response was so harsh, she felt she just had to get out of there. “This is a guy,” she wrote, “who could pass for a gentle, skinny Santa Claus, but I couldn’t take it anymore. And this is just weeks after my brother-in-law threatened to block ME, after I posted several stories about Donald Trump (and a few on Hillary Clinton).” What Deena said at the conclusion of her column was the real kicker: “I don’t want to go home for Thanksgiving this year — for the first time in my life. We are not a family that dreads Thanksgiving. We are not a family who fights. We’re a family who loves each other truly, madly, deeply. But I know my father won’t be able to restrain himself from talking politics, no matter who wins the election, and a battle will ensue. This election has exposed a huge divide between us: They don’t trust journalists like me anymore. And I don’t think we can turn back the clock to a time when they did. Not in my family, and not in America.”

In 1954, a community of monks was constructing a new monastery building to house the focal point of their worship: a large plaster statue of the Buddha, more than ten feet tall. When the time came to move the statue, they found that task to be harder than they’d imagined. When a group of them tried to lift the statue, they could not. Thinking at first that it was anchored to the floor, they examined the base and found that it was not cemented down. It was just too heavy. They brought in a crane, but even the crane had a hard time moving it. The ropes holding the statue broke, and it fell hard to the ground. Not knowing what else to do, they stopped work for the day. Besides, it had started to rain. The abbot of monastery threw a tarp over the Buddha statue, to protect it.

It happened in an airport: in the waiting area by one of the gates. It was one of those terrible days when there’d been bad weather, and a great many flights had been canceled. Well, those of you who travel know what happens when flights are canceled: there’s a mad rush to re-book on other flights. At this particular gate, the flight was already full. But there were several passengers, bumped from other flights, who were crowding the desk. “Please be patient,” said the gate agent. “We’ve got you all on standby. We’ll let you know as soon as something opens up.” So, the standby passengers all sat down: except for one man, a business executive. “You know,” he growled, “I was booked in first class on the other flight, the one that was canceled.” “Yes, I know, sir. Please sit down. Make yourself comfortable. We’ll call you.” But this guy wouldn’t take “maybe” for an answer. He went on: “I want you to know I’ve got an important meeting back home. It’s of the utmost importance that I get onto this flight.” “Thank you, sir. We’ll do everything we can.” But he didn’t sit down. He just stood there and glared at the gate agent. Finally he asked, “Do you know who I am?” Airline gate agents are people of infinite patience, but this woman had had enough. She had one tool at her disposal: her microphone. She picked it up and said this: “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a man here who does not know who he is. Would someone please claim him, offer him a seat in the waiting area, and tell him I’ll talk to him when it’s his turn?” Sheepishly the man made his way to a seat, as the whole waiting area burst into applause...

Forty-seven days is a long time. Especially if you're spending that time floating on an inflatable life-raft in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. The person who went through that ordeal, during the Second World War, was an American airman by the name of Louis Zamperini. He was the bombardier on a B-24 bomber. Louie and his fellow crewmen were out on a rescue mission, searching for another flight crew that had gone down at sea. When the same fate happened to them, other planes took off, looking for them. But nobody saw them.

This morning, we’ll look at the first of those phrases: “Love bears all things.” The Greek word, stego, is related to the word for “roof” or “covering.” That whole roof assembly is perhaps the heaviest parts of the whole structure, but it’s absolutely essential. Where would a building be without its roof? And where would the roof be without its bearing walls? You’d better make sure those walls are stoutly constructed, or disaster will not be far behind! So, when Paul says, “Love bears all things,” it’s as though he’s saying love is the bearing wall of the relationship. It’s what holds everything up.

There’s a famous scene in T.S. Eliot’s play, Murder in the Cathedral. The play is about the death of Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury in the year 1170. Becket was murdered in the cathedral on his way to prayers, by four knights of King Henry II. It’s a true story. It was a political assassination, done because the Archbishop had refused to go along with some things the King wanted him to do. Ever since his martyr’s death, Thomas Becket has been considered a saint of the church. Anyway, in this scene, Becket sees the knights approaching, swords in hand, and realizes what’s about to happen to him: if he doesn’t give in and carry out the King’s wishes. He entertains the possibility that he may have more selfish motivations for giving up his life: such as enjoying the thought that he’ll be remembered, forever after, as a holy martyr. It’s here that Becket speaks this famous line: The last temptation is the greatest treason: to do the right deed for the wrong reason. Paul’s entertaining the possibility, here, that a person could give — even give extravagantly — but do it without love...

Claire and I saw the new Star Trek movie the other day. It was great fun. At the beginning of the movie an alien creature was beamed aboard the Enterprise. Her speech was unintelligible at first — until, on the screen, we saw a computer overlay appear that said “Universal Translator.” Once that device had been engaged, she spoke perfect English. The Universal Translator is a common plot device in the world of Star Trek. Some would say it’s indispensable. Think about it. The crew of the Enterprise takes off at warp speed to travel beyond the fringes of the known universe. Their task? “To explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no one has gone before.” What if Captain Kirk and company arrived at an uncharted planet — and had to park themselves there for a few years, while expert human translators studied the new language and figured out how to converse with the locals? Such a story would not exactly be box-office gold! No, Gene Roddenberry, Star Trek’s creator, figured out early on that he’d need something to solve the problem of alien languages — and the Universal Translator was it. Star Trek wouldn’t be Star Trek without the Universal Translator. Neither would our most important human relationships. We all need a universal translator, and — thank God — we have one. That universal translator is love...

Mother Teresa said, "It is not what we do that is important, but how much love we put into what we do: we should do small things with great love," but prophets call us as a people or as humankind to great things-huge changes in our collective lives: the eradication of poverty, the end of war, preservation of life on our planet, the end of racism." and several other quotes

("In Beta Chi Guy, an episode of the wacky sitcom, Family Matters, student Eddie Winslow wants to join a fraternity. He applies and meets all of the requirements and then they issue an ultimatum. Winslow is ordered to dump his nerdy friend Steve Urkel in order to be admitted to the exclusive society...")

There is an old joke about the elderly couple that were having a bit of a fight and the woman said to her husband, 'you know what it is that is really troubling me?' 'NO, what?', he replied. 'You never tell me that you love me', she responded...

A family is out for a drive on a Sunday afternoon, and they relax at a leisurely pace down the highway. Suddenly, the two children begin to beat their father in the back: "Daddy, Daddy, stop the car! Stop the car! There's a kitten back there on the side of the road!" The father says, "So, there's a kitten on the side of the road. We're having a drive." "But, Daddy, we've got to stop and pick it up." "No, we don't." "But, Daddy, if we don't, it will die!" "Well, then, it will just have to die. We don't have room for another animal. Our house is a zoo already. No more animals." "But Daddy, are you just going to let it die?" "Be quiet, Kids, let's just have a pleasant drive." "We never thought our father would be so mean and cruel as to let a helpless little kitty die." Finally, the mother turns to her husband and says, "Dear, we are going to have to stop." So, reluctantly, Dad turns the car around, returns to the spot and pulls the car off the road. "You kids stay in the car. I'll see about it." He gets out to pick up the little kitten. The poor creature is just skin and bones, sore-eyed and full of fleas; but when Dad reaches down to pick it up, with its last bit of energy, the little kitten bristles, baring tooth and claw. Ssst! He picks the kitten up by the loose skin of the neck, brings it over to the car and says, "Don't touch it; it's probably got leprosy." Back home they go. When they get to the house, the children give the kitten several baths, about a gallon of warm milk, and intercede, "Can we let it stay in the house just tonight, please, please, please? Tomorrow we'll fix a place in the garage." The father says, "Sure, take my bedroom; the whole house is already a menagerie." They fix a comfortable bed, fit for a pharaoh. Several weeks pass. One day the father walks in, feels something rub against his leg, looks down, and there is the cat. He reaches down toward it. When the cat sees his hand, it doesn't bare its claws and hiss; instead it arches its back to receive a caress. Is that the same cat? Is it? No, it is NOT the same as that frightened, hurt, hissing kitten on the side of the road. Of course not. And you know as well as I what has made the difference...

("It was a long time ago that I first heard this little hymn, this little song, this musical refrain. I believe that originally, it was a composition by Herb Brokering for Vacation Bible School years ago. It goes like this: 'It’s about love, love, love, It’s about love, love, love...")

It was one of the worst days of her life. No, it WAS the worst day of her life. Oh, if only she could go back to her pre-marriage days and find the peace and contentment she had in her parents’ home. She had it so good then and didn’t realize it. She was afraid to call her Mom, who now lived 1500 miles away. Her best friend was on vacation. The minister was conducting a funeral that afternoon. Her sister was working on a big project for the company. Her husband was in a staff meeting with their biggest client. She felt all-alone and like the world was crashing down around her. The washing machine broke down and the wet clothes would have to be carried to the laundromat. The repairman could not get there until the day after tomorrow. That meant at least 4 more loads of clothes. She had scraped together enough money to finish the wash today, but that meant looking under the cushions on the chairs, sofas, and in her husband’s nightstand. Additionally, the telephone kept ringing and mostly with telemarketers who just would not take “No!” for an answer. Her head ached. She had not had a shower. The baby needed changing and the smell was getting to her. If only she could get him to nap so she could soak in the tub for a while. Then, the mail carrier brought a bill she had no money to pay. Could things get any worse? Almost to the breaking point, she lifted her one-year-old into his high chair after changing his diaper and almost gagging on the sight therein. The phone started to ring, the microwave buzzed, and she had finally had it. She leaned her head against the baby’s high chair tray and she began to cry. Without a word, her son took his pacifier out of his mouth, and stuck it in hers...

One of the most amazing and moving stories that I have ever heard is this true love story. It’s a story of Thomas Moore, the 19th Century Irish poet. Shortly after his marriage, he was called away on business. It was some time before he returned home, and when he did, he found waiting for him at the front door of the house, not his beautiful bride, but the family doctor. “Your wife is upstairs,” said the doctor, “but she has asked that you not come up.” Then Thomas Moore learned the terrible truth: his wife had contracted smallpox. The disease had left her once flawless skin pocked and scarred. She had taken one look at her reflection in the mirror and had commanded that the shutters be drawn and that her husband never see her again. Moore would not listen. He ran upstairs and threw open the door of his wife’s room. It was pitch black inside. Not a sound came from the darkness. Groping along the wall, Moore felt for the gas jets. A startled cry came from a black corner of the room. “No! Don’t light the lamps!” Moore hesitated, swayed by the pleading in the voice. “Go!” she begged. “Please go! I set you free. This is the greatest gift I can give you now.” Moore did go, but, only as far as his study where he sat up most of the night, prayerfully writing; not a poem this time, but a song. He had never written a song before, but now it seemed more in keeping with the mood of his soul than simple poetry. He not only wrote the words, he wrote the music too...

When Arnold became headmaster of an English boarding school, he decided to institute a completely new form of discipline. His predecessor ruled with fear. Beatings for small misdemeanors were common. On the first day, he called for school wide assembly. He told the boys that he was going to reduce the floggings and increase their freedom. "You are free," he said, "but you are responsible. You are gentlemen. I intend to leave you much to yourselves, and put you upon your honour, because I believe that if you are guarded and watched and spied upon, you will grow up knowing only the fruits of servile fear; and when your liberty is finally given you, as it must be some day, you will not know how to use it." The boys did not believe him at first. When they were brought before him they continued to make the old excuses and to tell the old lies. Arnold would just respond "Boys, if you say so, it must be true. I believe your word." In a few weeks the school was transformed. Discipline problems became a thing of the past. When faced with the option of lying the boys would say to one another, "It is a shame to tell Arnold a lie. He always believes you." He believed in them and he made them what he believed them to be. Love can ennoble even the ignoble by believing the best...

("Rufus Jones tells the story about the great Hellgate Bridge that was being built over the East River in New York. Just when one of the central piers of the bridge was to go down to its bedrock foundation, the engineers came upon an old derelict ship, lying imbedded in the river mud that was in the way. No tugboat could be found that was able to remove the derelict ship from its ancient bed..." and another illustration)

("Garrison Keillor, on his Writer's Almanac on National Public Radio reminds us that Father's Day goes back "to a Sunday morning in May of 1909, when a woman named Sonora Smart Dodd was sitting in church in Spokane, Washington, listening to a Mother's Day sermon...")

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Dave Simmons tells the story of taking his children to a shopping mall near their home. As they drove up, a big sign read, “Petting Zoo.” The kids jumped up in a rush and asked, “Daddy, Daddy. Can we go? Please. Please. Can we go?” Now this petting zoo was a great place for the kids to stay, fenced in with all sorts of furry creatures, safe and secure (children and pets) while mom and dad shopped. “Sure,” he said, flipping them both a quarter before walking into Sears. A few minutes later though, he turned around and saw his daughter walking along behind him, surprised that she preferred the hardware department to the petting zoo. But that was not the case. He asked her what was wrong. She looked up at him with those giant limpid brown eyes and said sadly, “Well, Daddy, it cost fifty cents. So, I gave Brandon my quarter.” Then she said the most beautiful thing I ever heard. She repeated their family motto. The family motto is in “Love is Action!” She had given her brother her quarter, and no one loves cuddly furry creatures more than Helen. She had done it because she had seen it played out. She had watched her mother give her father the last piece of steak and say, “Love is Action!” She had watched her parents do and say “Love is Action!” for years around the house. She had heard and seen “Love is Action,” and now she had incorporated it into her little lifestyle. It had become part of her. He goes on to tell the rest of the story. He writes...