I love you.
At least I know I am supposed to love you. It is one of the central commands of the Christian faith I profess. (See John 13:34, John 15:12, Romans 12:10, Romans 13:8, 1 Thessalonians 4:9, 1 Peter 1:22, etc., etc.)
And yet I have to admit; I am not always sure what I mean by that.
“But you don’t even know me!” you are no doubt saying. “How could you possibly say you love me?”
Good point.
And then there is this question to consider too: how do I distinguish my love for you– a (mostly) complete stranger – from my love for Joan, the woman with whom I held hands, stood before God and a room full of people nearly 20 years ago and exchanged solemn vows?
And while you’re tussling with that one, here is another mind-bender: Is there – should there be – any discernible difference between my love for those of you readers who are warm and wonderful human beings and my love for the monstrously bad eggs of the world?
I know what the answer is supposed to be. I know I am called to emulate Christ and ladle out heaping helpings of unconditional love to every one of you with no consideration given to the life you’ve led, the people you’ve harmed, the Nobel Prizes you’ve won, or the cancer you’ve cured.
Would it shock you to hear me say I fall woefully short of that benchmark EVERY SINGLE DAY?
Didn’t think so.
It almost sounds like a humanly impossible job description to fulfill, doesn’t it?
That’s because it is.
And yet, there it remains; front and center in the preaching of the One I follow.
“Easy for you to say,” I grumble under my breath. “You’ve got all that God-dust flowing through your veins. You weren’t ever susceptible to rage, or jealousy, or lust, or envy, or greed like the rest of us.”
And yet even before the words are out of my mouth I know I have never been more off base.
“Maybe,” I think, “I can use my thimbleful of Greek language skill and fulfill Christ’s command by philia-ing some folks and storge-ing others while I agape the really super-worthy ones.”
Even as I say it, I can see Jesus facepalming and shaking his head, charitably pitying the depth of my intransigence.
“Look, Russell… if my words aren’t clear enough for you,” He says, “why not take a listen to Saint Thomas Aquinas. My buddy Tom once said that authentic love means to ‘selflessly will the good of another.’ Does that help at all?”
Hmmmm. Intriguing.
“So, Jesus,” I ask. “Are you suggesting it might be possible to ‘selflessly will the good’ of a stranger, or a psychopath without feeling all warm and fuzzy toward them? Seriously?”
“When did you ever hear me say that love has anything to do with your feelings?” he says, mercifully declining to add the word “knucklehead” to the end of his sentence. “Love is a VERB. It is much more about what you DO and much less about how you FEEL.”
“So go… get out there and do some love. And stop trying to find a legalistic loophole to squeeze yourself through.”
Thanks, Jesus. I’m glad we had this little talk.
Now comes the hard part…
Russellings of the Spirit 