Thin Air, High Hope

I heard an interesting sermon recently about the famous passage in 1 Corinthians 13.

The speaker pointed out that when we hear 1 Corinthians 13 at weddings or pass it as poetry in the aisles of Hobby Lobby, we often forget the larger context. Paul was writing to a church that was struggling to love one another despite possessing many impressive spiritual strengths. They valued spiritual gifts, knowledge, wisdom, and demonstrations of faith. Yet Paul makes a startling claim in the opening verses of chapter 13: 

“If I were to speak with eloquence in earth’s many languages, and in the heavenly tongues of angels,  yet I didn’t express myself with love,  my words would be reduced to the hollow sound of nothing more than a clanging cymbal.

And if I were to have the gift of prophecy  with a profound understanding of God’s hidden secrets, and if I possessed unending supernatural knowledge, and if I had the greatest gift of faith that could move mountains,  but have never learned to love, then I am nothing.

And if I were to be so generous as to give away everything I owned to feed the poor, and to offer my body to be burned as a martyr,  without the pure motive of love, I would gain nothing of value.”  1 Corinthians 13:1-3, TPT

Without love being the defining characteristic of who they were, all of the Corinthian Christian’s good works amounted to nothing. It was all just noise, static adding to the discord of the world around them.

This emphasis on love reminds me of an earlier story about Jesus and a rich young ruler (Matthew 19:16-22; Mark 10:17-22; Luke 18:18-23). For those of us familiar with the story, it can be easy to villainize the rich young man, dismissing him as materialistic or merely unwilling to part with his wealth. But there might be more similarities between him and us than are immediately apparent.

He comes to Jesus with what seems to be a sincere question: “What must I do to inherit eternal life?”. Jesus points him toward the commandments, including one that sits at the center of God’s law: “Love your neighbor as yourself” (Matthew 19:19). The rich young ruler insists that he has been doing this all along. Yet Jesus sees that something is still missing. He challenges the young man to sell what he has, give to the poor, and follow Him.

Was this really just about giving up his money?

It’s interesting that Jesus does not challenge the young man’s theology or his knowledge of Scripture. Rather, he challenges the point at which his love for his neighbor, and consequently his love for God, has reached its limit. The rich young ruler claims to love his neighbor as himself, yet when confronted with an opportunity to sacrifice for the good of others, he walks away grieving.

Looking through the lens of 1 Corinthians 13, I wonder if Jesus was asking a deeper question: “You say you love your neighbor, but where is your limit? For the rich young ruler, the answer was revealed by the way he held tightly to his possessions. When I turn that question back on myself, I am sobered: Where is my limit in loving others?

As I face that question, I find myself returning to the rest of 1 Corinthians 13. What strikes me in this passage is that Paul does not begin by examining whether the Corinthians were right. He begins by examining how they relate to others beyond being right. This feels particularly relevant today.

Love changes how we pursue truth and justice and why we pursue them.

When I read the rest of Chapter 13, it functions less like a poem and more like a mirror.

• Love is patient: Am I patient with those who frustrate me or disagree with me?
• Love is kind: Is my speech characterized by kindness, even when I am convinced I am right?
• Love does not envy or boast: Am I able to celebrate God’s work in others without comparing it to His work in me?
• Love is not self-seeking: Am I willing to be inconvenienced for the good of someone else?
• Love is not easily angered: When am I quick to react with anger rather than seek understanding?
• Love keeps no record of wrongs: Are there people whose failures I continue to hold onto? Are there old wounds I revisit instead of surrendering to God?
• Love rejoices with the truth: Am I pursuing truth with humility, or merely defending my own conclusions?

What I appreciate about Paul’s description of love is that the statements are impartial. They do not address whether I belong to the “correct” political party, hold the “correct: social opinions, or occupy the “correct” side of a cultural debate. They examine whether my actions, attitudes, and relationships are shaped by love. That honestly seems like a much harder standard to satisfy.

It is possible to be correct and impatient. Correct and prideful. Correct and unkind. Correct and self-seeking. Correct and unwilling to forgive. The Corinthians possessed gifts, knowledge, and faith. The rich young ruler possessed obedience and moral discipline. Yet these passages suggest the same possibility: a person can possess many admirable qualities and still have areas where love has not yet reached completion. They force us to look beyond our strengths, gifts, and “right” opinions, and ask whether it is love that defines how we relate to God and to other people.

Both passages seem to imply that spiritual strength and spiritual maturity are not always the same thing. Spiritual maturity may not simply be a matter of accumulating more knowledge, more obedience, or more religious activity. Rather, it requires a willingness to let God expose the places where our love has reached its limits and then to let Him expand them.

Questions for Reflection

• When do I find myself becoming impatient, unkind, or easily angered toward others?
• What is one relationship that reveals the current limits of my love?
• What would it look like to take one step beyond that limit this week?