Words and Love [Easter 4B - I John 3:16-24]
The Rt. Rev. Jeremiah Williamson
I John 3:16-24
Words and Love
St. Peter’s, Hobart
If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do
not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries
and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do
not have love, I am nothing.
Eloquent prophecies: they will come to an end; tongues: they
will cease; knowledge: it too will come to an end.
You know these words; you have heard them at weddings. They are St. Paul’s words; they are words
about words. Beautiful words; timeless
words. But also words written to articulate
the stark limitation of our words. Proclaimed
to you today by a man who wrote words about a passage of ancient words, from
the first letter of John, that implore us to not love in word and speech alone. Because, while words are great, words are not
enough.
But this, an election year, we will certainly get our fill of
words – more than enough. The words will
assault us and our relationships and our unity through televisions and radios,
in magazines and newspapers. The words
will further pollute the internet, rendering it a toxic wasteland. These partisan words will aim to divide and
conquer. They will mean to hurt and deceive. They will hope to stir up feelings of hatred
and anger, bitterness and brokenness.
They will seek drown out love with fear.
And while the Scriptures remind us that words are not enough,
they also remind us that words are powerful.
Words, after all, are what the Scriptures are. And so words do have the power to point us
towards salvation. But their power is
not always used by mortals for good. Like
verbal weapons, words can be also hurtful and destructive. But then, like precious gifts, other words can
be beautiful. They can reach into our
hearts and speak to our souls. They can
be so many things in this world. Words
can be sorted into poetry – or told in lies.
They can become the stories that allow us to make sense – or they can be
twisted up. They can bring clarity or
confusion. They can be used to convince,
to change our minds.
Or not change our minds.
Because sometimes even the best words, organized in the best way, hit
the ear like a noisy gong. And then, in
this same mysterious world, the nonsensical sounds that burst forth from the
mouth of the baby in your arms, can stir a person’s very soul – to move and act
and love.
Unless they are powered by love, words can never rectify our
hearts. Without love, words are like
lyrics without the music. Our God has chosen
to save this world, not with clever words, but by love. And that should not surprise us because the
author of today’s epistle writes, later in this very letter, that God is
Love. And in the Church we have found that
to be true: we find God where love is present.
One of our ancient hymns, written centuries ago, but sung in the Church still,
says, “Ubi cáritas et amor, Deus ibi
est.” “Where true love is, God is
there.” In the Church, we spend so
much time trying to find the right words, that we can easily forget that Jesus
never commanded us to get all of the words right. He commanded us to love – to love God and to
love each other, to love others as he loved us.
Theologian Brian Bantum wonders, “[S]houldn’t theology help
us to become more loving people rather than more certain people?”[1]
And I think that is true but being
certain, or at least acting certain, is definitely easier than loving. Because people are often, let’s be honest,
not terribly easy to love. Staking our
salvation on knowing the right things and saying the right words feels safer
than trying to walk into this world in the name of love. Checklists and doctrinal documents are
composed in black and white; love makes things messy – that’s why so many
religious people struggled with Jesus.
But if I look back on my life, it was never rules or regulations
that saved me – and, I grew up Pentecostal; so I know about rules. And I have never been argued into being a
better Christian. Every time, I have been
converted, it was by love. There are
good arguments out there, but it is love that is saving me and chipping away
the hardness of my heart. It was the
prayers of my grandparents. The tireless
sacrifices of my father. The mercy of my
mother. The friends who stayed when I
was teased for losing my hair. It was
the way my bride looked into my eyes and soul and saw me and loves me, despite
my flaws and fear and brokenness. It was
the baby boys who gripped my finger with their tiny fists, who stared into my
eyes while I rocked them, who taught me how to cry tender tears, who continue
to forgive my parenting flaws.
And it is this God, this God named Love, who refuses to let
me go, who loves me when I kick and scream against grace. It is this Jesus who gives his body so that I
will never go hungry. This Jesus who knows
me and calls me by name. This Jesus who loved
and loved and loved until it cost him his life.
And then, on Easter Sunday, proved that love is the most powerful force
in the universe – stronger than violence, stronger than death.
Little children, love is our legacy in this world. Love is the way God moves through us and
saves this world. Love is the image of
God stamped onto our hearts. Love is our
message and our work.
I love words. But one
day all our words will fade away. Our beliefs
will become irrelevant in the presence of the Omniscient One. Our opinions will cease to matter. But love will never end.
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