God’s Love: Part 2 of an Infinite Series

John 15:9-17

Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so. It is written right here, plain as day, that Jesus loves us. But then he goes on to add, “this is my commandment: love each other just as I have loved you.” The two trickiest words in that passage for me are these, “just as.” We are commanded to love “just as” Jesus loved. Is that even possible? Can we love like Jesus loves…can we really be expected to keep this commandment? And just in case we might begin to get cocky and think, “Sure thing, I can do that. Love like Jesus.” Jesus, again, continues by saying, “Oh yeah, and remember what love entails. There’s really no greater expression of love than to give up one’s life for one’s friends.” Nice knowing ya, Jesus…I think I’ll just stick to loving myself, then…thank you very much.

Love “just as” Jesus loves? Really?!? That’s a toughie. This commandment invites us into tremendous vulnerability. When Jesus reminds us of the sacrifice required by loving, that our vulnerability is exposed, we get that feeling in the pit of our stomach, and we begin to doubt that we want to or even if we can really obey this command. Perhaps, we wonder, we’re not really cut out to be his disciples. And it is at this point that Jesus reminds us that we didn’t choose him, he chose us. We didn’t pick this command to follow, he gave it to us, entrusted it to us, appointed us to the task of loving. And lest we still doubt our ability, Jesus reminds us that we are able to ask God for anything in Jesus’ name, and it will be granted to us. That is…anything we ask pertaining to our ability to uphold the commandment to love each other.

There is an anecdote about a World War I general trying to keep a soldier from going out into no man’s land to retrieve a fallen friend. “It’s not worth it,” he told the soldier, “Your friend is likely already dead, and if you go out there to get him, it’s likely you’ll be killed, too.” “It is worth it,” the soldier responded, defiantly. And when the general couldn’t convince him otherwise, the soldier made his way out onto the field and managed to get his friend over his shoulder and back to the foxhole where they collapsed in a heap. “I told you it wasn’t worth it,” the general scolded. “Your friend is dead and now you’re injured, too.” “It was worth it,” the soldier said, “because when I got to my friend he wasn’t dead, and he looked up at me and said, ‘My dear friend, I knew you’d come.’”

Love is worth it. That’s what Jesus teaches us. The command to love each other invites us out into no man’s land, a place where we are vulnerable and scolded by the general’s words, “It’s not worth it.” The way of love and the necessary vulnerability it requires doesn’t make sense to the ways of this world. The way of this world teaches us how to exploit the vulnerabilities of others, all the while having our own time, and talents, and money exploited, too. We feel like we always need to keep our defenses up.

I recently read this and I feel like it captures these patterns of exploitation well. “How do you sell and anti-aging moisturizer? You make someone worry about aging. How do you get people to buy insurance? By making them worry about everything. How do you get them to have plastic surgery? By highlighting their physical flaws. How do you get them to watch a TV show? By making them worry about missing out. How do you get them to buy a smartphone? By making them feel like they are being left behind. To be calm becomes a kind of revolutionary act. To be happy with your own non-upgraded existence.”

Jesus’ command is a new way of living in the world in which we take on the vulnerability of loving one another, a way of living in which we give of ourselves, our gifts, our abilities, our time, our resources on God’s terms. This feels like taking down our defenses, but it really allowing God’s love for us becomes our defense. It is the ultimate upgrade, to new life in God’s Kingdom.

According to the worldly patterns of exploitation, this table is a silly place to gather and find strength. This table is a place of vulnerability, where we are invited to let our guards down, come as we are, be fed, and then be sent back out to love. If we solely see ourselves as citizens of this world, then it is a silly thing to gather to celebrate a body broken and blood shed. But, for a community walking the way of God’s Kingdom, it is worth it.

At the table we participate in a symbol of being nourished and strengthened by the love of God who takes on the vulnerability of becoming our friend, and the love of a friend who takes on the vulnerability of becoming our savior. And friends, we need this food and we need this strength because that savior invites us to take on that same vulnerability. This is the place from which Jesus calls us to serve. It is worth it to be reminded that God chooses us, and God strengthens us, and God sends us. Jesus sends us to love because Jesus also identified with the sick, the hungry, and the broken ones on the battlefield of life. “Go to the least of these,” Jesus commands us, “and love them. Go to the least of these, for that is where I am also.” The command to love sends us into no man’s land where Christ is waiting to whisper, “My dear friend, I knew you’d come.” Amen.