Missing the Point

Two Christmas stories

Ebenezer Scrooge. The Grinch. What instantly comes to mind whenever we hear those names? Greed. Hatred. Meanness.

Why?

Isn’t the whole point of both stories that even the most evil among us can change dramatically? Scrooge “became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world.” The Grinch’s heart “grew three sizes that day.” They were both redeemed to a new way of life.

Shouldn’t our immediate thought when we hear one of those names be, “I remember him; he’s the one who became so much better than anyone ever thought he could be”? Shouldn’t we keep those positive images in our minds at this time of year?

It’s the theme of the entire Bible. No one is beyond redemption. Not Adam and Eve. Not Jacob. Not Thomas. Not Peter. Not Saul. Not Augustine. Not John Newton. Not Charles Colson. Not Rosaria Butterfield. Not me or you.

We seem to accept the changes in these people’s lives as being permanent. Why not do the same with poor old Scrooge and the Grinch?

I have to admit that we might be influenced simply by the sounds of their names. The authors chose well. Those names don’t sound pleasant or happy.

But surely it must go deeper than that.

Another reason could be that both fictional stories end with a brief glimpse of their new personalities and that’s it. We don’t really get to know them after they’ve been redeemed. In contrast, we have a great deal of information about the real people named above as they’ve lived out their new lives.

Maybe that’s all it is.

Deeper reasons

But I’ve wondered for several years now: Why don’t we get the message of A Christmas Carol (by Charles Dickens) and How the Grinch Stole Christmas (by Dr. Seuss)? Why do most of the images of the Grinch that we see at this time of year show him with that evil look on his face? As if he’d never changed.

Maybe we find it too hard to believe that anyone can be transformed so drastically in so short a time. No one goes from being despicable to being lovable instantaneously, do they?

Maybe we can relate better to the unredeemed Scrooge and Grinch. Their new selves set too high a standard for us to live up to, and we know it. We feel like failures compared to these remarkable characters. We’re more comfortable around their faults than their virtues.

And maybe it’s a reflection of our darker nature, the part of us that finds pleasure in hating. In an article on the “Public Discourse” website, Daniel Sonnenfeld writes, “Much ink has been spilled on charting the roots and causes of hate and its diverse manifestations. Yet in all these intellectual analyses and sociological investigations, one cause has largely escaped notice: the simple pleasure of hate.”

A tag line for the 1980s prime-time soap opera “Dallas” was “the man you love to hate,” referring to popular character J. R. Ewing. There’s something attractive, something pleasurable, in hating someone.

In the case of Scrooge or the Grinch or J. R., where that hatred is directed against an obviously evil target, it feels virtuous. But it’s not. Jesus tells us to love those who do evil things (Matthew 5:44). That’s what He does (Romans 5:8).

The abundance of bullying and online trolls demonstrates our human capacity to hate simply for the pleasure of it. Maybe we enjoy the anger and hatred we feel toward Scrooge and the Grinch at the beginning of their stories more than we enjoy our admiration for their new lives.

The original Christmas story

What do we think of at Christmas time? Santa Claus, reindeer, snow, decorated trees, lights. Maybe a baby in a manger.

But even when we consider the biblical side, do we limit our thinking to an infant, a holy family, a bright star, angels, wise men, and shepherds? That’s certainly better than remembering the bad side of Scrooge and the Grinch, but it still falls short.

Just as those characters didn’t remain the same by the end of the story, Jesus didn’t remain a baby or even a young man. He didn’t just become a good man or a prophet. He wasn’t killed as a martyr, but as a sacrifice. The whole point of His coming was to die to redeem us.

At some level, we get this. We recognize the fictional stories as Christmas stories even though their theme is redemption, not birth.

Shouldn’t our immediate thought when we see the baby in the manger be, “He’s the one who came to save me from my sins”? It’s the theme of the entire Bible.

One reason we stay focused on the manger scene is simply that babies have a natural way of touching our hearts. We like the warm fuzzy feeling they give us.

But surely it must go deeper than that.

Another reason is that the Gospels mostly cover Jesus’ life as a man on this earth. We only get a brief glimpse of the risen Christ. As with Scrooge and the Grinch, most of what we read about our Savior comes before His transformation.

But that’s not all it is.

Deeper reasons

It can be hard to believe that the Son of God would do such a dramatic thing as being born in a human body and dying on a cross all for the sake of mere people. Hasn’t history proven that we’re a lousy, violent bunch of animals that don’t deserve to live, much less live eternally? All we do is bring misery and suffering to a beautiful natural world that would be better off without us. Why would the Lord of the universe go so far as to die for us?

We can relate better to Jesus the man, living, walking, working, talking in this world. He ate, He prayed, He slept, He cried. We’re more comfortable around a vulnerable and compassionate human being than the risen Son of God.

Part of our darker nature refuses to admit that we need to be redeemed. Many people believe that they’ll go to heaven when they die just because. Because they’re not as evil as Hitler. Because the good things they’ve done outweigh the bad things. Because God loves everybody and will therefore forgive anything and everything they’ve done without anyone having to pay any kind of price for it.

And part of our darker nature doesn’t want what Jesus has to offer. Living a self-centered lifestyle is so much fun! We enjoy the darkness more than we think we could enjoy a godly life (John 3:19).

Getting the point

It’s okay to celebrate the birth of Jesus, just as it’s okay to get a kick out of the stories of Scrooge and the Grinch even before they change. Another reason we like them before their redemption is because of the cleverness and creativity the authors display in developing their characters.

But just as we need to move beyond their initial ugly personalities and remember the whole point of the books—their transformation—we also need to move beyond the attraction of a baby in a manger. We need to remember the whole purpose behind the Son of God taking on a human body.

Those characters have become popular because they changed so dramatically. There would be no story if they didn’t. In the same way, we need to celebrate Christmas because it leads to Good Friday and Easter. There would be no point in Jesus’ birth apart from His sacrifice to redeem us sinners.

 

 

 

Praising and Cursing

Thankfulness and bitterness

Jeremiah 20:13-14: “Sing to the Lord! Give praise to the Lord! ... Cursed be the day I was born!”

In just two verses, Jeremiah expresses the extremes of thankfulness and bitterness. Unlike the psalmists, he pours out the thankfulness first, then the bitterness.

Isn’t that backwards? Aren’t we supposed to work our way up from pain and doubt to singing and praise? Are we allowed to follow Jeremiah’s example?

Yes! That’s one of the reasons I’m so thankful to the God of the Bible.

He knows who we are. He knows how quickly we can plummet from praising Him to wanting to die. So He gives us the examples and the encouragement in His Word to express ourselves honestly (even when it means venting anger and self-pity) and to keep coming back to Him no matter how low we’ve fallen.

The Christian life is never a smooth and easy road from repentance and conversion to Christlikeness and glory, always walking in perfect faith, with no setbacks and no stumbling. We shouldn’t expect it to be. We shouldn’t expect it in ourselves or in other believers.

And yet, Christians seem to feel a certain pressure to believe that we can defeat our fears and doubts effortlessly, trust God completely in all circumstances, and shun sin every time. Doesn’t God promise us that He’ll enable us to do all that right from the start (1 Corinthians 10:13, 2 Corinthians 5:17, Ephesians 4:22-24)? And if we do slip up, all we have to do is repent and it will never happen again.

When I was participating in a small discussion group at a church several years ago, the pastor leading us defined repentance as a total 180-degree turn-around. Period. Permanent. Anything less isn’t true repentance.

I understand that that’s the literal meaning of the word. I know that God expects and enables me to continue becoming more like Jesus. But I look at real life and wonder if anyone has ever truly repented, if that pastor’s definition is accurate.

How often do my thoughts and behavior turn around completely, never to turn back again? How often does my genuine sorrow and regret for having fallen short of my Lord’s high standards result in never again disappointing Him in that same way? How often does my turning away from doubting His love and provision result in never again facing that same doubt? Not very often. We’re all slow learners.

Jesus seems to take the opposite view from that pastor when He says in Luke 17:3-4, “If your brother sins, rebuke him, and if he repents, forgive him. If he sins against you seven times in a day, and seven times comes back to you and says, ‘I repent,’ forgive him.” Sounds like Jesus expects us to keep repeating our sins, even after truly repenting.

Reality

One of the strengths of Alcoholics Anonymous is the recognition that an alcoholic in recovery usually returns to his old habit at least one more time. Do they kick him out of the group at that point? Do they tell him that he never really repented of his drinking in the first place, since he’s doing it again?

No! They help him get back on his feet. After additional falls, and with the group’s support, he can eventually stop drinking. He can look back and tell you the number of years that he’s been sober. Initially, he could only give you the number of days he’d made it through before starting over at square one again.

The Bible is real. In Jeremiah chapter 20 we have a prophet, chosen and trusted by God to preach His word to the people, saying in one breath, “Praise the Lord!” and in the very next breath, “Cursed be the day I was born!” That’s an example I can follow.

Not because I want to. Not because I don’t really care about pleasing God. But because I’m human.

Jeremiah’s example

Verses 1 through 6 of this chapter describe how Pashhur the priest, “the chief officer in the temple of the Lord,” has Jeremiah beaten and placed in the stocks for the prophecies that he’d declared. As soon as he’s released, Jeremiah pronounces a scathing rebuke against Pashhur and a dire prophecy about Judah.

At this point, I’m filled with admiration. This guy’s got guts. He’s speaking God’s truth to one of the most powerful religious leaders in the country when he’s just been released from a painful and humiliating punishment for his earlier offensive prophecies. Don’t think I could do that.

This is a great man of God. I want to be just like him.

Until I read the next section (vs. 7-10). Depending on the translation, Jeremiah starts out by accusing God of deceiving, persuading, enticing, fooling, tricking, or forcing him to do what he’s been doing. The general sense is that God isn’t playing fair and Jeremiah feels used. How could the same man who stood up so bravely for his Lord suddenly turn on Him and question His very character?

Jeremiah then complains about the life God has called him to. Because his message is one of violence and destruction, he’s ridiculed, mocked, insulted, and reproached. Including by his friends. And yet he can’t help proclaiming that message.

Verses 11-13 express his faith and hope and thankfulness. He knows that the Lord is with him and that justice will prevail in the end. He asks the Almighty God to avenge him for his undeserved suffering. He praises Him in his gratitude. Back to the good-guy, this-is-what-a-prophet-should-be personality.

Until he steps off the cliff and curses the day he was born. He continues along that line for the next four verses. The passage ends on a negative and depressing note.

What are we to think of this waffling prophet? His great courage in facing Pashhur. His bitter complaint as he questions God’s trustworthiness. His praise for the Lord’s faithfulness. His height of brief but intense thankfulness. His plunge into despair.

Should we try to be like him? Yes, when he’s at his best. But I’m not sure that that’s the right question to ask. I should be asking, “Am I like him?” Honestly, I’m more like him when he’s doubting and grumbling than when he’s speaking boldly to the one who has so much power over him.

But even in his complaining, Jeremiah sets a good example for me. He addresses his words to God as a sort of prayer. He doesn’t go to the people around him, badmouthing Pashhur and telling others how the Lord has disappointed him. He works through his confusion and bitterness and weariness in God’s presence. And those moments of strength and conviction follow. Even if they don’t last.

So I’m thankful for this book of Jeremiah. It’s a hard read. There’s so little in it that’s uplifting. Unlike the book of Isaiah, there are few promises of a glorious future. But there’s the example of a great prophet expressing exuberant thankfulness, only to fall into despair in the very next verse. I can relate to that.

And I’m thankful that at this time of year, nearly every year, I can honestly celebrate a day of Thanksgiving without immediately following that thought with cursing the day I was born.

 

  

Drawing Nearer

Drawing nearer in the storm

“Jesus Draw Me Ever Nearer.” One of my favorite worship songs. We first sang it in church when I was going through a tough time.

The initial plea: “Jesus draw me ever nearer as I labor through the storm.” I felt like I was lost in the darkness of a raging storm, alone in the middle of nowhere with no sense of direction, being drenched and blinded by the downpour and blown about by the wind. Laboring hard but not getting anywhere.

I needed Jesus to draw me nearer to Him. I was too helpless to approach Him in my own strength.

Over the next few years, as I sang that song in my head in difficult situations, I took the prayer to mean that special kind of drawing me closer temporarily to comfort me in a time of pain. Like a child sitting in her mother’s lap after she’s fallen and bumped her knee. When the storm passed, I wouldn’t need that same kind of help.

But recently, as I thought about the words, I realized that God’s been answering that prayer in an even bigger way.

Remaining nearer

A loving mother snuggles a crying child in her lap. When he’s feeling better, she encourages him to go back to playing with his toys. Even though he’s physically more distant from his mom, he remains just a little bit closer to her emotionally because of that moment of snuggling.

In the same way, even after my need for comforting has passed, my relationship with God remains stronger than it was before He drew me into His lap. Having a fresh taste of His nurturing love, I’m more aware of His presence more of the time. I know Him better, I understand Him better, I see the beauty of His character more clearly, than I ever did before.

When it comes to thinking about how God grows me through suffering, my thoughts have a tendency to go in two main directions. One, there are many lessons that I couldn’t learn any other way. As a fallen human being, I can’t understand the most important things in life when I have an easy time of it. I need the pain.

Two, one of the primary purposes behind my suffering is to enable me to minister to others. God comforts me so that I can comfort others (2 Corinthians 1:4). Suffering is intended to take my eyes off of myself.

Both of these ideas are biblical and important. But that’s not the whole story.

I get so focused on how God’s comfort makes a painful moment more tolerable that I don’t even think about the long-term effects of that comfort. The drawing ever nearer, not just for the moment.

Being comforted builds a bond that doesn’t simply go away when I no longer need that personal sense of comfort. And each time He comforts me, that bond grows stronger.

Strength for the future

Sometimes, when a child who’s been abused is fostered or adopted by new parents, she becomes clingy. She runs to them over and over again, seeking comfort in what might seem to be trivial situations. She has a hard time venturing out into the big bad world.

Although it might seem like an unhealthy need for attention, this behavior has a purpose. Each moment of comfort draws her nearer to her new parents, not just temporarily, but for a lifetime. Each moment of comfort builds a greater bond that keeps on growing until the child has the strength to play with friends for hours without having to continually turn back to her family. And that’s a good thing.

She isn’t cutting herself off from them. She’s not declaring her complete independence. She’s carrying that comfort and that bond with her as she stumbles out into the wider world. A world that she’s meant to be a part of.

In the same way, God’s comfort strengthens me, not just for the moment when I feel it so intensely, not just to give me a temporary high that I can treasure, but for my long-term growth. When I’m not feeling the immediate need for His comfort, that doesn’t mean that I’m walking away from Him or declaring my independence from Him. It means that His comfort has done the work that it was intended to do.

Because I was comforted for a moment, I’m now strengthened for a lifetime. I can venture out into the world having that greater bond to my Lord. I can love others better and serve Him more effectively.

My life has been tough in certain ways. I almost had to laugh when a woman at church commented to me a few years ago that we’ve reached that age when life starts getting harder. Starts? I hit that point in my early thirties. Didn’t have to wait till my sixties, like I was apparently supposed to do.

So I’ve thought a lot about suffering. I tend to think that the most biblical view is one that confirms that growth comes through pain. It hurts, God gets us through it, and we learn some valuable truths that we wouldn’t pick up any other way. I knew that, with each lesson, I would grow in my understanding of God’s love. I knew that He would comfort me in my trials. And that I could look back on those times of comfort to provide hope when the next trial came.

But I didn’t really think about the ongoing effect of that comfort in drawing me nearer to Him. I’ve sung so many times, “Jesus draw me ever nearer,” without recognizing until now that that’s exactly what He does. His comfort doesn’t just have a short-term effect. A moment of comfort draws me nearer for ever.

 

 

The Hammer and the Nail

The advantages of being a hammer

Would you prefer to be a hammer or a nail? In their song, “El cóndor pasa (If I Could),” Simon and Garfunkel say they’d rather be a hammer. Most of us would. It seems so obvious.

The hammer has a flashy job. It makes enough noise to attract attention. It has complete power over the nail. The nail can’t defend itself, beg for mercy, or talk back. All it can do is submit. The hammer is more valuable; one hammer costs more than many nails. Isn’t that what we want in this life? Attention, power, prestige.

The hammer’s role isn’t just one of pounding on the defenseless nail for no good reason, though. Its most common function is to build something new and worthwhile, like a shelter to protect vulnerable human beings. It can also help hang a picture on a wall, bringing beauty to an otherwise dull room. We want that sense of purpose and accomplishment, too.

The poor nail just keeps getting hit hard. Blow after blow after blow. It’s gotta hurt. Who would want that kind of life?

The advantages of being a nail

But the Bible often turns our natural human values upside down. We want power. Jesus came in meekness. We want to run the show. Jesus came to serve. We want to have our own way. Jesus always submitted to His Father’s will. (Matthew 11:28-30 KJV, 20:25-28, John 6:38)

We want so much to be the hammer in life. Jesus was more like the nail much of the time.

The hammer’s role might not be as fulfilling as it appears, though. It’s a solo job. No friends, no special relationships. Just domination. Even though it can be hard to admit it, that’s not a good life for any of us.

And, like the nail, the hammer is under the control of someone greater than itself. It has to wait for a human hand to pick it up and put it to use. Sometimes it suffers as that hand flings it away or the human mouth curses at it when it accidentally strikes the person’s thumb.

Still, the nail appears to have the less pleasant job. Being hit on the head. Cutting through hard wood until it’s forced down to where it will remain immobilized for many years. Sometimes being bent, wrenched back out, and thrown away as useless. Often being covered up where no one can see the hard work that it’s doing, as if it’s too ugly or worthless to look at.

But the nail isn’t just picked up occasionally for an odd job then put back on the shelf, like many hammers are. Once it’s in place, it renders a long, steady service behind the scenes. It binds things together that would otherwise fall apart. Sometimes it needs to work with other nails to do its job. It serves in a position that requires self-sacrifice, endurance, and cooperation. Kind of like the life God calls us to.

What are we to do?

Does that mean God doesn’t want any of us to be hammers? Is it wrong for a Christian to exercise power over others? On the job. In the home. At church. Within the community.

Of course not. We need bosses and parents and pastors and teachers and even political leaders.

However, like a good hammer, they’ll get the best results if they do the job right. Hitting the target accurately rather than striking wildly. Using only as much force as is necessary. Moving on when the job is done. Focusing on fulfilling their purpose to build something useful or beautiful, not on their ability to exercise power over others. Sometimes lying around for days or weeks waiting to be picked up. And just as there are many nails for one hammer, in any given situation God only calls a few to lead, while most of us serve.

Are we confined to one role or the other? Simon and Garfunkel’s lyrics make it sound like that’s the case.

Then I look at Jesus’ life. He spent much of it as a nail, submitting to God’s will in all things. He endured the opposition of the religious leaders of His day. He watched many lukewarm followers leave Him when His words offended them. He spoke and lived the Beatitudes. He washed His disciples’ filthy feet. He let Himself be nailed to a cross.

But He was more like a hammer when He cast out demons and cleansed the temple and rebuked the Pharisees. And when He rose from the dead.

Just like Jesus, most of us spend some time as hammers and more time as nails. A woman might act as a hammer to her children (choosing and enforcing the rules of the home in order to raise them to be responsible adults), then go to the office where she’s a nail.

There are powerful forces in our culture right now encouraging all of us to be hammers all of the time. Stand up for yourself. Demand your rights. Don’t let anyone take advantage of you. Seize whatever power you can and use it. Be an activist. Change the world.

Many politicians exemplify this attitude. How many presidents in recent decades have used their power hammering out executive orders that can be struck down by the Supreme Court or changed by Congress or the next president, rather than working together with senators and representatives to craft legislation that will hold together for many years?

These are our role models. They’re the ones we’ve elected to the highest office in the land.

What we really need, to counteract this destructive trend, is a whole lot of nails. People quietly serving without calling attention to themselves (1 Thessalonians 4:11). Holding things together rather than exercising blunt force. Working with others. Enduring the difficulties that come with their position. And understanding that this brings a different kind of power.

The power to contribute to greater peace in the world. To build stronger relationships and deeper community. To bring about greater justice and prosperity for more people. Jesus spent much of His life as a nail, but He’s had a more powerful influence on more people than anyone else in history.

 

 

Loving God

Agape vs. phileo love (pronunciation guide: a-gah-pay, fi-lay-oh)

Jesus: “Simon son of John, do you truly love [agape] me?”

Simon Peter: “Yes, Lord, you know that I love [phileo] you.” (John 21:15)

Agape is the greatest, deepest, richest kind of love. The love we all yearn for from others. An “unconditional, selfless, and sacrificial love.” Loving someone just the way they are, no matter what they do or say or think. Focusing fully on them and their needs. The kind of love God demonstrates. God is agape (1 John 4:8).

Phileo is “friendship or brotherly love, characterized by mutual affection, trust, and camaraderie.” Unlike agape, which is “unmerited, steadfast, and enduring,” phileo depends on things like how much we have in common, my current mood, and how easily I can be offended. It can fade over time. (Source of quotes: christianity.com)

After Peter has denied Christ three times, Jesus questions Peter three times about his love for Him (using his old name, not the new one Jesus gave him earlier). I can almost feel Peter cringing as he faces his Lord. Not only did he disown Him at His trials, now he’s going back to his old way of life, which was fishing.

Instead of being the rock (the meaning of the name “Peter”) and building the church on this rock (Matthew 16:18), instead of fishing for men (Matthew 4:18-20), he’s drawing his fellow disciples away with him to the lake and the boats and the nets. Even after witnessing Jesus’ sacrificial death and supernatural resurrection. Is there any hope for this man?

If we’ve read the rest of the story, we know there is. Most of that hope lies in God’s grace. But part of it is connected to Peter’s deeper understanding of himself. Jesus points out Peter’s failures by using his old name, then asks him if he agapes Him.

The old Peter would have loudly proclaimed his undying, sacrificial love for Jesus, as he did in John 13:37: “I will lay down my life for you.” (To which Jesus replied, “Before the cock crows, you will disown me three times!” He was right.)

The new Peter humbly recognizes and confesses that he does truly phileo Jesus, but agape is beyond his reach. He’d really rather catch fish than give his life away following Christ. Maybe part of the point of this passage is to show us that Peter has grown, even though he’s still disappointing his Lord. If there’s hope for this failure, then maybe there’s hope for me, too.

Phileo love for God

Agape demands that we love someone just the way they are. Do we love God just the way He is? Or do we want a different God, a God our warped and limited human understanding thinks is better? A God who gladly lets us conform to the world, rather than sacrificially following Him. Do we want the depth of an agape relationship with God, or only a shallow phileo friendship with Him?

Every time I open my Bible, Jesus asks me, “Ann, do you agape Me?” Am I willing to change my view of Him based on His revelation? Willing to love Him just the way He is? Or am I trying to accommodate the message that I find to fit my own ideas, giving Him my phileo but not my agape?

Looking at the list of labels in my sidebar, with “questioning.God” in a large font and “resenting.God” smaller but still there, it’s clear that I have a hard time loving God just the way He is. And I’m not alone.

Humans have always been drawn to gods who expect their followers to work their way into the gods’ favor. Sacrifice. Worship. Obey without questioning. It feeds our pride. (Look what I’ve achieved!) And it makes sense. What kind of god could demand anything less?

But the biblical revelation makes it clear that we can’t earn God’s love. He already loves us just the way we are. We sacrifice and worship and obey because we love Him, not to manipulate Him into loving us.

In the West today, the tendency leans more toward wanting gods who give their followers the freedom to do whatever makes them feel good, letting go of the old demands for purity and righteousness. The best god will respect the highest good in the universe—each person’s right to make his or her own decisions without judgment from anyone else.

There are those who stand firmly on the concept of social justice, rightly basing their convictions on the God of the Bible. He has always cared about the poor, the weak, the vulnerable, the oppressed. We should, too. In our actions, not just in our words.

But from what I’ve seen and heard, some of the most vocal religious proponents of the modern concept of social justice are appalled by many of the biblical demonstrations of God’s justice. They cannot believe in a God who condemns nations to slaughter or individuals to hell. They don’t love God just the way He is. They want to remake Him into their idea of what a good, modern god would be. A god they can phileo.

Those who promote a health and wealth gospel might phileo God but they don’t agape Him. They want to change Him into a God who always heals them and always provides abundant wealth for them.

And then there’s me. Sometimes life seems almost magical. Hopes and dreams fall into place. I can see God’s hand guiding it all. I can believe in the power of prayer and the depth of His love for me. I think I’m agape loving Him at those times. But maybe it’s more like phileo.

Maybe what I’m really feeling is a sense of mutual affection, trust, and even camaraderie. As long as He’s doing what I want, I can have a comfortable, friendly relationship with Him. But if He disappoints me, my phileo can cool off.

Agape love for God

Agape love is difficult for humans to achieve. But not impossible. God in His grace enables us to be more than we could be on our own, including growing in us the ability to agape. He even commands us to do it.

In Matthew 22:37-39, Jesus tells us to love God with all our heart and soul and mind, and to love our neighbor as ourselves. It helps to know that “this love (the Greek word agape) is not so much a matter of emotion as it is of doing things for the benefit of another person, that is, having an unselfish concern for another and a willingness to seek the best for another” (Bible Gateway).

At the time of his death as a Christian martyr, Peter proclaimed by his actions what he was unable to honestly say in words in John 21. In the end, he did agape Jesus.

I suspect that none of us (not even Peter) has ever been capable of sustaining our agape for God for any length of time in this life. The “unconditional” part of the definition of agape might be the biggest hurdle we have to get over. It really is very hard for us to love God just the way He is.

But as we move closer and closer to doing that, as we open our minds and our hearts to grasping who this glorious, generous, perfect, just, kind, and compassionate God is, loving Him selflessly and even sacrificially are likely to come more easily.

Peter’s example shows that it’s possible for that kind of love to grow and develop in us, by God’s grace and power. The fruit of the Spirit is agape (Galatians 5:22-23).