1 Corinthians 4:3-5; 1 John 4:9-18 (selected verses)
I spent a summer while I was in seminary as a student minister at Acadia National Park in Maine, where I was assisted by a young volunteer named Martha. Martha was an old soul, wise beyond her years. I say that because during that summer while I was preaching on a broad range of biblical themes at our Sunday morning campground services, she would often ask, “Why not just preach on the love of God, since this will be the only opportunity we’ll have, and it’s what everyone most needs to hear?” Ironically, I, the seminary student, didn’t really get it at the time, but I’ve since come to appreciate her wisdom. And if I had it to do over again, I would follow that counsel, because the love of God really is the most important truth in all of life for us to know and to take to heart. Everything else derives from it and depends on that great reality.
Twice in his life Jesus heard his Father’s voice from heaven saying, “You are my Beloved Son; with you I am well-pleased,” first at his baptism at the beginning of his ministry, and later on the Mount of Transfiguration as he was approaching his suffering and death in Jerusalem. No doubt Jesus needed to hear those words from his Father.
We, too, need to remember and to embrace the reality of our belovedness as God’s children. The Apostle John understood this as well as anyone ever has. His letters emphasize the amazing gift of God’s love. “How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God!” (1 John 3:1). We’ve been received into the family of God as his own children, those closest to his heart and most intimately loved.
John continues: “This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him. This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins.… There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love” (1 John 4).
John stresses that God’s love is perfect, having nothing to do with fear or punishment. His love is merciful and unconditional; it doesn’t have to be earned or deserved. We call that “grace:” love in its kindest, most merciful expression, the pure essence of love. When Jesus prayed from the cross, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do,” that was grace. Even in the midst of his cruel, unjust death, Jesus extended kindness and mercy.
And John then adds, “Anyone who fears is not made perfect in love.” What does that mean, though, to be “made perfect in love?” I think it means living in a state of grace, without fear or anxiety or doubt, with only the reassuring knowledge that we’re loved, just as we are, faults and all. On the other hand, possibly the worst experience for any of us is rejection, to feel unloved, unaccepted and unappreciated for who we are.
A Professor of Speech at a large secular university, a devoutly Christian man in his early sixties, went around the room on the first day of an introductory speech class having the students introduce themselves by answering two questions: “What do I like about myself?” and “What would I like to change?”
A young woman named Dorothy was sitting in the back of the room, virtually hiding there behind the long, red hair that obscured most of her face from view. When her turn came to introduce herself there was only silence in the room. Thinking that she hadn’t heard the questions, the instructor gently repeated them for her. Again, though, there was no response for several long moments.
Finally, with a deep sigh, Dorothy sat up in her chair and pulled back her hair, revealing her face. Covering nearly all of one side of her face there was a large, irregular dark red birthmark. “That,” she said, “should show you what I don’t like about myself.”
Moved with compassion, the professor went to her, leaned over and gave her an encouraging hug. Then he kissed her cheek where the birthmark was, and told her, “That’s okay, honey. God and I still think you’re beautiful.”
Hearing that, Dorothy then broke into sobs, and wept uncontrollably for almost twenty minutes. Several other students gathered around her and offered their own expressions of comfort and kindness. When she could finally speak, Dorothy said, “I’ve wanted so much for someone to hug me and say what you’ve just said. Why couldn't my parents do that? My mother wouldn’t even touch my face.”
We’re all conditioned to believe that human love has its qualifiers and limits. In natural relationships, we can never trust that love is totally unconditional. We can always blow it under the right circumstances, or be deeply wounded by rejection of one kind or another. I remember hearing a wedding homily about “not letting the little foxes ruin the vineyard” (Song of Songs 2:15), warning of the way marriages can suffer from letting small grievances fester.
There’s a passage in chapter 4 of 1st Corinthians that’s very helpful in keeping our focus clearly on God’s perfect love. Paul writes, “I care very little if I am judged by you or by any human court; indeed, I do not even judge myself. My conscience is clear, but that doesn’t make me innocent. IT IS THE LORD WHO JUDGES ME. Therefore, judge nothing before the appointed time; wait till the Lord comes. He will bring to light what is hidden in darkness and will expose the motives of human hearts. At that time each will receive their praise from God.” (1 Cor. 4:3-5)
“I care very little how I am judged by you or by any human court,” Paul writes. (Repeat.) We can all mistakenly value others’ opinions of us over God’s, and let that become the basis of our self-esteem. And that can be true of both criticism and needing others’ praise. (I once heard a very popular older pastor say that the only compliment he wanted to hear after a sermon was, “That was the best sermon I’ve ever heard in my life.”) But we’re taking our cues from the wrong source when we do that. By listening to those other voices, we forget the only voice that really matters: God’s, who calls us his beloved children, able to please him greatly. We’re fully accepted, all of us flawed but still cherished by God, in Christ, who loves us with a father’s passionate, faithful love.
By the way, it should be said that Paul is writing this to the church at Corinth, who probably caused him the most heartache and pain of any congregation he served, so he’s guarding his heart by consciously entrusting himself only to God’s love and mercy, and not human judgments. And so should we. That’s easier said than done, as we all know, but it’s possible.
Yet, there’s also another, even harsher voice: our own. As Paul writes, “Indeed, I don’t even judge myself.” (Repeat.) Many of us still carry a weight of guilt for sins God has forgiven and forgotten long ago, and shame for all the failures that haunt us. “As far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our sins from us,” Psalm 103 tells us. In other words, infinitely. But Satan is called “the accuser of the brethren” (Rev. 12:10) for a reason--in fact, the name Satan means literally “Accuser” --and he wants us to condemn ourselves and to see us suffer in guilt and shame. We need to recognize Satan’s voice for what it is: poison to make us condemn, and even hate, ourselves, and to rob us of the joy of God’s love.
So this is Paul’s conclusion: “Therefore, judge nothing before the appointed time; wait till the Lord comes. He will bring to light what is hidden in darkness and will expose the motives of our hearts. At that time each will receive our praise from God.” Notice that he writes, “each will receive our PRAISE from God” at the Judgment. We’ll receive only God’s praise, not his punishment. When God looks at us, he sees Christ in us, a living part of his Son’s heart and soul, and he loves us just as he does his own Son. And in his fatherly love God will pass over the chaff, seeing only what is praiseworthy. “Love covers a multitude of sins” (1 Peter 4:8) --and that’s precisely why Christ came and died for us so sacrificially, in the supreme act of love. How can we still doubt his love or fear that we aren’t truly loved, if we keep our eyes on the cross? What more could God have done to prove his love?
A pastor tells of counseling with a college student who told him he didn’t believe in God. He asked him what it would take to change his mind, and the student answered, “If that tree in the courtyard caught fire right now, I’d believe there is a God.” The pastor countered, “Okay, but even if that happened, what would it really prove, other than that God can do magic tricks with fire? And how long do you think it would last for you to have any real faith or confidence in that kind of God? Where would there be any actual meaning in that miracle?” He went on to describe the God of the Christian faith, and how Christ’s teaching, healing and sacrificial death reveal the character of a loving, compassionate savior, the revelation of a God worth believing in and living for.
Abraham Lincoln was walking back to the White House one Sunday morning after having attended worship at New York Presbyterian Church, as he often did, by the way, when his aide asked him what he thought of the sermon. Lincoln answered, “I thought it was interesting and well-delivered.” “So,” the aide said, “does that mean you liked it?” “No,” Lincoln replied. "He never asked us to do anything great.”
Every sermon ultimately comes down to two words: so what? In this case, that great thing God asks of us is to entrust our hearts as fully as we possibly can to his perfect, life-changing love that casts out all fear and anxiety. We can override those other voices—the judgments of those around us, our own harsh inner critic, and Satan’s hateful accusations—to listen only for the loving voice of grace and mercy. God wants us to live in the blessing, joy and peace of knowing that we’re his beloved children.
Amen.
