Last night at a meeting, a man I respect walked up and said he’d heard I’m really spiritual. I told him I’m just faking it till I make it. Then I told him the truth: I don’t even know what love is. I offered my wife as an example, the way she serves and supports our family in ways I can’t even comprehend. He got it right away. “We’re just scratching the surface,” he said.
That’s the kind of company it took me over thirty years to be free enough of myself to keep. He’s another solid guy doing the deal, feeding people’s spirits and helping change lives. Two years ago, on the way to a retreat, he handed me a Rule 62 chip: don’t take yourself so damn seriously. I’m still learning it. Maybe that’s why I could tell him the truth last night. Admitting I don’t know what love is isn’t a failure. It’s what I’m like when I’m not guarding an image.
Here’s what I’ve noticed. I use the word love all the time, and the culture around me uses it to mean something else: self, kingdom building, safety, preservation, comfort. I use it to describe my attitude problem – fear vs. love. Nobody taught me agape growing up. AA says our very lives depend on our constant thought of others and how we may help meet their needs. Christ says lay down your life, lose your life, love God and your neighbor, love your enemies. None of that is preservation. None of it is comfort. And when I say I’m trusting God with love, I realize I don’t know what I’m trusting him with.
I know His love is ridiculous. As high as the heavens are above the earth. As far as the east is from the west. I can’t hold that. Humility and gratitude are the best I’ve got.
What I can see is that hope and faith are what loving comes down to, in the face of shame and surrender. Paul says hope doesn’t put us to shame, because God’s love has already been poured into our hearts. I don’t have to understand it first. It’s been poured in, and I get to stand in it. Faith, hope, and some semblance of love. That’s what I have, and I’m writing it down now so I have something to mark my progress before it evaporates.
