Genuine Love

The Word Isn't Enough

Let love be genuine.

— Romans 12

Usually when I'm looking through a Lectionary reading for a Reflectionary, I pass rather quickly over the opening sentence.

The first sentence often tells you what the passage is going to be about. That's useful, but I'm usually looking for something farther down: a curious phrase, an unexpected word, some little nugget that might be overlooked unless we linger over the reading.

Not this time.

“Let love be genuine.”

I stopped right there.

Because that one little adjective creates an interesting problem. Paul doesn't merely tell us to love. He tells us that our love must be genuine.

Apparently, there is something we can call love that isn't really love at all.

That's worth thinking about in a generation that uses the word constantly. We marry for love. Love wins. Love is love. We make love. We fall in love. We love our spouses, children, friends, pets, favorite foods, favorite songs and favorite football teams.

That's an awful lot of work for one four-letter word.

Popular music has tried to distinguish the real thing too. The Beatles sang about “Real Love.” The Doobie Brothers used the same title for a very different song. Both recognize something we seem to understand instinctively: whatever else we're experiencing, we want to know whether we've finally found the real thing.

Paul offers an interesting solution.

He doesn't stop to define love philosophically.

He describes what it does.

After saying, “Let love be genuine,” he immediately starts filling in the picture. Genuine love hates what is evil and holds fast to what is good. It shows mutual affection and takes delight in honoring other people. It doesn't become sluggish about serving. It rejoices in hope, remains patient through suffering and perseveres in prayer. It contributes to the needs of others and extends hospitality to strangers.

And Paul isn't finished.

As the passage continues, the demands become considerably harder. Bless the people who persecute you. Rejoice with people who rejoice and weep with people who weep. Don't become conceited. Associate with people of low position. Don't repay evil for evil.

And then comes something we've been thinking about quite a bit lately:

“So far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.”

There's shalom again.

Suddenly genuine love looks considerably different from the way we sometimes use the word.

There is nothing wrong with affection. There is nothing wrong with romance or attraction or the extraordinary bond between two people who delight in one another. Those can be beautiful expressions of love.

But they aren't what makes love genuine.

Feelings change. Attraction changes. Circumstances change. People disappoint us. Sometimes the person I am called to love doesn't make me feel particularly loving at all.

Paul's test survives all of that.

Do I honor this person? Do I show up when something is needed? Can I rejoice when something good happens to someone else, without making it about myself? Can I sit beside someone who is suffering? Can I remain patient when I'm the one suffering? Can I open my home? Can I share what I have?

And perhaps most difficult of all, can I refuse to return an injury when somebody injures me?

That is a considerably higher standard than simply feeling warmly toward somebody.

It also means genuine love isn't reserved for people I like.

That's where Paul's description becomes especially uncomfortable. If love is primarily a feeling of affection, I have a perfectly reasonable excuse for not loving certain people: I don't feel affection for them.

But if love is expressed through patience, honor, generosity, hospitality, prayer, humility and peacemaking, I can practice those things even toward someone I don't particularly enjoy.

Maybe that's why genuine love is indispensable to becoming a peacemaker.

Keeping the peace can sometimes be accomplished through avoidance. Stay away from difficult people. Don't discuss difficult subjects. Keep everybody in separate rooms and hope nobody causes trouble.

Making peace requires something more.

It requires enough genuine love to move toward another person without demanding that the other person become lovable first. It requires listening, patience and humility. Sometimes it requires showing up when I'd rather stay home.

And it requires practice.

Perhaps that's why Paul doesn't give us a lofty definition of love. He gives us things to do.

Ours is a culture that talks about love constantly.

That's not necessarily a bad thing. Love is worth talking about.

But Paul apparently knew that saying the word wouldn't be enough.

So before we congratulate ourselves for being people of love, perhaps we should keep reading Romans 12 and let the Apostle ask a slightly more demanding question:

Is it genuine?

Because genuine love can be recognized.

It honors.

It serves.

It gives.

It welcomes.

It endures.

And, whenever possible, it makes peace.