Will We Love Them?

Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things [1 Corinthians 13:4-7].

A few days ago, I was on treacherous ground. I’m not speaking about the dusting of snow that Durham had received. I’m referring instead to the writings of St. Thomas Aquinas, the 13th century philosopher/theologian. Knowing that the Lectionary appointed the First Corinthians 13:1-13 text as the Epistle reading for this Sunday, the Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany (RCL, Year C), and knowing further, that this text is a popular text read at wedding ceremonies, in spite of the fact that Paul wasn’t talking about love between spouses, I determined that I wanted some “fresh” ideas on the passage. I’ve found over the years that if you want some truly fresh ideas, just turn the clock back eight or ten centuries and you’ll likely find them. What did Aquinas have to say about love?

It turns out, of course, that he had quite a lot to say, much of it counter-cultural. In interpersonal relationships—and like Paul, Aquinas wasn’t limiting the discussion to marital relationships—he stressed that to love is to will the good for the other. Thus, love has little, if anything, to do with one’s personal feelings.

Society teaches that we should love those things and those persons that give us some sort of pleasure or benefit. Once that benefit is gone, of course, so is the love. Yet, that sort of “love” is no love at all, says Paul in his letter to the church in Corinth. Or, as I have written elsewhere, “Love isn’t so much a noun; it’s a verb.”

As I have remarked to a number of couples preparing for their wedding day, during the Christian ceremony, the question is never “Do you love the other?” Instead, it’s always, “Will you love the other?” As Jesus reminds us, the requirement that we love means we must will the good for everyone.

According to Aquinas, if I love you, I will the good for you, even if—especially if—it does not benefit me. Love, therefore, is the action of stripping away one’s own “self” from the equation. Love seeks no reward. It seeks no gain. It even seeks no pleasure. If it does, then it’s something other than love. As my close friend, Luke Bell, has allowed to several young couples on “their” day, “If you two are to become one, then somebody’s going to have to die.” Moreover, love seeks the good for you; it doesn’t just do what the other person wants.

Our thoughts turn back to Christ. Everything He did was for the good of the other. When He was weary, still He healed and fed the masses. When His disciples displayed thick-headedness, He was patient and kind with them. When those around him said the coming Messiah was only for the benefit of Israel, He told them otherwise. And when, at last, He knew that His time was nigh, He gave up His life so that we—who don’t deserve such sacrificial love—might live. Later, willing “the good” for Saul—the one who persecuted the early Church—Christ confronted him on the road to Damascus. Rather than strike him dead, Christ lifted him up. And neither Paul, nor the Church, was ever the same again.

Additional years later, dealing with deep conflict within the Corinthian church, Paul would draw upon the revelation of Christ and instruct those in the fledgling congregation as to what true love was all about.

It must have been 20 years ago, when I looked at the couple seated before me, and thought to myself, “Wow, you really did your homework.”

We were two months out from the exchange of their vows. This meeting was the second of two that I had scheduled with them. Each in his or her late-twenties, both were residents in internal medicine at Duke Med Center. They’d met during their first year in their program. He was from New Hampshire, she hailed from Colorado.

They had shared their matrimonial plans with the Duke physician who headed up their residency program. That physician and her family lived next door to us. The couple had confessed to our doctor friend, a devout Christian herself, that while they had both been active in church during their youth, each had “fallen away” during their respective college and med school years. “Church got crowded out,” they told our neighbor.

In their talk with our neighbor, they continued, “But we want a fresh start. We really want to be married in Duke Chapel. Do you know a minister who might talk to us about the ceremony?”

Our neighbor related the story to me and asked if I’d marry them. I said, “I don’t know. I’m sure the couple is nice enough, but they seem as if they’re used to always getting what they want. Now, perhaps they might need to learn that the Church isn’t a supermarket where one walks in and always gets service with a smile. But I’ll talk to them.”

A week or so later, I did talk to them, and I must say that I was favorably impressed. Perhaps because of their age and their intellect, they had a sense of seriousness and maturity rarely seen in an engaged couple. In our first session, I had quizzed them a bit about how two super-intelligent, “A-types” might get along in the long run. They admitted that they had discussed that very issue on a number of occasions. They knew they both had active careers ahead. They’d make it work. Several times they expressed to me their deep love for each other. I told them that we’d talk about “love” during our second session. In the meantime, I was giving them some “homework.” I quipped, “After I grade your homework, I’ll tell you if we can move forward.”

The “homework” had two parts. In part one, they were to review a list of scripture passages and rank their top three or four. I gave them two caveats: that I had the last say as to what would be read, and also, that I wasn’t so much interested in which scripture they favored; I wanted to know why they favored it. They’d need to articulate why and how that scripture spoke to them.

You see, my motive was not as pure as Ivory soap. I figured that if they weren’t willing to devote some serious time to Holy Scripture, then I’d just advise them to go down to the courthouse and ask a magistrate to tie the knot.

In part two of the assignment, I gave them a series of written questions that were intended to help them articulate—for themselves, not for me—how they might try to handle the inevitable conflicts that visit any marriage. I wanted written answers.

A few weeks later, at our second (and final session), I’ll confess that I rolled my eyes when I scanned the paper and saw the ranking of their scripture passages. In first place was the familiar—all too familiar, as far as I’m concerned—passage from 1 Corinthians 13. During our first session together, I had discussed with them the fact that the Corinthians text was often used, but rarely understood. In that first session, I carefully parroted what every seminarian learns about the Corinthians text: “Writing to the church in Corinth, Paul speaks of agape, a type of love that is to be contrasted with philia (i.e., brotherly love), philautia (self-love), and eros—well, everyone knows what sort of love is characterized as eros. In First Corinthians, Paul isn’t writing about the love shared between a husband and wife.”

Now, as we gathered for the second session, seeing the expression on my face when I saw their choice of scripture, the young woman quickly retorted, “Now you said we should be prepared to tell you why we want this scripture. Well, we’re fully prepared to do so.”

She continued, “You probably figured this out already, but we love to study, so we checked out a commentary from the Divinity School library, and we devoured the discussion on Chapter 13.” She continued,

We actually started with your questions about conflict resolution. As we mentioned last time, both of us is the product of a broken home. We both grew up in divided worlds, where motives were always suspect, where harsh words were the rule, not the exception. And, as we read the commentary, what fascinated us about the Corinthians passage was that—as you told us—Paul wasn’t talking about romantic love. He was talking about love in the face of conflict. We read how that early church was deeply divided, at how the various factions were warring against each other, and we determined that if Paul’s words spoke to the early church in times of conflict, then they could speak to us as well in the time of any conflict between ourselves. And that’s why we want the Corinthians text read.”

As I noted above, I heard her words and I thought, “Wow, you really did your homework.”

I chuckled as I looked at them and said, “I tell you what—why don’t I just read the passage and then you turn to the congregation and repeat to them what you just said to me. That’s all the homily we’ll need.”

The wedding went forward in splendid fashion. Don’t worry. I didn’t make the bride preach; I fashioned my own homily, although I’ll confess that its core was drawn from her words to me. Since that day, I’ve viewed this Corinthians passage through different eyes. Paul’s words, echoed more than 1,200 years later by St. Thomas Aquinas, are perfect for our ears today.

There’s so much conflict around us. Can we jettison ourselves and will the good for others? Can we get on with living by dying daily for their good, not our own? Can we be more patient? Can we show greater kindness? Can we be less boastful? Can we rejoice in the truth, even when it doesn’t suit our needs or interests? I pray that we can, dear ones. Moreover, I pray that we will.