The Energy to Love
Love is often described as a feeling, but in reality, it’s far more demanding than that. Anyone who has cared for a child knows this instinctively—love shows up in sleepless nights, constant giving, and deep exhaustion. The presence of tiredness doesn’t mean the absence of love; it reveals that real love requires energy, effort, and sacrifice.
Yet this raises an important tension: if love is so costly, what happens when we simply have nothing left to give?
The life of Jesus speaks directly into that question. In the Gospel accounts, we see that Jesus himself experienced fatigue. After sending out His disciples on mission, He invites them to come away and rest. But just as they attempt to withdraw, a crowd follows them. Instead of turning them away, Jesus responds with compassion, recognizing their deeper need. Though exhausted, He continues to teach and care for them.
As the day wears on, the disciples—tired and hungry—urge Jesus to send the crowd away. It seems like the reasonable, even responsible response. But Jesus challenges them: “You give them something to eat.” Faced with their own limitations—five loaves and two fish—they feel the impossibility of what He’s asking. Yet Jesus doesn’t deny their lack; He invites them to bring it to Him. What follows is a miracle of provision, where scarcity becomes abundance.
The lesson is simple but profound: when love is required and our energy is depleted, we are not meant to rely on ourselves alone. Faith connects us to a greater source.
A similar pattern appears after the resurrection. The disciples, overwhelmed and uncertain, return to what is familiar—fishing. After a fruitless night, Jesus meets them on the shore, provides a miraculous catch, and then prepares breakfast for them. In their weariness and confusion, He restores both their strength and their calling.
In a quiet, personal moment, Jesus speaks to Peter—who feels like he has failed—and gently calls him forward again. The message is clear: “I see you. I know your weakness. And I will give you what you need to continue.”
For us, the challenge is deeply practical. Love often appears in the small, everyday moments: a conversation when we’d rather rest, an act of service when we feel spent, a kindness that costs more than we think we can give. These moments expose our limits—but they also invite our trust.
Jesus does not call us to burnout. He calls us to dependence. The energy to love, especially when it feels impossible, is not something we manufacture—it’s something we receive.
When our strength runs out, faith invites us to ask: “How, Lord?”
And in that asking, we discover that we are not alone—and never have been.
As we continue exploring what it means to become a people of love, we’re not just asking whether Jesus loved—but how He loved. His love is rich and multifaceted, and the more we return to the Gospel stories, the more we see new layers. This is a lifelong journey. Like learning a skill, we grow step by step, trusting that over time , through the work of the Holy Spirit, we will love more and more like Jesus.
One powerful expression of Jesus’ love can be described as “gentle intrusions.” While Jesus didn’t intrude into every situation, when He did, His approach was marked by such humility and care that what could have felt uncomfortable instead became life-giving.
We see this in the story of Zacchaeus. Hidden up a tree, he wanted to observe Jesus without being noticed. Yet Jesus called him down—not with condemnation, but with invitation. By choosing to stay at his home, Jesus brought dignity, belonging, and restoration into Zacchaeus’ life.
We see it again in the woman who touched Jesus’ garment in a crowd. She longed to remain unseen, hoping only for quiet healing. But Jesus stopped, turned, and gently drew her out—not to expose her, but to affirm her faith and ensure she knew she was truly seen and valued.
Perhaps most beautifully, we see this in Jesus’ encounter with the Samaritan woman at the well. Crossing social and cultural boundaries, Jesus initiated a conversation that was both vulnerable and intentional. Step by step, He gently moved deeper—through her defenses, her pain, and her distractions—until she encountered truth, grace, and ultimately transformation. His intrusion into her life was not forceful, but patient, personal, and filled with love.
What Does This Mean for Us?
If we want to love like Jesus, we must learn to recognize when the Holy Spirit is prompting us to step into someone’s life. Not every moment calls for an intrusion—but some do. These moments may begin with a simple question, a noticing, or a willingness to engage.
Gentle intrusions are rarely instant. They require patience, trust, and a willingness to walk alongside others over time. They may not always be welcomed at first, and people may deflect or resist. But like Jesus, we are called to remain gracious, attentive, and led by the Spirit—trusting that love, expressed faithfully, can open hearts.
Ultimately, God invites us to know people’s stories—not out of curiosity, but so that we can enter them with compassion. When we do, even the smallest, Spirit-led intrusion can become a doorway for healing, restoration, and transformation.
In a world marked by conflict, anxiety, loneliness, and constant striving, an honest question confronts us: does the story of the resurrection make any real difference in our lives today?
For many, the answer feels like “not really.” If the resurrection is seen as a distant, uncertain event from the past, it can seem irrelevant to the very real challenges we face now. Instead, we often live within a cultural story that tells us the answers lie in working harder, looking inward, and defining our own truth. Freedom, self-expression, and independence become our guiding values. But we must pause and ask: how is that story working for us?
With rising anxiety, depression, and what has been described as a “pandemic of loneliness,” it’s worth considering that something isn’t quite right. Perhaps the story we’ve been living in isn’t delivering the hope it promises.
The resurrection invites us into a different story—not an isolated miracle, but the climax of a much bigger narrative. A story that begins with a loving God who created humanity for relationship, a relationship that was broken when people chose independence over trust.
Yet God did not abandon that story; He relentlessly pursued the restoration of a relationship with the people he loved. However, he knew that real loving relationships have two sides. People must recognize our determination to run life on our own has produced ways of life that continue to cause pain and sorrow. We must admit we have been wrong and ask for forgiveness.
Sadly, for thousands of years, people stubbornly refused to recognize this truth. So finally God sent His son Jesus. He stepped into human history to show us a new way of living—one marked not by self-centered striving, but by love, compassion, and restored relationships. Jesus didn’t just teach this way of life; He embodied it. And through His death and resurrection, He made it possible.
After the resurrection, Jesus’ followers slowly began to understand this new story. And when the Holy Spirit came at Pentecost, everything changed. But what truly captured attention wasn’t just the dramatic moment—it was what came after. A new kind of community emerged. Not driven by power or status, but by deep love and shared life. People cared for one another, lived generously, and what emerged was something that looked more like a family than an institution. As Tyler Staton observes, it wasn’t the spectacle of Pentecost that impacted the world most—it was the community that remained.
The real question is not just whether the resurrection happened, but whether we are willing to consider that:
- We may be living in the wrong story
- There might be a better one available
- And that this new story is meant to be lived, not just believed
The invitation is simple: be curious. Look for communities that are genuinely trying to live this way—loving one another and those around them—and see what happens. Because real change doesn’t happen all at once. It begins slowly, as people choose to step into a different story together.
The resurrection matters—not just as a past event, but as a present invitation. An invitation to move from isolation to community, from striving to grace, from confusion to hope. And perhaps, as we begin to live in that story together, we’ll discover that it changes more than we ever expected.
My Father’s Business – A Life Directed by Love
As we continue learning what it means to love like Jesus—to see, feel, speak, and even remain silent like Him—we quickly discover how difficult that calling really is. Yet the life of Jesus reminds us of something crucial: He lived fully as a human being, just as we do. His love wasn’t effortless because He was God; it was intentional, rooted in something deeper.
One of the clearest glimpses into that “something deeper” comes from a single story in His childhood. At just twelve years old, when His parents found Him in the temple (Luke 2:46) after three days of searching, Jesus responded, (Luke 2:49)“Didn’t you know I had to be about my Father’s business?” or “I must be in my Father’s house,” depending on your translation. This moment reveals a defining pattern for His entire life. His priority was always to be in His Father’s presence, listening for His Father’s direction.
This pattern continues throughout His ministry. Whether at the wedding in Cana, where He quietly turned water into wine, or when His brothers pressured Him to seek public attention, Jesus consistently responded with an awareness that His timing and actions were not His own. He lived according to His Father’s will, not the expectations of others. His repeated phrase, “My time has not yet come,” shows a deep dependence on God’s timing and guidance.
So how did Jesus love with such depth, wisdom, and compassion?
He didn’t do it alone.
Jesus lived in constant relationship with the Father, guided by the Spirit. He only did what He saw the Father doing and followed where the Father led. Even in the Garden of Gethsemane, we see that His ultimate act of love—choosing the cross—came through surrendering His own will to the Father’s.
This is the key for us.
We are not called to love like Jesus through our own strength. Like Him, we are invited to live lives rooted in God’s presence, listening for His voice, and relying on the Holy Spirit for both the what and the how of love.
To be “about the Father’s business” is not about striving harder—it’s about staying closer.
And as we do, we will find that the same love that shaped Jesus’ life begins to shape ours too.
In a world that constantly urges us to speak, respond, and defend our opinions, we often overlook a powerful expression of love: silence.
Inspired by a story (sermon link above) in Paul Miller’s book Love Walked Among Us, we’re reminded that sometimes the most compassionate response isn’t found in words at all, but in choosing not to speak. There are moments when silence becomes an act of deep love—what Miller calls “a time to shut up.”
Throughout the life of Jesus, we consistently see compassion in the way He responds to people. Yet just as striking are the moments when He chooses not to respond. His silence is never passive—it is intentional, thoughtful, and rooted in love.
A powerful example appears in Mark 14. After Jesus predicts Peter’s denial, Peter passionately insists he will never fail Him. Jesus, knowing the truth and the pain that lies ahead for Peter, says nothing more. He doesn’t argue, correct, or prove His point. Instead, He allows silence to do its compassionate work. In that moment, love looks like restraint.
This echoes a story about Dallas Willard, who, when confronted by an argumentative student, chose not to engage. When asked why, he simply said, “I am practicing the discipline of not having the last word.” Sometimes love means letting go of the need to win.
We see this again in the book of Job. When Job’s friends first arrive, they sit with him in silence, sharing his grief without words. It is a beautiful picture of compassionate presence. But when they begin to speak, their words bring judgment instead of comfort. Their mistake wasn’t that they cared—it was that they didn’t remain silent.
Even more profoundly, silence plays a role in the greatest act of love in history. As Jesus stands before Pilate, He often chooses not to answer. His silence is not weakness—it is purpose. He allows events to unfold, knowing that this path leads to the cross, where love is ultimately revealed.
And in Gethsemane, we see Jesus Himself experiencing silence—from the Father. Three times He prays for another way, and three times heaven is silent. Yet even in that silence, there is love. It reminds us that God’s silence is not absence, but trust—that His purposes, though painful, are always good.
The book of James warns us about the power of the tongue and how easily words can cause harm. Perhaps one of the greatest gifts we can give—to others and ourselves—is the discipline of silence.
In today’s world, this is especially relevant. Social media constantly invites us to react, correct, and argue. But not every opinion needs a response. Sometimes the most loving thing we can do is to stay silent, trust God, and preserve the relationship over being right.
Silence is not weakness. It is strength under control. It is love choosing not to wound. It is compassion that trusts God more than our need to speak.
Sometimes, the most Christlike thing we can do… is simply say nothing.
Truth and Love: Walking the Way of Jesus
When we ask the Holy Spirit to form us into a people of love, we quickly become aware that there are human attitudes that can hinder our ability to love with the compassion we see in Jesus. One of the most challenging tensions we face is how to remain faithful to truth while still expressing genuine love.
The church often finds itself caught between two cultural extremes. On one side is the mindset of “you do you,” which fears that speaking truth might push people away. On the other side is a rigid legalism that prioritizes being right but can lose sight of grace. The question is: How did Jesus navigate this tension between truth and love?
The Gospels show us that truth was never optional for Jesus. In fact, truth is central to who He is. He described Himself as “the way, the truth, and the life,” leaving no room for the idea of competing personal truths. Yet what is striking about Jesus is that He never compromised truth—and still loved people deeply.
A powerful example appears in the story of the sinful woman who anoints Jesus’ feet (Luke 7:36–50). When Jesus accepts a dinner invitation from a Pharisee named Simon, a woman known for her sinful reputation enters the gathering. Overcome with gratitude for the forgiveness she has experienced, she weeps at Jesus’ feet, anointing them and wiping them with her hair.
Simon silently judges both the woman and Jesus, assuming that a true prophet would have rejected her. But Jesus gently confronts Simon’s thinking. Rather than rebuking him harshly, He tells a story that leads Simon to recognize the truth for himself. Jesus then contrasts Simon’s lack of hospitality with the woman’s humble devotion. While He does not deny her sin, He highlights the depth of her repentance and assures her of forgiveness. Truth is spoken, but it is surrounded by compassion and grace.
A similar pattern appears when Jesus encounters the woman caught in adultery (John 8:1–11). The crowd seeks to trap Him by demanding judgment. Instead, Jesus exposes the hypocrisy of the accusers, inviting anyone without sin to cast the first stone. One by one they leave. When Jesus finally speaks to the woman, He neither condemns nor excuses her sin. Instead, He offers grace while calling her to a new life: “Go now and leave your life of sin.”
We see the same balance in the story of the rich young ruler (Mark 10:17–22). The man asks about eternal life, confident in his moral record. Jesus lovingly helps him see the deeper truth: the Kingdom is not simply about keeping rules but about surrendering everything to follow Him. Mark’s Gospel notes something remarkable—Jesus looked at him and loved him—even as He spoke the difficult truth the man needed to hear.
From these encounters we learn something essential about Jesus. He never avoids truth, because confronting truth is actually an act of love. It is in that honest moment that grace, forgiveness, and transformation become possible.
As one writer put it, “Compassion without truth and justice is an ugly, spineless parody of love.” True love does not ignore the darkness of sin; it engages it so that the light of grace can break through.
If we want to live like Jesus, we must learn to do the same—to face truth honestly while building relationships marked by humility, grace, and compassion. In doing so we create space for people to encounter the forgiveness and new life that only Jesus can give.
Compassion or Comparison (continued)
As we ask the Holy Spirit to shape us into a people of love, one of the key lessons we see in the life of Jesus is the importance of truly seeing people. Not merely noticing them, but seeing them in a way that awakens compassion.
Throughout the Gospels, Jesus repeatedly responds to people with compassion. When He sees the hungry crowds, He feeds them. When He sees people who are lost and in need of guidance, He cares for them. His compassion leads Him to do the unthinkable—such as touching and healing a man with leprosy. Again and again, Jesus’ compassion moves Him to act, even when it is inconvenient.Often the obstacle is not that we fail to see people, but how we see them.
For many of us, however, compassion does not come naturally. Jesus speaks directly to this struggle when He calls His followers to love and show mercy particularly to those we see as our “enemies”.(Luke 6:27-36). It is easy to respond compassionately to those who love us whose attitude to us is less positive not so much!
The Gospels frequently contrast the way Jesus sees people with the way others do. In the story of the man born blind,(John 9) the disciples immediately ask who sinned to cause his condition. Their assumption reflects a common belief that suffering must be punishment. Instead of compassion, their first response is judgment. The disciples see a blind man, Jesus see a man who happens to be blind and who he can touch with a healing hand in such a way as to give glory to His Father in heaven.
We can easily fall into the same pattern as the disciples. When we see someone struggling—perhaps a person experiencing homelessness—it can be tempting to assume they are responsible for their situation. Comparison quietly creeps in: I would never let that happen to me. In that moment, compassion is replaced with judgment.
Jesus also exposes this mindset in the story of the prodigal son. When the father welcomes his broken son home with compassion, the elder brother reacts with anger. He immediately compares his faithfulness with his brother’s failure and concludes that he has been treated unfairly. Comparison leads to resentment and self-righteousness.
The same attitude appears in Jesus’ story of the Pharisee and the tax collector. The Pharisee’s prayer is full of comparison: he thanks God that he is not like other people. While it is easy to feel repulsed by his arrogance, we must be careful. Self-righteousness can slip quietly into our own thinking—in small everyday moments when we assume our way is better than everyone else’s.
Another obstacle to compassion that appears throughout the Gospels is legalism. In Luke 6, Jesus heals a man with a withered hand on the Sabbath. The religious leaders are more concerned with whether Jesus has broken their rules than with the suffering of the man in front of them. Jesus reveals that they have missed the deeper purpose of the law: love and mercy.
We must be careful not to fall into the same trap. Over time, traditions and customs can become so important that we forget the people they are meant to serve.
If we want to love like Jesus, we must learn to see people the way He does. That means taking time to listen to their stories and making sure they feel known and safe. We must be sure to ask the Holy Spirit to show us when judgement, self righteousness or legalism in some form or another creeps into our attitude. When it is these things that prompt us to compare rather than act with compassion.
Compassion or Comparison: Learning to See as Jesus Sees
In this ongoing series on Becoming a People of Love, we are asking the Holy Spirit to move us beyond simply knowing about love and into living it in ways that clearly reflect Jesus. To help us on this journey, we are using our working definition of Agape – “To make an absolute priority of, and to work relentlessly for, the absolute best for another person(s) without expecting a return”.
This transformation is a long process. Last week we learned the importance of truly seeing people. Jesus demonstrated this as He “saw” a grieving widow (Luke 7:13) and Zacchaeus (Luke 19:5), a despised tax collector. In both encounters, Jesus recognized their need and their stories, and as well as responding to their immediate situations, He brought restoration that pointed to the nearness of God’s Kingdom. Yet seeing alone is not enough. We must also pay attention to how we see others—and how that shapes our response.
Jesus illustrates this through two well-known stories from the Gospel of Luke.
The first is the parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25–37). A man is left half-dead on a dangerous road. A priest and a Levite both see him, yet choose to pass by. Their vision is shaped by caution, inconvenience, and uncertainty. The Samaritan, however—despised by Jewish listeners—sees not a problem but a person. Moved by compassion, he acts sacrificially to ensure the man’s care, without expectation of return. The difference is not simply what they saw, but how they saw.
The second story is the parable of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15). Here, a deeply disrespected father watches and waits for his wayward son’s return. When the son finally comes home, the father does not see failure or disgrace—he sees his beloved child. Love shapes his vision, leading him to welcome and restore rather than condemn. While others might see someone unworthy of mercy, the father sees only a son whose return is to be celebrated.
Together, these stories reveal a powerful truth: compassion flows from seeing people as God sees them. Where comparison and judgment see inconvenience or offense, love sees humanity and need. Jesus takes a profound theological idea—God’s love and Kingdom life—and translates it into a lived reality for today. Eternal life, Jesus says, is not only future hope but present experience. When we learn to see with compassion, we begin to live—and invite others into—the Kingdom here and now.
“He Saw Her”: Becoming a People of Love
This message continues the series Becoming a People of Love, exploring how love is meant to be the defining characteristic of Jesus’ followers. Jesus teaches that while love for God is foundational, it is our love for one another that reveals our true identity to the world (see John13:34–35). But what does that kind of love actually look like in everyday life?
Rather than offering abstract ideas, this series looks closely at how Jesus loved people in real situations. Becoming people of love, as Jesus models it, is not achieved by trying harder or performing better—it is a slow, transformative work of thee Holy Spirit that flows out of knowing how much we are already loved by God. Jesus begins His ministry grounded in this assurance at His baptism, when the Father declares His delight in Him (Luke 3:21–22). Everything Jesus does flows from belovedness, not striving.
The sermon then turns to two stories that reveal a key aspect of Jesus’ way of love: He truly sees people.
In Luke 7:11–17, Jesus encounters a funeral procession in the village of Nain. Amid the noise and the crowds, Jesus sees a widow who has lost her only son—a loss that leaves her facing deep grief and a future of abject poverty. This is more than simply noticing her; Jesus perceives the full weight of her suffering. Moved with compassion, He interrupts the procession, touches the coffin (risking ritual uncleanness), and restores the boy to life. He then gives the son back to his mother, restoring not just life, but relationship and hope.
A second story in Luke 19 shows the same loving “seeing” from a different perspective. Zacchaeus, a despised tax collector, climbs a tree hoping to see Jesus without being noticed himself. Yet Jesus sees him, calls him by name, and chooses to enter his home. This act of love leads to repentance, transformation, and the restoration of the relationship between Zacchaeus and his community, from which he was excluded as a traitor.
In both stories, the Greek word used for “seeing” implies far more than observation. Jesus sees with understanding, allows what He sees to move His heart, and then acts for the other person’s ultimate good.
The invitation for us is clear. Like Jesus, we can live from a place of confidence in our belovedness and ask the Holy Spirit to help us truly see the people around us—not just their surface, but their stories, pain, and potential. Love may begin with noticing, but it grows when we take time, listen, and respond.
The challenge at the close of the message is simple and profound: Who is God inviting you to see this week—at church, at work, or in daily life?
Your Highest Goal: Making Love the Center of the Christian Life
Love is arguably the word most used—and with the widest range of definitions in our culture. From song lyrics to Valentine’s Day celebrations, everyone talks about love, yet defining it proves surprisingly difficult. Ask a room full of people what love means, and you’re likely to get answers “all over the map.”
Yet Scripture makes it clear that love is not a vague or optional idea. The word love appears repeatedly throughout the Gospels—78 times in total, with a striking concentration in John chapters 13–17. These are Jesus’ own words, spoken at the most intimate moment with His disciples. From the very beginning, John tells us that God’s love entered the world through Jesus (John 1:17). When Jesus is asked to identify the greatest commandment, He responds that loving God fully and loving our neighbour as ourselves sums up the entire Law and the Prophets (Matthew 22:38–40). Later, He gives His disciples a “new command”: to love one another as He has loved them—declaring that this love will be the defining mark of His followers (John 13:33–34).
Clearly, love sits at the very heart of apprenticeship to Jesus.
The apostles understood this as well. The letters of the New Testament use the word love over 170 times. In addressing the Corinthian church’s understanding of spiritual gifts, Paul makes a striking statement: “Make love your highest goal” (1 Corinthians 14:1). He devotes an entire chapter—1 Corinthians 13—to explaining that love is the foundation for all the work of the Holy Spirit. Without love, even the most impressive spiritual activity amounts to nothing.
Because love is so central to Jesus’ teaching and the life of the Church, this new series sets out to go deeper—not only to understand what love is, but to learn how we can become people who are genuinely characterised by it.
One challenge we face is that most modern definitions of love focus on feelings and emotions—things we cannot control or command. As Dharius Daniels in his book “re-Presenting Jesus “observes, “feelings can be managed but not commanded“. This creates a problem, because Jesus does command us to love, and to love in the way He loves (John 15:17). That means love as Jesus demonstrated must be more than emotion; it must be something visible, intentional, and embodied.
The New Testament most often uses the Greek word agape to describe God’s love. Rather than defining it abstractly, the best way to understand agape is by looking at the life of Jesus Himself. Over the coming weeks, this series will do exactly that—examining how Jesus lives out love, using 1 Corinthians 13:4–6 as a lens through which to observe His actions and character.
To help frame this journey, a working definition of love—drawn from Jesus’ life and the wisdom of Scripture—has been introduced and will remain visible throughout the series, open to refinement as we continue learning together. Agape-To make an absolute priority of, and to work relentlessly for, the absolute best for another person(s) without expecting a return
To launch this exploration, the sermon concludes in an unusual way: with a story. Stories often reveal truth more powerfully than explanations, and few modern writers capture the lived reality of love better than Bob Goff. The opening story from his book Love Does offers a compelling picture of what it looks like when love moves beyond words and becomes action—a fitting invitation into a series devoted to making love our highest goal.
From the Zebra Bag 