A sermon for the 22nd Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 25
October 25, 2026, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR
Readings: Leviticus 19:1-2,15-18; Psalm 1; 1 Thessalonians 2:1-8; Matthew 22:34-46
Love? That’s it? That’s all Jesus requires. Sometimes I hear that comment, usually given with an air of disbelief. After all, the religious culture around us often makes Jesus care about other things. It can seem absurd to reduce Jesus’s teaching to love: Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength, and love your neighbor as yourself. It can seem too easy, like we’re trying to get off easy. But that’s what Jesus says today.
There are two ways we can fundamentally misunderstand Jesus today. The first is to misunderstand what love is. It’s been many years ago now. I was what’s called a big brother for Happening. Happening is a spiritual retreat for teenagers, like Cursillo. My job was to just chaperone. The staff, all teenagers, arrived, and everyone set out to make ‘warm fuzzies.’ Essentially they were balls of yarn, soft to the touch. “This is what love is like,” they said. “Love is like a warm fuzzy, soft and tender.” But if that’s our idea of love, we will find ourselves disappointed.
Of course, sometimes love feels like a warm fuzzy. Sometimes the emotions of love are soft and tender. But love is not essentially that. Love is a decision. Love is a commitment. Love is a loyalty. When we say we love God, we are saying we are making a decision to follow, to obey, to live like God, even when it’s hard. When we say we love our neighbors, we are saying that we are making a decision to prioritize their welfare, to work for their good, to pray for their flourishing, even when it’s hard. Sure, sometimes love looks like a warm fuzzy. But other times love looks like a cross, and climbing a hill, and giving all.
Just ask my mother and dad. Sometimes love is like a warm fuzzy, holding a child, making memories in deer stands and on fishing boats, opening presents around the tree. But sometimes love is harder. Sometimes love is taking care of my grandmother with dementia, moving her into their home, checking on her in the night. Love looks like letting her cry when she doesn’t understand; or bearing with her anger when she thinks my mother is actually her mother and is not letting her do what she wants; or calming her fears when she is convinced that she doesn’t know these people she lives with and that her real family is somewhere else. Day in and day out, all while working full-time and making sure the laundry is done. Sometimes love looks like a cross.
So the first way we misunderstand Jesus is by misunderstanding what love is. The second way is we put limits on what Jesus says. When Jesus says to love God, we think that only means on Sundays. Go to church, say the prayers, dollar in the plate–that’s all the Lord requires. Right? Not quite. As T.S. Eliot says, God requires not less than everything: heart, soul, mind, and strength. When Jesus says to love our neighbor, he just means the person next door? Well, Jesus once told a parable about that. He was asked, “And who is my neighbor?” He told a story about a Good Samaritan, someone who was hated, who didn’t belong to the people, who was an outsider. He told a story about someone with different beliefs, who maybe smelled different, who probably voted differently, who, even so, put himself in danger to help a complete stranger.
I don’t remember which election it was now. But I remember it was a presidential election, and two voters came to blows. They had a literal fight. One of them started it–I don’t remember which one. But they ended up in court. Once there, they apologized to each other. They meant it. They each took their sentences with dignity. As they were leaving court that day, instead of parting ways, they went to a diner together. They sat and talked. They learned about each other’s families. They asked hard questions, and they tried to understand. It’s one thing to say love your neighbor who doesn’t vote like you; it’s another thing altogether to actually love them, to get to know them, to work for their well-being and good, to turn off the venomous cable news and look in someone’s eyes. And in our polarized political climate, sometimes that feels like a cross too far.
Love? That’s it. Yes. And it will require everything. It will require a decision, a commitment, a loyalty. It will require forgiveness when we don’t feel like it; hope when all we can see is despair; faith when everything is dark. I hope it feels like a warm fuzzy sometimes. But when it feels more like wood and nails; when it feels like you’re walking up a hill outside the city wall; when you feel like you’re at the end and you can’t take another step, hear this: There is enough grace. The Holy Spirit helps you love like Jesus. And the world will know we are Christians because we love like that.
