There’s a tradition, or I suppose I should call it a rule in my family: You have to say I love you at school drop-off. Or else.
It goes something like this: my boys, ages ten and twelve, and I will be driving to school. Sometimes we’re listening and singing along to music; sometimes we’re talking about homework. Sometimes we’re asking questions about the days and weeks ahead; sometimes we’re trying out jokes; sometimes we’re just not getting along.
But whatever it is, whatever the situation that morning, when I say I love you right before I pull up to the sidewalk at the middle school, and then a few minutes later, at the elementary school, they have to say I love you back or else I have permission to roll down the window and yell I LOVE YOU, along with their name, at the top of my lungs.
It works every time. We say “I love you” quite a lot these days.
Now, I tell you this story because in a way, love is at the heart of this week’s readings.
In Genesis 45, when Joseph is sold into slavery by his brothers, a long time passes. But then Pharoah makes Joseph the ruler in charge of the entire land of Egypt. When famine hits the land and his brothers – the same brothers who abandoned him out of jealousy and sold him for 20 pieces of silver – arrive hungry and desperate for the throne, Joseph not only recognizes his brothers, but he also recognizes their desperation for food.
They’ve been hungry for two years and they’re going to be hungry for another five because the famine’s not letting up anytime soon. Even now, even after all this time, Joseph says to his brothers, “God sent me before you to preserve for you a remnant on earth and to keep alive for you many survivors.” God sent me for such a time as this. Even after all of this, “I will provide for you there, since there are five more years of famine to come so that you and your household and all that you have will not come to poverty.”
And then he kisses all of his brothers and weeps upon them.
He loves them, even when they do not love him. He forgives them, even when they most certainly feel unworthy (and he had every reason not to forgive them). He provides for them, even when he doesn’t have to.
What are we to make of a love like this?
Of course, then we have the Sermon on the Plain. In Luke 6, Jesus speaks primarily to the disciples, to those who wish to follow him.
“But I say to you who are listening: Love your enemies; do good to those who hate you; bless those who curse you; pray for those who mistreat you.” He gives directives to give to everyone who asks and to do unto others. For the second time in eleven verses, he tells them to love your enemies and then to “Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful. Do not judge, and you will not be judged; do not condemn, and you will not be condemned; forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you.”
As one commentator writes, “These readings don’t leave us much wiggle room, do they? No matter what we think of it, our call as Christians is to walk in love. To practice mercy. To refuse revenge, recrimination, and rage. To give our offenders second, third, fourth, and even hundredth chances.”
Because Jesus, surely you can’t be talking about love right now. Surely an exception can and should be made when you tell us to love our enemies. Have you looked around our world lately?
Have you seen the hate and fear-mongering? Have you watched the news? Have you seen the planes that have crashed, the departments that have been slashed, the destruction that is happening halfway around the world because of frozen USAID dollars and just a few hundred miles down the road in our national parks, after more than a thousand jobs were cut?
There’s a whole lot not to love right now, dare I say, a whole lot of enemies not to love right now …and still, yet still, you tell us to love our enemies.
What are we to make of this way of love, this directive to love?
The Episcopal Church tells us that more than a program or curriculum, the way of love is a way of life. It’s an intentional commitment to a set of practices – a commitment to follow Jesus when we turn, learn, pray, worship, bless, go, and rest.
It makes me wonder what it means to walk in this way of love, even when love is the last thing we feel like doing. Perhaps we start by looking at the seven practices found in The Way of Love curriculum, practices we are encouraged to discern commit, and reflect on together.
First, we turn. We pause, listen, and choose to follow Jesus. When we listen to and reflect on passages like the ones we read today, especially ones that feel upside-down with our notions of love, what stirs within us? What invitation do we hear? How might we reorient and turn to Jesus, again, and again, and again, even if it’s hard?
Because second, we learn. We reflect on Scripture each day, especially on Jesus’ life and teachings. Maybe we listen to a podcast or subscribe to a newsletter; maybe we simply crack open a bible or the Book of Common Prayer and let these words guide us not just on Sundays but on the other six days of the week too.
Third, we pray. We dwell intentionally with God each day. We make God’s heart our home. I do this while I’m walking the dog and when I’m driving the car – which is not to say that I close my eyes when I’m in motion, but I do turn off the radio and refrain from listening to whatever’s playing in my ears. By practicing silence, alongside a bit of motion, I center myself with God.
Fourth, we worship. We gather in the community weekly to thank, praise, and dwell with God. Whether this is our first Sunday or our 51st anniversary of first Sundays, we keep showing up in this place, with these people. Because here, we are loved and we are enveloped and we are welcomed in for exactly who we are, as we are, by God and by each other.
Fifth, we bless. The love we experience makes us want to share our faith; it invites us into unselfishly giving and serving the world around us. Dare I say it might even create in us a different response when it comes to our enemies – it might even provide an answer to that conundrum of what it means to love our enemies.
Because sixth, we go. We cross boundaries, we listen deeply, and we live like Jesus. We become reconcilers and healers in a world that desperately wants another way forward. We get to know our neighbors, we remember their names; we do unto the world around us as we want it to do to us.
And seventh, we rest. We receive the gift of God’s grace, peace, and restoration because in this, we are renewed. We do not do, do, do, believing that our worth lies in checking off a list of duties and responsibilities, but we rest, rest, rest, because in this divine rest, we are made whole.
We engage in these practices because this is the loving, liberating, life-giving way of Jesus.
Because in this place and outside these cozy red and purple and brown doors too, this becomes our way of becoming metaphorical I LOVE YOU shouters out the car door windows, as we embrace who we are as dearly beloved children of God and wholehearted cheerleaders of humanity too.
We walk in the way of love.
Amen.
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This is a sermon given on February 23, 2025 at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in San Rafael, California. If you liked this writing, you also might like this one too.
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