“Give up the ghost” is one of those phrases that has stuck around long after its meaning faded. Rooted in the King James Bible, it once described something solemn: the very breath of life departing from the body. But over time, it’s become more about dead toasters and abandoned towns. We say it with a smirk now, reserving it for things that have lost their purpose—things that stopped working long before anyone noticed. Maybe the same could be said for the way many Christians interpret love your neighbor. Somewhere along the way, it gave up the ghost.
Hollow Love
Love used to mean something vital. Now it’s often just a smile and a wave, a potluck casserole, or a familiar “I’ll pray for you.” But Jesus never described love as polite. It wasn’t meant to be hollow. Today, though, love has been declawed and decluttered. It’s what happens when Christians mistake comfort for virtue. Silence becomes love when speaking up might ruffle feathers. Prayer becomes a stand-in for action when action might cost something. Love gives up the ghost when it fails to protect, advocate, or defend—when it allows harm to fester because speaking out would be “too divisive.”
Love is easy when it demands nothing. It’s harder when you see harm done to neighbors who are vulnerable. Love asks something of us when the immigrant, the LGBTQ+ kid, the marginalized community, or the hungry family is being trampled by systems and people who claim they’re the real victims. Love gives up the ghost when it stands by and mutters about “both sides” while the vulnerable are bruised and broken.
Jesus Didn’t Love Like a Ghost
Jesus had little use for ghost-like love. His love wasn’t a sermon on civility or a Bible study on “niceness.” He flipped tables in the temple, disrupted greed and exploitation, and called out those who weaponized faith for power. He saw the overlooked, defended the outcast, and lifted the burdened. It wasn’t passive. It wasn’t safe. Love, for Jesus, was alive and dangerous—it challenged harm and held people accountable. That’s not the kind of love you offer in casseroles or platitudes; it’s the kind you show with your feet planted firmly in front of injustice.
It’s worth asking why so many who claim to follow Jesus have ended up preaching a softer, safer version of love—one that lets harm go unchecked. A love that prioritizes power’s comfort over people’s dignity is indistinguishable from hate.
When Your Neighbor Hurts Their Neighbor
The real test of love comes when your neighbor isn’t just hurting, but hurting someone else. What does “love your neighbor” mean when your neighbor is the problem? Jesus didn’t leave room for a loophole. Loving your neighbor means you protect the one being harmed. It means you call out the harm. Sometimes, love looks like standing in the way. It looks like telling your neighbor “no” when they swing the proverbial fist at someone weaker.
Love doesn’t turn its back on the immigrant when laws grow cruel. It doesn’t mock the poor when their need makes us uncomfortable. It doesn’t pile stones on the LGBTQ+ community and call it righteousness. It doesn’t blame the hungry or trample the voiceless while patting itself on the back. Real love stands with the harmed and holds the harm-doer accountable—because love doesn’t tolerate destruction.
Jesus didn’t model love for comfort’s sake. He called for love that flipped tables, defended dignity, and made the comfortable deeply uncomfortable. If your version of love never demands you confront injustice, maybe it’s not love at all.
Resurrecting Real Love
The good news is that love can be resurrected. It doesn’t have to stay hollow. Real love—alive and dangerous—isn’t about niceness or neutrality. It’s about stepping into the discomfort, standing with the vulnerable, and calling harm what it is. Radical love isn’t afraid to challenge systems, communities, or even ourselves when we’ve let harm slip by unchecked.
Christians who claim to follow Jesus have a choice: cling to ghost-like love that avoids confrontation, or embrace the kind of love that breathes life into justice. Love your neighbor isn’t a passive suggestion. It’s a command that requires something of us. It costs our silence. It costs our comfort. And sometimes, it costs our reputation with neighbors who’d rather keep the status quo intact.
If your love lets harm continue, then it’s not love. It’s just a ghost, and it’s long past time to give up on it.
Ad-Free & Subscriber Log-In