[intro] [Twentieth-Century Continental Reformed Sermon] [Basel cathedral or prison acoustic] [Single sustained low cello note] [Faint stone-and-wood ambient] [Preacher — continuing, addressing a particular pastoral concern] There is one further matter, dear brothers and sisters, that this psalm requires us to address before we can conclude. It concerns what we mean when we speak of love. [SECTION ELEVEN — Love That Is Not Feeling] [Cello note sustained] [Preacher — measured, firm, theological] I must speak frankly here because there is a particular confusion that has taken hold in much modern Christian preaching. The confusion is between feeling and love. In many churches today the gospel is preached as if it were primarily the production of warm religious feeling. The believer is told that to love God is to feel close to him. The believer is told that to love one's neighbor is to feel warm toward him. The believer is told that to receive God's love is to experience an inward sensation of being beloved. This preaching has the appearance of love. It even uses the vocabulary of love. But it is not what the Bible means by love. Hear what the apostle Paul writes in the thirteenth chapter of his first letter to the Corinthians. Love is patient, love is kind. It is not jealous. Love does not brag, it is not arrogant. It does not act disgracefully, it does not seek its own benefit. It is not provoked, does not keep an account of a wrong suffered. It does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. I want you to notice something carefully. Every item in this catalog is either an action or the refusal of an action. Love is patient. Patience is an action. It is the refusal to retaliate, the continued bearing with the difficult person, the discipline of not insisting on immediate resolution. Love is kind. Kindness is an action. It is the doing of good to the one who has not earned it, the active gift of welcome to the stranger. It is not jealous. This is a refusal of action. Love refuses to begrudge another what they have. Love does not brag. A refusal. Love is not arrogant. A refusal. Love does not seek its own. A refusal. Love is not provoked. A refusal. Love keeps no account of wrong. A refusal. Nowhere in this entire catalog does the apostle speak of love as a feeling. Nowhere does he say that love is the warm sensation of affection for another. Nowhere does he equate love with the inward emotion of liking someone. This is one of the most consequential passages in the New Testament on the nature of Christian love. And it has been almost universally misread in our humanist age. [SECTION TWELVE — Why This Matters] [Cello note steady] [Preacher — firm, applied] Why does this matter? It matters, dear brothers and sisters, because the modern church has substituted feeling for love and has thereby produced a religion that cannot do what Christ commanded. Christ commanded us to love our enemies. This is impossible if love is a feeling. We cannot manufacture warm feelings toward those who have wronged us. We cannot be required to feel affection toward the person who has injured us. If love is a feeling then the command to love the enemy is the command to produce a sensation that the soul cannot produce on demand. But if love is what Paul describes — patient, kind, not jealous, not provoked, keeping no account of wrong, believing all things, hoping all things, enduring all things — then love of enemy becomes possible. We can be patient with the enemy even when we do not feel warm toward him. We can be kind to the enemy even when our affections are cold. We can refuse to keep account of the wrongs the enemy has done to us even when we feel no fondness for him. We can hope for his good, endure his presence, believe the best of him where the evidence permits us to do so — all without any required affective experience. This is the love that Christ commanded. This is the love that the Holy Spirit produces in us. This is the love that makes Christian discipleship possible even in the deepest seasons when religious feelings have dried up entirely. [end]