Reminded Of Redemption's Love
The Faithful Life: A Journey into Radical Love and Humility
What does it mean to be truly faithful? Not just showing up, not just saying the right words, but living in a way that reflects the very heart of Christ? This question lies at the core of one of the most profound letters ever written—Paul's epistle to the Ephesians.
When Paul addressed the church at Ephesus, he didn't just call them believers or followers. He called them "saints" and "faithful in Christ Jesus." These weren't empty titles or religious flattery. They were descriptions of a people who had been transformed by the love of God and were living it out in tangible ways.
But what does faithfulness actually look like? How can we recognize it in ourselves and others?
The Measure of Faithfulness
The answer is found in one of Scripture's most beautiful passages—1 Corinthians 13. Often read at weddings, this chapter is far more than romantic poetry. It's a mirror held up to our souls, revealing what genuine faithfulness in Christ looks like.
The chapter begins with a startling reality check: You can have eloquence that rivals angels. You can possess prophetic insight and understand all mysteries. You can have mountain-moving faith, give away everything you own, and even surrender your body to flames. But without love—the love of Christ—you are nothing. Absolutely nothing.
This isn't the sentimental love of greeting cards or romantic comedies. This is the love that flowed from the cross, the love that caused the Creator to submit to His creation's cruelty, the love that gives without counting the cost.
The Anatomy of Christ-Like Love
So what does this love look like in practice? First Corinthians 13 gives us a detailed portrait:
Love is patient. Not passive or weak, but willing to wait on God's timing while dealing with difficult people and circumstances. It doesn't rush to judgment or demand immediate resolution.
Love is kind. It actively seeks the good of others, not out of obligation but from a transformed heart that mirrors Christ's compassion.
Love is not jealous. It finds contentment in what God has provided and doesn't covet the blessings, relationships, or success of others. When Christ is your everything, human affections and earthly possessions lose their power to enslave you.
Love doesn't brag or act arrogantly. It gives God the glory for every accomplishment, every success, every breath. Glory theft—taking credit for what God has done—is a serious offense in the household of faith.
Love doesn't act unbecomingly. It matures. It grows up. It leaves behind childish self-centeredness and embraces the wisdom and grace of Christ.
Love doesn't seek its own. Perhaps one of the most countercultural aspects of Christian love is this: it's not always about you. In a culture obsessed with self-actualization, personal fulfillment, and individual rights, love calls us to something radically different—to put others first.
Love is not easily provoked. Stop wearing your feelings on your shoulder. Stop being triggered by every slight and offense. The person who is constantly provoked is constantly controlled by others.
Love doesn't keep a record of wrongs. No lists. No mental spreadsheets of offenses committed against you. No bringing up past failures in present arguments. People who keep detailed accounts of wrongs done to them are owned by those who wronged them—they've given others all the space in their heads.
Love doesn't rejoice in unrighteousness but rejoices with truth. When marriages break, when people fall, when tragedy strikes, there's no secret satisfaction. Instead, there's brokenness and intercession. But when truth is spoken and lived out, there's celebration.
Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. This is where the rubber meets the road. Love doesn't quit when things get hard. It doesn't bail when the other person becomes difficult. It endures suffering, maintains hope, and keeps believing the best.
The Great Kenosis: Jesus' Example
The ultimate example of this love is found in Jesus Himself. Though equal with God the Father in power and substance, Jesus didn't cling to His divine privileges. He emptied Himself—what theologians call the "great kenosis"—and took on human flesh.
Think about the profound humility of this: The Creator allowed His creation to mock Him, beat Him, and crucify Him. The one who formed the thorns allowed men to weave them into a crown and press it into His skull. The one who created human fists allowed those fists to strike His face.
Jesus could have stopped it at any moment. But He didn't. Why? Because humility and obedience to the Father's plan mattered more than comfort, more than justice, more than His own life.
This is the love that now dwells in every believer through the Holy Spirit. This is the standard we're called to.
Growing Up in 2026
Here's the uncomfortable truth: We all need to grow up. Every single one of us has areas where we're still acting like spiritual children—speaking like children, thinking like children, reasoning like children.
Right now, we see dimly, as through a foggy mirror. We know in part. We understand partially. Even our best counsel and deepest wisdom is incomplete. But one day, when Christ returns and we stand face to face with Him, we'll know fully, just as we are fully known.
Until then, three things remain: faith, hope, and love. And the greatest of these is love.
The Call to Humility
What if this year became the year of humility? What if we stopped trying to be the smartest person in the room, stopped keeping score, stopped demanding our own way?
What if, instead, we practiced bearing all things, hoping all things, enduring all things? What if we stopped complaining about our circumstances and started looking for ways to serve others in the midst of them?
The world doesn't need more eloquent speakers or impressive intellectuals who lack love. It needs people who embody the humility of Christ—people who give God the glory, who serve without recognition, who love without keeping score.
The Blessing of Faithfulness
When you live this way, something remarkable happens. You become attractive to godly leadership. Your spouse enjoys being around you. Your children start to respect you. Your neighbors might actually want to talk to you. Your co-workers might even invite you to their gatherings.
But more importantly, you become a living testimony to the transforming power of the gospel. You become one of the faithful—not perfect, but pressing on toward the goal of being more like Christ.
This is the journey we're all on together. This is what it means to be saints, faithful in Christ Jesus. May we walk this path with humility, grow in grace, and reflect more of Jesus with each passing day.
What does it mean to be truly faithful? Not just showing up, not just saying the right words, but living in a way that reflects the very heart of Christ? This question lies at the core of one of the most profound letters ever written—Paul's epistle to the Ephesians.
When Paul addressed the church at Ephesus, he didn't just call them believers or followers. He called them "saints" and "faithful in Christ Jesus." These weren't empty titles or religious flattery. They were descriptions of a people who had been transformed by the love of God and were living it out in tangible ways.
But what does faithfulness actually look like? How can we recognize it in ourselves and others?
The Measure of Faithfulness
The answer is found in one of Scripture's most beautiful passages—1 Corinthians 13. Often read at weddings, this chapter is far more than romantic poetry. It's a mirror held up to our souls, revealing what genuine faithfulness in Christ looks like.
The chapter begins with a startling reality check: You can have eloquence that rivals angels. You can possess prophetic insight and understand all mysteries. You can have mountain-moving faith, give away everything you own, and even surrender your body to flames. But without love—the love of Christ—you are nothing. Absolutely nothing.
This isn't the sentimental love of greeting cards or romantic comedies. This is the love that flowed from the cross, the love that caused the Creator to submit to His creation's cruelty, the love that gives without counting the cost.
The Anatomy of Christ-Like Love
So what does this love look like in practice? First Corinthians 13 gives us a detailed portrait:
Love is patient. Not passive or weak, but willing to wait on God's timing while dealing with difficult people and circumstances. It doesn't rush to judgment or demand immediate resolution.
Love is kind. It actively seeks the good of others, not out of obligation but from a transformed heart that mirrors Christ's compassion.
Love is not jealous. It finds contentment in what God has provided and doesn't covet the blessings, relationships, or success of others. When Christ is your everything, human affections and earthly possessions lose their power to enslave you.
Love doesn't brag or act arrogantly. It gives God the glory for every accomplishment, every success, every breath. Glory theft—taking credit for what God has done—is a serious offense in the household of faith.
Love doesn't act unbecomingly. It matures. It grows up. It leaves behind childish self-centeredness and embraces the wisdom and grace of Christ.
Love doesn't seek its own. Perhaps one of the most countercultural aspects of Christian love is this: it's not always about you. In a culture obsessed with self-actualization, personal fulfillment, and individual rights, love calls us to something radically different—to put others first.
Love is not easily provoked. Stop wearing your feelings on your shoulder. Stop being triggered by every slight and offense. The person who is constantly provoked is constantly controlled by others.
Love doesn't keep a record of wrongs. No lists. No mental spreadsheets of offenses committed against you. No bringing up past failures in present arguments. People who keep detailed accounts of wrongs done to them are owned by those who wronged them—they've given others all the space in their heads.
Love doesn't rejoice in unrighteousness but rejoices with truth. When marriages break, when people fall, when tragedy strikes, there's no secret satisfaction. Instead, there's brokenness and intercession. But when truth is spoken and lived out, there's celebration.
Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. This is where the rubber meets the road. Love doesn't quit when things get hard. It doesn't bail when the other person becomes difficult. It endures suffering, maintains hope, and keeps believing the best.
The Great Kenosis: Jesus' Example
The ultimate example of this love is found in Jesus Himself. Though equal with God the Father in power and substance, Jesus didn't cling to His divine privileges. He emptied Himself—what theologians call the "great kenosis"—and took on human flesh.
Think about the profound humility of this: The Creator allowed His creation to mock Him, beat Him, and crucify Him. The one who formed the thorns allowed men to weave them into a crown and press it into His skull. The one who created human fists allowed those fists to strike His face.
Jesus could have stopped it at any moment. But He didn't. Why? Because humility and obedience to the Father's plan mattered more than comfort, more than justice, more than His own life.
This is the love that now dwells in every believer through the Holy Spirit. This is the standard we're called to.
Growing Up in 2026
Here's the uncomfortable truth: We all need to grow up. Every single one of us has areas where we're still acting like spiritual children—speaking like children, thinking like children, reasoning like children.
Right now, we see dimly, as through a foggy mirror. We know in part. We understand partially. Even our best counsel and deepest wisdom is incomplete. But one day, when Christ returns and we stand face to face with Him, we'll know fully, just as we are fully known.
Until then, three things remain: faith, hope, and love. And the greatest of these is love.
The Call to Humility
What if this year became the year of humility? What if we stopped trying to be the smartest person in the room, stopped keeping score, stopped demanding our own way?
What if, instead, we practiced bearing all things, hoping all things, enduring all things? What if we stopped complaining about our circumstances and started looking for ways to serve others in the midst of them?
The world doesn't need more eloquent speakers or impressive intellectuals who lack love. It needs people who embody the humility of Christ—people who give God the glory, who serve without recognition, who love without keeping score.
The Blessing of Faithfulness
When you live this way, something remarkable happens. You become attractive to godly leadership. Your spouse enjoys being around you. Your children start to respect you. Your neighbors might actually want to talk to you. Your co-workers might even invite you to their gatherings.
But more importantly, you become a living testimony to the transforming power of the gospel. You become one of the faithful—not perfect, but pressing on toward the goal of being more like Christ.
This is the journey we're all on together. This is what it means to be saints, faithful in Christ Jesus. May we walk this path with humility, grow in grace, and reflect more of Jesus with each passing day.
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