1 John 4:7-21

I Love My Mother, But . . .

 Want a quick test to know if someone is from the East or the West? Cross cultural researchers use this question to explore the nature of the differences between East and West, and their respective perceptions of life, language, and relationships.

Here is the question: “I love my mother, but . . . .”

Ask a person raised in “Western” culture and a person who grew up with an “Eastern” world view to finish this sentence, “I love my mother, but . . .”

Even today, on Mother’s Day, every one of us can immediately come up with a “but.”

“I love my mother, but . . . . she can drive me crazy!”

“I love my mother, but . . . . she absolutely cannot cook.”

“I love my mother, but . . . . she has a gangrene thumb. She couldn’t grow a dandelion if her life depended on it.”

“I love my mother, but . . . . my mother’s love is smother love.”

In other words, in Western culture what comes after “I love my mother, but . . .” is usually a negative remark. Our love is tempered by our knowledge of our mother’s human foibles and frailties.

But the Eastern answer is typically quite different.

“I love my mother, but” . . . is finished with comments like this:

“I love my mother, but . . . I will never be able to show her how much.”

“I love my mother, but . . . I can never repay what she has done for me.”

“I love my mother, but . . . she has done so much for me all my life I can never thank her enough.”

“I love my mother, but . . . she works so hard for her family.”

The “Eastern” answer does not use “but” to water down the love. The “Eastern” answer does not use “but” as an eraser to what preceded it.

Instead, the “but” adds more feeling and flavor to the love. The first expression of “I love my mother” is followed by an increased revelation about the belovedness of the mother and the connectedness of the child.

Why is the Western tendency to dilute expressions of love with some sort of criticism? Why is the Western tendency to diminish our love by putting some distance between us and our mother?

After revealing the vulnerability of great love, we seek shelter behind a wall that can keep the beloved at a distance, don’t we?

See, love is scary.  Love isn’t easy. Love can disappoint. But in our text for this morning, it spells it out pretty clearly:

“Since God loved us so much, we also ought to love one another” (1 John 4:11). The truth is, love changes us. Love changes the world. But, interestingly, we can only love if we have first been loved.

Which is why I love “Mother’s Day” so much.

The presence of a parent’s love is a child’s whole world. The absence of that love creates a terrible alternative universe. I’m sure lots of Moms received treasured gifts this Mother’s Day (or if not today, then on previous Mother’s Days).

Flowers ripped out of the flowerbed. Breakfasts of burnt toast and snotty eggs. Mysterious clay creations whose purpose has not yet been determined. Hugs and kisses that came with their own flavor and degree of stickiness.

And I’ll also bet that not one Mom here this morning frowned at the flowers, bemoaned her breakfast, or threw out her pottery. Not one sticky kiss or muddy hug was rejected.

Love accepts the love that is offered to it. A child’s expression of love for Mom on Mother’s Day is accepted with an overflowing heart, no matter how imperfect that expression might be.

That reminds me of a quick story:  This particular Mother’s Day, a loving mother was told by her two children to stay in bed.  She lay there looking forward to being brought her breakfast, as the inviting smell of bacon floated up from the kitchen. 

At last the children called her downstairs. There she found them sitting at the table, each with a large plate of bacon and eggs. 

"As a Mother's Day surprise," one explained, "We've cooked our own breakfast." I’m sure that mom just smiled and I imagine, once again made her own breakfast. 

As children grow up we all continue to test the strength of parental love.

“I love my mother, but . . . I ditched school, and hung out at the mall instead.”

“I love my mother, but . . . I’ve been using drugs and alcohol and now I’m losing control.”

“I love my mother, but . . . I’m dropping out of college.”

“I love my mother, but . . . now I’m in jail.”

How do we respond to expressions of love that are so broken, so limited, so stunted by human weakness?

If we go back to our text: By loving one another.

Unfortunately, the term “love” can be an ambiguous term. Its meaning has been hijacked by popular culture. And what makes it even trickier is that we only have one word to cover a whole range of meanings.

So I can say: "I love my wife," or "I love my children, or my parents," or "I love chocolate," or "I love going to the beach" etc. But unless you look carefully at the context to see what sort of love I'm talking about it isn't necessarily clear.

What's happened, you see, is that we've come to use the same word for that wide range of meanings as though they were all equal. Well in the Greek language it was a bit easier. In ancient Greece there were four different words that were used for love.

The first is storge, which describes a general affection for one another.  Next there is philia, which is friendship, or as the city of Philadelphia is known, "brotherly love."  Then comes eros, which is that special state of those who are "in love", a more erotic or physical kind of love. 

Then finally, there is God's kind of love – agape. This kind of love is divine, unconditional, self-sacrificing, active, and thoughtful love.

Agape love is an unconditional love directed towards one's neighbor which is not dependent on any lovable qualities that the object of love possesses. Agape love is the love that brings forth caring regardless of circumstance.

The chief model for this type of love, of course, is God himself. John writes: "Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love. This is how God showed his love among us."

How? Not by serenading us, not by offering us roses and chocolates. No, God loved us by sending his Son into the world as an atoning sacrifice.

At the close of John’s gospel, Jesus is speaking with Peter. Peter the Rock. But also Peter the Rat. Peter who denied Jesus three times. Peter who walked on water. But also Peter the stone who sank into the waves.

Before Jesus ascends to the Father, he wants one final conversation with Peter. It is one of the most moving, most poignant moments in all the New Testament.

Jesus turns to Simon Peter, the one to whom Jesus is about ready to entrust the birthing of the church, and asks him one simple question:

“Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?” (John 21:15)

When Jesus asks Peter if he “loves” him Jesus uses the term “agape.” “Agape” love: the selfless, all-encompassing, all consuming divine love. So the real translation goes like this:

“Simon, do you agape me?”

Peter responds quickly to Jesus’ question. “Yes Lord, you know that I love you.” But what Peter does is to change the word for love from “agape” to “philia.” Peter actually answers Jesus like this: “Yes Lord, you know that I philia you.”

“Philia” is that “brotherly” love I mentioned. “Philia” is the warmth and affection found among friends and family. It is the most familiar love. It is a very human kind of love. That is the love Peter offers to Jesus.

So Jesus tries again. For a second time Jesus asks his top disciple, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” Again Jesus asks Peter if he “agape” loves him. “Peter, do you agape me.”

Again, Peter answers his master quickly, “Yes Lord, you know that I love you.” But again, as he had the first time, Peter offers Jesus “philia” love. Peter extends his love to Jesus, but it is limited, fragile, faulty. “Yes, Lord, I philia you.”

And here is where Jesus shows us the real nature of agape love. Jesus then comes down to Peter’s level, accepts the best that Peter can offer, and the third time asks him a whole new question:

“Simon, do you philia me?”

Jesus is saying to Peter, and to us, you are who are, Peter. If that is the best you are capable of at this time and space in your life, it’s okay. I’ll take it.

In other words, Peter can only offer Jesus a lumpy ashtray, a snotty breakfast, a broken flower. Peter’s faith is still that of a child’s. He is not yet “a Rock,” he is just rock candy, a pebble, a sandstone.

The power of “agape” love is in its grace and compassion. Jesus meets Peter where he is. Jesus accepts Peter’s love, however bent and basic it might be. That’s why for the third time Jesus asks his top disciple, his companion, his friend, “Simon, son of Jonah, do you love me?”

But this time Jesus takes it down a notch. This time Jesus welcomes the sticky kiss. This time Jesus asks Peter, “Do you “philia” me”?

If Jesus proved his agape love by stooping to Peter’s level, Peter proved his philia love by taking offense at being asked about his love for a third time. Peter doesn’t even register the grace Jesus has extended him. Peter, now with some exasperation, only repeats what he has asserted before: “You know that I philia you.”

The love that bends and extends, the love that reaches out and brings in, that is “agape” love.

The love that sent the Son into the world for our redemption was “agape” love.

The love that hung on the cross was “agape” love.

The love that destroyed the power of death forever was “agape” love.

The love that sacrifices and puts others first, the love that will take rejections and betrayals and still come back for more, that kind of agape love is a “mother’s love.”

But whether or not you can rise to a mother’s love, to agape love, this morning, you need to hear the message of the gospel:

God loves you, and God takes you in God’s arms and loves you, and bends down to you so far and so much that God will accept whatever love you can muster.

And God will bless and bring your love, no matter how pitiful and puny that love may be, to new heights and depths of mission.

Thanks be to God …AMEN!