Love is all that I can give to you. . .

I was pondering Christ's love today during my devotions, wondering why it is so hard sometimes for me to believe in the "height, and breadth and depth" of God's love. After all, he died for us--isn't that a pretty good indicator that he loves us?

It is. But I frequently find myself filtering this concept of Christ's love through the lens of the love I offer to people, a love that is weak, feelings-based, and self-gratifying, the antithesis of 1 Corinthians 13. My love finds it easy to do one or two nice things for you--as long as I know that I'll get the credit, or that I can feel good about myself while doing it, or if I just happen to feel warm fuzzies toward you at the moment. My love, in short, does not deserve the title. And this is the love I attribute to Jesus, who has placed a high enough value on the human race, on me, to be willing to suffer humiliation and pain and the anguish of separation from the Father in order to pay my ransom, to free me from a mess into which I got myself. And what boggles my mind is that this love was not just a one time thing--his love and forgiveness extend to me every time I screw up and mortally offend him (which happens an average of "all the time").

"This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins." 1 John 4:10.

There it is. That's it. My questioning of God's love because 'I don't feel him,' or because he's not giving me everything I think I need bastardizes every agonizing, humiliating, and willing moment he spent on that cross. It tells him that his sacrifice was pointless, because I would sell my unworthy and ungrateful soul for a little counterfeit happiness in the here and now.

If I lived as though I really believed that this was true, that the God of the universe died because He loved me and hated seeing me wallowing in my putrid sin, my life would be radically, almost frighteningly, different.

"I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!"