On Letting God Love Us
Jesus loves us.
It’s the oldest lesson in the book. The cry of creation, the song of redemption. Our foundation and salvation. It’s evident in the marks of Jesus’ hands and in His Spirit He left behind to dwell within us. But the question is: Do we live like we believe that love is real and true?
Tish Harrison Warren wrote about this in her simple but powerful book, Liturgy of the Ordinary: “And yet in my brokenness and lostness, I also need to form the habit of letting God love me, trusting again in his mercy, and receiving again his words of forgiveness and absolution over me.” (Emphasis mine.)
Two heroes of the early church come to mind who, probably, needed reminders to let God love them while on mission to spread the gospel: Peter and Paul.
Peter didn’t preach because he had a chip on his shoulder and wanted to avenge his best Friend. Although I can’t help but wonder if Peter often ached for Jesus, and after a long day of teaching in synagogues and healing diseases, he would retreat to a quiet corner of the village and weep for His absence. The Man who recovered Peter’s lost hope and watched it burst forth, like fish almost breaking the nets. The Man who gave him a second chance, and freed his soul from shame over a breakfast of bread and fish.
Maybe Peter was so filled with the Spirit that didn’t have these moments—he was always on mission, eyes never leaving the target. But these apostles, as Spirit-filled as they were, were not gods. In fact, they had to correct the people who thought they were (Acts 3:11-16). They were broken humans just like us.
If Peter ever found himself afraid, I bet he remembered Jesus’ grace. He’d pause and let His forgiveness wash over Him again and again. He knew His Lord loved him, and he devoted his life to loving Him in return. Can you hear it in his voice?
“…and though you have not seen [Jesus], you love Him, and though you do not see Him now, but believe in Him, you greatly rejoice with joy inexpressible and full of glory, obtaining as the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls.” (1 Peter 1:8-9)
I know it’s July, but in a triple digit-degree summer, this Texan is craving cooler landscapes.
And what about Paul? Is it possible that the greatest missionary in history, the man of steel, the no-nonsense proclaimer of truth and faith, needed reminders of Christ’s love too? We see a glimpse of this in Acts 18 when Paul, after a day of arguing with the Jews, retreats to another believer’s house. God meets him that night in a vision:
“Do not be afraid any longer, but go on speaking and do not be silent; for I am with you, and no one will attack you to harm you, for I have many people in this city.” (Acts 18:9-10, emphasis mine.)
We’re not sure how long Paul had been afraid, but maybe this wasn’t the first time. Maybe he often tossed and turned at night, as the Enemy haunted his sleep with images from his past—carting families off in chains and nodding in approval at Stephen’s gruesome death. Maybe Paul would wake up in a cold sweat, fearful that he was merely an imposter. That this was all some sick joke, and he was actually unworthy of God’s calling on his life, and there was no redemption for this “chief of sinners.”
“But God, being rich in mercy, because of His great love with which He loved us, even when we were dead in our transgressions, made us alive together with Christ (by grace you have been saved)…” (Ephesians 2:4-5)
It’s possible that long after Paul wrote this to the church at Ephesus—in the quiet of a dark prison cell or on the open roads to his next destination, when his mind had room for doubt or lies to creep in—he recited those words to himself. He’d once again ground himself on the rock of God’s love.
Peter, Paul, and the other great men and women of the faith, were made bold by the love of God. His deep love for them was what carried them through, and maybe that’s true for us too. So how do we let this love fuel our daily lives?
We sing songs that stir our hearts for God. We close our eyes in the sun and listen to the birds. We invite friends and strangers to our tables and break bread together. We take a deep breath at our desk or in the car or at the stove, and ask if we’re living this day out of fear or love. We recite Truth to ourselves. We lay our burdens, insecurities, and doubts at Jesus’ feet. We extend His grace to others and ourselves, because that is our strength (2 Timothy 2:1). We ask God for faith to believe the unbelievable, that at the right time, Christ died for us, the ungodly (Romans 5:6).
So in all the big and small moments that make up a day, recite it until you feel it deep in your bones, and the magic starts working in the hidden places inside you:
Jesus loves me, this I know.
