What Is Love? Rediscovering the Word That Should Define Us
"What is love?"
That’s a question we rarely stop to ask, even though we say the word all the time. We use love to describe how we feel about our spouses and our children. We use it for barbecue, our favorite football team, or that new restaurant in town. One minute we’re telling someone we love them on their birthday, and the next we’re saying we love the new Batman movie.
It's not that our culture doesn’t talk about love. We talk about it constantly. But the problem is—we use the same word to describe vastly different experiences. The word has become a catch-all for desire, affection, passion, preference, even nostalgia. It stretches across such a wide spectrum that it can lose its meaning altogether.
But in the Christian life, love is not a vague emotional word or just one virtue among many. It’s the defining mark of our faith.
Jesus didn’t say the world would recognize us by our theological depth, political views, or church attendance. He said they would know we are His disciples by our love for one another (John 13:35). The Apostle Paul said that without love, even the most impressive spiritual gifts and sacrificial acts are meaningless (1 Corinthians 13:1–3). And the Apostle John goes even further—he says God is love (1 John 4:8).
Let that settle in for a moment.
Not just that God loves. Not just that God is loving. But that God is love.
That means love isn’t just something God does—it’s who He is. It's His nature. His character. His essence. And if we claim to know Him, if we dare to say we are His children, then love must be the natural outworking of our faith. “Whoever does not love,” John writes, “does not know God, because God is love” (1 John 4:8).
Greek Clarity: What Kind of Love?
The Greek language, unlike modern English, had multiple words for love—each with a specific context:
Eros – romantic, passionate love
Philia – brotherly love or deep friendship
Storgē – familial, instinctual affection
Agápē – selfless, sacrificial, unconditional love
When Paul and John speak about the love of God, they consistently use agápē—a word that describes the kind of love that chooses the good of the other, even at great personal cost. This is not a sentimental feeling. It’s not a fleeting emotion. It’s a decision to love without condition or expectation.
This is the kind of love that sent Jesus to the cross.
This is the kind of love that forgives enemies, washes the feet of betrayers, and welcomes prodigals home.
This is the kind of love we are called to live in and live out.
A Tale of Two Passages
Two passages in Scripture shape our understanding of this agápē love in profound ways: 1 Corinthians 13 and 1 John 4.
In 1 Corinthians 13, Paul gives us something that’s rare in Scripture: an actual definition of love. We often hear this passage at weddings—and that’s fine—but it's so much more than romantic poetry. Paul is laying down the essence of how love behaves:
“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs...” (1 Cor. 13:4–5)
And he goes on. Love never fails. It always protects, trusts, hopes, perseveres.
These aren’t just nice ideals—they are a picture of God’s own character. They are what it looks like when God's Spirit is alive and active in someone’s life.
Then we turn to 1 John 4, where John tells us something staggering:
“This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him... not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins.” (1 John 4:9–10)
The proof of God's love isn’t just that He says it. It’s that He acted on it. He gave. He came. He suffered. He redeemed. And then He said, “Now go and love each other the same way.”
Familiar Words, Forgotten Wonder
If I’m honest, these verses have become familiar to me—maybe too familiar. I’ve read them at weddings. Quoted them in sermons. Scribbled them into greeting cards. I’ve taught them to others more times than I can count.
And yet... sometimes I wonder if I’ve stopped letting them teach me.
Like an overplayed song on the radio, I fear these verses have become background noise. I’ve grown inoculated to their power. Their wonder.
But lately, I’ve found myself sitting with them again. Reading them slowly. Pondering each phrase.
And I’ve realized: this is the very heart of our faith. This is what Christianity looks like when it’s lived authentically. Not angry, not defensive, not anxious—but loving. Sacrificial. Gentle. Bold in grace.
This is what made the early Church so radically countercultural. They didn’t conquer Rome with power—they confounded it with love. They cared for the poor and dying when others abandoned them. They forgave their persecutors. They shared everything. They welcomed everyone.
And people noticed. One early observer of the Christian community said in amazement: “See how they love one another.”
Could we ever be described that way?
What If Love Defined Us?
Imagine what would happen if we rediscovered this kind of love—not just as an idea, but as a way of life. Not just in moments of sentimentality, but in the everyday grind of life. In traffic. At the dinner table. With co-workers. With our enemies.
Imagine if the Church—your church, my church—was so marked by this kind of agápē that the world had to take notice again.
I wonder if it would look something like the early Church.
Or maybe something like Mother Teresa, who once said, “Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love.”
Or maybe, just maybe, it would look like Jesus—who loved us to the end, and then called us to do likewise.
So I ask again: What is love?
It is the shape of the cross.
It is the mark of the Christian.
It is the very heart of God.
And if we let it, it might just turn the world upside down once more.
