'At the last supper, when Judas had gone out, Jesus said, "Now the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him. If God has been glorified in him, God will also glorify him in himself and will glorify him at once. Little children, I am with you only a little longer. You will look for me; and as I said to the Jews so now I say to you, 'Where I am going, you cannot come.' I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another."'
--John 13: 31-35
There was an underappreciated film from the mid-1990s called Michael, in which John Travolta portrays an irreverent, slobbish angel who has come to earth for reasons. In one of the movie’s best scenes, he is sitting in the backseat of a car while a bewildered Oliver Platt and Andie McDowell ride shotgun. Michael quips, “I remember what John and Paul said.” Oliver Platt pops up and asks, “The apostles?!” Michael retorts, “No! The Beatles! All you need is love.”
John Travolta and Sparky in Michael.
While my knowledge of Beatles songs, I’m sad to admit, is rather limited—I once tried to impress my Beatles-loving girlfriend, now wife, by telling her my favorite Beatles album is The White Album, even though I didn’t know a single song on it – I DO know that song! "All you need is love." It is a song that is filled with hope that really, honestly, seriously, love is all we need. If we had love, then so many of the problems that we know would cease. If we had love, we would know a world of peace and harmony the likes of which are hitherto undreamt of! It is such a nice dream.
But so often that’s all it is, isn’t it? A dream. When refugees in seriously dangerous contexts that have waited years for asylum are rejected in place of disgruntled white folks mad that they’re not still in charge, love seems like a dream. (I add, parenthetically, bravo to our Episcopal Church leadership for refusing to comply with this practice!) When immigrants are being used as pawns to deny basic health care to low income and disabled folks, love seems like a dream. When the contributions of entire groups of people to the rich history of this country are being erased, love seems like a dream.
Only dreamers talk of love because it’s just too simple; there has to be more to it than that. I can’t help but imagine the other 11 apostles sitting there at the table with Jesus that evening. Judas has gone, and they must feel that something big is about to happen. He’s going to unpack all of the mysteries of the universe right here and now. Maybe he’ll tell us his plan for ushering in a new era of peace on this earth once Rome is gone. OK, Jesus! Lay it on us!
“Love one another.” That’s all he says. “As I have loved you.” That’s it? No, Jesus, I’m afraid you're mistaken; you don’t understand just how cruel the world is. Love is not all we need. It’s going to take a lot more than your silly dreams to overthrow an oppressive regime or save us from corrupt religious leaders that profit from it.
What if it’s not Jesus who is mistaken but us? What if we’ve been mistaken about love this whole time, treating it as a nicety, as little more than sentiment and pleasant feelings? Consider the context for this statement. It’s Thursday, and Jesus has given this mandate, this maundy to love, and he illustrates this love by taking the form of a servant and washing their feet – yes, even Judas who leaves immediately afterwards to betray him, even Peter who will deny even knowing him. This is love as a verb, not a noun; an action, not a concept. This is the new commandment.
What exactly is new about it? Saint Augustine said that it was new because it was a spiritual love that was distinct from, as he put it, “carnal affection,” which for Augustine and his, how shall we say, hobbies prior to his conversion to Christianity, that’s fine and made sense for him. Cyril of Alexandria said it was a different degree of love, for as Leviticus commands the people to love others as oneself, Jesus takes this to a whole new level, in that he loves others even more than himself; his kind of self-giving love that leads to the cross is far greater than love for oneself.
But can this kind of love really save us?
Yes, yes it can, when we consider again the context of Jesus’ command. It is not just to love one another as he loves but in the context in which he loves; that is, in the midst of the fear and awfulness that is to come. He knows it. They’re fixing to know it. All the while, Jesus doesn’t give into fear or self-preservation, and he models that, when the time comes, nor should they. Love one another, he’s telling them, even if it means giving up your own life and all to which you have clung so tightly in the hopes of warding off pain and suffering. Love, even in the face of that, and everyone will know that you are my disciples.
This moment is not just the memory of some emotionally charged sharing as Jesus contemplates his own death. This statement is at the very heart of his life’s message, his central theme, all the way up to his final words on the cross, “Father, forgive them!” To accomplish what he came to do means that we must love in the same manner, not only for the sake of creating good will among ourselves, but for the sake of all who will see this love and thus see him. To love in such a way is our primary duty as disciples of Jesus, and to fail to do so is to keep him hidden from a world that needs him so desperately. In daily sacrificial acts, in which we give away a portion of ourselves, we resurrect Jesus for the sake of all who long for some measure of love, healing, and hope; we love in the face of tyranny, bitterness, and oppression for the sake of the other, for the sake of the Christ that lives in the other, for the sake of the love that he has for all humanity. The enemy can take many things away from us: jobs and livelihoods, health care and status. Their cruelty knows no bounds, and it can permeate every facet of our lives, but there is one thing they cannot take from us: our capacity to love. The love in our hearts, the love in our minds, the love in our souls, the love in our strength. They couldn’t take it from Jesus, they couldn’t take it from the apostles when they, one by one, met similar fates as he did. They cannot and will not take it from us, either.
Kristen and I are currently making our way through the entire canon of Star Wars because of course we are. Every movie, every tv series, all in chronological order, and we just finished the first season of Andor. There is a moment in that show when Maarva, the sickly mother of the titular hero Cassian Andor, insists that, despite imperial occupation of her town and threats to her life, she will remain there instead of escaping with her son. “We’ll go some place they haven’t ruined yet,” Cassian tells her. “I’m already there,” Maarva says, “That place is in my mind. They can build as many barracks as they want, they’ll never find me.” After years of fear and despair, it’s Maarva’s love that inspires her to stay and face what is coming, but even still, she knows the enemy will not win so long as she stands up and loves in the face of such cruelty.
Love is many things, but simple is not one of them. Real love places demands on us. Love is action. Love is revolutionary and radical. It is a form of resistance. To love in the face of fear, to offer oneself instead of preserving oneself, that is what it means to love as Jesus loves, what makes the new commandment so hard but so hopeful. It is truly the one thing that will save us. In the end, John and Paul were right – the apostles and the Beatles. All we need is that kind of love.
