Steadfast Love

Matthew 18:20; Matthew 26:36-41; Ruth 1:16-17

Steadfast love is something we all long for, but it is something we find very hard to practice. It is no wonder we make it an attribute of God, for we know all to well how often it becomes something simply beyond human ability to embody. Steadfast love is staying with the beloved always. Romantics have long described it and vouched for it and claimed it. Steadfast love is dependable, completely trustworthy, and, sublimely, safe. In the presence of steadfast love, we can open up; we can be ourselves without fear; and we can more freely pass through life, sure there is someone who will be with us, keep us, and preserve us. 

Ruth is truly an iconic figure in scripture because she was able to practice steadfast love. As we hear her story, we see the depths to which one must go if one is to meet another in steadfast love. We have heard it many times before—in choosing to stay with Naomi in widowhood without a known male relative, she chose a life of destitution, completely dependent on the world to care. Yet, for Ruth, the only relevant matter was to abide with Naomi, to keep her, to help her, and to ensure her life. 

For whom would you do that?

Parents will readily claim such for their children. We will preserve our children against all else. True and faithful spouses make such commitments to one another, choosing to see one another through the trials and temptations of life. Beyond those examples, though, we might well come up dry in trying to create a list. 

Which brings us into an interesting confrontation with Christ our Lord. Christ argued that steadfast love was to be the standard by which we met the world. Who happened to be before us was irrelevant—they were all to be met with the same love. There were no gradations, exceptions, or excuses. If someone was before you, they were to be an object of your steadfast love. 

That makes things more difficult. 

People are so ornery. People are so complicated. People come with quirks and tics. People are irritating, annoying, and cloying. Often we fall back to the “punt position” so perfectly intoned by Linus when Charlie Brown questioned his love for humanity—“I love mankind; it’s people I can’t stand!”

In generalities, we do much better. When we can sweep across the length and breadth of humanity, we find it easy to make commitments, assertions, and claims. 

But we rarely actually deal only in generalities. Most often, our interactions with other people are extremely specific and particular. As soon as we step into the flow of traffic outside the door, we are faced with real and actual human beings. If we try to meet them in generalities, we will invariably make mistakes, errors in judgment, and missteps. Persons do not do well when pushed into boxes appointed by others. We ask to be taken on our terms, for who we are, and as we are. 

It is here that we run afoul of Christ’s call to steadfast love. 

Fear not, even his closest companions had a hard time meeting that standard, even with him for whom they professed steadfast love. In his darkest hour, Christ found himself alone. As he wrestled in the existential depths of his soul before meeting his end, he asked for his friends to stay with him, to share the moment, to support him through his agony. They fell asleep. They left him even while being with him. They could not love him.

Herein is why I make such a big deal about smartphones and restaurants—dinner out is meant to be a moment of steadfast love, a chance to momentarily be Ruth for another human being—to listen, to care, to be present—but instead, we close ourselves off, fixed on a tiny screen, miles away from the table where we actually are. Had the disciples had smartphones, they would have checking Facebook, or instagramming, or checking ESPN to see how the Jerusalem Rams did against Capernaum in futbol. We need to wake up to the people before us. We need to awaken to their reality, not simply contentedly abiding in our generalizations about them. We need to connect to one another in real and actual bonds, not just to glimpses and glitches of electronic “friending.”

The stunning truth is that Christ’s experience in the garden is not unique, but rather a further revelation of just how deeply into human experience God descended in Christ. Daily, human beings all around us enter into the dark night of the soul, facing questions, dilemmas, and conundrums that they really do not need to face alone. My guess is that this morning, in this very sanctuary, within a few feet of any of us is someone dealing with how to care for an ailing parent who lives far, far away; someone worried over a child and her recent decisions about what to do and whom to be with; someone wrestling with illness or bodily mishap; someone feeling old and useless; someone feeling young and inconsequential; or someone simply needing not to be alone this morning. Gethsemane is a regular human experience. When we are in it, we are just as Christ was—overwhelmed, afraid, and needing someone—anyone—to be there with us to make it not so lonely, not so scary, and not so overwhelming.

Ruth rose from within herself to be such for Naomi. She found the strength, the courage, and the power to be Naomi’s friend, embodying the truly steadfast love a child has for a parent that lay behind God’s directive to honor one’s father and mother. She was not a superhero. She did not leap from a comic book. She was an ordinary woman with an extraordinary ability to love others as she wished to be loved.

In other words, she walked with God.

Christ made a remarkable promise to the very disciples who abandoned him. He assured them that when two or three of them got together, Christ would always be with them. God is love, and where human beings commit to the ways and being of love, God is present. If God is present, then power is present that transcends and transforms our own abilities and strengths, perhaps even turning our weaknesses into power. For instance, through God, our greatest failure can become a bridge into fully seeing the struggle of another with a similar moment. That bridge becomes the highway for compassionate care. We find we can relate to the other. We can connect to the benefit of us both. We can be present.

And in the end, that is what steadfast love is all about—being present for another. 

Never underestimate the power such a gift holds for another person. They do not have to be a lonely warrior against the challenges of life. They do not have to suffer the abandonment of apathy. They do not have to fear all else because they are alone. Presence is power; presence is help; presence brings peace.

It is within our grasp.

Practice.