Love knows no limit to its endurance, no end to its trust, no fading of its hope; it can outlast anything. It is, in fact, the one thing that still stands when all else has fallen. 

— 1 Corinthians 13:7-8a, 

J.B. Phillips Translation

The state of the world has brought a whole new meaning to loving our neighbor. When is love not enough? This isn’t usually talked about when we study the “love chapter,” 1 Corinthians 13. But it’s something I’ve been thinking about.  

Scripture tells us love is the most important thing. Our cultural tales say love conquers all. Love breaks down all barriers. Love wins. 

All of these things are true — which makes it all the more devastating when “all you need is love” doesn’t fix the problem. 

Love helps but doesn’t cure. Love persists until it runs cold. Love is the most important commandment until all we can do is survive, unable to give and receive love. 

A confession: I don’t love people who try to strip dignity away from people I love. I don’t love someone who’s been abusive to me. I don’t love people who put children in cages. I don’t love people with nefarious intent causing harm to others. 

I’m not saying it’s OK not to love. I’m saying love can reach its limits. And feeling guilty about that doesn’t help our spiritual lives. 

We can beat ourselves up when we struggle to love people who are difficult or impossible to love, thinking we can rise above it. 

Rising above it happens sometimes, and sometimes it doesn’t. It’s easy to think we’ve failed when our brand of love seems to not solve, cure or help enough.

What would happen if, when we reach our limit, we left people to the love of God? A God whose love has no limit. 

What would happen if, when love is too heavy a load to carry — or even is just something we’re still working on — we would focus on dignity and leave the loving of others to God? 

Additionally, there’s the challenge to love ourselves. Some of us struggle with mental illness that makes loving ourselves difficult, or with past trauma that makes it nearly impossible. 

“You need to love yourself more! Love yourself as God loves you!” is something I’ve preached from the pulpit, and now this makes me cringe a bit. 

Of course, it’s true. We should love ourselves as God loves us. And yet, back to my original question: What happens when love runs out? What if we are not in a place of loving and accepting ourselves? 

Other people can love us when we can’t love ourselves. And maybe this is even more important: God loves us when we can’t — even if we don’t acknowledge that love, or we push back against it or call it impossible or get angry with it. 

The message of 1 Corinthians 13 is clear. God’s love knows no limits to its endurance. No end to its trust. No fading of its hope. It stands when everything else has fallen. 

God’s love remains secure, even when we’re falling apart or don’t have it all together or are just struggling to survive. 

I also acknowledge that many things can be true at the same time: 

We can love everyone and yet not quite everyone. 

We can love everyone and be working on our grudges. 

We can love everyone and not ourselves. 

We can respect other people and not be able to love them. 

We can strive to love but fall short. 

We can love and have our love reach a limit. 

We can set a boundary and love. 

We can try our best to love and have that love go terribly wrong. 

I take great comfort in God being an all-loving entity who enacts justice. A God who holds the balance of love and ­justice when I don’t fully understand it.

Sometimes all we can do is hold on to the assurance that God loves. When we reach our limit, when we need a pause, when we’re trying (and failing?) to move mountains with our love, God’s love still stands. Because God’s love is beyond reason and comprehension. 

When we’re loving someone, or our­selves, through the toughest of times, we can rest knowing God’s love is complete. We are called to the vocation of love, and there’s grace for being human.