1 Corinthians 13
Paul was speaking of the spiritual gifts, which were conferred upon Christians, and there flashed upon his mind a vision of something far better than any power of healing or miracle working or speaking with tongues. This more excellent way is the way of love.
Love is better than eloquence. “If I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love I am become sounding brass.” One who can talk in a number of languages is regarded as an accomplished man. But one may be a good linguist and a good orator and yet not be a good Christian. To be a Christian is to have love. Love is better than great learning. “If I have the gift of prophecy, and know all mysteries and all knowledge… but have not love, I am nothing.” We live in an age when education is highly extolled. The training of the mind is considered of the highest importance. But there is something better than knowledge. One may be a learned scientist, a profound philosopher, may even be a brilliant theologian knowing the Bible and all sacred literature and Christian doctrine and yet be nothing as God rates men. We are measured before God by the love that is in our character. In every foot of cordage used in the British navy there is a red thread so intertwined that it cannot be taken out without the unraveling of the rope or cable. In every true character there is a red cord of love. Christian loving-kindness, which spreads warmth all about it, like the soft light or the sweet fragrance of flowers, is more excellent than the most brilliant learning.
Love is better than benevolence. “If I bestow all my goods to feed the poor,… but have not love, it profiteth me nothing.” It is not the gift that God blesses, but the love, which bestows the gift; not the service rendered, but the spirit, which prompts the service. There is a story of a king who built a great temple, paying all the cost himself. It was built for his own glory. When the time of dedication came, it was seen that some one had rubbed off the king’s name and put in its place that of a poor widow. The king was greatly amazed, not knowing that anyone but himself had done anything in the building of this temple. Inquiry was made, and the woman bearing the name came tremblingly into the king’s presence. When he demanded of her what she had done in the building of the temple, she could think of nothing. When presses still further, she remembered that one hot day, as the oxen were drawing stones past her door, she had in pity gathered some handfuls of grass and given them to the panting beasts. Pity for the dumb animals weighed more in heaven’s sight than all the king’s vast outlay of treasure.
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