An Excellent Way
Most of us have heard 1 Corinthians 13 read at a wedding. It gets printed on decorative plaques and stitched on pillows. And there is nothing wrong with that — these words are genuinely beautiful. But when Paul wrote them, he was not writing a poem for a ceremony. He was writing to a church in the middle of a serious argument. The Corinthians were competing over spiritual gifts, ranking themselves by who had the most impressive ones, and using those gifts in ways that were doing more harm than good. First Corinthians 13 is Paul's answer to that mess — and it hits harder when you know where it came from.
Paul opens with a series of contrasts that would have stopped his original readers in their tracks. Imagine being able to speak every human language — and then add angelic ones on top of that. Imagine having the ability to unlock divine mysteries, to wield a faith that can move mountains, to give every possession you own to the poor. These sound like the most impressive things a person could do. Then Paul delivers his verdict: without love, they are noise. They are nothing. They gain you nothing. He is not saying those things are bad. He is saying that love is not one ingredient among many. It is the thing that determines whether anything else has any value at all.
Love is not one ingredient among many. It is the thing that determines whether anything else has any value at all.
After establishing love's supreme importance, Paul does something unexpected. He does not define love philosophically. He describes what it looks like on an ordinary Tuesday. Patient. Kind. Not prone to jealousy. Not self-promoting. Not rude. Not keeping a mental record of every wrong done to it. Not easily set off. These are not romantic qualities — they are the qualities that get tested when you are stuck in traffic, when a coworker takes credit for your work, when someone in your church family lets you down again. Paul is describing love as a set of choices that anyone can make, in any moment, if they are willing.
One of the most important things Paul says in this passage is easy to miss. He writes that love does not find joy in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. That single line corrects a misunderstanding that is everywhere in our culture right now — the idea that love means accepting everything and never saying anything hard. Paul would push back on that directly. Love is not the same as endless tolerance. Love that watches someone it cares about walk into harm and says nothing is not love — it is indifference wearing a friendly face. Real love wants what is true and good for the other person, even when saying so is uncomfortable. The most loving thing is not always the easiest thing.
Verse 7 describes love's staying power in four short phrases: it bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. These are not the words of someone describing a feeling that comes and goes. They describe something more like a character that has been built over time — a commitment that does not collapse under the weight of difficulty or disappointment. Love bears the hard things without quitting. It keeps believing the best about people who have failed. It holds onto hope for others when those others have stopped hoping for themselves. It endures when enduring is the only thing left to do. This is the kind of love that points people toward God, because it looks like nothing the world naturally produces on its own.
These are not the words of someone describing a feeling that comes and goes. They describe a commitment that does not collapse under the weight of difficulty or disappointment.
In the second half of the chapter, Paul makes a move that is quietly stunning. He tells the Corinthians that the very things they are most proud of — their spiritual gifts — are temporary. Prophecy will end. Tongues will cease. Knowledge, as we currently experience it, will pass away. These gifts serve a real purpose in this age, but they belong to this age. They are like scaffolding: essential while the building is going up, but removed when the work is complete. The Corinthians were competing over scaffolding. Paul is trying to show them the building.
Paul uses an image from daily life in Corinth to make this point. The city was well known for its high-quality metal mirrors. But even the best mirror of that era could only give you a reflection — real enough, but indirect, never the face itself. That is what our knowledge of God is like right now, Paul says. We see something genuine, but we see it dimly. One day — when Christ returns and the age to come breaks fully into this one — we will see face to face. We will know God as we are already fully known by him. That phrase is worth sitting with: fully known. Not partially known. Not known in the better parts. Fully known — and loved completely in the knowing.
That is why love is the greatest. Faith will one day become sight — we will see what we now trust. Hope will one day become possession — we will have what we now wait for. But love does not get replaced by something better when Christ returns. It gets perfected. It continues, deepened and complete, into the life we were always made for. And because God himself is love — not merely loving, but love in his very nature — to grow in love is to grow in likeness to him. This is what Paul calls the most excellent way. Not the most impressive way. Not the most dramatic or most gifted way. The most excellent way — the one that leads somewhere worth going, and lasts when everything else has passed away.
Join us this Sunday as we continue our series Building on the Foundation — a verse-by-verse journey through 1 Corinthians.
Union Avenue Baptist Church | 2181 Union Avenue | Sundays at 10:45am | unionavenue.org