bestIt was a lovely wedding yesterday afternoon. The bride was radiant; the groom – tall and handsome. The music was outstanding. The families were welcoming and joyful. It was obvious that the couple put a TON of work into the liturgical celebration. And though it would be nearly a cop out to say that I saw love at its best in the bride and groom as they laid down their lives in the vows they spoke, (which I did), that was not that moment that stood out for me. Rather, just as the ceremony was beginning, the three brothers of the bride came forward and lit a small, rainbow colored candle. And it was all I could do to keep from losing it, because I knew the story of the candle. You see, the candle stood for the middle sister of the family, Caitlin, who died about 2 years ago after a short, sudden illness. It was one of those little touches – just a brief way to remember the daughter/sister/friend who was such a vibrant part of the family until her death. And whom they continue to make a part of each of their family celebrations. And I am not sure if it was the tenderness of the memory, or how reverently they did that simple act, but it was a profound moment of “love at its best.”

And then at the reception, I ran into a young alum from my days at Wash U – who had a stroke at the age of 31, and was doing his best to be present, but the loudness of the reception venue made it extremely difficult on John. And then, as conversation shift and flow, I turned and he was no longer there on my right. I figured that he had left. But on my way out, there was a little ‘glassed off area’, with a table and 4 chairs. There, his friends had herded John so that he could actually be able to participate in conversations and not be isolated because of the noise and his disability. It was a small gesture, but how profoundly touching – people leaving the ‘excitement of the dance floor and party atmosphere’ – so that he would be able to be a participant and not a spectator.

No one has great love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.

Driving home, I was reflecting on what a good day it was because I saw ‘love at its best’ twice in one evening. But God was not done. I came home to the very tail end of the funeral gathering for the grandmother of one of our pre-school families, downstairs in the parish center. There were two kids, 6 adults and the men’s club bartender still in the parish hall. And though the men’s club member had worked 10 hours at work that day, his back was killing him, and was ready to go home, there he was, still cleaning up, mopping up, making sure that the folks staying to the bitter end had everything that they needed. It was a thankless job, yet he kept pouring himself (and the drinks) out in service.

No one has great love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.

Love at its best – is seldom flashy or flamboyant. It is not pompous and self inflated. It is not rude or self seeking. Rather, it looks like a bartender going above the call of duty in serving a grieving family. It looks like 3 friends making sure that their disabled buddy was included in the evening’s conversations. It was a family that kept the memory of their daughter’s life an important part of their wedding celebrations. And, dare I say, it is a mother’s love as she kisses an ouch-y away on her young son’s knee; as she cooks yet another meal for the cafeteria family headed a hundred directions that evening; as she babysits for her daughter so she and her husband might enjoy a night together to strengthen the bonds of their marriage. It is the countless choices you and I have witnessed from our mothers to give of self for the good of others…

And it is a savior’s love as he lay down his life for us all upon the cross.

In every act of love, we hear an echo of THE act of love. Each time you and I make the choice to lay down our lives in love, no matter how small or how great the sacrifice, we have the privilege of making God real. There is no greater love than this. How blessed we are to make ‘love at its best’ a reality on behalf of God himself.