Loving God: Gratitude's Result

“Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven – for she loved much. But he who has been forgiven little loves little.” (Luke 7:47)

It is one thing to intellectually grasp the redemptive truth Jesus is highlighting in this story, but quite another to actually experience it as a genuinely heartfelt reality.

Early in the film Luther, Martin’s mentor, Johann von Staupitz, says to him, “You know, in two years I’ve never heard you confess anything remotely interesting.” The self-righteous of the world might automatically assume, based upon Staupitz’s observation, that Luther was a man of great spiritual standing. In truth, Staupitz’s statement was one of genuine sympathy and empathy, alluding to the crippling thorn in Martin’s side and the agony it produced. Luther was merely going through the motions—living a life he imagined was demanded of him by a fearful, intellectual equation. But fear cannot, never has, and never will produce love. What it unfortunately produces is deep resentment and loathing.

So, it is ironic but absolutely true that destructive realities develop within a person motivated solely by the fear of punishment and the hope of reward. We might initially mistake such a person for one living a life of virtuous, selfless piety. But is that a reliable assessment? Or is it actually a deeply selfish form of existence, producing an empty outward appearance void of real suffering or genuine, heartfelt contrition? The threshold to falling in love with God our Father, and Jesus our Savior, is found here. This is what Martin’s mentor was trying to impart: big hurts are ultimately more productive than little ouches. It takes courage—the courage to let the outward appearances fall away to reveal a deeply flawed inner core.

If we consider the story of the prodigal son, it isn’t merely the son’s resolve to go home that fuels his newfound love and respect for his father, but seeing his father’s overwhelming love for him—so evident in the fact that his father kept one eye on the horizon and dashed out to embrace him the moment he saw him returning. Similarly, it wasn’t the attention the sinful woman gave Jesus’ feet that initially revealed her genuine love for the Savior, but her tears.

We struggle to embrace this truth: only a genuinely broken spirit—born out of the recognition of our total failure to consistently be loving paired with a lack of human recourse—compels us to finally look up toward God. It was when King David was hurled down into the depths of despair that the icy reality of his premeditated murder moved him to pen the anguish in Psalm 51: “The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.”

Living a near-perfect life may seem admirable at first, but the perfectionist walks a treacherous path—constantly tempted to suspect they don’t need Jesus’ redemption quite as much as the "average" sinner. Yet, how can one ever inspire a non-believer to grasp the feet of our Savior through such an uninspiring and self-aggrandizing example? Let our motivation to do good be rooted solely in our love for our Savior, anchored in the liberating joy that our “…many sins have been forgiven.”

Father, thank You for setting us free from all our twistedness. Keep us ever mindful of where we came from and who released us. Move us to do good works purely out of the loving desire to thank you and please you. And let our joy glorify what you can do for those that have not yet embraced The Gospel. Amen.

mgb