As I Have Loved You
Love kneels
“A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.” John 13:34
I. The Impossible Standard
We read this verse so often that we’ve made it soft. We’ve turned it into a bumper sticker. But when Jesus spoke these words, He wasn’t offering a suggestion; He was issuing a mandate that should, quite frankly, terrify us.
Jesus did not say:
“Love when it’s easy.”
“Love when they deserve it.”
“Love when you have enough emotional margin left over.”
He said, “Love one another as I have loved you.”
This changes everything. If love is measured by our own capacity, we can justify walking away when we’re tired. But if love is measured by Jesus, then love is not a feeling we catch. It is a choice we make. It is not a soft sentiment. It is a sacrificial steel. It is a love that stays when the world says "leave," and it is a love that gives when the world says, "guard."
II. Love in the Dust
Jesus did not love from a distance. He didn't love from a throne or a pulpit. He got close. He entered stories. He sat in the dust with people the world had written off.
To understand the "New Commandment," we have to understand the air in the room that night in the Upper Room. The disciples were arguing. Luke tells us they were jockeying for position, debating who among them was the greatest. They were dreaming of crowns, but the room needed a servant.
In that culture, the roads were open sewers. They were covered with manure, dust, and filth. Every house had a basin at the door for the lowest slave to wash the guests' feet. But that night, there was no slave. And not one of those "great" disciples was willing to lose the argument by picking up the towel. So they sat there in the stench of their own pride, waiting for someone else to blink.
Then Jesus stands up.
He lays aside His outer garments. He wraps a towel around His waist. Imagine the silence as the King of Glory knelt in the dirt. He took the calloused, sweat-stained, manure-caked feet of fishermen and tax collectors into His hands.
He washed the feet of Peter, knowing that within hours, Peter would curse and swear he never knew Him. But then, He reaches Judas. Jesus knew. He saw the thirty pieces of silver already weighing down Judas' heart. Jesus didn't skip him. He didn't give him a "half-wash." He scrubbed the grime off the very feet that would, within the hour, lead a mob to Gethsemane.
I wish I could say I always love like that. But I’ll be honest—there are people in my own life I avoid because I know they’ll hurt me again. I don’t kneel easily. I guard myself. I build walls to protect my "peace," and I call it "wisdom." But it’s in those moments of self-protection that Jesus convicts me. He reminds me that He didn't wait for me to be "safe" before He knelt for me. He loved me when I was a risk. He loved me when I was the one holding the towel, and He loved me when I was the one turning away.
III. Love That Honors the Wounded
We must be clear: Jesus-shaped love is not a "doormat" love. It does not ignore victims. It does not rush past pain to get to a "positive" ending. It is a love that notices.
Jesus stopped for the bleeding woman. For twelve years, she had been a social ghost, "unclean" and ignored. The crowd was pressing in on Jesus; He had a high-stakes "emergency" to attend to (Jairus' daughter). But Jesus stopped the entire procession. He didn't tell her to "just have faith and move on." He saw her. He called her daughter in public, restoring her dignity in front of the very crowd that had shunned her.
Jesus noticed the grieving. He wept at Lazarus’ tomb. Even knowing resurrection was coming in five minutes, He didn't scold Martha for her tears. He didn't offer a platitude. He honored the sorrow in the room.
I once sat with someone who had been deeply hurt by the church. They weren’t angry; they were exhausted. They were tired of being told that their pain was a "lack of faith" or a "stumbling block" to others. As I listened, I realized how quickly we try to rush people past their pain because their pain makes us uncomfortable. We want the "victory" story, but Jesus was willing to sit in the dust of the "defeat."
Victims matter to God. Justice that does not protect the wounded is not justice at all. When we say we love like Jesus, it means we will refuse to silence their pain for the sake of our comfort.
IV. Love is Not Complicity
People ask: "Didn’t Jesus call out evil? Didn’t He tell Peter to get behind Him?" Yes. Because Jesus-shaped love is truth-filled. It is not "nice" at the expense of holiness or safety. When He told Peter, "Get behind me, Satan," He wasn't rejecting Peter’s soul. He was refusing to participate in Peter's worldly agenda.
But we must be incredibly clear: Love does not mean remaining in the path of destruction.
Jesus-shaped love does not require you to stay in an abusive house. It does not require you to submit to a hand that strikes you or a voice that demeans the image of God within you.
Jesus "stayed" on the Cross for our sins, but He also "slipped away" from the crowd when they tried to throw Him off a cliff (Luke 4:30).
He knew when to stand, and He knew when to move to safety.
A love that stays is a love that corrects, but it is not a love that enables. If you are being hurt, "staying" is not an act of holiness. It is an act of complicity with the harm. Loving an abuser "as Jesus loves" often means setting a boundary so firm that it forces them to face the reality of their sin from a distance. You can pray for a "Judas" from across a border. You can love a "betrayer" from a place of safety.
V. Why We Start on Our Knees
People ask about our vision. Right now, we offer prayer. And some might think prayer is what you do when you can’t do anything else.
But I believe prayer is the first act of Jesus-shaped love. When I pray for you, I am doing what Jesus did in Gethsemane. I am carrying a burden that isn't mine. I am refusing to hurry past your story. I am telling you: “You are seen. Your pain is not an inconvenience. You are not alone.”
There have been nights I have prayed for people and felt like absolutely nothing changed. The situation stayed dark. But I stayed on my knees. Because I’ve realized that staying is love. Staying in the gap for someone who needs it is the very essence of John 13:34.
I am building this foundation on my knees because if I don't learn to honor your wounds in the quietness of prayer, I won't have the integrity to serve you in the busyness of the world.
VI. The Vision: From Hearts to Hands
Jesus-shaped love does not stay still. It moves. It touches. It feeds. It restores.
Today, I am a voice crying out to God on your behalf. But I want to become the hands that can reach out to lift you up. I am not just building a prayer list. I am building a sanctuary for the broken.
VII. The Manifesto
If Jesus could love:
A betrayer at His table
A criminal on a cross
A woman the world tried to hide
A grieving sister at a tomb
Then who are we to draw lines?
In this journey, I will not be defined by who I am against, but by who I am for. I will not lead with arguments; I will lead with Jesus-shaped love. I will not offer a religion that silences the hurting; I will offer a relationship that restores them.
The Final Word
Jesus said: “By this, everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” Not by our title. Not by our politics. Not even by our opinions. By our love.
Lord, teach us to love like You. When it’s hard. When it’s costly. When it requires us to sit in the grief of another without rushing for the exit. Let our love look like Your love.
Because if we can love like Jesus loved us, maybe the world changes one basin, one boundary, one honored wound at a time.
Amen.
