Love That Grounds the Gift
The Slippery Slope of Talent Without Love
Paul's words echo sharply: "If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, if I have faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing." And I would even push this further. Without love, you aren't just "nothing" — you might actually be a net negative. That feels weighty, doesn't it?
It's easy to underestimate this idea, to gloss over it as poetic hyperbole. But I don't think Paul is softening the blow here. There is a dangerous line, sometimes almost imperceptible, where our gifts shift from being blessings to burdens. Not because the gift changes, but because the heart behind it isn't love. A skill or talent, even one used for good, can become self-serving if it's not grounded in love. And when that happens, the very things meant to build up can start to tear down.
Returning to the Heart of the Matter
Later in the message, I came back to this truth. Because it matters. Because Paul is not saying, "Hey, do your best to be kind." He's saying that without love at the center, none of it counts. None of it is what God dreamed for us.
And I'm not just speaking theoretically here. I've experienced this firsthand. I've been around deeply gifted people who misused their brilliance—who weaponized their intelligence or charisma. But more than that, I know what it's like to be that person.
When Gifts Get in the Way
Do you know what it's like being married to someone who talks for a living and takes live questions every Sunday? At its best, it's amusing. At its worst? It's like being married to the debate team.
Annie, bless her, has endured this for almost 23 years. And there have been long stretches where what I do best—argue, persuade, respond—has been an obstacle to the kind of intimacy I really want with her. Sometimes, I have to choose: Do I want to win, or do I want a partner?
Even when you know how to win a debate, it doesn't mean you should. And when I lean into that rhetorical edge, it so easily pulls me away from love. Rachel can absolutely hold her own. But I know that if I frame every disagreement as a performance, I can default to skills I've honed over time—and that's rarely a move toward connection.
Love Makes It Valid
Paul's language here is deliberate. He writes, "If I do not have love, I am nothing" and "I gain nothing." The Greek word he uses for "nothing" is oudēs, which doesn't just mean zero. It conveys something invalid.
That might be the key. Paul isn't claiming that loveless talent doesn't exist. We all know that's not true. There's plenty of unloving brilliance in the world. And he's not even saying loveless actions can never have impact. They can.
But what he is saying—what I believe he means—is that without love, our gifts cease to be gifts. They become something else. They lose the divine imprint, the sacred calling. They no longer reflect what God dreamed for us.
And maybe, if we aren't careful, they even become the opposite of a gift. A grasp. A way to take rather than to give.
So the question becomes: are we using what we have to love well? Or are we hiding behind what we're good at, avoiding the harder call to love?
Because in the end, love is not the cherry on top of our talents. It's the only thing that makes them real.
