“One of the scribes came to Jesus and asked him,

‘Which is the first of all the commandments?’

Jesus replied, ‘The first is this:

Hear, O Israel!

The Lord our God is Lord alone!

You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart,

with all your soul, 

with all your mind,

and with all your strength.

The second is this:

You shall love your neighbor as yourself.

There is no other commandment greater than these.’”

Last Saturday would have been my uncle Bernie’s 71st birthday. My mom and I were able to join his family for dinner in Northern Kentucky. Like my uncle, it wasn’t anything fancy. We sat at several high-top tables pulled together and I had a slab of bbq ribs. On hunting property he owns, my cousin, Bernie’s son, had built his father a ground-level blind after he could no longer climb up in a tree. Although it had been years since he actually hunted anything, my uncle liked to spend time in the blind observing. While he was still in the hospital, a buck started showing up near the blind and the day after the funeral, my cousin got the nine-point buck from his dad’s blind. To my cousin, it came together in a meaningful way that will mark his father’s death. He’s having it mounted. We shared stories and other memories and connected with each other in an easy and natural way. Because it is her love language, my mom gave gifts to Bernie’s wife and each child of a heart-shaped glass commemorative keepsake engraved with Bernie’s name. It was not profound, but the time we spent together was good. 

We said goodbye with genuine eagerness for the next time we would all be together again, probably Thanksgiving. I said goodbye to each member of the family individually before I hit the road back to Louisville. The last was my uncle’s youngest grandchild, David. I knelt down and he threw his arms around my neck in a big hug. It was honest affection, innocent gratitude, and real connection. It was just a hug. And it was love. I could have cried or won any fight. Five years ago, Bernie was diagnosed with lung cancer and I visited him immediately following the diagnosis. He had decided to not receive radiation or chemotherapy and was resigned to that being the end. He had made peace with God and his own death. After our visit, his grandkids came over. Bernie changed his mind, went through the treatment, and beat lung cancer. I understand. Love has a way of changing our minds and us. In the brief hug from David, I somehow understood. Love conquers all. 

The two greatest commandments are to love God and love our neighbor. We are sold a bill of goods that pleasure, popularity, possessions, potency, power, prestige, or privilege will fill our lives with purpose and meaning. They won’t. They only lead to a mirage. In the end, there’s nothing there. We are meant for more. Love, even in its most natural and mundane expressions, is what we are alive for. God is love, even at high-top tables, with glass keepsakes, and in hugs from children. Love is both sublime and mundane, but it never fails. It is the purpose and meaning of our lives. It is our destiny for all eternity. There is nothing, in heaven or on earth, greater than love.