“Be a Love Bomb”

Reformation Sunday

October 25, 2026

Leviticus 19:1-2, 15-18

Matthew 22:34-46

A while back, I started seeing a Spiritual Director who was also a therapist and a Christian who had recently converted from his original Jewish background. The trouble I had while talking with him is that he was still in the honeymoon phase of faith. He peppered everything with overly-sweet views of everything from Jesus’ death to my own struggles. Honestly, it just gave me the willies. There didn’t seem to be anything practical about our time together. And if any of you know me, a saccharine sweet approach to faith isn’t my jam. I’m cynical and sarcastic. And I tend to cuss.

So when Jesus starts in on his ‘love’ bit, I get a little fidgety. Until I realize the hardcore form of love that Jesus is really about. It’s not sentimental or nostalgic. It’s not words and flowers and being ‘Nebraska nice.’ It’s action. It’s decision. And it’s uncomfortable, difficult, and edgy. Now, maybe it’s just because I’m Gen-X, but that’s my kind of love.

I think that the word ‘love’ has become overused and underappreciated over the years. We toss it around like a pink fluffy pillow, filled with butterflies, glitter, and good wishes. But it’s a rock. One so misunderstood that the builders rejected it, and yet God chose this rock for the cornerstone to the Temple of Faith.

For the past few weeks, we have listened in on Jesus’ difficult conversations with Pharisees, chief priests and elders. They have attempted to trap him multiple times. We’ve heard Jesus’ parables of what God’s kindom is—and isn’t—like. And the story is just about to take a hard turn toward Jesus’ arrest and imminent death. This is the last of those conversations before the leaders give up trying to trap him with words and start manipulating his friends and working with their own enemies.

Which makes this conversation all the more poignant. Someone asks Jesus, “What is the greatest commandment?” He has over 600 to choose from, if you go by how the Jewish faith broke down the top 10 into more practical and daily tasks and rules. But Jesus aims not for the general laws or even the top 10. He goes straight to the heart: the Shema. “Hear, O Israel: The Lord your God, the Lord is One. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might.” Deuteronomy 6:4-5

And then, Jesus drags in Leviticus 19—“You must love your neighbor as yourself.” And what does that love look like? According to Leviticus, it looks like real justice with no personal agenda or personal gain. It looks like telling the truth. It looks like not profiting from the difficulties of others. It looks like refusing to hold a grudge and refusing to seek revenge. Basically, it looks like living in right relationship—not just being nice to someone’s face while stabbing them in the back; but actually being kind. Taking care. Giving life—which is more than just refraining from taking it.

What love is NOT is a feeling. It’s not warm and fuzzy. It’s not always inspiring or life-affirming. It’s nothing like what is displayed from Hollywood, your favorite Rom-Com book, or even our most tear-jerking praise music. It’s a command. I can relate to what theologian Debie Thomas says:

“When I look at my own life, it’s not too hard to name why I perpetually fail to obey the greatest commandment.  Biblical love is vulnerable-making, and I’d rather not be vulnerable.  Love requires trust, and I’m naturally suspicious. Love spills over margins and boundaries, and I feel safer and holier policing my borders.  Love takes time, effort, discipline, and transformation, and I am just so darned busy.”

And I think our young people get it—maybe not to the point of being any better about doing it. But they see through the glittery façade that often covers the hard reality. And they wonder why the Church still hasn’t figured it out. They look at the world and recognize that churchy people often do not act in good faith—or any faith at all. They see how disingenuous and corrupt and hateful we can be and think, “If that’s what loving God and neighbor look like, I don’t want any part of it.”

And that’s the rub. Like the Pharisees, we are called out to be accountable to the ways in which we have failed to follow the simplest and greatest of commandments. Love. Period. Not love—except. Or love—but. Or love—as long as. Just love.

But, my young friends, as right as you are in recognizing the hypocrisy of the church, know that we have all been where you are. We all approached our world with ideals and hopes and dreams about who and what the Church might be—especially once we’re in charge. And then life happens. And things fall apart. And we find ourselves--every one of us--hanging by a thread.

Love God. Love your neighbor. LOVE YOURSELF. It’s a triangle—a trinity. A dance that recognizes that love is never one-way. And just as there is no room for hate or revenge in that dance of love, there is also no room for shame. This faith journey is often difficult at best and treacherous at times. But we do not walk it alone.

I’m reminded of Tolkein’s fantasy work, “The Lord of the Rings.” In it, Frodo is tasked with carrying the ring of power into the very depths of hell. He takes on the task, but he doesn’t go alone. His friend Sam walks with him, fights beside him, and cares for him. At times, he carries the ring. At some point, the deformed Gollum joins the journey. Gollum symbolizes the rift between love and hate, sin and saint within each of us.

Sam doesn’t trust Gollum—at all. But Frodo recognizes a tormented soul—one who has been torn apart by shame and self-hatred. Frodo is not far from that, himself. And in the end, it is Gollum’s actions—self-serving as they are—that saves the world.

So, what will we do with the love we’ve been given? We can hold it at a distance, skeptical of its sincerity. We can hold it tight, hoarding it all for ourselves. Or we can share it in an explosion of acceptance, intention, and hope. We won’t get everything right. But that shouldn’t stop us from sharing what God has so freely given.

There’s a book series I enjoy reading in which one character inevitably carries a variety of random weapons in her purse—including a glitter bomb. And if you’re still intent on thinking of love as a gilded and sparkly, at least let it be a glitter bomb. One that showers everyone within a 100-foot radius with God’s love; and then they can’t, for the life of them and after many, many showers, ever quite get rid of the sparkle.

Pastor Tobi White

Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church

Lincoln, NE