The Greatest Of These

Love. A four-letter word that drapes itself over tongues, sweet as honey, bitter as wormwood, a fire to warm the coldest nights, a flood to drown the strongest men. What is love? Is it the whisper of a mother’s lullaby, rocking her child with the rhythm of her heartbeat? Or the way Romeo scaled Verona’s walls, risking life and limb for a glimpse of Juliet’s smile? Is it Orpheus, with fingers trembling on his lyre, plucking notes like fragile prayers, hoping the underworld would trade shadows for sunlight? Is it the nails that pierced through bone and flesh, spilling redemption like poetry onto the pages of eternity? Love wears many faces. Some soft, some wild, some holy. There’s Storge—the love that comes built-in, like the sun that rises without asking for permission. It’s the arms of a father, the laughter of a sibling, the way your grandmother remembers your favorite meal. No passion, no sparks, just roots that run deep, a love that says, I’ve known you forever, and I always will. Then there’s Eros—the love that burns. It’s fingertips tracing constellations on skin, eyes meeting across crowded rooms, hearts racing faster than logic can catch up. It’s Paris and Helen, drawn together like moths to flame, fireworks and destruction, all in one breath. Eros writes poetry on collarbones, sets souls on fire just to watch them dance. And Philia—the love that links arms and calls you ‘brother.’ No blood needed, just a bond forged in laughter, in whispered secrets and inside jokes, in I got you and let’s figure this out together. It’s David and Jonathan, Sherlock and Watson, the kind of love that fights for youeven when the battle is not their own. But beware of Mania—love’s wild, reckless twin. Love that grips too tight, that mistakes possession for affection, that whispers, If I can’t have you, no one else can. It’s Hades and Persephone, trapped in a dance between devotion and control. Love that suffocates, that smothers, that drowns in its own desperation. And then— above them all, beyond them all— there’s Agape. Love that doesn’t demand, doesn’t break, doesn’t need a reason to exist. It’s Jesus on a cross, arms stretched wide, whispering Father, forgive them even as love nails Him to the wood. It’s grace poured out like endless rivers, love that sees the worst in you and still calls you beloved. So tell me —Which love have you known?Which love have you given?Which love have you been waiting for?Love is not just candlelit dinnersor poetry on parchment.Love is sacrifice.Love is risk.Love is choice.It is how we hold each other.How we let go.How we say I love youwithout ever speaking.And in the end,love is not just a feeling,not just a moment,not just a story —It is the thread that weaves us together.And this is where the greatest love story begins.He set Himself up for heartbreak.Arms open, knowingsome would never run into them.Forgiveness spokento ears that would refuse to hear.A cross chosenwith full awarenessthat love would not always be returned.Because love, in its purest form,is not a transaction.It is a decision.And long before breath filled our lungs,before dust learned how to become flesh,before our names were written into time —we were already loved.Loved before we were formed.Loved before we could respond.Loved before we could reject.The love of God does not begin with us.It predates us.

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