Valentine's Day 2013: "Do You Love Me?"

As you probably know, it's Valentine's Day, which is a holiday I'm told comes from some Christian martyr in ancient Rome. I'd be lying if I pretended to know the story well. As for today's meaning, we could surely exaggerate it and become depressed by our aloneness or over-pleased by our relational glee or we could even criticize the day as just another commercial stunt, but what comes to my mind is this passage from the Gospel of John. The context then wasn't romantic or sexual in implication, but I do think it was very central to who we are as humans, and because of that, it has something to say to us even on Valentine's Day.

In verses 15-17, we find the following conversation between Jesus and Peter, one of his "disciples":

When they had finished eating, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon son of John, do you love me?”

“Yes, Lord,” he said, “you know that I love you.”

Jesus said, “Feed my lambs.”

Again Jesus said, “Simon son of John, do you love me?”

He answered, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.”

Jesus said, “Take care of my sheep.”

The third time he said to him, “Simon son of John, do you love me?”

Peter was hurt because Jesus asked him the third time, “Do you love me?” He said, “Lord, you know all things; you know that I love you.”

Jesus said, “Feed my sheep." 

Most of the analysis I've heard about this passage centers around Jesus's interesting and surely metaphorical response to Peter: "Feed my sheep." But my interest today is in the very question itself: "Do you love me?" I believe, along with with Dan Allender, that this is one of our central life questions. That is to say, we all possess a very deeply-rooted desire to be loved, even if we're unaware that the question motivates so much of our subconsciousness.

Some of us act it out in very desperate, sad ways, others of us do it in the detached denial of someone who has been burned by love once (or many times) and is determined to never go there again. Sometimes the question and perceived answer drives us to depression, other times to sheer ecstasy. Sometimes the answer seems very plain and routine, but that we recognize the monotony in the first place indicates that the question is still there.

I believe we see evidence of the question also in our vice. When we do not feel loved or when we are too scared to risk love, we turn to all sorts of varieties of cheap substitutes, some more harmful than others. The degrees of our addictions vary, but the thread is the same: Will you love me? Because if you won't, certainly Facebook will or my favorite television show or my achievement at work or the Notre Dame sports team that's in season or at least this food I'm about to consume. Surely "it" will fulfill my needs or at least cover up the absence of something--love--that's more fulfilling. We all do it, don't we?

This question--of our life, I suspect--puts us in a vulnerable place. We tremble at the possibilities of a pending answer. We wonder if someone could love even the unattractive parts of ourselves. May you, however, hear a resounding "yes" from the intimate people in your life today. Happy Valentine's Day!


Question(s) to the reader: Do you have big Valentine's Day plans? In what ways do you see in your own behaviors and patterns an implicit asking of "Do you love me?"