Fight for our right to love

That’s a pretty familiar statement, right? Sounds like something a crowd at the Pride parade might chant, or something a hippie from the 70s might assert while throwing up a peace sign, or something pulled straight from a cheesy radio song, wouldn’t you say? Actually, that last one is true. In his 2007 single “Don’t Matter,” Akon sings to a woman he wants to pursue. However, the people around them are determined to keep the two apart. He’s tried to get her attention in various ways; he’s been at the brink of losing hope. And yet, he’s determined to fight for their love to succeed, portions of the chorus resolutely avowing: “We gonna fight, believe we gonna fight; fight for our right to love.” They have the right to love, and they aren’t giving it up without a fight.

For as repetitive and predictable as this sort of “love” sentiment has become across music, film, literature, and other spheres of culture, aren’t these the narratives that we tend to gravitate towards most often? The ones that—when portrayed well—stir something deep within us? Make us swell with all sorts of emotions? Where, against many odds and oppositions, love wins (or is at least fought for)? And not just romantic love but love in all its manifestations.

Think Ironman and the Avengers: heroes fighting insurmountable odds against Thanos until Tony Stark notably sacrifices himself—the love of the greater good; think Frodo and Sam from the Lord of the Rings: an employer and employee of a humble race become indispensable friends on an impossible quest to destroy the ring of power—the love of companions and friends; think Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliette: divided by deep-seeded family rivalries, the two eventual lovers prefer death to a life without each other—the love of passion and desire. The list could go on.

Ok, cool. But what’s the point? Well, I think there’s something profoundly Christian at work here for us as God’s people to be honestly challenged by. If Ironman can sacrifice himself for his love, why can’t we? If Frodo and Sam, the lowliest of creatures in Middle Earth, could overcome harrowing trials through the strength of their love, why can’t we? If Romeo and Juliette could be so bold (or so naïve) as to count their own lives not worth clinging to without the love that bound them, why can’t we?

“Of course we can,” you might say, “but the thing is that these are all fictitious stories of superheroes and fantasy worlds and idealistic romances. These simply aren’t realistic examples or expectations for us today.” There is truth to that response, no doubt. That’s probably part of what makes each of these stories so impactful and attractive. And yet, have we so easily forgotten the story we ourselves have been made a part of, the story that rivals even the greatest adventures, epics, and tragedies ever crafted?

Once, there was a people that was trapped, bound to an instinct that, for all the good and beautiful and excellent it produced, could not escape its enslavement to self, to ruin, to darkness. Once, this people served gods who were not good to them, masters that deceived them by promising life, but left them empty, broken, defiled, destroyed. Once, the chief purpose this people could conceive of was to eat, drink, and to be merry, because ultimately tomorrow they would die, and death was their unavoidable lot.

But then, everything changed.

The wayward nature this people once inherited? Dead and replaced with new life.

The masters they once served? Humiliated and subjugated, their authority revoked, their days numbered.

And the purpose this people once accepted? Eclipsed by a singular essence: love.

Still, residue from the old nature clung to the new. The masters of old continued to scheme and entice. This peoples’ will would quickly drift back to the counterfeit life of their previous ways. And yet, their redeemer did not leave them hopeless. Their father did not leave them as orphans. Their groom did not leave them widowed. Their king did not leave them powerless. He whom heaven could not contain had deemed it right and good to dwell in and amongst this people; those who were once slaves he made prophets, priests, and princes of a kingdom and a new world; creatures who were born to die, now died to be born into true and everlasting life.

Pretty cool story, right? Could even make it big in Hollywood, right?

Well, it’s a real story. It’s a true story—at least, true for all who have pledged the loyalty of faith and life to the Maker of all. It’s a story that is still being played out at this very moment. And the fact is that because this story is true, we now have the right to love (to borrow the language of Akon). And it makes sense—we were made by love, for love. For so long, that very purpose had been robbed from us by sin, by death, and by beings of darkness. But now, we have finally been given not just the tidings of this new life but also the power to live it out. Now we can finally live as we were meant to from the beginning: to live loved, and to live loving.

“But how do even know what kind of love we’re called to?” you may be saying, “Everyone has their own definition of love these days.” Yes! That’s an excellent point, and I wish I could write more on this because it really deserves an entire post of its own. But for now let’s just agree that if it’s true that our Maker is love itself—love’s substance and summit and embodiment—then acquainting ourselves more and more with him, through his people, his revelation, his creation, his spirit, will teach us exactly what kind of love it is that we were made to give and to receive.

Now, here’s the question really worth considering: do we believe this? I mean, do we actually believe all this, or is it all just a feel-good story that makes for some good bedtime reading? Because if we did believe it, wouldn’t we live differently? Or even better, if we believe it, shouldn’t we live differently?

Let’s not kid ourselves, we still have a very real wrestling within us; we still have a very real enemy bent on destroying what is good; we still have a very real world and a very real will that fall too easily into the tides of the old life. And yet, here’s what’s also very real: we have the blood-bought right to overcome our weakness and enemy, day by day, minute by minute; we have the blood-bought right to never return to our old masters; we have the blood-bought right to live a new and true life, a life of love and a life for love.

Too long have we been robbed of these rights. Too long have we been ignorant of these rights. Too long have we flippantly neglected these rights, giving them up for bowls of soup like Esau and his birthright. So, let us reclaim them. Let us embrace them. Let us fight for these rights because God became incarnate for them; innocent blood was spilt for them; a dead man was made alive for them; a divine spirit was poured out for them; and an everlasting promise was made for them. Let us fight for our right to love, because in loving we sow into the new nature and starve the old. In loving we proclaim to our old masters that their claim on us is expired. In loving we inaugurate a new world order with Jesus the Nazarene as king. In loving we win over and welcome in new members into our royal family. In loving we find our true joy, our true purpose and meaning, because this is literally what we were made to do, this is who we were made to be.

And so, I ask again: do we believe this? Because if we don’t, then let’s leave the loving and the fighting to Akon and Ironman, to the Hobbits of Middle Earth and the star-crossed lovers of Italy. But if we do believe this, then the fight belongs to us. It’s our birthright. It’s our inheritance.

So, let’s fight.