Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing.
And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.
Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up,
Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil;
Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth;
Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.
Charity never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away.
Should I find the occasion of my presence at one more wedding or funeral invoking this tired, violated scripture, I will surely find myself enjoying solace in in Dante's Purgatory, should one actually exist. Where the verses are most often contemporarily applied, the Love attended by the Apostle Paul is most often individualized, as between a man and woman during marriage or the deceased and his or her loved ones during grief. This is one of the many theological poison ivy patches of Protestant thought.
St. Paul, of course, was speaking of the universal Love of one another; the Love that transcends you, me...even us. The Love that God has for us as an example for us and the Love we should have for all, bringing us closer to that elusive ideal of Wesleyian Christian Perfection. But enough of my moldy, questionable theology.
Every once and a while another bard arrives to recast an old thought. Bob Dylan called John Prine the last and finest American Folk singer. I performed John Prine’s “Aimless Love” throughout college, professional school, and graduate school. Prine's superbly gentle lyrics finally make a new sense to me in this warm light of St. Paul:
He's just a small fry. A bit too gun shy.
To have his heart touched without a glove.
He looks at strangers as potential dangers
Trying to Steal his aimless love.
Love has no mind. It can't spell unkind.
It's never seen a heart shaped like a Valentine.
For if love knew him, It'd walk up to him,
And introduce him to an aimless love.
I been out walking. Kinda pillow talking
To anyone that has the time for me.
For there are some folks they think that love chokes.
It ties and keeps them from being free.
Love has no mind. It can't spell unkind.
It's never seen a heart shaped like a Valentine .
For if love knew you, It'd walk up to you,
And introduce you to an aimless love.
Do you look at strangers as potential dangers
Trying to steal your aimless love.
Love has no mind. It can't spell unkind.
It's never seen a heart shaped like a Valentine
For if love knew you. It'd walk up to you
And introduce you to an aimless love
And introduce you to an aimless love
John Prine ®1984
Love has no mind, it can't spell unkind...that is what it took Paul eight Midevil biblical verses to say and then to be soiled for the next two millennia.
© Copyright, C. Michael Bailey, 2006
