A Year Held in His Hands| A New Year Sermon
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Sometimes you read a chapter in the Bible and it just… stops you. You know what I mean? Like, you can almost feel the pause in your chest.
That’s 1 Corinthians 13 for me.
It’s one of those chapters that even people who don’t go to church know. It’s printed on wedding invitations and sung in songs. But honestly, I think Paul wasn’t trying to write something pretty — he was trying to wake people up.
Because the church at Corinth, man, they were gifted. They had tongues, prophecies, knowledge, miracles — all the big, shiny stuff.
But they were missing the main thing: love.
And without that, everything else just turns into noise.
Paul starts this chapter like someone cutting straight to the heart.
He says, “If I speak in the tongues of men and angels, but have not love, I’m only a clanging cymbal.”
I can almost hear it — bang, bang, bang — loud, annoying, empty.
All that sound, but no soul behind it.
You ever meet someone who’s “right” all the time, but somehow they make you feel small?
That’s what Paul’s talking about. You can say perfect truth, but if your tone doesn’t carry love, it’s hollow.
Then he takes it deeper — “If I have prophecy, if I understand all mysteries, if I have faith that moves mountains, but have not love, I’m nothing.”
That’s wild.
Because those are the very things people brag about — knowledge, power, big faith. But Paul says, “Yeah, without love, it’s all worthless.”
And verse 3, honestly, it’s haunting:
“If I give all I possess to the poor, and even give my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing.”
So it’s not about sacrifice for show. It’s about the heart behind it.
You can die for the right cause and still miss the right heart.
Then Paul starts describing love, not as a feeling, but as a person in action.
Love is patient. Love is kind. It doesn’t envy. It doesn’t boast. It isn’t proud.
I swear, every one of those could preach its own sermon.
Love is patient — not just waiting, but staying calm when others aren’t.
Love is kind — gentle, steady, not harsh or sharp-tongued.
Love doesn’t envy — it celebrates others instead of competing.
Love doesn’t boast — it doesn’t need to prove it’s right.
Love isn’t proud — it kneels instead of stands over people.
And then:
It doesn’t dishonor others. It isn’t self-seeking. It isn’t easily angered. It keeps no record of wrongs.
Man… that last one always gets me.
Because we do keep records, don’t we? Hidden ones.
Lists in our heads: “They hurt me that time.” “They didn’t call back.”
But love burns the list.
That’s hard, because love means vulnerability. It means forgiving without being asked sometimes. It means laying down your “right” to hold grudges.
Then he says:
Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Always.
Not when it’s easy. Not when they deserve it. Always.
That’s the kind of love that feels impossible — but it’s the kind God shows us.
“Love never fails.”
It’s one of those short verses that echoes in your chest.
Paul says prophecies will stop, tongues will be silent, knowledge will pass away — but love, it never runs out.
Everything else fades when time runs its course.
But love keeps breathing.
That’s why you can’t measure success by gifts or power or even ministry size.
The only thing that lasts in heaven’s currency — is love.
He says, “We know in part and we prophesy in part, but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears.”
Basically, he’s saying — right now, we only see fragments. Little pieces of God’s grand picture.
We argue over doctrines and mysteries like we’ve got it all figured out, but we’re just holding puzzle pieces in dim light.
One day, it’ll all click.
But until then, love is what keeps the puzzle from falling apart.
This verse hits different:
“When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me.”
Sometimes, we think spiritual maturity is about knowing more Bible verses or leading more people. But Paul says real maturity is about love.
Children are self-centered — “mine,” “me,” “my turn.”
Adults — or should be — self-giving.
So maybe growing up in faith isn’t about doing more, it’s about loving better.
That’s harder than memorizing Scripture or quoting theology. But that’s the real growth.
“For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face.”
Back in Paul’s time, mirrors weren’t clear like ours. Just polished metal.
You’d see your reflection, but all blurry and warped.
That’s how life feels. We see God’s fingerprints but not His full face.
We don’t get why things happen, we just trust that one day — clarity will come.
And when it does, we’ll realize love was the thread that held everything together.
Love is the one thing that still makes sense when nothing else does.
And then this ending, this perfect close:
“Now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.”
Faith keeps us moving.
Hope keeps us believing.
But love — love keeps us alive.
Faith will one day turn to sight.
Hope will one day be fulfilled.
But love — it stretches into eternity, unbroken.
Because love is God’s very nature.
This chapter is like a reality check for Christians — for me, for you, for all of us.
We get so busy doing things for God that we forget to do things like God.
We chase platforms, positions, power… but Paul says, none of it means a thing if you don’t love.
Love is the only language heaven understands.
It’s patient when the world rushes.
Kind when others bite.
Gentle when others judge.
Forgiving when others cancel.
And here’s the thing — love doesn’t always feel nice. Sometimes it looks like tough forgiveness. Sometimes it’s crying quietly but choosing not to walk away. Sometimes it’s carrying someone else’s burden while your own back aches.
Love costs something.
That’s why it’s divine.
If I had to apply this chapter to life today, I’d say — love is the way we slow down the noise.
Because everything around us is loud — opinions, arguments, pride, comparison.
Paul’s message whispers through all that: “Be love.”
It’s not flashy.
It’s not trending.
But it’s powerful.
Next time you want to “win” an argument — choose love instead.
When someone frustrates you again and again — love anyway.
When you’re tempted to give up on someone — remember God never gave up on you.
And when you fail (because you will), let His love refill you, not your pride.
You know, Paul didn’t write this to poets or newlyweds. He wrote it to a messy church — full of gifted, talented, broken people.
That’s what makes it beautiful.
He’s not saying, “Be perfect.” He’s saying, “Be loving.”
Because love — real love — that’s what makes us look like Jesus.
When everything else fades — the sermons, the songs, the debates — love will still be standing.
That’s the more excellent way.
And honestly… it’s the only way worth walking.
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