Love as Gift: God Gives, We Receive

I would like us to move forward with attempting to find a definition of love. In that regard, I will invoke the help of Erich Fromm. The social psychologist Erich Fromm, writing in The Art of Loving, approached love not as a feeling but as an art to be learned. He believed that genuine love always involves the giving of one’s life.

What is giving?  Many people misunderstand giving as a kind of loss — as though to give means to lose something or to deprive oneself. Those who think this way often feel that giving makes them weaker or poorer, so they avoid it unless they can get something in return. Others see giving as a moral duty precisely because it is painful, believing that real virtue lies in self-denial. In both cases, giving is tied to sacrifice or transaction rather than joy.

But the most important sphere of giving is not that of material things but lies in the specifically human realm. What does one person give to another? He gives of himself, of the most precious he has, he gives of his life. This does not necessarily mean that he sacrifices his life for the other—but that he gives him of that which is alive in him; he gives him of his joy, of his interest, of his understanding, of his knowledge, of his humor, of his sadness—of all expressions and manifestations of that which is alive in him.

In thus giving of his life, he enriches the other person, he enhances the other’s sense of aliveness by enhancing his own sense of aliveness.

It is hardly necessary to stress that the ability to love as an act of giving depends on the character development of the person. It presupposes the attainment of a predominantly productive orientation; in this orientation the person has overcome dependency, narcissistic omnipotence, the wish to exploit others, or to hoard, and has acquired faith in his own human powers, courage to rely on his powers in the attainment of his goals. To the degree that these qualities are lacking, he is afraid of giving himself—hence of loving.”

God, the Source and Model of All Giving

When we consider Love as an act of giving, we can see why Scripture equates God with love.  From the very beginning of the bible, we see God as the giver: “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.” (Genesis 1:1). This is not a statement of possession, but of outpouring. Creation is the moment when God’s own fullness spills into form.

Each act of creation in Genesis 1 follows the pattern of giving a gift:
God speaks and the world receives. Light, land, sky, sea, life — each is freely given, not extracted or earned. And if that wasn’t enough, after each gift, God blesses as well: “God saw everything that He had made, and behold, it was very good.” (Genesis 1:10, 12, 18, 21, 25, 31) Blessing is the divine seal of joy — God delighting in what has been given. Creation, then, is love expressed as delight in the other’s existence. In response to God’s joy, all of creation sings to the glory of God: “The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.” (Psalm 19:1).

When God created humans, She gave of Her own life: (Genesis 2:7) “Then the Lord God formed man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being.” Here God does not merely command life into existence; God shares life. The “breath” (ruach) of God — the Spirit — becomes the animating life within us. Humanity exists not by possession but by participation of the life of God.

The act of divine generosity takes its fullest form in Jesus: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son…” (John 3:16). In Christ, we see what Fromm described in human terms raised to its divine fullness: God gives not things, but self. God gives joy, compassion, grace, presence — all the aliveness that is in God. And in giving, God’s own life is not diminished but magnified. That means that when God gives us life, God also delights in our becoming alive — our vitality is God’s joy.

So, if Fromm says that the mature human being loves by giving life, Christianity says that this is because we are made in the image of the Giver. We love because we participate in God’s own way of being. “We love because He first loved us.” (1 John 4:19)

I’m sure we all appreciate — and even agree with — this vision of love. The image of God as the ultimate giver is deeply familiar to us, woven into our prayers and our worship. Yet this understanding brings to light an aspect of love that is rarely discussed — not in our culture, and not even by profound thinkers like bell hooks or Erich Fromm. That aspect is the act of receiving. In many ways, receiving love may be even harder than giving it.

The Trappist monk and writer Thomas Merton spent much of his life exploring the nature of love, identity, and contemplation. Writing from the silence of the monastery, he came to see that the spiritual life begins not with doing, but with receiving—with allowing ourselves to be loved by God. His reflections on love offer a bridge between deep psychology and Christian mysticism, showing that receiving love is not weakness, but the doorway to transformation.

Thomas Merton reminds us that the movement of love always begins with being loved. We cannot truly give what we have not first received. “We love, because He first loved us.” For Merton, this is not sentiment but spiritual realism: love originates in God and flows through us only when we allow it to reach us first. Yet this simple act of receiving is among the hardest things to do, because the false self—the self we build out of fear, achievement, and approval—cannot receive love. “The false self,” he says, “cannot be loved, because it is not real.” It only seeks attention and validation, which are never enough. The true self, by contrast, lives in poverty of spirit, empty enough to welcome love as pure gift. To receive love in this way is an act of faith — it is trusting that we are already accepted by God. In that acceptance, Merton says, we are freed from the need to prove our worth and can finally love others without fear or demand. This receiving is not passive; it is the soul’s most profound openness — the same openness that makes contemplation possible. In the silence of faith, we discover that to receive love is to become real, to awaken to our identity as beloved. Only then can love flow outward again, freely given as it was freely received.

The Dutch priest and spiritual writer Henri Nouwen devoted his life to exploring the mystery of being loved by God. After years of teaching at Harvard and Yale, he left academia to live among people with intellectual disabilities at L’Arche, where he discovered what he called the spiritual life of the beloved. Nouwen came to see that the deepest human struggle is not learning to achieve, to serve, or even to love — but learning to receive love. “The greatest trap in our life,” he wrote, “is not success, popularity, or power, but self-rejection.” Beneath all our striving lies the ache of feeling unworthy. And yet the gospel begins not with worthiness, but with gift: “You are my beloved; on you my favor rests.” To receive love from God is to dare to trust that these words — first spoken to Jesus at his baptism — are spoken to each one of us as well.

Receiving love, Nouwen insists, is an act of faith, not sentiment. It means listening to the quiet voice of grace beneath all the other voices that tell us we are not enough. “There is a voice that speaks from above and within,” he says, “that whispers gently: You are my beloved son, you are my beloved daughter.” The work of the spiritual life is learning to recognize and believe that voice. It takes courage, because it calls us to relinquish control — to stop defining ourselves by what we do, what we have, or what others say about us. To receive love is to consent to being seen and accepted in our vulnerability. Nouwen calls this “letting oneself be found,” echoing the parable of the prodigal son: “I have to let myself be found, to let myself be loved, to let the arms that have always been extended to me finally hold me.” This is not passivity but surrender — the moment we allow grace to do for us what we could never do for ourselves.

For Nouwen, this movement of receiving love is not a private comfort but the foundation of ministry and community. “The question,” he writes, “is not how many people take you seriously or how much you accomplish, but: are you in love with Jesus?” Only those who know themselves as beloved can love others without fear or manipulation. The one who receives love becomes a living vessel of it, giving freely because they have been freely filled. Nouwen found this truth reflected in the Eucharist: our lives, like the bread, are taken, blessed, broken, and given. To receive love is to accept this divine rhythm — to allow God to bless even our brokenness and make it fruitful. Each stage is part of being the beloved: chosen by God, affirmed, wounded, and yet offered back to the world. When we receive God’s love deeply enough to let that pattern shape us, love no longer drains us — it becomes life giving.

The bible says: “We love because He first loved us.” (1 John 4:19). If we haven’t received the love of God, then can we truly be loving? What stands in the way of receiving love from God? 

What does it mean that God gave Her own breath to create us — that our very life is God’s shared life? How might this reshape how we think about our worth or the worth of others?

Why do you think it’s sometimes easier to serve or help others than to let others care for you? What might it look like to let your community love you back? What is one small, concrete way you could practice receiving love this week — from God, another person, or even yourself?

“If love begins in receiving, what might change in your spiritual life if you stopped trying to prove your love for God and began simply allowing God to love you?”

Carolyn: Michael, I really appreciate what you’re saying because this is something I’ve thought and thought about. I’ll add one thing that bothers me. When we think of receiving love from God—which we all want—it also says, “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and you will be saved.” Receiving love and believing love. Then the Bible says, “Lord, help my unbelief.” So I’m not the only one who has struggled with this. I’ll just open with that little sidebar: are believing and receiving synonymous?

Donald: Would you be interested in receiving if you didn’t believe?

Carolyn: My whole premise about believing is that it says, if I believe, I am saved through grace. This is hard because I’ve always worked for grace, and I’m climbing that mountain to get rid of that part—to actually know that I am believing.

Michael: It is hard. And not just for you, Carolyn; I think it’s hard for all of us to receive love—from God and from others as well. I’ve tried to understand why. One of the important things is shame. It’s fascinating that shame is the first human experience in the Bible. When Adam and Eve realized their nakedness, they felt shame. There’s so much shame that goes around us—in our culture and within us. I think that’s one reason we find it hard to receive love. There’s also the element of losing control, especially when it comes to grace. We’ve talked about that.

Donald: So, Carolyn, you said you’ve always worked for grace—climbing a mountain to get rid of that—just to know you’re believing.

Carolyn: Yes. I’ve always felt happy when I thought, “Oh, I accomplished this; the Lord will be pleased.” I’ve asked Him throughout my life to give me courage to do things, and I’ve felt that He was there. Maybe I felt I had to prove to myself that to show my love, I had to do my part. You always have to do your part. I still feel that way sometimes—that we have to do our part.

Donald: But if you put that in human terms—which can be a little scary—can you love somebody without showing them you love them, without doing things that demonstrate it?

Carolyn: That’s another side I want to bring up today. When we love someone—say, family—there’s a difference between giving and receiving love. When we give, there’s such a thing as enabling, as it’s often labeled. Christ seems to give us everything—He’s given us everything—and it’s beautiful. He’s an awesome God. But for me to turn around and say, “I just receive it,” and leave it at that—I don’t quite have the big picture.

David: I think there’s a danger in analyzing this too much. It seems to impose requirements on us—like if we’re going to do things right, we have to do something active, not just receive God’s love, but do it in a total, utter surrender. That’s the ideal, yes—but in our human frame, we’re not ideal people. Belief, I think, is prerequisite to everything; it’s the one absolutely vital thing. To receive God’s love, we do it selectively, as we do with each other. There’s always a certain reserve. We hold something back because we don’t want to be too vulnerable. With God, the ideal is to make yourself totally vulnerable, as Jesus did on the cross. But we’re not Jesus. I couldn’t do that; I certainly don’t.

By struggling and analyzing, we might worry too much about it. Isn’t it enough to believe and accept that God loves us—and accept that we’re perhaps a bit too weak to love back as ideally as we’d like? Or is that a cop-out? “Okay, sure, I believe in God, I love God, but I’m still going to do something I know God won’t like.” It’s difficult. If people are suffering by worrying about this, I don’t think that’s right. I don’t think God wants us to suffer over such questions.

Carolyn: It says, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” That’s a big issue—do I love myself? Do I believe? What’s my commitment? There’s so much grace. You have to give it all up and just say, “I love the Lord, I accept His grace, and I am saved.” Then we go from there and radiate that love toward our neighbors, with arms long enough to reach even those who don’t vote the same way we do.

Donald: The challenge is that we can accept God’s love, but then we think we need to do something to prove it—to change our behavior. That’s where the question lies, and where “works” creeps in. We say grace is everything, but then we add a quiet “but…” followed by “works.” If we could just stop at “grace is everything,” it might change our understanding of what’s expected of us.

But we add works because the Bible has commandments—duties expected of us as human beings. Some of those we think we manage pretty well; others are more challenging. I found it interesting, Michael, when you talked about parents. Not everyone has perfect parents, but I read that if a baby is starved of love for something like seven months, it changes their behavior for life. That nurturing time creates the foundation for relationship. So how does that work with siblings, cousins—who’s first on this? It makes sense parent to child, and maybe child back to parent. But what about others?

Sharon: David’s getting to my question. I’m wondering about our early childhood experiences. Michael, thank you—this is a really important topic. Love is reciprocal, and if it’s only unidirectional, there’s a huge breakdown in relationship. Many of us have experiences—maybe from childhood or from trauma—that make receiving love hard. If we’ve never really received love, how do we give it in a healthy way?

Our own vulnerability and trauma can keep us from reaching out, from having enough self-esteem to absorb the love offered by our community—or even by Jesus and His atoning grace. It’s a complex issue that doesn’t have simple answers. We have to give each other room to be imperfect—to accept each other’s vulnerabilities and create safe places for people who haven’t experienced love or don’t feel comfortable receiving it.

For me, it’s so much easier to give love than to receive it, because receiving creates expectation, vulnerability, and trust issues that are not easy to face. So thank you, Michael, for raising this.

Don: This discussion reminds me of our earlier one on grace, because you could say grace is love in action. It’s God’s active element in His interaction with humankind. And we have the same problem receiving grace as we do receiving love. We always want to make it conditional—based on our effort, our works, our climbing the mountain, as Carolyn put it. The same limitation that keeps us from accepting grace keeps us from accepting God’s love. Grace is love actuated.

David: And it shouldn’t be a burden, should it? Jesus said, “My yoke is easy, my burden is light.” It should be joyful—or at least not burdensome. I worry that by overanalyzing it, we make it burdensome.

Carolyn: Would it help to dissect different kinds of love? Would that make a difference in our attitude?

Michael: I think so. If we’re talking about self-love, I find that harder than loving others. It’s similar to what we’re saying about receiving love. What do you think?

Donald: I don’t want to put words in Sharon’s mouth, but she almost touched on something important. I’ve used the analogy of guardrails—edges, boundaries—but what about the width between them? How wide should the “girth” be? We might say, “I can love you, but you need to be between this point and that point. You can’t be all over the map.” For me to think you’re on the same page, I set limits.

I actually put the question “What’s the relationship between grace and love?” into ChatGPT, and it replied: Grace sustains love. Relationships inevitably test love. People disappoint or mistrust each other; without grace, love can grow bitter or cold. That’s a pretty wide girth. So at what point do we say, “You’re outside the margins I find acceptable”? Or should we never say that? God doesn’t seem to. Maybe we should talk about whether He has margins at all—whether He says, “If you love Me, this is how I’ll find you.”

Carolyn: I’ve always noticed the story—who was it that touched the Ark of the Covenant and was killed immediately?

Donald: Uzzah.

Carolyn: Right, Uzzah. That, to me, shows a different kind of love.

Kiran: I think the main point of the lesson last week was that love is an art we have to learn. It carries responsibility and takes practice. But today the main theme seems to be: allow yourself to be a vessel. Love flows through you; when you receive love, you’re able to give love.

So, Michael, I don’t know how you see these two ideas. To me they look a little different. And another thing I’m thinking: can we actually love—or be in love—without action? Doesn’t love grow when two or more people do something together toward a shared goal? In relationships—say, a husband and wife—love grows as they work together to raise a child or build a home. As a church, or as a country, working toward a common goal, love grows.

But is that truly love—or just a sense of accomplishment? Can we exercise love without some shared action?

Carolyn: Don’t you think that to show love you have to give? I mean give in big capital letters, because giving can take so many forms. Not a new car or house, but giving of ourselves.

Donald: So can you be loving and selfish at the same time? If you’re more selfish than loving, it seems one usurps the other.

Don: I’m wondering what it means to fall in love. That phrase implies something accidental—not intentional, not caused by effort. It happens when you least expect it. I wonder to what extent that’s true of our relationship with God—that we think we’re searching for Him, but really He’s finding us.

Donald: Maybe that’s what David meant about not overanalyzing. You don’t analyze falling—you just fall. You could analyze it to death to make sure you don’t, but accidents happen. So, you know—it’s falling.

David: Just let it be. I’ll be the Daoist again and say, accept God’s love. If you believe in God, you must believe in God’s love. It’s just there—accept it. At the same time, accept that we’re human, with all our faults, and then do your best with life. I don’t know that we can do better than that. Maybe we can—Mother Teresa did better, surely—but we could also do much worse than simply accepting God’s love and grace and thanking God for it.

Reinhard: I think culture affects love—love among human beings, anyway. When Michael talked about love and belief, I think those two can go hand in hand. From childhood, we start appreciating our parents’ love and respond with belief—trust in what they’ll do for us.

When we talk about God’s love, though, I think God doesn’t need belief—we do. God is the source of love. The more we believe in God, the more we love Him and our fellow human beings. Among people, love and belief reinforce each other: the stronger our belief in God, the stronger our love for God and others.

There’s long-term love that’s rooted deeply in the heart, and there’s also spontaneous love—an impulse to show love to a stranger. The meaning of love is very broad. When God says, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and mind,” belief comes with faith. Love grows stronger because it comes from God; belief is our response. Our faith grows as we believe, and our love follows. That’s how I see the relationship between belief and love.

Donald: So would it be true that the stronger I love God, the wider my girth is for loving others?

Reinhard: I think so. The stronger we love God, as His commandments teach, the stronger we love others. And as our belief grows, our faith deepens, and we express that love more fully.

Don: But that introduces an element of performance that’s a bit off-putting—both personally and theologically. How do you believe more strongly in God?

Carolyn: And how do you love God more strongly? When you fall in love—say, a husband and wife—you have this joyful, exuberant feeling that rises right through your heart. That’s the kind of “falling in love with Jesus” I want.

When I go to a neighbor who needs help, pray with them, and share what I have, I come away with that same joy inside me. There’s nothing that gives me greater happiness than doing something quietly for someone else. I want that same exuberant feeling in my walk with Jesus all the time.

Michael: I wonder, Carolyn, is that you giving love to God, or receiving love from God? Can you tell the difference?

Carolyn: Sometimes what dampens that joy is pride. After doing something for someone, I feel happy—but then I think, “Is pride sneaking in? Is that why I’m so excited?” I don’t want pride, because we’re told to walk humbly with God. It feels like Satan spoils it every time.

I want to be able to say, “I’m in love with Jesus; I have His grace; I’m saved; I’m going to heaven because God loves me and I love Him”—and mean it from my toenails to the ends of my hair. That’s why what you said today means so much to me.

Sharon: Carolyn’s touching on my point—that love is both emotive and cognitive. The Daoist perspective says you just know you love, with no feeling attached. But I think God made us both cognitive and emotive. In marriage, for instance, we often say “love is a choice.” You may not always feel love, but you choose to act in love. Some people need the cognitive part, some the emotional, and some need both.

The dynamics of love—of giving and receiving—require that we meet people where they are. Jesus meets us where we are and gives each of us a different “recipe” of love based on what we need. All of it is grounded in grace and the miracle of accepting His love, regardless of our background or feelings. To have a relationship with God means that love is front and center.

Donald: I appreciate what both Sharon and Carolyn have expressed. But it makes me think—within church structure, at least in the Adventist church, what’s the purpose of a “revival”? We have to have one on a regular basis, apparently. Maybe we’re at a lull right now—so, let’s have a revival, ramp it up again.

Don: Does that suggest there’s a low and a high? What exactly is being revived?

Donald: I don’t know. But we’ve all heard it—“Let’s have a revival!”—and we even put up signs. It’s almost like cranking a handle: “Okay, here we go—revival!” Why does the church think it’s necessary to call it that, instead of simply supporting its members in grace and love?

Kiran: I think it comes down to how we relate to God. If we see God as someone expecting something from us—and we think we have to meet that expectation by our own strength—then when we fail, revival gives us a chance to rededicate ourselves. It lets us wipe the slate clean, start again, and find renewed enthusiasm to keep fighting the fight with ourselves.

But if we see God as someone who understands our brokenness, who loves and heals us even when we don’t understand how, then our job is simply to be still and know that He is God—that He’s doing His job. From that comes calmness and assurance. It’s hard to shift to that way of thinking; I’ve experienced that myself.

When you see God that way, you don’t need revival. You just keep sinking deeper into His love. I know how important revival feels when you’re struggling and failing—it gives joy—but it’s really just another emotional high. No matter how many revivals you have, the outcome doesn’t change. You just go through the loop again and again.

Donald: I belong to a church that’s too large to do what we used to when I was a child, though most traditional Adventist churches did it regularly. We had Sabbaths where people would stand up and give testimonies. Carolyn knows that well. It was healthy—it strengthened you, bonded you with others. So now I wonder: a revival, a testimony—these are tools in the church’s toolbox. I’m not saying they’re wrong, but they’re interesting tools. When, and how, should they be used?

Don: They’re not tools in the sense of helping someone else—they’re more like doing something to yourself. I wonder what the Good Samaritan felt when he helped the injured man. Did he feel joy? Or was it just part of life—something that happened by accident? It wasn’t a revival, it wasn’t a testimony; it was just something he came across unexpectedly and responded to because he could. It almost seems accidental.

Donald: But don’t you think, Don, that in that moment—especially as a physician—you’d just respond instinctively if someone needed care? It’s innate. Maybe that’s how it was for the Good Samaritan: he simply acted. The question is, would that Good Samaritan go to church a few weeks later and share that as a testimony? Because that’s what some testimonies are—recounting those moments.

So, yes, I think there’s a relationship between the two. A testimony can be a tool, but in that moment of action, it’s instinctive. It’s like you as a doctor coming upon someone in need—you just act. It’s who you are. Those are the tools in your toolbox, but they’re really just extensions of yourself.

Michael: May I say something? Our culture has turned love into a feeling. But when I read the Bible—especially Paul’s letters and the parables—love is described more as an action. I think the church hasn’t realized how much our idea of love, even within the church, is described as a feeling, though the Bible never does that.

What do you think? Is there anywhere in the Bible where love is a feeling?

Reinhard: I believe we can feel love. But the Good Samaritan practiced true love. The priests and Levites didn’t do what they preached, but the Samaritan showed compassion—that’s the kind of love Jesus wanted us to understand.

Connecting back to what Donald said about revival: revival renews our commitment. Testimonies strengthen our belief. The more we believe in God, the more we express love. To deepen belief, we have to grow spiritually—through reading the Bible, meditating on God’s word. That draws us closer to Him, and then we express love daily through our feelings and actions toward others. It helps us be better followers of God.

Don: I think the answer to Michael’s question about the Good Samaritan is in the ending—he leaves his “credit card.” That’s a token of intellectual love—meaning there’s no emotion attached to running up additional charges.

Carolyn: I still sing Joy to the World, and I hear joy as a feeling—an expression of praise. That’s how I want to live my life—with joy. The Lord promised love, joy, and peace. These fruits of the Spirit must manifest somehow. What we do erupts from within us as joy.

I’ve never seen Jesus or God—it’s hard to love something without “skin on.” Our relationships give that love skin—they make it tangible. When we pray, when we speak relationally to God, we’re expressing that joy. That’s part of “Joy to the World, the Lord is within me.”

Kiran: Michael’s question is interesting, but there’s a reason people say love is an emotion. The overwhelming majority of humans, at some point, feel it. We can’t just say love isn’t an emotion. Even in the Bible, when Lazarus died, Jesus wept. In several places we read that Jesus looked at the multitudes and was moved with compassion because they were like sheep without a shepherd. So there’s clearly an emotional element to love—and it’s a beautiful thing.

Loving without emotion would be hard to sustain; it would feel like slavery. At the same time, emotion without action is also a problem. So yes, love involves emotion, but it needs action too. That’s why The Song of Solomon is full of passionate poetry—it celebrates the emotional and expressive side of love.

Michael: You didn’t tell us about your own experience, Kiran—how your love started not with emotion but with action.

Kiran: It did start with action. But personality plays into it too, and so do childhood experiences and trauma. They all shape how we love. For some people, emotion comes first and leads to action; for others, it begins with action and later brings emotion. Either way, both elements are there. Wouldn’t you agree?

Michael: I’m trying to de-emphasize the emotional part because I think it’s led us astray in understanding love. There are other words for that emotional aspect—passion, infatuation—but because our culture overemphasizes emotion, we misunderstand love and end up feeling loveless and lonely. It’s not that I disagree with you, but I want to push back against that imbalance on purpose.

Don: Well said. There is more to come on the subject of love.

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