1 If I speak in the tongues of humans and of angels but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. 2 And if I have prophetic powers and understand all mysteries and all knowledge and if I have all faith so as to remove mountains but do not have love, I am nothing. 3 If I give away all my possessions and if I hand over my body so that I may boast but do not have love, I gain nothing. 4 Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant 5 or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable; it keeps no record of wrongs; 6 it does not rejoice in wrongdoing but rejoices in the truth. 7 It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. 8 Love never ends. But as for prophecies, they will come to an end; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will come to an end. 9 For we know only in part, and we prophesy only in part, 10 but when the complete comes, the partial will come to an end. 11 When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways. 12 For now we see only a reflection, as in a mirror, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known. 13 And now faith, hope, and love remain, these three, and the greatest of these is love.
1 Corinthians 13:1–13 (NRSVue)
[See also Jeremiah 1:4–10; Psalm 71:1–6; Luke 4:21–30)
A theme of confidence binds the list of lectionary passages: Jeremiah 1:4–10; Psalm 71:1–6; 1 Corinthians 13:1–13; and Luke 4:21-30. This confidence is not merely a static trust but a dynamic ethos that propels the believer into the realm of social justice. It invites us to embody God’s transformative love in a broken world. Each passage reflects a unique dimension of confidence: confidence in divine knowing, protection, love, and solidarity. Together, they culminate in an invitation to align ourselves with the rejected and marginalized.
In Jeremiah, the confidence of the prophet comes from being known and appointed by God before birth. “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you” (Jeremiah 1:5). This intimate knowledge is not abstract but profoundly personal, instilling in Jeremiah a sense of purpose. Despite his fear and self-doubt, God’s reassurance (“Do not be afraid”) equips Jeremiah to speak boldly against injustice and destruction while planting and building hope. While God’s call to Jeremiah authenticated his unique vocation, the confidence that can come from God’s knowing is offered to all of us. It is not based on human merit but on divine choice, which empowers us to speak truth to power and confront societal inequities.
The Psalmist echoes this theme of confidence, declaring God as a “rock of refuge” and “a fortress” (Psalm 71:3). Yet, this confidence is forged in vulnerability. The Psalmist identifies God as the one who has been their hope and sustainer from “birth” (Psalm 71:6). Here, the imagery of refuge evokes the plight of those who are displaced, oppressed, or seeking safety. In a world where refugees and the marginalized often face rejection, the Psalmist’s confidence in God’s unwavering protection becomes an invitation to extend this refuge to others. It challenges those of us who have experienced God as our refuge to stand with the vulnerable and create spaces where they, too, can experience God’s steadfast love.
However, 1 Corinthians 13 shifts the focus from divine knowing and protection to human love as the ultimate source of confidence. Paul’s poetic discourse on love declares that even the greatest gifts—prophecy, knowledge, and faith—are meaningless without love. Love is patient and kind; it does not envy, boast, or dishonor others. These seemingly simple virtues are revolutionary because they never fail (1 Corinthians 13:8). Love transcends knowledge and power, offering a relational ethic that prioritizes the dignity of others. This passage bridges the Old Testament’s divine assurances with the incarnational reality of Jesus in Luke 4. It reframes confidence not as self-assurance or dominance but as a radical, enduring commitment to the other—especially the marginalized. This connection becomes evident in Paul’s description of love’s characteristics, such as patience, kindness, and the absence of pride or self-seeking motives, which directly align with uplifting and prioritizing the dignity of those often excluded or overlooked.
Luke 4 provides the most unexpected turn in this sequence of reading. Jesus, with the explicit affirmation of Isaiah’s promises, announces good news to the poor, freedom for prisoners, sight for the blind, and liberation for the oppressed. Yet, this proclamation is met with rejection and hostility. The crowd’s anger erupts when Jesus highlights God’s favor extended to outsiders: a widow in Zarephath, Naaman the Syrian leper. These examples underscore God’s preference for the lowly, the marginalized, and the socially rejected. Jesus’ confidence is not rooted in popular approval or displays of power but in his solidarity with the outcast.
The rejection of Jesus mirrors the rejection faced by God’s messengers throughout history. Like Jeremiah, Jesus is called to a mission that invites opposition. Yet, his mission reveals a God whose love is not confined to the powerful or the privileged. It is a love that “never fails,” reaching the widow, the leper, and the foreigner. These individuals, marginalized by societal structures, encounter the transformative power of God’s love. In their stories, we see that confidence is not about status or acceptance but about faith in God’s unrelenting pursuit of justice and restoration.
How can we view our society through this lens of confidence? For those of us who have experienced marginalization, are we confident that God is actively seeking the lost and rejected souls in our communities? And for those of us with social privilege, do we embody this confidence by extending love to those on the margins—the outcast, the silenced, those with no voice or vote? For instance, consider the bold confidence demonstrated by clergy such as Bishop Mariann Budde, who spoke truth to power in her sermon addressing justice and inclusion in the face of political unrest. The confidence rooted in God’s knowing, protecting, and loving calls us to action. It invites us to align ourselves with the widow, the refugee, and the stranger, creating a world where God’s love is made visible through justice and compassion.
This confidence is not passive; it mimics Jesus’ solidarity with the outcast as demonstrated in the range of passages considered here. From the prophetic call of Jeremiah to the steadfast refuge of the Psalmist, the transformative love described by Paul, and the radical inclusivity of Jesus, confidence takes on a dynamic and relational form. It is a prophetic and messianic challenge, asking us to disrupt systems that perpetuate exclusion and to build communities that reflect God’s inclusive love. It calls us to be agents of hope, bringing good news to the poor and liberation to the oppressed. In doing so, we become participants in God’s redemptive work, confident that love—the greatest of these—will never fail.
One thing to remember is that love is often tied to sacrifice. Love is not dispensed out of surplus but out of the reservoir of intentionality, a power that empowers us and makes us responsible for our actions. Part of the interaction of a love dynamic is the cleansing aspect of that exchange. Our souls are reconciled and renewed through love and the presence of God in our lives.