Corner Stone Keynotes

That verse does not flatter the flesh. It searches it.

The Holy Ghost does not say that great peace belongs to those who love their own opinions, their own comfort, their own recognition, or their own desired outcome. He says, “Great peace have they which love thy law.” Peace is tied to a right love. Stability is tied to a right love. Freedom from constant offense is tied to a right love. When the heart is anchored in the Word of God, it is held by something higher than emotion, deeper than preference, and stronger than changing circumstances.

Anything besides God and His truth that becomes the chief object of our affection will, at some point, reach its unlovable end. People disappoint. Churches fail in spots. Leaders are human. Friends misread us. Seasons change. Doors close. Opportunities pass. Applause fades. Influence shifts. If our deepest love is attached to any of these, then offense is already growing in the roots, even while the leaves still look green.

That is because fallen man has a habit of calling many things love that are actually arrangements of convenience. He says he loves, but often he loves what serves him. He loves what affirms him. He loves what advances him. He loves what makes room for his will, his timing, his visibility, and his comforts. And as long as those things continue, he appears constant. He appears loyal. He appears warm. He appears committed. But let the arrangement be disturbed. Let the hidden appetite go unfed. Let the flesh be denied. Let the cross stand in the way of self-interest. Suddenly, the affection that sounded so deep proves to be thin.

This is one reason men can turn so quickly. Their words promised devotion, but their hearts were fastened somewhere else. They stayed while there was gain. They smiled while there was advantage. They gave honor while honor was being returned to them. Yet once the relationship ceased to feed the appetite of self, their affection dried up like water in a cracked barrel.

The tragedy is not only that they walked away. The tragedy is that what they called love was never founded upon the highest thing in the first place.

Here is the fountainhead of real love. We did not begin loving Christ because He catered to our vanity. We did not come to Him because He agreed to preserve our pride. We did not fall at His feet because He promised to build our little kingdoms. We love Him because He first loved us. He loved us when we were unworthy. He loved us when we were guilty. He loved us when we had no beauty that should attract Him. He loved us at the cost of His own blood.

That kind of love changes the whole frame of the soul. When a man is captured by the love of Christ, he begins to love Christ for who He is, not just for what he hopes to receive. He begins to love truth even when truth cuts. He begins to love righteousness even when righteousness costs. He begins to love the church for Christ’s sake, not just for what the church can provide to his ego. He begins to love the brethren through the lens of grace, patience, and endurance.

That does not make him blind. That does not make him passive toward error. That does not mean he will never feel grief, hurt, or disappointment. But it does mean he has found an anchor deeper than his wounds. It means he will not let offense become his lord. It means his steps will not be governed by every bruise to the flesh. It means he can stay where Christ would have him stay, submit where Christ would have him submit, and bear what Christ would have him bear, because his love is not hanging by the thin thread of personal benefit.

This brings us straight to the burden that presses upon the church.

There are people who say they love Jesus, and thank God, many truly do. There are people who say they love the church, and some do in sincerity. There are people who say they love their pastor, love the work, love the fellowship, love the cause. Yet time has a way of bringing hidden motives to the surface. Put that love under strain. Let there be a decision made for a higher cause. Let leadership refuse to bow to personality. Let a cherished preference be denied because Christ’s honor must come first. Let a man discover that the church will not revolve around his expectations. Then watch what happens.

If his love is rooted in Christ, he may hurt, but he will stay tender toward the Lord. He may disagree, but he will guard his spirit. He may weep, but he will keep his heart low before God. He may need time, prayer, and grace, but he will not let fleshly offense become the interpreter of all things.

But if his love was really fastened to hidden ambitions, then the test will expose it. If what he loved was the praise of men, the feeling of importance, the access to influence, the preservation of his own way, the comfort of being catered to, or the rewards of religious association, then once those things are threatened, his affection will begin to unravel. He will call it many things. He may call it principle. He may call it discernment. He may call it wisdom. He may call it self-respect. Yet underneath all the language, the issue is often this: his heart was in love with something besides Christ.

And when love is misplaced, departure becomes easier.

Demas did not leave in a vacuum. He left because he loved something else more. His direction followed his affection. That is always the way of it. Whatever owns the love will eventually steer the life.

Church life reveals this with painful clarity. Some do not leave because Christ failed them. Some do not leave because truth collapsed. Some do not leave because the gospel lost its glory. Some leave because their hidden source of satisfaction within the church relationship dried up. They were drawing from the wrong well. They were leaning upon the wrong pillar. Their love was not planted in the Word, so when the winds shifted, they fell with the thing they were really leaning on.

This is why Psalm 119:165 is so precious. It does not say, “Great peace have they which are never crossed.” It does not say, “Great peace have they which are always understood.” It says, “Great peace have they which love thy law.” Love the Word, and you are loving what cannot fail. Love the Word, and you are cleaving to the revelation of Christ Himself. Love the Word, and you are fastening your soul to the One who loved you before you ever had sense enough to love Him back.

That is the cry of a heart that has found the right object of love. Peter did not say he understood everything. He did not say the road was easy. He did not say there were no hard sayings. He said, in effect, “There is nowhere else to go. Life is in Thee. Truth is in Thee. The words of eternal life are with Thee.” That is the language of a soul that has been conquered.

And that is where the church must come again. We must stop fastening our deepest love to personalities, platforms, recognition, influence, comforts, and outcomes. We must stop confusing personal gratification with spiritual devotion. We must stop dressing self-interest in church clothes and calling it faithfulness. Our love must be purified. Our motives must be searched. Our loyalties must be laid bare before God.

If I love Christ, then let my love stand the test. Let it stand when I am overlooked. Let it stand when I am corrected. Let it stand when I am not applauded. Let it stand when my wishes are denied for His higher will. Let it stand when obedience costs me something. Let it stand when church life becomes inconvenient to the flesh. Let it stand when all that is left is Christ Himself.

For the truth is plain: if Christ is not enough, then whatever I claimed to love was never safely anchored.

But if my heart has truly been seized by His love, then I have found that which does not run dry. His love has no exhausted edge. His truth has no corrupt seam. His worth has no fading point. He is ever lovely. He is ever righteous. He is ever faithful. He is ever enough.

And when a soul comes to love Him above all, it does not spend its days looking for the next barrel of affirmation to draw from. It has found the fountain.