Perfumed by Love

The Epistles of John are perfumed with love. The word is continually occurring while the Spirit enters into every sentence. Each letter is thoroughly soaked and impregnated with this heavenly honey. If he speaks of God, His name must be love. Are the Brethren mentioned, he loves them. And even of the world itself, He writes, “God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son.” From the opening to the conclusion, love is the manner, love the matter, love the motive and love the aim. We stand, therefore, not a little astonished, to find such martial words in so peaceful a writing, for I hear a sound of war.

It is not the voice of love, surely, that says, “He that is born of God overcomes the world.” Lo, here are strife and battle. The word “overcomes” seems to have in it something of the sword and warfare–of strife and contention–of agony and wrestling. So unlike the love which is smooth and gentle, which has no harsh words within its lips–whose mouth is lined with velvet, whose words are softer than butter–whose utterances are more easily flowing than oil. Here we have war–war to the knife, for I read, “Whatsoever is born of God overcomes the world.”

Strife until death–battle throughout life–fighting with a certainty of victory. How is it that the same Gospel which always speaks of peace, here proclaims a warfare? How can it be? Simply because there is something in the world which is antagonistic to love. There are principles abroad which cannot bear light and, therefore, before light can come it must chase the darkness. Before summer reigns, you know, it has to do battle with old winter and to send it howling away in the winds of March–then shedding its tears in April showers. So also, before any great or good thing can have the mastery of this world, it must do battle for it.

C.H. Spurgeon (19 June 1834 – 31 January 1892, from his sermon “The Victory of Faith).