In 1936, American song writer, Billy Hill, wrote “The Glory of Love”. Before long a nation was singing, “You’ve got to give a little, take a little and let your poor heart break a little. That’s the story of, that’s the glory of love.”
Fifty years later, in 1986, another song reached the top of the music charts with a similar title. In “Glory of Love,” Peter Cetera promises a love worth fighting for with the lyrics, “We’ll live forever, knowing together—that we did it all for the glory of love.”
Looking back, both songs may have resonated with something that makes life worth living. On occasion, haven’t we intuitively sensed, even without realizing it, a mysteriously enchanted connection between the glory of our loves— and the silent, soft light of the night sky (Psalm 19:1).
As we’ve been considering together in these last few posts, even before our generation began exploring the cosmos through the eye of Hubble, Jesus showed us something that has more recently haunted us in the lives of people like Gandhi, Mother Teresa, and Martin Luther King.
But I’m guessing most of us wouldn’t want to compare such Jesus-like examples to the One who showed us the glory of love not only in the wonder of his life— but in the shocking violence of his death.
In the mysterious glory of Jesus’s suffering and sacrifice, don’t we hear something that brings fullness of meaning to our love songs— and to the silent rhythm of the stars that shows up in the darkness of our own days, and nights?