The world we live in today is not only dangerous, but it makes it especially difficult to live out what Jesus commanded us to do.
In a day when the Church continues to spew forth theological lies that are designed to give power to as few people as possible and exclude as many as possible, it is hard to have hope.
It is equally hard to love unconditionally, to love without limits.
Give me a few seconds and read further. Set aside your angst for a little bit. Take your fear and hopelessness away from your vision and feelings.
I want to invite you to take a deep breath. Close your eyes for a moment and just feel the rhythm of your heart. That heartbeat — the steady, unshakable rhythm of life within you — is a divine gift. It’s a reminder that you are here, fully seen, fully known, and fully loved.
Today, I want us to believe that Jesus meant what he said about love. Let our reflections center on love — boundless, messy, extravagant love. Love that embraces differences. Love that refuses to leave anyone on the margins. Love that challenges us to step out of comfort and into compassion.
For you see, that is the only way anything is going to change for the better.
We can continue to complain about those who hate us and wish to do us harm, but until we take Jesus and his teachings on love seriously and make that our lifestyle, we will be nothing more than a puddle of warm spit. An easy target to erase.
I’m reminded of a passage in the Gospel of Matthew, where Jesus is asked, “Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?” His response? “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and first commandment. And the second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”
Notice something here — it’s not solely about loving God. That is inseparable from the call to love one another.
Who is our neighbor? It’s not just the person who looks like us, prays like us, or shares our experiences.
It’s the refugee seeking safety.
It is the unhoused person on the corner.
It is our community and all the letters of the alphabet we have included who are seeking a home in a world that on a regular basis denies us our humanity.
It is the marginalized persons who are easy targets for the police, government and MAGA to arrest, to erase, and to kill.
It’s the person whose beliefs and life choices challenge our own.
For you see, Jesus doesn’t mince words. He doesn’t add caveats or conditions. He simply says, “Love your neighbor as yourself.”
Loving our neighbor is not passive. It’s not a Hallmark card sentiment. It’s active, it’s gritty, it’s inconvenient.
Love demands something from us. Think about the story of the Good Samaritan. The one who helps a beaten person on the side of the road isn’t the priest or the Levite, respected in their society. It’s the societal outcast, the Samaritan, who stops, stoops down, binds wounds, and ensures the person’s survival.
Love calls us to step into the mess of one another’s lives. To show up — not with answers, but with presence.
And here’s the hard truth: Love isn’t always easy. It asks us to release prejudices, to see past the walls we’ve built or that have been built for us, to forgive where bitterness has taken root.
But isn’t that what makes it sacred? When we as a magazine say “whosoever,” we mean whosoever.
The love of God is a table — long, unending, with chairs pulled out for everyone. This table doesn’t measure worthiness; it doesn’t demand perfection. It just asks that we come as we are.
We’re not all the same, and we’re not meant to be. Can you imagine a garden where every flower is the same shape and color? No, the beauty is in the diversity, in the way each one adds its own unique contribution to the whole.
I believe with my whole heart that whoever you are — whatever your story, your identity, your past — you belong at this table. You are not just tolerated; you are riotously celebrated.
But here’s the thing about being at the table of love — it’s not just about enjoying the feast. It’s about making sure there’s room for others, too. It’s about pulling up another chair and saying, “There’s a place for you here.”
Love is also justice. Love asks us to look at the systems around us — systems that oppress, exclude, and harm — and say, “This is not of God.” There can be no love without equity, no compassion without action.
Standing with the marginalized isn’t separate from faith or from our community. It is faith embodied. When we advocate for the homeless, demand racial justice, or march alongside our queer siblings, we are living the love Jesus commands. When we challenge policies or practices that harm rather than heal, we bear witness to a God who is always on the side of the oppressed.
I want to challenge you: What does love look like in your life right now? Who is the neighbor you’ve struggled to fully see and love? What boundary in your heart needs to be stretched so that someone else’s life can flourish?
I challenge you to act on that today, this week, next week. Maybe it’s reaching out to someone who feels distant or excluded. Maybe it’s volunteering for a cause that seeks justice. Maybe it’s simply listening to a story that’s different from your own, letting it change you.
Whatever it is, remember this: You are the hands and feet of Christ in this world. The love we speak of is not some abstract, far-off ideal. It’s here. It’s in us. And it’s in the way we choose to live and love every single day.
God’s love doesn’t exclude. It doesn’t shrink in the face of our differences. It expands. It grows. It embraces. And so must ours.
Go forth today with hearts wide open. Be the Good Samaritan on the road. Pull up an extra chair at the table. Bind the wounds. Sit in the discomfort. And above all, live out a radical, boundless, world-changing love that Christ calls us to.
Open your eyes, feel the rhythm of your heart. That heartbeat — the steady, unshakable rhythm of life within you — that divine gift. Be reminded that you are here, fully seen, fully known, and fully loved.
Remember: Whosoever means Who-so-ever!
Editor-in-Chief of Whosoever and Founding and Senior Pastor of Gentle Spirit Christian Church of Atlanta, Rev. Paul M. Turner (he/him) grew up in suburban Chicago and was ordained by the Universal Fellowship of Metropolitan Community Churches in 1989. He and his husband Bill have lived in metro Atlanta since 1994, have been in a committed partnership since the early 1980s and have been legally married since 2015.