Why Love Is Still the Most Convincing Argument for Christianity

When people imagine what might draw someone back to church, love isn’t always the first thing that comes to mind. We tend to think in terms of better music, clearer preaching, stronger kids’ programs, or sharper theology. All of those things matter. But the New Testament keeps insisting on something far simpler—and far more demanding.

Love.

When the apostle Paul prays for the church in Philippi, he doesn’t ask for safety, success, or influence. Instead, he prays that their “love may abound more and more, with knowledge and all discernment” (Philippians 1:9). In other words, Paul believes that love is not just a feeling or a personality trait. It’s the primary marker of spiritual maturity.

That idea shouldn’t surprise us. Jesus himself said that love—not correctness, not

performance, not religious visibility—would be the defining sign of his followers. “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.”

The early church took that seriously. In fact, one of the reasons Christianity spread in a hostile Roman world wasn’t because Christians won debates or gained political power.

It was because outsiders kept noticing how they treated one another. They shared resources. They cared for the sick. They crossed social boundaries. Their love didn’t make sense—and that’s exactly what made it compelling.

But Paul adds an important qualifier. This love is meant to “abound more and more in knowledge.” Not knowledge as in trivia or theological scorekeeping, but a deep, lived understanding of who Jesus is and what he has done.

That distinction matters, because it’s possible to know a lot about God and still fail to love people well. History—and many personal stories—make that painfully clear. When theology becomes detached from love, it often turns into a tool for exclusion, pride, or justification. Paul would say something has gone wrong.

The kind of knowledge Paul has in mind is relational. It’s the growing awareness of the mercy we ourselves have received. When we truly grasp the patience, forgiveness, and self-giving love of Jesus, it reshapes how we see others. We stop relating from superiority or fear and begin relating from gratitude.

Jesus once said that the person who has been forgiven much loves much. That’s not a command—it’s an observation about how the human heart works. Love flows naturally when we remember how deeply we are loved.

This leads to Paul’s final phrase in his prayer: being “filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ.” Righteousness here isn’t just about personal morality or rule-following. In Scripture, righteousness also describes how we treat the people around us—especially the vulnerable, overlooked, and wounded.

The biblical picture of righteousness includes justice, generosity, faithfulness, and compassion. It’s about living rightly with God and rightly with others. And crucially, Paul says this fruit comes through Jesus, not from sheer effort or willpower. That’s where Jesus’ image of the vine and branches becomes so important. Growth doesn’t happen by trying harder to be loving. It happens by staying connected. Love is fruit, not a performance.

For a church like Conway—especially in a season of change and hope—this is a grounding reminder. What will ultimately shape our future isn’t polish or perfection, but whether our life together reflects the love of Christ. When people walk through the doors, they may not remember every word of a sermon or song. But they will remember how they were treated.

And maybe that’s still the most honest question faith asks us today:Not how right are we?But how well do we love?