Every February, love arrives wrapped in red and pink. It comes shaped like hearts and chocolates, bouquets and cards, candlelit dinners and whispered promises. There is something genuinely lovely about all of that. Romance has its place, and the flutter in the chest, the warmth in the cheeks and the joy of being chosen by another person is a beautiful gift. Valentine’s Day reminds us that love matters.
But if this is the only day we talk about love, we have sold it short. The origins of Valentine’s Day are tangled and imperfect, much like love itself. One of the most enduring stories traces the day back to St. Valentine, a priest who, according to legend, defied imperial orders by marrying couples in secret. Whether or not every detail is historically precise, the spirit of the story matters. Valentine’s act of love was not sentimental. It was costly. It involved risk. From the very beginning, this holiday carried a deeper message: love is not just something we feel; it is something we choose, even when there is a price to pay.
That idea appears in other corners of history as well. In Scotland, the small village of Gretna Green became famous for runaway weddings. Young couples, often forbidden by families or constrained by strict laws, would travel there because Scottish law allowed marriages to take place with little more than mutual consent. At the village blacksmith’s shop, couples declared their vows over an anvil — hardly a romantic setting by modern standards. Yet people crossed borders and defied expectations to stand there together and say, “We choose one another.”
Those weddings were not about lace or spectacle. They were about commitment. They were about two people claiming agency, promising fidelity and stepping into a shared future. Love, in Gretna Green, was not simply a feeling. It was a decision. That understanding of love reaches far beyond marriage or romance.
In our culture, love is often reduced to emotion. We speak of chemistry and sparks, of falling in love as though gravity itself were responsible. And again, those experiences are real and meaningful. But feelings alone cannot sustain a life together, a family, or a community.
In the Christian tradition, Jesus speaks of love in a way that stretches us beyond sentiment. “Love one another as I have loved you,” he says. That command is both beautiful and unsettling. Because the love Jesus embodied was not primarily romantic or poetic. It was practical. Costly. Relentlessly active.
It was love that fed people who were hungry and touched those who were considered untouchable. Love that noticed the invisible and defended the vulnerable. Love that crossed boundaries of class, religion, and respectability. Love that showed up in the trenches of real life, not just in moments of celebration. This kind of love is a verb.
It is not measured by how we feel on a particular day, but by what we are willing to do over time. It looks like sitting beside a hospital bed through the long hours of the night. It looks like bringing chicken soup when someone is sick — and then quietly cleaning the bathroom afterward without being asked. It looks like forgiveness offered when it would be easier to walk away. It looks like patience, endurance, and quiet sacrifice. This is the love that lasts.
The love that makes your toes tingle and your heart flutter is a gift — sweet, energizing and often fleeting. The love that stays when the flutter fades is something deeper. It is the love that holds a hand through grief, that keeps showing up when life is hard, that chooses care over convenience. And importantly, this love is not meant only for romantic partners.
Children need it. Aging parents need it. Friends need it. Neighbors need it. The lonely, the overwhelmed, the grieving — people whose names we may not even know — need it. Our communities need it. In a world fractured by fear, division and isolation, love expressed through action is not optional; it is essential.
Valentine’s Day, then, is not meant to be the only day we express love. It is meant to be a reminder. A reminder that love is worth celebrating, yes — but also worth practicing. Worth expanding. Worth deepening.
So, enjoy the roses and the chocolates if you are lucky enough to receive them. Write the cards. Say the tender words. Celebrate romance where it exists. But don’t stop there.
Let this be the day that nudges us toward a love that shows up when it matters most. A love that feeds, shelters, protects, forgives, and stays. A love that is not just spoken, but lived.
Because that kind of love — the love that acts, endures and gives itself away — is not just romantic. It is, at its heart, an act of faith.
Athol Congregational Church is an Open and Affirming community of faith that is “small enough to know you, large enough to serve.” Join us this Lent for a series about the modern-day understandings of the “Seven Deadly Sins” during worship at 10 a.m. on Sundays in-person or on FB live under “Athol Congregational Videos.” Sunday school is offered at 10 a.m. and we truly welcome everyone, no matter where you are on your faith journey. We offer long-distance Reiki through our certified practitioners, are willing to pray with you whatever your need, and want to know you, whoever you are! Connect with us on the Athol Congregational Church Facebook page or on our newly-designed website: atholcongregational.com