Dardanelle Missionary Baptist Church — Dardanelle, Arkansas
Pastor Chuck Trusty — Wednesday evening service, August 26, 2026 The Staircase, charity · A3 D15 · 1 Corinthians 13:4-8
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Sunday night we stood at the top of the staircase and asked what charity is. We answered it in one line: charity is love that keeps climbing when nothing comes back. That was the definition. Tonight we do something different. Tonight we watch what charity does.
There is a difference between the two, and it is the difference between Sunday and Monday. It is one thing to say, “Yes, this is what agape is, and this is what we ought to do.” That is fine and dandy. But let us get down where the rubber meets the road. Let us talk about what this love looks like on a Monday, on a Tuesday, on a Wednesday — in the specific and often frustrating situations of a real Christian life. Because someone always says, “Well, preacher — in this particular situation, with this particular person, you mean I am supposed to practice agape love when that happens?”
Yes. That is exactly what I mean.
The church at Corinth was full of gifted people who were also full of problems. There was knowledge there. There was enthusiasm. But the church was divided. It was proud. It was competitive. There were little cliques going back and forth, and it was unloving in some very specific ways. And to that church — not to scholars in a library, but to everyday Christians who were failing at love the same way we all fail at love — Paul writes the most famous description of love in the whole Bible.
“Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Charity never faileth.” — 1 Corinthians 13:4-8 (KJV)
Count them as we go. Fifteen. Fifteen descriptions of what agape does and what agape will not do.
Now understand what Paul is handing us. He is not giving us a poem to hang on the wall and say, “Isn’t that nice?” He is giving us a mirror — a mirror to hold up in front of our own lives, so that this preacher can set his life beside each one of these fifteen pictures and see what is reflected back.
Charity is a mirror to look into. It is not a poem to admire.
I am going to say that again before we are through. And as we walk through these fifteen pictures, I want you to hold one name and one situation in your mind. Pick out a person. Pick out a particular circumstance. And carry them with you through all fifteen. This lesson only works if we get personal — because love is about people, and specifically about the people we are personal with. Held at arm’s length as an abstract, distant thing, it serves no purpose at all.
The First Seven Pictures
One — Charity suffereth long. Paul’s word means long-tempered. It is the opposite of a short fuse. We all know people with short fuses, and if we are honest, sometimes we are the people with the short fuse. Agape does not snap. It does not explode. And it never says, “That is the last time.”
Think about a crockpot. A meal put in a crockpot does not cook in a matter of minutes. It takes all day long. Some meals simply cannot be rushed — it sits there all morning, all day, and by suppertime it has turned into something completely different from what it started out as. Patience is the heat that does the work. Turn the burner up too high and all you do is burn the supper. Agape is long-cooked. And over that slow, continuous heat — that continuous patience — people change who never could have been forced to change.
That is the effect agape has. It will not fix a relationship overnight. But over the long haul, it is a crockpot meal.
Now hold up the mirror. Are we short-fused? Do we snap? Have we ever said — even if only in our minds — “That is the last time”?
Two — And is kind. Longsuffering is what we do not do; we do not snap, we do not explode. Kindness is what we do instead. We lean in. We find the good word to say when the sharp, biting word is sitting right on the tip of the tongue, and it takes all the self-control in the world to keep from letting it out.
We fail at this most often with our own children. We forget that our children grow up to be just what they see us be, and just as they have experienced us being with them. Have you ever heard a parent say, “I do not know why little Johnny behaves that way”? Well, I have a pretty good idea. Little Johnny has watched you act pretty much the same way. He is imitating what he sees.
And think of a man coming in out of the field in the middle of July. He has worked hard all day. He does not need a lecture on how hot it is. He needs a cold glass of water, and somebody to say, “Here — come sit down. I am glad you are here.” That is kindness. It meets the moment with what the moment actually needs.
Put it in this building. Somebody walks through these doors who has not been here in six months, or a year. What they do not need to hear is, “Well, what in the world is wrong with you? Why have you been staying away from church so long?” Kindness knows better than that.
And be careful here — a good many of these things we would never say out loud. But we had better watch what we think. We cannot practice agape by going through the motions if the thing is not sincere in the heart.
Three — Charity envieth not. This is probably the quietest sin in a church. Envy lives entirely inside the heart and it rarely announces itself. Read the thirteenth chapter of Corinthians against that congregation and you find it full of envy over gifts, over influence, over recognition.
Have you noticed that nothing makes a man more miserable than watching his neighbour get the thing he wanted? Watching the neighbour’s field come up while his own is still waiting to sprout? And see how hard this is — it is practically impossible. Agape looks at the blessing that landed next door and says, “Isn’t that wonderful. I am glad for my neighbour.” No footnote. No “but.” No quiet resentment dressed up as joy.
This ties straight back to the greatest commandment. “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart… and thy neighbour as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets” (Matthew 22:37-40). If we are envious in the heart, we are not loving that neighbour anywhere close to the way we love our own selves.
Four — Charity vaunteth not itself. Agape does not brag. It does not need to be seen.
I use farm examples because I was raised on a farm and farming is easy to connect with. When does the most important work on a farm happen? Before anybody else is awake. My brother-in-law Gerald gets up at half past four or five in the morning, and nobody sees him out there doing what he does. But if he did not do it, the farm would fall apart. The feeding, the checking, the repairing — and ninety per cent of the time it is in bad weather, or in cold that makes you not want to go out at all. But it has to be done. Nobody sees the work. Nobody claps. And the farm runs because of the work that was done while nobody was watching.
Agape does the unseen labour without needing the applause.
That is part of why we are not clappers in this church. When somebody sings a special, when the preacher preaches a message, it is not done to be recognised by you. I preach because of the burden God has laid on my heart. When I sing, I enjoy the melody and the piano and the tune — but it is not a performance where I am waiting for somebody to say, “Good job, preacher.” Clapping teaches us to do things for God so that we will be seen, so that somebody makes sure I am appreciated. Agape does not need any of that. We do what we do to please God, whether it pleases man or not.
Five — Is not puffed up. Vaunting is about what we say. Being puffed up is about what we think. Agape carries no secret sense of superiority. “Well, I am the preacher, so down inside I am a notch and a half better than everybody else.” Agape does not let the man who is often at the centre of attention claim any superiority out of it.
Has anybody here ever seen an over-inflated tire let go? A tire with a lot of air in it looks impressive — nice and firm. But air is all that tire is carrying. Let it expand and it pops. The tire that actually carries the load is the one inflated properly, and that is the tire nobody notices. Agape carries the weight. Agape does not strut.
Six — Doth not behave itself unseemly. Agape has manners — not for appearance’s sake, but because the dignity of people actually matters.
I will eat one way at home with nobody watching. I can make a pig of myself, get it all over my chin, and it does not matter — there is nobody there but me. I do not eat that way in somebody else’s home. And not mainly to keep from embarrassing myself, but out of respect for the people at that table. Agape treats every person as a guest in their dignity, and would not dream of trampling it with a rude or a careless word — because to do that is to treat what they value as though it were unimportant.
Hold up the mirror. How bad are we at, “This is important to me, and what you think is important — well, I do not much care”?
Seven — Seeketh not her own. Agape does not put itself first, and it does not calculate what it is going to get back in return for what it gives. “If I am nice to this man, I wonder what I will get in return. What has he got that I want? I had better be nice to him. Now that one over there — he has nothing I want, so I do not have to bother.” That is the mental arithmetic, and agape does not do it.
We saw this very thing a couple of Sundays ago — the chicken platter, and the pause at the table. Everybody looking around to see who ought to have the last piece. That pause is agape at a supper table. And agape carries that same pause into every situation and every room it enters.
The Second Eight Pictures
We are halfway. So let me say it again: charity is a mirror to look into, not a poem to admire. Seven pictures so far. Has one of them shown your face back to you yet?
Eight — Is not easily provoked. The word easily carries the weight. Paul never says agape cannot be provoked. He says it has no short fuse. It assumes the best before it assumes the worst.
A brand new cast iron pan burns everything and everything sticks to it. But a well-seasoned skillet has been through enough fire that hardly anything sticks to it at all. Whatever sets us off in this particular moment — wait a few minutes. I guarantee you it will not be nearly so challenging an hour from now.
Nine — Thinketh no evil. This one happens inside the head. And I have been guilty of this one — so guilty. Agape keeps no running account of the wrongs it has suffered. No replaying the offence. No filing the forgiven thing away for future reference.
I have said words just like these in the past: “I forgive so-and-so, but I will not forgive completely. I will forgive, but I am not turning my back on him. I will always keep one eye on him.”
That put me in mind of a charge account at a grocery store. There are two ways to run a tab. You can write every charge down and never erase one, until the customer is nothing but a list of debts — page after page after page of the ways they have offended us. Or you can settle the account and start fresh. Agape keeps a cleared ledger. The pages are constantly being torn out. It forgives the debt and it does not reopen the account.
I have failed at some of these. I fail at that one badly.
Ten — Rejoiceth not in iniquity. Agape takes no pleasure in anybody’s failure — not even the failure of an enemy. And when I say enemy, I do not mean an enemy in war. This is “love thy neighbour as thyself.” He is not saying love the Iranians as you love yourself, or the Chinese, or the Russians. He is saying love your neighbour as you love your own self.
Has something bad ever happened to somebody, and you thought, “I knew it. I knew it”? Agape does not enjoy being right about another man’s downfall.
There is a kind of person — first cousin to a gossip — who loves to be the one carrying the bad news. They arrive a little too soon and they stay a little too long. And they do not come early and stay late in order to help. They come early and stay late because they want to watch the misery. It is a common picture. It is a sad one.
Eleven — But rejoiceth in the truth. The other side of that same coin. Agape is genuinely glad about the truth. When somebody does the right thing quietly, with no reward in it, agape notices and agape is glad — glad to see this love in a neighbour, glad to see that neighbour doing something for an unfriendly neighbour, behind the scenes, where nobody notices.
Twelve — Beareth all things. The word does not mean to carry. It means to cover — like a roof keeping the rain off. It is raining outside right now, and the roof is bearing: covering us, keeping it all off of us. That is what agape does. When a brother stumbles, agape does not broadcast the stumble. “Did you hear? I saw Brother So-and-so coming out of the liquor store. Can you believe it? I always knew.” Agape does not do that. It is not pretending the stumble never happened. It is protecting the man’s dignity while he is being helped back onto his feet.
And speaking of dignity — if a lady in a dress falls down, when you help her up you help keep her covered. Dignity is not pride. Dignity is being embarrassed about a hole in your britches, and that is perfectly normal. Agape keeps the hole covered, out of respect. How would you like to fall and have the wind take your dress up over your head? It is no great matter, but it is embarrassing — and that is exactly what dignity is. Agape is careful with the dignity of others.
Thirteen — Believeth all things. At first glance you think this means we are supposed to be gullible and believe everything. It is not naivety. It is the benefit of the doubt. Agape believes the best until it is proven otherwise.
A farmer has seen hard winters, and he does not panic over a hard January or a hard February, because he knows spring is right around the corner. He knows it is coming because it always has. Agape sees the spring in the middle of somebody else’s February. When we see another person having trouble — believe the best. Believe the best. And remember: but for the grace of God, there go I. Are you telling me there has never been a February season in your life? I do not believe it.
Fourteen — Hopeth all things. Agape never writes a person off. It keeps hoping, keeps praying, keeps the door open. But notice where the hope sits. The hope is in the God who can reach any person at any moment. We do not lay an inordinate amount of hope on the individual — “surely to goodness he will wise up and turn his life around.” No. Our hope is in God’s ability to reach that person. That is where the hope comes from.
Fifteen — Endureth all things. Agape does not quit when love gets hard. It does not resign when love begins to cost something.
I thought of a fence post. There are fence posts I have seen standing fifty and sixty years — through drought, through flood, through storms and heat, and they are standing yet. Not because they were never tested, but because they were set deep in the ground. Agape is set deep. The roots go further down than the storms go up.
The Picture That Never Fades
“Charity never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away.” — 1 Corinthians 13:8 (KJV)
The Bible does not say charity rarely fails. It does not say charity usually holds. It says it never fails. Prophecies will cease. Tongues will stop. Knowledge will vanish away. Charity never fails.
And Sunday night we heard Peter’s promise laid over this same love:
“And to godliness brotherly kindness; and to brotherly kindness charity. For if these things be in you, and abound, they make you that ye shall neither be barren nor unfruitful in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ.” — 2 Peter 1:7-8 (KJV)
A life lived from the top of the staircase is a life God pours His own nature through, into every relationship which that life touches.
So if somebody who sees us in our hard moments — in our February season — were to read these fifteen pictures of what charity actually is, how many of them would they find in our lives?
Four Honest Questions
First — which of the fifteen pictures is hardest for you? Not hardest in general. Hardest for you, in the relationships you are in right now.
Second — where are you keeping a ledger? Are you filing the wrong away, returning to the page, adding to the list? What would it take to clear that ledger tonight — or even to tear one page out of it?
Third — who have you given up on? Somebody where hope and belief and endurance have quietly faded out. Do you think there is something the Holy Spirit could still do there, if you brought agape back into that room?
Fourth — the mirror question. If somebody who knows you — not your best friend, not your buddy, but somebody who has seen the February moments in your life — read these fifteen things that agape does, which of them would they find in you?
Closing
Charity is a mirror to look into. It is not a poem to admire.
Now somebody says, “Well, preacher, I did not find hardly any of that in me.” And the devil will be right there saying, “Then you have every reason to be discouraged. You are nothing but a failure.”
But that is not what God’s word says, and that is not what these fifteen pictures are for. So you failed. Guess what — we all do. Do not sit and wallow in your misery. The staircase is standing right there for us to climb. Do not be discouraged.
Just start. Not tomorrow – but today… The entire purpose of these 15 pictures – is not to discourage us – but to point us in the direction we need to go…
Scripture Used
1 Corinthians 13:4-8 · 1 Corinthians 13:8 · 2 Peter 1:7-8 · Matthew 22:37-40 (all KJV)
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