Midweek Musing 6/3/2026

Recently I rewatched the movie CODA.

If you have not seen it, the title stands for “Child of Deaf Adults.” The film follows Ruby Rossi, the only hearing member of a close-knit deaf family. Ruby spends much of her life helping her parents and brother navigate a world that often is not built with them in mind. She interprets conversations, assists with the family fishing business, and serves as a bridge between two different worlds.

At the same time, Ruby discovers she has a remarkable gift for singing and is given an opportunity to pursue her dreams. What follows is a beautiful story about family, sacrifice, belonging, frustration, misunderstanding, and the complicated reality of loving people deeply while also finding your own path.

The film is funny. It is touching. It occasionally breaks your heart. And like many good stories, it leaves you thinking long after the credits roll.

As I reflected on the movie, I found myself returning to one particular scene.

Ruby’s audition piece is Joni Mitchell’s “Both Sides, Now.” During the film, she sings the song for her family. Yet there is an obvious challenge. Her parents and brother are deaf. They cannot hear the melody. They cannot hear the nuance of her voice. They cannot hear the lyrics that have moved listeners for generations.

And yet they understand exactly what she is trying to communicate.

In one of the film’s most moving moments, Ruby signs the lyrics as she sings. What began as a song becomes something more. It becomes connection. It becomes relationship. It becomes presence. It becomes love.

The scene is made even more powerful by the song itself.

Near the song’s conclusion, Joni Mitchell sings of looking at love from both sides and still somehow not really knowing love at all.

I have always appreciated the honesty of that confession.

Because really, can love be defined?

Is it a feeling?

A choice?

A sacrifice?

A commitment?

A chemical reaction?

A divine gift?

The more we try to pin it down, the more elusive it becomes.

And yet…we know love when we see it.

Like when Ruby signs the lyrics of a song to her family.

Or when her father places his hands on her throat so he can feel her singing.

Or when a friend stays with us at the hospital all night.

When someone sits quietly beside a grieving neighbor.

Or when a teacher refuses to give up on a struggling student.

When someone chooses compassion, when indifference would be easier.

We know love when we see it.

That may be one of the strange and holy things about love. We may not be able to define it in a way that satisfies every philosopher, poet, psychologist, or theologian, but we recognize it when it takes on flesh in front of us.

We recognize love when it becomes action.

And that leads me to Scripture.

Jesus says in John’s Gospel, “Love one another as I have loved you.”

What is fascinating to me is that Jesus does not spend much time defining love.

He does not pause and say, “Now before you love one another, let me give you a perfectly worded doctrinal statement about what love is.”

Instead, Jesus shows them.

He touches lepers.

He feeds hungry crowds.

He welcomes children.

He forgives sinners.

He eats with outsiders.

He restores those who have been cast aside.

He washes feet.

He carries a cross.

Again and again, Jesus reveals that love is not primarily an idea to be understood but a life to be lived.

This does not mean love is thoughtless or sentimental. It does not mean love is only a warm feeling or a vague sense of kindness. Love, as Jesus shows it, is deeply concrete. It has hands. It has feet. It has a towel and basin. It has bread for the hungry, mercy for the broken, room for the outsider, and grace for the one everyone else has already given up on.

That is why God’s call to love is ultimately a call to action.

When Jesus tells us to love our neighbors, he is not assigning us a theological essay. He is inviting us into a way of life.

A life where kindness becomes visible.

A life where compassion takes tangible form.

A life where grace is extended, mercy is offered, and people are valued not because they have earned it, but because they are beloved children of God.

The truth is most people will never read a theology book.

Most people will never attend seminary.

Most people will never spend hours debating doctrine.

But they will encounter us.

And through us, they may encounter something of the love of God.

That is both a gift and a responsibility.

Because the world does not need more people who can merely talk about love while practicing cruelty, exclusion, contempt, or indifference. The world does not need more religious language disconnected from mercy. The world does not need more people defining love with their words while denying it with their actions.

The world needs people willing to make love visible.

The older I get, the more I think Joni Mitchell may have been right.

If someone asked me to define love perfectly, I would probably stumble through a series of incomplete answers. I might talk about grace. I might talk about commitment. I might talk about sacrifice. I might use too much theological jargon and still not quite get there.

But if someone asked me whether I have seen love, that is another matter entirely.

I have seen it in classrooms.

I have seen it in hospital rooms.

I have seen it in church pews and around family dinner tables.

I have seen it in people who chose forgiveness when resentment seemed justified.

I have seen it in people who stayed when leaving would have been easier.

I have seen it in parents who would do anything for their children and in children who lovingly care for aging parents.

I have seen it in saints whose names may never be widely known, but whose lives have quietly preached the Gospel more clearly than any sermon ever could.

And most of all, I have seen it in Jesus.

Maybe that is enough.

Maybe we do not have to define love perfectly before we practice it faithfully.

Maybe our calling is simply to make love visible.

To live it so clearly, so generously, and so consistently that others recognize it when they encounter us.

Just as Ruby’s family could not hear every note of the song but still experienced the love behind it, may those we meet experience something of God’s love through us.

Even if none of us can fully explain it.

Even if, somehow, we still do not know love at all.