1 Corinthians 13:1–13 ESV
If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. 

And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. 

If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing. 

Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant 

or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; 

it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. 

Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. 

Love never ends. As for prophecies, they will pass away; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will pass away. 

For we know in part and we prophesy in part, 

but when the perfect comes, the partial will pass away. 

When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways. 

For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known. 

So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.

When we hear this passage read—often at weddings—we picture people in tuxes and long dresses. While it’s fine to apply this text to marriage, that wasn’t Paul’s intent. The beautiful verses on love were at least partly ironic when Paul wrote them because, if you read the rest of the letter to the Corinthian church, you see they were anything but patient, kind, or humble. Paul isn’t giving them a sweet reminder; he’s admonishing them for falling short of the marks of a supernaturally changed heart. This passage isn’t about marriage; it’s about how you get and what is a supernaturally changed heart.

Most of us know how to restrain ourselves. When trouble looms, we might change our behavior out of fear of consequences. But once that pressure fades, we often revert. Without supernatural intervention, human nature is like a compressed rubber ball—under pressure, it might change shape, but it springs back once that pressure’s gone. This text addresses how easy it is to lack a truly transformed heart and warns us not to confuse behavior changes with genuine transformation.

As a church desirous to impact our community we must guard our heart against the deceitfulness of activity. Activity can draw us away from the greater work to do a great work in a less than great way. Numerical growth without deep, personal change is fruitless.

TRANSFORMED HEART: WHAT IT IS NOT

Paul illustrates the characteristics of a transformed heart by first contrasting it with what it isn’t. In verses 1–3, he lists spiritual gifts: prophecy, understanding mysteries, having faith that moves mountains.

1 Corinthians 13:1–3 ESV
If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. 

And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. 

If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing.

SPIRITUAL GIFTS /

Paul clarifies that these gifts, impressive as they are, do not indicate a truly changed heart on their own. The Corinthians were blessed with remarkable talents and gifts—they were leaders, teachers, and ambitious individuals. Yet, their character didn’t match their gifts.

Paul warns that even the most talented, successful ministry is worthless without love, without a heart transformed by God’s grace. The Corinthians’ community was marked by impatience, abrasiveness, jealousy, and pride. They were effective leaders, perhaps, and had impressive gatherings, but their character was lacking. In God’s eyes, success in ministry, if not driven by genuine love and humility, holds no eternal value.

It’s tempting to mistake talent for transformation, especially in a culture that celebrates giftedness over character. We excuse cruelty or narcissism in gifted people, consuming the fruits of their talent in business, arts, or sports. But the kingdom of God operates differently. God values the quality of our hearts over the magnitude of our gifts.
Paul encourages us to seek gifts but warns us not to mistake them for grace. Talents and ministry success should not be confused with true spiritual depth. In God’s view, if your heart remains unchanged—if it’s filled with envy, anger, or anxiety—then all your ministry accomplishments are worthless.

Paul offers a specific warning to those active in ministry—community group leaders, volunteers, staff members, and professional ministers. He cautions, “Do not think that giftedness is the same as grace in the heart.” God doesn’t value skill and talent over a heart transformed by grace. It’s easy to mistake the fruits of our gifts for evidence of God’s favor. For instance, people might praise you for leading well, for helping them understand the Bible, and you feel good about it. But if your prayer life is empty and your heart harbors pride, anxiety, or resentment, you may assume God is pleased with you—but He may not be. God can still use your talents to help others, even if your heart isn’t close to Him. Don’t confuse the operation of gifts with grace.

A supernaturally changed heart is also not equivalent to sacrificial generosity or courage, as Paul explains in verse 3.

1 Corinthians 13:3 ESV
If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing.

He mentions giving everything to the poor or even being willing to suffer persecution. Generosity and courage are virtues, and Paul absolutely believes we should live justly and testify to our faith, even at great personal cost. Yet, he says, if you do these things without love, they amount to nothing.

This is striking because Paul highlights how morality, while valuable, doesn’t necessarily indicate a supernaturally changed heart. The philosophers of Paul’s time, like Aristotle, emphasized virtues like courage and justice. Here, Paul lists virtues that, although admirable, are insufficient without love.

In verse 1,
1 Corinthians 13:1 ESV
If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.

Paul uses the metaphor of a “resounding gong or clanging cymbal” to emphasize this. Corinth was a center of pagan worship, where rituals often included loud processions with gongs and cymbals, meant to attract the gods’ attention. Paul’s point is clear: Just as these noises were empty gestures to gain divine favor, so are our virtuous acts without a true, loving heart. A supernaturally changed heart may lead to moral behavior, but morality alone doesn’t constitute a changed heart.

Paul’s words are challenging because he’s saying it’s possible to be morally upright, generous, active in church, and even willing to suffer for the faith, yet have it all amount to nothing. Why? Because without a supernaturally changed heart, it’s no different than the empty gestures of pagans using gongs and cymbals to demand the gods’ attention. This kind of “goodness” is often self-centered, an attempt to prove to God and others, “Look at me; look at what I’m doing for You. Now You have to bless me.” It’s not about loving God or neighbor—it’s about seeking self-respect and approval.

Paul goes on to show that this self-centeredness is like the character Mary in Pride and Prejudice. Outwardly, she seems the most religious and moral, always lecturing on Christian duty, yet her actions are rooted in vanity and a need to be superior. “Mary in consequence of being the only plain one in the family, worked hard for knowledge and accomplishments of which she was impatient for display. It gave her a pedantic air in a conceited manner.” In other words, her religiosity was all about her. It was a way of saying, “See, I’m special. See, I’m a good person. In fact, I’m better than you.” It’s a gong, it’s a cymbal and here’s what’s so ironic. It’s basically another form of self-centeredness. Put it like this, giving your money away, is externally, publicly very sacrificial, suffering for your faith, you know, taking it on the chin for your faith is externally, publicly sacrificial. But what Paul is saying here is that you could be like that, you could be, you might say, volitionally, behaviorally, very, very sacrificial and unselfish in your behavior, but in your heart, impatient, unkind, envious, grumpy, crabby, selfish, irascible, manipulative. And, here’s the reason why.

There exists a type of morality that, rather than eradicating self-centeredness, actually nurtures it. This form of morality drives a person to serve not for God, others, or the true needs of the poor, but for self-validation. Acts of charity, worship, and morality become performances, seeking admiration and self-worth rather than true love. Such self-focused “morality” is hollow—like a gong, producing noise but lacking substance. Those around can see the underlying anxiety, irritability, and pride in such a person, revealing a heart unchanged by genuine love.

Paul contrasts this self-centered approach with true love, which is simply, “you-first.” Love prioritizes others’ needs above self-interest, even to the point of self-sacrifice. When morality is driven by a need for approval—from God or others—it becomes about “me-first,” even if outwardly it looks sacrificial.

Take, for example, a public servant—a man or woman who’s dedicated years to public service, often at a lower salary than peers who went to prestigious universities. They’re admired for their sacrifices, yet one day, it comes to light that they’ve embezzled funds or committed adultery. How could someone so outwardly moral fall like this?

The answer lies in external morality. When acts of service are driven by the need to feel validated or respected, self-centeredness isn’t eliminated—it’s fed. As a result, a person can grow resentful, thinking, “No one understands my sacrifices.” When temptation comes—a financial shortcut, a private affair—the thought arises: “I deserve this.”
True moral change must pierce the heart of self-centeredness, not nurture it. If we seek goodness to serve ourselves, we’ll eventually justify anything in the name of self-reward.

True transformation requires putting a “stake” through self-centeredness, not building it up under the guise of morality.

This superficial morality is what Paul describes as a “house of cards”—it looks sturdy but crumbles because, without love, it’s hollow.

TRANSFORMED HEART: HOW TO GET IT

The big question, then, is how to cultivate a supernaturally changed heart. True love isn’t just about adding patience or kindness to your life—it’s about having your heart transformed. Paul personifies love in verses 4–7: “Love is patient, love is kind, love keeps no record of wrongs.” He doesn’t say, “Love includes patience.” He presents love as an a person. This is crucial: real love isn’t something you produce through willpower. It’s something you learn when someone else loves you. True love is an active force that changes you, not a passive list of virtues to emulate.

LOVE IS A

In depicting love as a person, Paul hints that only by experiencing love from another can we truly learn it ourselves. It’s a relational force, not a set of moral rules. When you grasp that, you’re closer to understanding the depth of a heart transformed by love.

Paul’s message in this passage profoundly centers on the idea that true love must be experienced as a relationship with a person, rather than simply trying to live by a checklist. Love, according to Paul, isn’t something we can create by following rules or practicing virtues; it must come from being loved first. When love is genuinely experienced in a way that meets our deepest needs, it transforms us and fills us, enabling us to move out into the world with love rather than a need for approval or validation.

This concept is illustrated by the example of infants in orphanages who suffer when they lack constant human affection. Love, to be fully transformative, must be relational, just as babies need constant holding and affection to thrive. Without experiencing love in this personal, all-encompassing way, even our good deeds often end up being self-serving, efforts to feel valuable or earn respect. Paul suggests that for love to truly change us, it must come from someone who loves us with an unfailing, persevering, all-protective love.

The problem, though, is that human relationships—whether with parents, spouses, or even children—can’t provide this unfailing love. People, even with the best intentions, are limited, flawed, and mortal.
Paul’s description of love in 1 Corinthians 13 reflects a person—Jesus. When he writes, “Love is patient,” he uses the Greek makrothumei, meaning “long-suffering.” How could Paul write this without picturing Christ, who, in His suffering, cried, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Love doesn’t keep a record of wrongs, echoing Jesus on the cross saying, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

Paul says love always hopes, and we see this when Jesus reassured the thief on the cross: “Today you will be with me in paradise.” Unlike any human love that falters at death, Jesus’ love doesn’t fail. Even as His friends betrayed, denied, and abandoned Him, He endured the cross, unmoved by the mockery, staying until He could say, “It is finished.” In this act, He saved us, paying our debt—His love truly never fails.
Paul implies that when we encounter this kind of love in Jesus—a love that “never fails”—it humbles us, filling our deep need for acceptance and security. This experience of being loved with such a profound, sacrificial love is what transforms our hearts, gradually rooting out our self-centeredness and freeing us to love others not from a place of emptiness, but from fullness.

Christian friends, let’s not confuse gifts with grace. Remember, all of us have only partly changed hearts—none of us are as transformed as we might think. So, test yourself: ask those who know you best, “Am I becoming more patient? Kinder? Less envious or anxious than I was two years ago?” If your heart is truly changing supernaturally, you’ll see growth, even if gradual. But if you’re stalled, don’t settle—seek a heart truly renewed by God’s love.

And to those exploring Christianity, it’s not merely about becoming a better person. It’s about encountering the One whose love transforms, leading to a new birth and a deeply changed heart.