We rarely say it out loud, but many of us carry this quiet assumption: love must be earned. Be good enough, achieve enough, prove yourself enough—and maybe then you’ll be loved. And along with that comes its twin: love is conditional. Keep performing, keep pleasing, keep producing—or it can be withdrawn.
These lies run deep. They feel true because in so many human relationships, they are true. But they are not the truth of God’s love. Let’s press deeper together.
1. How We Come to Believe Love Is Transactional
From our earliest days, we learn patterns of exchange. Approval comes after achievement: the A on the test, the winning goal, the polite obedience. Reprimand or withdrawal comes after failure: the broken rule, the lost game, the disappointing grade.
This doesn’t mean parents, teachers, or mentors are malicious—it’s simply how many cultures have taught responsibility and maturity. But the unintended consequence is that we grow up with an inner calculus: affection follows accomplishment.
Theologically, that calculus can become disastrous. It’s easy to transfer that pattern onto God: If I do enough, He will love me. If I fail, His love is withdrawn. We’ve subtly remade God in the image of a cosmic performance coach.
2. The Story that Refuses Transaction
When Jesus wanted to talk about love, he didn’t write an essay. He told a story.
We call it The Prodigal Son, but it might better be called The Father Who Ran. A younger son has squandered everything—money, reputation, dignity. He comes home rehearsing a speech: I’ll work my way back in. I’ll prove myself. I’ll be like a hired servant. That’s transactional thinking: if I can just offer something in return, maybe I’ll be tolerated.
But before the words even leave his lips, the father does the unthinkable. He runs. He embraces. He interrupts the transaction before it starts.
Henri Nouwen once observed that the father does not demand repayment, penance, or proof of change before opening his arms. The embrace comes first; restoration flows later. Love precedes worthiness.
That’s the scandal of the story. If we were writing it, we’d probably insist the son show a little sincerity, put together a recovery plan, maybe pay back a portion of what he lost. But Jesus cuts off the transaction at the root. The robe, the ring, the feast—all are gifts, not wages.
And here’s the coffee-shop truth: we are all the younger son, carrying around speeches we hope might make us acceptable. But God’s love is not an economy. It is not a paycheck. It is not a reward for good behavior. It is a father running toward you before you’ve even had the chance to explain yourself.
Learning to sit in that embrace, and helping others to sit in it too, is the essence of spiritual direction. It’s the quiet ministry of listening, accompanying, and holding space where God’s love can be discovered and wounded souls healed. If you sense a calling to companion others in this way, the next cohort of The Compass Center’s Certificate in Spiritual Direction begins October 1.
The story doesn’t end there. For paid subscribers, I want to take us deeper: into Scripture’s chorus of unconditional love, into the magnificent mystery of the Trinity’s embrace, into how wounded souls are healed, and into how this love overflows through us to others. And as always, you’ll receive a downloadable Practice Tool to help you live this truth. Subscribe to read the rest and receive the Practice Tool
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to The Compass: Navigating the Interior Journey to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.