Some truths are easy to say and hard to feel. "God loves you" is one of them. We can recite it, preach it and sing it, yet still live as if God's love were a prize for good behaviour. Stories reach the places that arguments cannot, and that is why preachers and teachers keep coming back to them.
Below are seven of the best stories about the love of God, retold in our own words. Some are true events, one is an old Jewish teaching, and one is a modern parable. Where a popular story cannot be confirmed, we say so. Each ends with a short takeaway you can use in a sermon, a small group or your own reflection.
Stories in this collection:
- Jesus Loves Me: The Greatest Insight of a Great Theologian
- "You're the Son of God": The Boy Who Became Governor
- "You're Not Forgotten": The Rescue at Cabanatuan
- A Father on the Track: Derek Redmond at Barcelona 1992
- Why God Wept at the Red Sea
- Held in a Father's Arms: A Story Told About Chuck Swindoll
- Welcome Home: A Modern Prodigal Daughter
Jesus Loves Me: The Greatest Insight of a Great Theologian
One of the best-known children's songs in the world is "Jesus Loves Me". Generations of children have learned its simple opening lines: Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so; little ones to him belong; they are weak, but he is strong.
The song began life in a novel. Anna Bartlett Warner wrote the words in 1860 for Say and Seal, a book she co-wrote with her sister Susan. In the story, a little boy named Johnny is sick and dying. His Sunday school teacher, John Linden, rocks him in his arms, and when the boy asks for a song, Linden sings him the verses that would later become the famous hymn.
Yet the depth of that simple song reaches far beyond childhood faith. A century later, the Swiss theologian Karl Barth was among the most influential Christian thinkers in the world. He had a brilliant mind, and his Church Dogmatics runs to millions of words exploring faith, theology and culture.
A story told in countless sermons says that during his 1962 visit to the United States, after a lecture in Chicago, Barth was asked to name the greatest theological discovery of his life. The room fell silent. Everyone waited for a long and complicated answer.
Barth is said to have paused, smiled, and answered with the words of the children's song: Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.
The exact wording and setting of the exchange are hard to pin down, and versions differ. But the story has lasted because it rings true. The deepest mind and the smallest child stand on the same ground.
Takeaway: God's love is not an advanced doctrine reserved for experts. It is the foundation that everything else is built on, and nobody ever outgrows it.
Source: Anecdote widely reported in sermons; hymn history from the 1860 novel Say and Seal by Susan and Anna Warner.
"You're the Son of God": The Boy Who Became Governor
The preacher and teacher Fred Craddock loved to tell this story. He and his wife were on holiday in the hills of Tennessee, and one evening they were trying to enjoy a quiet dinner in a restaurant. An elderly man stopped at their table to chat. He asked how they were, where they were from and whether they were enjoying their holiday.
When the old man asked Craddock what he did for a living, Craddock saw his chance to bring the conversation to a close. He said he was a preacher. It had the opposite effect. The old man's face lit up. A preacher? he said. Then let me tell you about a preacher. And he pulled up a chair and sat down.
As the old man talked, Craddock's annoyance turned into deep humility. The man explained that he had been born to a mother who was not married, and he had grown up never knowing who his father was. In a small town in the early twentieth century, that carried a heavy shame. People whispered about him, children taunted him, and he felt every sideways look.
When a new minister came to the local church, the boy, who had never gone to church, decided to slip in one Sunday and listen. The preacher was good, so he went back the next week, and the next. Soon he was there almost every Sunday. But his shame came with him. He always arrived late and left early, so that no one would have the chance to ask him whose son he was.
One Sunday, though, he was so caught up in the sermon that he forgot to leave. Before he knew it the service was over and the aisles were filling with people. He tried to push his way out to the door, but as he did, he felt a heavy hand land on his shoulder. He turned and saw the preacher, a tall, big man, looking down at him.
Whose boy are you? the preacher asked. The boy's heart sank. It was the very question he had spent years avoiding. But before he could say a word, the preacher answered his own question. Wait, I know who you are, he said. I can see the family resemblance. You're a child of God. Then he added that the boy had quite an inheritance, and that he should go and claim it.
The old man at Craddock's table said that those words had changed his life. Then he got up and left.
Afterwards the waitress came over and asked the Craddocks whether they knew who that was. They did not. It was Ben Hooper, she told them, who had grown up to serve two terms as governor of Tennessee.
Takeaway: Before the world tells us who we are, God has already named us as his own. One sentence of grace from someone who believed that changed a whole life.
Source: As told by Fred Craddock in his sermons; Ben W. Hooper was governor of Tennessee from 1911 to 1915.
"You're Not Forgotten": The Rescue at Cabanatuan
When American forces withdrew from the Philippines early in the Second World War, thousands of soldiers were left behind and became prisoners of the Japanese. Many endured the Bataan Death March, a forced march of roughly 60 to 70 miles in which those who were weak or slow were often beaten or killed, and many others died of disease, exhaustion and lack of water.
The survivors spent about three years in brutal prison camps. By early 1945, some 500 prisoners were still alive at the camp at Cabanatuan. They called themselves "ghosts", men unseen and, they feared, forgotten by their own country.
By then American forces were returning to the Philippines, but the prisoners had heard terrifying rumours: that as the Japanese retreated, prisoners were being killed rather than allowed to be freed. Hope was wearing thin.
Then came one of the most remarkable rescues of the war. On 30 January 1945, a small force of US Army Rangers and Alamo Scouts, supported by Filipino guerrillas, slipped through enemy-held territory, attacked the camp and led the prisoners out to safety, despite the presence of much larger Japanese forces in the area. You can read the full account in the history of the Raid at Cabanatuan.
One of the rescuers, Alvie Robbins, later remembered finding a prisoner crouched in a darkened corner of a barracks, muttering to himself with tears running down his face. I thought we'd been forgotten, the man said.
Robbins answered softly. No, you're not forgotten, he told him. You're heroes. We've come for you.
Often in life we can begin to lose hope, and feel that God has forgotten us and left us alone in dark and painful places. But the cross of Christ tells us otherwise, and the resurrection assures us that one day we too will see our Rescuer face to face.
Takeaway: When life makes us feel abandoned, the cross answers, "You are not forgotten." The resurrection promises that one day our Rescuer will come and say, "I've come for you."
Source: Hampton Sides, Ghost Soldiers (Doubleday, 2001).
A Father on the Track: Derek Redmond at Barcelona 1992
British runner Derek Redmond arrived at the 1992 Barcelona Olympics determined to make up for years of injuries. In the semi-final of the 400 metres he started well. Then, along the back straight, his hamstring tore and he went down in agony.
Medical staff came running, but Redmond waved them off. He had come to finish the race. He pulled himself up and began to hop and limp towards the line while the rest of the field finished.
Then a man pushed through security and ran onto the track. It was his father, Jim Redmond. He put his arm around his son and told him he didn't have to do this. Derek said he did. "Then we're going to finish this together," his father replied.
Leaning on his father's shoulder, sobbing, Derek crossed the finish line with the whole stadium on its feet. He never won a medal that night, but the picture of a father carrying his broken son became one of the most famous images in Olympic history.
Takeaway: God does not watch our struggle from the stands. Like Jim Redmond, he comes onto the track, takes our weight and finishes the race with us.
Source: 1992 Summer Olympics, men's 400 metres semi-final.
Why God Wept at the Red Sea
The crossing of the Red Sea is one of the great rescue stories of the Bible. Israel is trapped, with the sea in front of them and Pharaoh's army behind. Moses stretches out his hand, the waters part, and the people walk through on dry ground. Then, as the Egyptian chariots pursue them, the sea closes over the army. A people of slaves is finally free from its oppressors, and Miriam leads the women in a song of victory.
It is a dramatic story in which justice triumphs over oppression, and it is easy to imagine the celebrations on the far shore.
But what was happening in heaven? An ancient Jewish teaching, recorded in the Talmud (Sanhedrin 39b), imagines the scene. The angels want to join in the celebration and sing. But God stops them: the works of my hands are drowning in the sea, and you would sing?
Later retellings, often attributed to Hasidic storytellers, soften it into a picture of angels dancing for joy until one of them notices that God is not there. Where is God? he asks the archangel Michael. Michael tells him that God is off by himself, weeping, because so many thousands of his children drowned that day.
Takeaway: God's love is wider than our side of the story. Even when justice is done, God grieves over every person lost.
Source: Babylonian Talmud, Sanhedrin 39b; retold in many Jewish and Christian sermons.
Held in a Father's Arms: A Story Told About Chuck Swindoll
This story is widely told about the American pastor Chuck Swindoll. We have not been able to confirm it from his own writings, and some details do not appear to match published accounts of his family life, so it may have become attached to the wrong person. We share it as an illustration, not as a verified biography.
According to the story, a well-known preacher was speaking at a large conference for pastors. By any measure it was a success. People were engaged and moved, and they begged him to keep speaking. But when he was alone in his room at the end of each day, he felt an emptiness and frustration he could not explain.
Sensing that God wanted to do something in his life, he called four trusted friends. He asked them to listen to his life story and tell him whether anything stood out to them. So the friends gathered with him, and, beginning with his earliest memories, he poured out the whole story of his life.
When he had finished, one of the friends asked him a few questions. Then he asked him to put his head down on the table and close his eyes.
Now, the friend said, imagine that your father is holding you in his arms. What do you feel?
Almost at once the preacher began to cry. For thirty minutes he wept. In the story, his father had died when he was only a baby. As he closed his eyes and imagined being held, what he felt was pure, unconditional love.
He also realised something that day. He had preached many times about God's great love, but he had never truly made it personal. With his head on that table, he felt for the first time that God loved him, that his heavenly Father loved him deeply, richly and without conditions.
By his own testimony in the story, he was never the same again.
Takeaway: It is possible to preach God's love for years and never feel it. God invites each of us to rest in his arms as his beloved child. "See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God!" (1 John 3:1).
Source: Popular sermon illustration attributed to Chuck Swindoll; unverified.
Welcome Home: A Modern Prodigal Daughter
This is a fictional story, a modern retelling of Jesus' parable of the prodigal son. Preachers can adapt the places to their own setting. It deals with addiction and the streets, but we have told it without graphic detail.
Jenny grew up in an ordinary suburb of Newcastle, in New South Wales. In her early teens she fell into a pattern of long-running battles with her parents. They did not react well when she came home with a nose ring. They were furious when she stayed out all night without a phone call to tell them where she was. Her friends were not exactly the ones her parents would have chosen.
One night there was a huge fight. Jenny screamed at her father that she hated him and slammed her bedroom door. That night she acted on a plan that had been forming for some time. When everyone was asleep, she got dressed, packed a bag and crept into the kitchen. She went through her parents' wallets and took their cash, their bank cards and their savings book.
She caught the train to Sydney and waited outside the bank so she could be the first through the doors. She forged her mother's signature and withdrew the savings her parents had been putting aside. Then she took a taxi to the airport and used her father's card to buy a ticket to Melbourne. She figured it was the last place they would look for her.
At first life in Melbourne felt like freedom. There were new friends, parties, late nights, no school and no parents nagging her about anything. But it did not take long for the money to run out and for the cards to be cancelled.
Back home, her parents were frantic. Her mother took a night job stacking supermarket shelves to pay off the credit card debt, and the money that had been set aside for her sister's university studies was gone. The police were notified and the streets were searched, first in Newcastle and then in Sydney. Her parents had no idea what had happened to her, and they feared the worst.
Meanwhile, Jenny's life was falling apart. She became addicted to heroin, moved into a squat with other young people living rough, and to pay for her habit she ended up selling her body on the streets.
One day as she walked down the street, she saw a poster taped to a telegraph pole. Across the top were the words "Have you seen this girl?" Below them was her photo, the way she used to look, and her parents' phone number, asking anyone with information to call. Jenny tore the poster down, folded it up and put it in her pocket.
Months passed, and then years. Eventually she fell ill. At first she put it down to another bout of flu, but it did not go away. At a free clinic she learned that she had contracted hepatitis C and HIV. Even the people who had used her no longer wanted anything to do with her.
Sitting alone, tired and hungry in the squat, she took out the poster she had kept all those years and looked at it. It brought back memories of her old life as an ordinary schoolgirl: a famous family water fight one hot summer's day when she was twelve, crazy moments dancing around the kitchen, her sister's arms around her when her first boyfriend broke up with her. Why did I ever leave? she asked herself. Even the family dog lives better than I do. She was sobbing now, and she knew that more than anything, she wanted to go home.
She rang home three times and each time reached the answering machine. The first two times she hung up without speaking. The third time she left a message. Mum, Dad, it's me, she said. I was wondering about maybe coming home. I'm catching the train up to Newcastle. I'll be at the station about midnight tomorrow. If you're not there, I guess I'll just stay on the train.
All the next day on the train, she thought of every flaw in her plan. What if they were away and never got the message? What if they heard it and didn't want her back? It had been ten years without a word. How would they react when they found out what she had become, and that she was sick? And if they did come, what on earth would she say?
The train pulled into Newcastle just after midnight. She heard the hiss of the brakes, and her heart began to pound. This is it, she thought. Get ready for nothing.
She stepped onto the platform, not knowing what to expect. To her right the platform was empty. But before she could turn to look the other way, she heard someone call her name. She spun round. There were her mother and father, her sister, her aunts and uncles, her cousins and her grandmother. They were holding a banner that said WELCOME HOME. Everyone was wearing silly party hats, throwing streamers and setting off party poppers. Her parents were running towards her with tears streaming down their faces and their arms wide open.
Jenny could not move. Her parents threw their arms around her so hard they almost knocked her over. Dad, I'm so sorry, she began. I know...
Hush, her father said. Forget the apologies. All we care about is that you're home. I just want to hold you. Come on, everyone's waiting; we've got a party ready at home. And Jenny found herself surrounded by a sea of family and love that she had not known for more than ten years.
The story is fiction, but the welcome is not. Jesus told the original parable to show what God is like: a Father who has been watching the road all along, who runs to meet his returning child, cuts short the rehearsed apology, and throws a party, not because the child has earned it, but simply because the one who was lost has come home.
Takeaway: Jesus told the prodigal story so we would never doubt it: the Father is watching the road, and he runs to meet us long before our apology is finished.
Source: Fictional modern retelling of Luke 15:11-32, adapted from a widely circulated sermon illustration.
Final thoughts
A theologian's simple answer, a boy given a new name, prisoners who heard "you're not forgotten", a father on an Olympic track, God grieving at the Red Sea, a preacher held in his Father's arms and a family waiting on a platform at midnight. Each story shows a different side of the same truth: God's love is not earned, it does not run out, and it comes looking for us.
If one of these stories moved you, read it aloud to someone this week. Stories about the love of God are meant to be passed on.
These stories are retold in our own words for teaching and reflection. Sources are credited under each story.
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