Charles Darwin was married to his wife Emma for 43 years.  She was his first cousin, and the granddaughter of the famous potter Josiah Wedgewood.  The two had ten children.  Emma was a pious and observant Christian, and Darwin was carefully respectful of her faith.  For the duration of their marriage, the two were in the habit of playing backgammon every night.  Charles kept a running tabulation of their respective wins and losses.  When she died, he had won 2,795 games to her 2,490.*  I wonder if he mentioned the final tally at his Emma’s funeral?

            I’ve known people who were that competitive, you surely have too.  These kind of folks push a very dark button in me, I regret to say.  Years ago at a church camp in Ohio we had a counsellor, a grown man who insisted that staff got to play in the sports activities of the 7 to 9 year olds at camp that week.  I thought this was pathetic, and when I had the chance, during a kickball game I hit him in the feet with the ball as hard as I could during an attempted steal of home.  He would have wiped out the eight year old girl at home if she failed to get out of the way – which was about to happen since she was paralyzed with fear at this hulking man in his 40’s barreling at her.  I caused him to tumble end over end and sprain his ankle so severely he couldn’t ruin anyone’s game for the rest of the week.  It was delicious, and is still, even in memory (that is a sinful impulse, I know).  Winning is better than losing, but having fun is better than winning.  So long as you haven’t let your team down, you can lose and still have fun.  If you let your team down even winning isn’t fun.  But the worst is someone who, win or lose, ruins the game for everyone else involved, because he treats every badminton game or corn-hole match like he’s competing for a UFC title.

            That person is, thankfully, rarely met.  But I am sure more of us are guilty of another kind of wild competitiveness - an obsession with scorekeeping more intense than Charles Darwin’s backgammon tabulation, or the dads who know who’s ahead at t-ball.

            Love keeps no record of wrongs. I Corinthians 13.5

            Love doesn’t but we do.  Do any of us have a loving relationship with anyone over the age of 5 without keeping score?  We tabulate hurtful words, forgotten communications, broken promises, withheld affection, withheld attention, selfish choices, thoughtless remarks and every snub.  We know who is ahead, and who is behind, and we are certain we maintain the moral high ground.

            Love keeps no record of wrongs. I Corinthians 13.5

            What does Paul mean by that?  Does he mean that we should be like Charlie Brown and try to kick the football, even though we know that Lucy will pull it away just like she always does?  I don’t think so.  Remembering a pattern of behavior and making a prudent choice in response is just wisdom, isn’t it?  Isn’t there a difference between acting wisely and acting vengefully?  He doesn’t mean that we should just make ourselves vulnerable to someone like they’ve never hurt us before.  He can’t mean that can he?

            Maybe he does.  Jesus was wholly unguarded.  Maybe that is just how love is.  Maybe that is just how love demonstrates its superior strength.  Maybe love, unlike Charles Darwin, and t-ball dads, just refuses to keep score.

*“Darwin Debates Himself,” Christian History, issue 107, p.1