Why “Love God, Love People” Isn’t Enough

The feel-good phrase that might be holding your faith back.

You’ve heard it. You’ve probably said it.

“I just try to love God and love people.” It sounds humble. It sounds Holy. Like you’ve distilled Christianity down to its purest essence. All the theology stripped away…leaving just the core. And maybe you have.

But here’s something that might sting a little: Sometimes that phrase… well-meaning as it sounds… isn’t a summary of faith. It’s an escape hatch from it.

I’ve been there too.

Several years ago, I was pastoring a church where uncomfortable questions started bubbling up. Questions about race and systemic injustice. About women in leadership. About how we treat LGBTQ+ people. People were waking up to the gap between what they’d been taught and what they were starting to sense God might actually be like. It was messy. It was uncomfortable. And frankly, it was beautiful.

Then one Sunday, after a sermon I preached on loving our enemies, someone cornered me in the lobby. They said, “I don’t know why we have to complicate everything,” with a smirk. “I just love God and love people. That’s it.” She meant it kindly. But the subtext was crystal clear: Let’s not go any deeper. Let’s not ask harder questions. Let’s just stay here in the shallow end where it’s safe.

At the time, I nodded and probably mumbled something agreeable (I wouldn’t do that anymore). But later that week, her words kept gnawing at me. Our church was loving God, we were loving people…but when I called us to put that love into practice it challenged the tidy way she had preferred to love. And that didn’t sit well with me.

The sentiment is beautiful.

The execution? Well, that’s where things get tricky.

Jesus absolutely said the greatest commandments are to love God and love your neighbor (Matthew 22). That’s the foundation. The non-negotiable. The thing everything else hangs on. But when we use that phrase to sidestep wrestling with what that love actually looks like in real life? When it becomes our spiritual get-out-of-jail-free card? That’s when I begin to have a problem.

It becomes the Christian equivalent of “thoughts and prayers”… it sounds deeply spiritual, it even feels holy, but doesn’t actually require us to do much.

And here’s the kicker: It keeps us from growing. Here’s what I mean…

Four ways “Love God, Love People” becomes spiritual avoidance:

1. It ends conversations instead of starting them

Rather than leaning into complexity, it becomes a conversation-killer. “I just love.” Period. Full stop. No curiosity about what that might mean. No tolerance for nuance. No room for the discomfort that comes with growth.

2. It dodges accountability

When someone points out that your theology might be hurting people? When they suggest your silence might be complicit in injustice? “I’m just trying to love” becomes a convenient escape route. It sounds humble, but it’s actually a way to avoid reckoning.

3. It ignores what biblical love actually looks like

Jesus didn’t define love as warm fuzzy feelings or good intentions. He defined it as laying down your life. As feeding the hungry and welcoming outcasts. As overturning tables when religion becomes a barrier instead of a bridge.

4. It gets weaponized against justice

Here’s the ironic twist: This phrase often gets thrown at people who are advocating for a fuller, more inclusive gospel. “You’re being divisive. Why can’t we just love?” As if love and justice were enemies instead of dance partners.

Jesus never left love undefined.

Remember that conversation in Luke 10? A lawyer comes to Jesus with a test question: “What must I do to inherit eternal life?”

Jesus, being Jesus, flips it back: “What does the law say?”

The man nails it: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, strength, and mind, and love your neighbor as yourself.”

“Bingo,” Jesus says. “Do that and you’ll live.”

But then… and this is crucial… the man asks a follow-up: “And who is my neighbor?”

He’s not asking for clarity. He’s asking for limits. He wants to know where his love gets to stop.

That’s when Jesus tells the story of the Good Samaritan. You know the one… where the priest and the Levite (the religious professionals) step over the broken man in the street, and the despised outsider becomes the model of compassion. The hero.

Translation: If your love has convenient boundaries… if it avoids the people you’ve been taught to fear or exclude… it’s not actually love.

So what does better look like?

Instead of using “I just try to love God and love others” as a period, what if we used it as a question mark?

• What does love look like when it costs me something?

• What does love look like when there’s a power imbalance?

• What does love look like when it might hurt my reputation?

• What does love look like when I have to admit I’ve been wrong?

Because biblical love isn’t the soft, sanitized version we sometimes imagine. It’s not passive. It’s not always comfortable. It’s active. It’s sacrificial. And yeah, it’s often really messy.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer warned us, “Cheap grace is the grace we bestow on ourselves.” There’s such a thing as cheap love too… when we reduce it to platitudes instead of practicing it with our actual lives.

The reframe

Here’s what I’m learning: Maybe we’ve spent too much energy trying to make faith simple. But Jesus never asked us to simplify everything. He asked us to follow him. And following means learning. Listening. Repenting when we get it wrong. Stretching into uncomfortable growth.

So yes… love God. Love others. But do it like Jesus did.

Let it cost you something. Let it change you. Let it call you into a bigger, braver version of faith. Because when “love God, love people” stops being a conversation-ender and starts being a conversation-starter, everything changes. When it becomes a filter instead of a fallback, we might just discover that love is bigger, wilder, and more demanding than we ever imagined.

What’s your experience with this phrase? Have you seen it used as genuine spiritual guidance, or as a way to avoid harder questions? I’d love to hear your thoughts.

P.S. If this post challenged you, you’re not alone. These are the kinds of conversations we need more of…honest, uncomfortable, and rooted in something deeper than slogans.

Every Friday, I share a video just for paid subscribers where we peel back the layers of faith, theology, and spiritual formation. It’s raw, unfiltered, and often the place where I say the things I’m still wrestling with.

If you’re ready to move beyond feel-good faith and into something more real, I’d love to have you with us.

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