Leaving a Legacy of Love

From Shakespeare to Scripture: The Search for a Meaningful Life

In Shakespeare’s Macbeth, the title character achieves everything he thought he wanted—power, status, and a kingdom—yet his life spirals into despair. In the end, Macbeth laments that life is “a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” His relentless ambition, disconnected from moral grounding or love, leaves him isolated and hollow. This tragic insight captures a timeless truth: success without substance is ultimately meaningless.

Paul delivers a similar message in 1 Corinthians 13. The Corinthians, like many of us, were deeply focused on success and achievement. They even treated spiritual practices—such as prophecy, speaking in tongues, and acts of sacrifice—as accomplishments to be admired. But Paul warns them that even the most extraordinary achievements, whether they be spiritual, familial, vocational, or otherwise, are meaningless without love. He writes, “If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal” (v. 1).

Just as Macbeth’s victories ultimately led to emptiness, our greatest “successes” lose their value when love is absent.

Our cultural fixation on performance and recognition is not new. David Brooks, a journalist for The New York Times, contrasts what he calls “résumé virtues” with “eulogy virtues.” Résumé virtues focus on skills and achievements—what you list on a CV or LinkedIn profile. Eulogy virtues, by contrast, are the character traits—kindness, humility, love—that people remember about you at your funeral. While society and our own hearts often push us to pursue résumé virtues, Brooks argues that eulogy virtues are what matter most and that, when all is said and done, give our lives the most meaning. Paul’s message to the Corinthians mirrors this idea: outward success is meaningless if it isn’t grounded in the inward substance of love.

A story from the Gospels illustrates this principle powerfully. Judas Iscariot, one of Jesus’ twelve disciples, performed miracles, preached the Gospel, and outwardly appeared righteous. Yet his actions were driven by self-interest. For a few silver coins, Judas betrayed the One he claimed to follow, revealing a heart disconnected from love. Judas’ life is a cautionary tale: even outwardly good deeds are hollow when a heart led by love is absent.

Paul deepens this challenge in 1 Corinthians 13:3, stating, “If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.” Even the most dramatic sacrifices, if done for self-glorification or approval, are devoid of meaning. Like Macbeth’s pursuit of power or Judas’ feigned devotion, actions without love fail to produce lasting impact. Inasmuch as the Apostle James wrote that faith without works is dead, the reverse is also true.

The essence of love is not merely in doing but in being. To understand this, consider the difference between a lush tree that bears no fruit and one that produces abundant harvests. Outwardly, the two trees may look the same, but only the fruitful tree fulfills its purpose. Jesus uses this metaphor in John 15:5: “I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.” Like a branch disconnected from its vine, our actions lose meaning when they are not rooted in Christ’s love.

Paul’s words are not a call to abandon achievement—God created us to dream, create, build, restore and celebrate the wins wherever we can find them—but at the same time to prioritize what gives every achievement its meaning meaning. Jesus Himself demonstrated this perfectly. His life wasn’t marked by outward displays of power for personal gain but by selfless acts of love. In fact, his selfless love was His power. He moved toward the marginalized, the broken, and the rejected. His ultimate sacrifice on the cross was the purest expression of love, given freely for the sake of others.

To abide in Christ is to “catch” His love, much like we might catch a virus. The only difference is that catching a virus will make us sick, whereas catching Christ’s love will make us well. In drawing near to Him and being with Him, over time we will find ourselves becoming like Him. Theologians call this a communicable attribute of God—qualities like kindness, patience, and humility that transform us through proximity to Him. Spending time with Jesus changes us, moving our focus from performance to character and transforming how we live and love.

Humility is one such transformative aspect of love. Paul writes, “Love does not boast, it is not proud” (v. 4). This humility contrasts sharply with the arrogance that drives much of our world’s pursuit of success. Consider the difference between two leaders: one whose pride alienates others, and another whose humility draws people close. The latter leaves a legacy rooted in love, far outlasting their achievements.

Macbeth’s tragedy offers a stark warning about misplaced ambition, but Paul provides a hopeful alternative. While Macbeth’s life is defined by “sound and fury,” Paul points to the enduring nature of love: “And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love” (v. 13).

Unlike fleeting achievements, love leaves a mark that lasts into eternity.

One hymn captures the essence of this hopeful truth: “Come, ye sinners, poor and wretched, weak and wounded, sick and sore. Jesus ready stands to save you, full of pity, joined with power.” This is the heart of the Gospel—that we are loved, not because of what we achieve through our efforts and striving, but because of who Christ is in His nature. Abiding in His love frees us from scurrying for approval and allows us to live with a lightness of being, while also being tethered to truth, beauty, and meaning in all our endeavors.

Love changes how we view success and relationships. It shifts our chief focus and emphasis from résumé virtues to eulogy virtues, from doing to being. When love is our foundation, our thoughts and words and actions gain enduring significance. They are no longer “sound and fury” but a melody of grace that echoes forever.

As we reflect on Paul’s words, let us ask ourselves: What defines our lives? Are we building on the temporary applause of effort and achievement and “winning,” or are we cultivating the enduring virtues of love, kindness, and humility? Like the fruitful tree connected to its vine, we are called to abide in Christ, drawing from His love to live lives of true purpose.

In the end, our legacy will not be measured by what we accomplished but by how, whom, and the extent to which we loved. Achievements fade, but love remains. Let us live in such a way that our lives are not “full of sound and fury, signifying nothing” but rooted in the love that gives all things, including the good things we are blessed to achieve, their meaning.