Not temperature-wise—but relationally. Emotionally. Spiritually.
Not just in others...it is also in me. I too laugh at the jokes that are increasingly more jaded. I too lean into to creature comforts that satisfy me first without regard to others.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m just misremembering the “good ole days” that maybe weren’t all that good. But I do remember people loving differently—fervently, even. It felt like there was more honor back then.
Coaches were revered. Pastors were admired. Teachers were respected. I remember people telling stories of gratitude, tearing up over how a mentor changed their life, writing letters of thanks, standing to applaud someone’s influence.
Now? Not so much.
These days, I hear more mocking than memory. Critique comes faster than gratitude. It’s easy to tear someone down with a tweet or meme, but rare to hear someone rise to speak a heartfelt word of honor. We’re suspicious of sincerity. Everything’s ironic. And I have to wonder—has our love grown cold?
Then I remember Jesus warned us about this.
“Because lawlessness will be increased, the love of many will grow cold.” – Matthew 24:12
He said it in the context of the last days, when deception and disorder would rise like a tide. The word Jesus used for love here was agape—that selfless, sacrificial kind of love. And He didn’t say it would disappear altogether. But it would grow cold. Chilled. Numbed. Faded.
That sounds about right.
When lawlessness increases—not just in the streets, but in hearts, homes, churches—we lose something sacred. We lose trust. We lose reverence. We lose patience with one another. And that old-fashioned kind of love that’s rooted in humility and honor? It gets buried in sarcasm and suspicion.
The apostle Paul painted a picture of this cultural cold front in 2 Timothy 3:
“In the last days there will come times of difficulty. For people will be lovers of self, lovers of money… proud, arrogant… disobedient to parents, ungrateful, unholy… slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not loving good… lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God…”
— 2 Timothy 3:1–4
It's not hard to read that and think of things we've all seen, maybe even felt. Gratitude is harder to find. Humility looks weak. Correction is seen as abuse, and authority is treated like a punchline. It’s no wonder love struggles to survive in that climate.
But here's the thing: it can be rekindled.
There’s still a choice—to be the one who remembers. We can be the one who thanks the old coach, or tells a teacher what their words meant, or sits with a pastor and says, “You helped me.” That kind of warmth still matters. It still counters the cold.
Jesus told the church in Ephesus something sobering in Revelation 2:
“I know your works, your toil and your patient endurance... But I have this against you, that you have abandoned the love you had at first.”
— Revelation 2:2,4
They were busy. They were doctrinally sound. But their love had faded. That hits close to home. It’s easy to let love slip while staying “active.” But without love, the fire dims. And Jesus calls them—and us—back: “Do the works you did at first.”
So maybe it starts there. Small acts of recovered honor.
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Tell a story that lifts someone up instead of tearing someone down.
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Write the thank-you text that’s overdue.
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Teach your kids to honor their elders—not because elders are perfect, but because honoring is good for them.
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Resist the temptation to join in the mockery, the sarcasm, the icy humor that chips away at love.
I don’t want to be part of the “many” Jesus said would grow cold. I want to be part of the few who keep the fire—who still believe in honor, who still give thanks, who still love in the old ways that never really go out of style.
It may feel colder out there. But we can still build a fire in here.
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