24 Sermon Illustrations on Love
- Darrell Stetler II
- Jul 18, 2025
- 21 min read
Updated: Aug 8, 2025
If you've preached for more than a few Sundays, you already know: preaching on love is both essential and challenging. It's the heartbeat of the gospel—yet so easily dismissed as cliché or overused. People tune it out. They’ve heard it a thousand times.
That’s why illustrations matter. A well-chosen story, metaphor, or image can crack open a hardened heart. It can help people feel what love really is—not just think about it.
I’ve been preaching for over 20 years, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: finding fresh, powerful, and theologically sound illustrations on love is harder than it looks. You want to avoid tired clichés. You want stories that are emotionally honest, biblically faithful, and culturally relevant.
That’s exactly why I created a course to help pastors do just that:“How Pastors Can Use AI for Sermon Prep—Without Selling Out or Cheating.”It includes tools to generate 30 fresh illustrations in 30 seconds—and powerful visuals to match.
In this post, I’m sharing some of my favorite illustrations on love—from history, science, Scripture, and more. These aren’t filler. These are heart-openers. Sermon-sharpeners.
If you want a free AI research assistant to help you locate illustrations on ANY topic, check out this course:
Here's a video walkthrough of me showing you exactly how it works to generate 30 illustrations in 30 seconds:
Let's dive in:
Illustrations on Love from History
Maximilian Kolbe's Sacrifice
In the midst of one of the darkest places in history—Auschwitz, the Nazi death camp—there lived a flicker of divine love. His name was Maximilian Kolbe. He was a Polish Catholic priest, imprisoned for sheltering Jews and standing against the Nazis. But what made him unforgettable wasn’t just that he suffered in that place—it was how he responded to suffering. One day, a prisoner escaped. And as punishment, the guards selected ten random men to be starved to death. One of the chosen men cried out, “My wife! My children!”
And that's when Kolbe stepped forward. He wasn’t called. He wasn’t chosen. He volunteered. He said, “I am a Catholic priest. Let me take his place. I am old. He has a wife and children.”
Amazingly, the guards agreed. Kolbe was thrown into a starvation cell with the others. And for two weeks, instead of screaming or despair, the guards heard singing, prayers, hymns. Kolbe led the men as they died, one by one. He was the last to survive, and eventually was killed by lethal injection. The man he saved—Franciszek Gajowniczek—lived. He returned home. He was reunited with his wife and children. And for the rest of his life, he told people about the man who died in his place.
You can’t hear that story without thinking of Christ. Jesus saw us condemned—not by random chance, but by our own sin. And yet, He stepped forward and said, “Let me take their place.” On the cross, He absorbed the punishment that was meant for us. He volunteered—not just to die, but to love us even in our rebellion.
Romans 5:8 says, “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” That’s not a conditional love. That’s not a calculated love. That is unconditional, sacrificial, divine love. And just like Gajowniczek, we live because someone else chose to die.
(Source: BBC)
The Story of Father Damien
Sometimes, love doesn’t look like fireworks or dramatic rescues. Sometimes, love simply moves in. In the 1800s, there was a remote Hawaiian island called Molokai, used as a leper colony. It was a place of isolation, despair, and death. Those sent there were considered untouchable, rejected by society—and frankly, forgotten.
But there was one man who refused to forget. His name was Father Damien. He was a Catholic priest from Belgium. And when he heard about Molokai, he didn’t just send prayers or resources. He volunteered to go. He sailed to the island, knowing full well that leprosy was contagious and often fatal.
He didn’t wear gloves. He didn’t keep his distance. He lived among the people. He embraced them, built homes, dug graves, bandaged wounds, held dying hands. And eventually, he caught leprosy himself. He became what they were—not by accident, but by love. Before he died, he would begin his sermons with a simple, devastating phrase: “We lepers...” He no longer said “you.” He said “we."
That is what Jesus did for us. He didn’t save us from a distance. He moved in. John 1:14 says, “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” He didn’t stay in heaven and shout instructions. He came to where we are. He lived in our brokenness. He touched the untouchable. He bore our disease—our sin. And like Father Damien, He died not just beside us... but as one of us.
That’s unconditional love. It’s not afraid to get close. It’s not afraid to suffer. It’s a love that says, “We.” A love that became one of us so that we could be one with Him.
(Source: National Park Service Profile)
Illustrations on Love from Science
A Newborn and Mother
Have you ever watched a mother with her newborn? There's something sacred in that connection. Even before a baby understands language, before it can return affection or say “thank you,” a mother pours out care—waking at all hours, feeding, holding, soothing. And science has discovered something fascinating behind that love. It’s a hormone called oxytocin—sometimes nicknamed the “love hormone.”
Oxytocin is released in high amounts during childbirth and breastfeeding. It creates a strong, emotional bond between mother and child. Even when the baby is crying nonstop, even when she’s exhausted and drained, that biological connection motivates her to stay. The baby hasn’t earned it. The baby can’t repay it. And yet the love is there—overflowing, relentless.
That’s just a shadow of the way God loves us. Isaiah 49:15 says, “Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you!” Even stronger than a mother’s bond, God’s love isn’t triggered by hormones. It’s rooted in His very nature. It’s who He is.
He doesn’t love us because we’re good. He doesn’t stay because we behave. He loves us because He chose to—and He never forgets. In a world where love is often transactional, God’s love is one-sided, initiating, and sustaining. Like the best kind of mother, He loves us even when we cry, even when we can’t give anything back.
(Source: NIH)
Elephants and Their Caregiving Behavior
In the wild plains of Africa or Asia, one of the most emotionally intelligent and relational animals you’ll find is the elephant. Elephants live in tight family units, and they’re known for incredibly deep bonds. But here’s something remarkable: when a baby elephant is orphaned or abandoned, the herd doesn’t cast it off.
They take it in. The aunties—the older female elephants—circle around the orphan, protecting it, nurturing it, even mourning with it. They guide it, shelter it, feed it—just like they would their own.
It doesn’t matter that the baby isn’t biologically theirs. It doesn’t matter that it’s not “useful” to the herd yet. It’s loved. That kind of compassion in the animal kingdom is rare—and it’s beautiful. But for us, it’s more than biology. It’s theology.
Psalm 68:5 says, “A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling.” God’s love isn’t based on usefulness or performance. He doesn’t just accept us when we have something to offer. He wraps us up in grace when we’re weak, when we’re alone, when we’re helpless.
He doesn’t care about pedigree. He adopts us. Just like those elephants gather around the orphan, the heart of God moves to gather the abandoned. That’s not instinct. That’s agápē. That’s divine, unearned, unconditional love. And He’s still doing it today, right now, in this room.
(Source: BBC Earth)
Illustrations on Love from Social Science and Psychology
Love and Attachment Theory
There’s a foundational idea in psychology called attachment theory. It says that the way a child bonds—or fails to bond—with their caregiver shapes how they relate to people for the rest of their life. If a child experiences secure attachment—meaning they’re loved, comforted, and responded to consistently—they grow up with a deep sense of safety. They know how to trust.
But if that love is unreliable or absent, it can leave a person feeling insecure, anxious, or withdrawn. The child may grow up asking, Can I really depend on anyone? Now pause for a moment… and think of how many people are walking through life with that question lingering in their soul: Can I really trust that someone will love me, no matter what? Will they stay? Will they care?
The beauty of the gospel is this: God offers us the ultimate secure attachment. He doesn’t flinch when we fail. He doesn’t ghost us when we’re messy. He doesn’t withdraw His love when we disappoint Him.
In fact, 2 Timothy 2:13 says, “If we are faithless, He remains faithful—for He cannot deny Himself.” God’s love is not anxious. It’s not distant. It’s not based on our performance. It’s steady. It’s reliable. It’s secure.
And when you truly begin to attach your soul to that love… it changes how you see everything. You stop hustling for approval. You stop fearing abandonment. You begin to rest in the arms of a Father who isn’t going anywhere. That’s what unconditional love looks like. That’s what God offers.
(Source: APA)
Love and Forgiveness
Psychologists have studied forgiveness for decades. What makes a person let go of deep hurt? Why do some forgive, and others hold on forever? One major finding is this: the people most likely to forgive—especially when it’s undeserved—are often those who’ve experienced a profound sense of being forgiven themselves.
In one study, researchers found that people who connected their identity to God’s love—specifically, unconditional, forgiving love—were more likely to extend forgiveness to others, even when they had no reason to.
Think about that. When people know they’ve been loved at their worst… it changes how they respond to others at their worst.
Ephesians 4:32 says, “Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.” You see, forgiveness doesn’t come from grit. It comes from grace. The ability to forgive—especially when someone doesn't deserve it—flows from knowing we’ve been forgiven when we didn’t deserve it.
That’s unconditional love. It doesn’t just cleanse us—it compels us. It doesn’t just change how God sees us—it changes how we treat others. When we grasp how deeply we are loved and forgiven by God, we no longer need to keep score. Because the cross already settled it.
(Source: Baylor Study)
Illustrations on Love from Hymns and Songs
O Love That Will Not Let Me Go
Some of the greatest hymns weren’t written in triumph—they were written in the ashes. One of them is called “O Love That Will Not Let Me Go.” It was written by a Scottish pastor named George Matheson. He was brilliant. He was on track for a successful ministry and engaged to be married. But life took a hard turn.
In his twenties, Matheson began going blind. Eventually, he lost his sight completely. When he told his fiancée, she broke off the engagement. She didn’t want to live with a blind man. He was crushed. Rejected. Alone. But years later, on the night of his sister’s wedding—watching her step into the joy he once dreamed of—George sat down, overwhelmed by emotion… and wrote a hymn in just five minutes. He said it came to him “like a voice from heaven.”
Listen to the first line: “O Love that will not let me go, I rest my weary soul in Thee…” Do you hear it? This wasn’t a love that disappoints. Not a love that abandons. Not a love that depends on your ability or your condition. It’s the love of God—unshakable, unconditional, unstoppable.
George Matheson may have lost his vision… but he saw something most of us miss: That God’s love isn’t fragile. It doesn’t break when life does. When human love lets you down, there’s still a deeper Love that will never let you go. That’s the love that carried him—and it’s the same love that carries you.
(Source: Hymnary.org)
Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah
One of the most haunting and beloved songs in the last few decades is Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah.” It’s been covered by countless artists and played at weddings, funerals, and films. And while it’s poetic and mysterious, it taps into something deeply human. Cohen once described the song as an exploration of brokenness—especially the brokenness that still cries out, Hallelujah.
The lyrics weave together images of failure, heartbreak, betrayal, and longing. There’s pain in it… but there’s also hope. One verse says:“Love is not a victory march, it’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah.”
What does that mean?
It means that love isn’t always easy or glamorous. Sometimes it’s messy. Sometimes it’s hard. Sometimes it feels like we’re holding on by a thread. But it’s still love. And it’s still praise.
That’s exactly what God invites from us. Not perfect performances. Not polished prayers. He wants the real you—the broken hallelujah. And even more than that… God gives Himself to us in our brokenness.
Romans 8:39 says, “Nothing… will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Not our failures. Not our mess. Not even the parts we’re ashamed to show. His love is the kind that meets us in the broken hallelujah and doesn’t walk away. Because He already knows… and He still stays.
(Source: Rolling Stone)
George Herbert’s poem Love
There’s a short poem written almost 400 years ago by a man named George Herbert, a pastor and poet. It’s called simply, “Love (III).” It tells the story of a weary soul invited to dine with Love—capital “L,” meaning God Himself.
But the speaker hesitates. He says, “Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back, guilty of dust and sin.”
Like God might invite you in, but you’re not sure you belong? You’re too ashamed, too unworthy, too broken? The poem goes on. The man says he’s not worthy to sit at the table. That he can’t even look upon the host. But Love replies gently, not with scolding… but with grace.
“Who made the eyes but I?” Love asks. Still, the man protests. He’s too dirty. Too stained.
And then the final line—beautiful and tender—says: “You must sit down,” says Love, “and taste my meat.” So I did sit and eat. That’s the gospel. Not that you earned your place. But that God bade you welcome.
He knows your dust. He knows your sin. And still, He says, “You must sit down.” That’s not just poetic. That’s biblical.
Isaiah 55:1 says, “Come, all you who are thirsty… without money and without cost.” God’s love doesn’t come at the end of your striving. It comes at the beginning—when you finally stop fighting and sit at the table. That’s unconditional love. And it has your name on a place card.
(Source: Poetry Foundation)
Illustrations on Love from Roman Culture
The Patron-Client System
In the first century, the Roman world operated on what was called the patron-client system. Everything—business, politics, relationships—was based on status and reciprocity. You scratched my back, I scratched yours. If you gave a favor, you expected one in return. If someone of lower status asked for help, it was only granted if they could offer loyalty, service, or something valuable in return. Love wasn’t really love—it was transaction.
So when early Christians started preaching about a God who gives without expecting repayment... it was shocking. A God who blesses the poor? A God who welcomes sinners? A God who dies for people who hate Him? That wasn’t just unusual—it was offensive to Roman sensibilities.
But that’s the gospel. Romans 5:8 says, “But God demonstrates His own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” God’s love doesn’t wait until we earn it.
He doesn’t love us because of what we bring to the table—He loves us even when we have nothing to offer.
That’s not patronage. That’s grace. And in a culture obsessed with status, God’s love levels the playing field. It says to the rich and the poor, the powerful and the powerless: “You are loved—not because of what you give, but because of who I AM.”
That’s what made the early church so radical—and it’s what still makes the love of God so astonishing today.
Taking in the Abandoned
In ancient Rome, not every baby was welcomed. If a child was born weak, deformed, or simply the wrong gender—often a girl—it wasn’t uncommon for the family to abandon the child outside the city. They called it “exposure.” And once the child was left, the fate was up to nature—or strangers.
That’s where early Christians stepped in. Quietly, and at great risk to themselves, they would go to the places where these children were discarded. And they would take them in. Feed them. Clothe them. Raise them.
Why? Because they believed that every child was made in the image of God. Because they had encountered a Savior who didn’t wait for people to become worthy, but who came to rescue the abandoned. They didn’t do it for applause. They didn’t do it for growth. They did it because love compelled them. And in a world where worth was tied to status, gender, or strength… Christians said, “No—God loves the forgotten. So will we.”
Titus 3:4–5 says, “But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, He saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of His mercy.” That’s unconditional love.
Love that reaches into the gutter and lifts a child. Love that doesn’t ask, “What can they offer?” but instead says, “How can I show them they matter?” And 2,000 years later, that’s still what the love of God does.
Illustrations on Love from Recent Events
Charles Mulli's Work in Kenya
In a world often marked by exploitation and manipulation, there are still people whose love shines like Christ’s. In Kenya, there’s a man named Charles Mulli—a name many of us had never heard until recently.
He grew up abandoned, living on the streets. But over time, he built himself up from nothing into a millionaire through hard work, entrepreneurship, and discipline. He had everything: a family, a fortune, and a future. But one day, he encountered street children just like he had once been—homeless, hungry, and hopeless. And something shifted.
Charles heard God speak to him, calling him to give everything away… to love these children as his own. So he sold it all. He and his wife Esther began to adopt, house, feed, educate, and raise children off the streets of Kenya. Over the past 30+ years, they’ve raised over 26,000 children. And they haven’t stopped. It’s called Mully Children’s Family—and it's still rescuing kids, building schools, growing food, and raising future leaders.
Charles didn’t love because they could pay him back. He didn’t love because it was practical. He loved because God first loved him. That’s the kind of love that reflects the gospel. Jesus said in John 15:13, “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”
Charles laid down a life of wealth and comfort for children no one else wanted. Just like Jesus laid down His life for us. That’s unconditional love in action—and it’s still happening today.
(Source: Mully's Official Site)
Illustrations on Love from Biblical Parallels
Hosea and Gomer
God once told a prophet to do something so outrageous, so shocking… it almost sounds scandalous. He said, “Go. Marry a prostitute.” That prophet’s name was Hosea.
And the woman he married was Gomer—a woman who, even after marriage, kept running back to her old ways, betraying her vows, chasing after other lovers.
Most of us would have walked away. But God told Hosea: “Go again. Love her as the Lord loves His people.” So Hosea went. He found her. And this time, she had hit bottom—enslaved, owned, sold.
And Hosea didn’t just forgive her. He bought her back. Imagine that. Paying to redeem your own unfaithful wife.
It wasn’t just a personal heartbreak—it was a prophetic message. God was saying, “This is how I love you. You’ve run. You’ve betrayed Me. You’ve sold yourself to lesser gods. But I haven’t stopped loving you—and I’m willing to pay any price to bring you home.”
That’s the kind of love we’re talking about today. Not fair-weather love. Not convenient love. But love that pursues. Love that redeems. Love that pays the price.
Romans 3:24 says, “All are justified freely by His grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus.” Jesus is our Hosea. He came for us, not when we were faithful—but when we were broken, enslaved, and ashamed. And He didn’t just forgive us—He paid the cost to bring us back. That’s not ordinary love. That’s unconditional, redemptive, divine love.
The Prodigal Son's Older Brother
Imagine a man with two sons. One son runs wild—squanders the family name, wastes his inheritance, ends up feeding pigs.
You know the story. One day, he comes home. Dirty. Barefoot. Rehearsing his apology. But before he can finish, the father runs to him. Wraps him up. Calls for a feast. Gives him a robe, a ring, and a seat at the table.
But what about the older brother? He stands outside the party. Arms crossed. He’s furious—not because his brother came back… but because the father welcomed him without conditions. “All these years I’ve been slaving for you… and you never threw me a party.”
You see, the older brother thought love had to be earned. But the father wasn’t celebrating obedience—he was celebrating a relationship restored. The prodigal was lost—and now found. Dead—and now alive. That’s the love of God. Not earned. Not calculated. Not scored on a ledger. Just given. Freely.
And the tragedy? The only one who missed out… was the one who thought he deserved it. That’s the warning. That’s the beauty. God’s love isn’t for the perfect.
It’s for the lost, the broken, the humble. The only thing that keeps you from experiencing it… is refusing to believe you need it.
Illustrations on Love from Other Cultures
Among the Maasai people of Kenya, there’s a traditional greeting that goes far beyond “hello.” They don’t begin with small talk or pleasantries.
Instead, they ask: “Kasserian ingera?” It means: “And how are the children?” That question tells you everything about their values. Because the well-being of the children is a measure of the health of the whole community.
If the children are well, the society is well. The best part? The traditional response is: “All the children are well.” Even if that’s not always fully true, it’s an aspiration—a commitment that every adult shares in the care, protection, and thriving of the next generation.
What if the Church had that same heartbeat? What if every decision, every conversation, every prayer began with: “How are the vulnerable among us?” That’s the posture of God’s love.
Psalm 68:5 says He’s a “Father to the fatherless.” Over and over, Scripture tells us that God’s love moves toward the least, the little, the left out. His unconditional love is measured not by how He treats the strong… but how He lifts the weak. If you ever wonder how God feels about you—especially in your fragile moments—remember this: God starts His greeting with a question of concern. “How are My children?” And His arms are always open.
Examples from U.S. History
The Underground Railroad
In the 1800s, slavery cast a dark shadow across the United States. Millions of African men, women, and children were treated as property—owned, bought, sold, abused. But there were some who said, “No more. They risked everything to help enslaved people escape to freedom. They formed secret networks, safe houses, coded songs, and hidden signs.
It was called the Underground Railroad. One of its most famous conductors was a woman named Harriet Tubman. She escaped slavery herself—and then went back. Not once, but over a dozen times. She led more than 70 people to freedom, often under cover of night, with a pistol in her pocket—not to hurt anyone, but to protect those she was guiding.
Tubman didn’t do it for money. She didn’t do it for recognition. She did it because she loved those still trapped in the bondage she once knew. That kind of love—the kind that goes back for the hurting, the captive, the unwanted—is the same kind of love God shows us. Jesus said in Luke 4:18, “He has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives… to set the oppressed free.” God didn’t shout freedom from a distance. He came to us. He stepped into enemy territory.
And He still comes back—for the ones the world has written off, for the ones caught in shame, addiction, or fear. That’s not polite love. That’s not partial love. That’s reckless, rescuing, unconditional love. The kind of love that walks through the dark to bring you into the light.
(Source: National Park Service)
Gale Sayers and Brian Piccolo
In the 1960s, America was still deeply divided by race—even in locker rooms. So when the Chicago Bears made Gale Sayers, a Black running back, and Brian Piccolo, a white fullback, the first interracial roommates in NFL history… it wasn’t just football—it was a statement.
At first, they were competitors. But over time, something remarkable happened: they became best friends. Then, just as their careers were gaining momentum, Piccolo was diagnosed with cancer. It was aggressive, and it spread fast. Sayers, at the peak of his own career, stayed by his side. He cared for him. He visited constantly. He encouraged him.
When Sayers received the NFL's most courageous player award, he said something unforgettable: “You flatter me by giving me this award. But I tell you here and now, that I accept it for Brian Piccolo. … I love Brian Piccolo, and I’d like all of you to love him too.”
He said it in front of a room full of men who weren’t used to hearing the word “love” between athletes—especially across racial lines. But it wasn’t weakness. It was strength wrapped in sacrifice.
Sayers showed us what real love looks like: loyalty in suffering, compassion without condition, courage without ego. John 13:35 says, “By this everyone will know that you are My disciples, if you love one another.” Real love shows up in hospital rooms. Real love crosses lines others won’t. And real love doesn’t just play to win—it gives of itself, even when it costs. That’s the kind of love God has for us. And it’s the kind He calls us to show to each other.
Illustrations on Love from Little-Known or Forgotten Characters
Amy Carmichael's Story
Amy Carmichael was born in Ireland in 1867. She lived in a time when women weren’t expected to travel, preach, or challenge cultural systems. But Amy wasn’t interested in expectations. She was driven by love—specifically, the kind of love that doesn’t look away from suffering.
She heard God’s call and left everything to go to India. What she found broke her heart. Hidden behind temple walls, young girls were being sold into lives of abuse as “temple servants”—a cruel euphemism for exploitation. Most people ignored it. It was “cultural.” “Normal.” But Amy refused to accept it. One by one, she began rescuing girls. She gave them a home. She became their mother. She told them about Jesus.
And she didn’t stop. By the end of her life, Amy Carmichael had taken in over 1,000 children. She founded a community called Dohnavur Fellowship, which still operates to this day. She once wrote: “You can give without loving, but you cannot love without giving.”
That’s the kind of love God shows us—not abstract, but embodied. Not sentimental, but sacrificial. 1 John 3:18 says, “Let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth.” Amy didn’t just preach the gospel—she lived it. She didn’t wait for the world to applaud. She didn’t need recognition. She just loved. Fully. Fiercely. Unconditionally. That’s the kind of love that changes lives. And it’s the kind God pours out on us—every single day.
Illustrations about Love from Interesting or Little Known Court Cases
The Story of Baby Jessica
In the early 1990s, a little girl named Jessica DeBoer became the center of one of the most heartbreaking custody battles in U.S. history. She was known in the media as “Baby Jessica.”
When she was just days old, her biological mother gave her up for adoption. A couple in Michigan welcomed her with joy, raising her as their own. They changed her diapers. They rocked her to sleep. They celebrated her first steps and birthdays. For two and a half years, they were her world.
But then her biological father—who hadn’t initially known she existed—fought to get her back. The case went all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court. And despite years of parenting and love, the adoptive parents were forced to return Jessica to her biological father. The video footage is haunting. The little girl screams and clings to the only parents she’s ever known as she’s carried away. And whatever the legal complexities… the emotional truth was clear: She belonged in a place where she was known and loved unconditionally. That longing—to be chosen, to be secure, to be wanted—is written into every heart. And that’s exactly what God offers in the gospel. Ephesians 1:5 says, “He predestined us for adoption to sonship through Jesus Christ, in accordance with His pleasure and will.”
You are not an accident. You’re not a burden God was forced to accept. You are adopted. Deliberately chosen. Fully embraced. And He will never let you go. That’s not legal obligation. That’s unbreakable, unconditional love.
(Source: NYT Archive)
The Case of Chris Pelkey
In 2021, Arizona Army veteran Christopher "Chris" Pelkey was fatally shot during a road-rage incident in Chandler. His family couldn’t be in court, but they still wanted Chris’s voice heard—so they did something unprecedented. In May 2025, the court played an AI-generated video of Chris giving his own victim impact statement from beyond the grave. In it, he said: “To Gabriel Horcasitas, the man who shot me, it is a shame we encountered each other that day in those circumstances… In another life, we probably could have been friends.”
He continued: “I believe in forgiveness, and a God who forgives. I always have, and I still do.” The courtroom was deeply moved—Judge Todd Lang said he heard genuine forgiveness, and the family of Chris said the AI voice brought them peace and closure.
This marked a U.S. first: using AI to deliver a genuine, loving, faith-filled message from the victim himself when he couldn’t speak. The power of the moment? A dead man extending grace. A bleeding wound calling for peace. The judge, the family, even the public felt the weight of that love—and found healing. That’s not justice alone—it’s unconditional grace materializing in a courtroom.
Illustrations on Love from Little Known or Interesting Facts
Banana Trees
Bananas are one of the most common fruits in the world—cheap, sweet, and often taken for granted. But behind every bunch is a surprising story. You see, banana plants don’t produce fruit over and over again like apple trees.
Each banana plant bears fruit once. Just once. And after that? It dies. But it doesn’t just die randomly—it dies so that the next generation can live. As the plant matures and produces its single bunch of fruit, it sends out a “sucker” or “pup”—a new sprout that will become the next plant. The main stem then withers and collapses… feeding the soil, making room, and giving life to what comes next. It’s a quiet, unnoticed sacrifice. And it’s a stunning parable of love.
Jesus said in John 15:13, “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” That’s exactly what He did. He bore the fruit of righteousness. He gave us life. And then—He gave Himself. Not just in a dramatic death, but in a love that nourished, covered, and sustained us. His death wasn’t the end—it was the beginning of something new.
Like the banana plant, He laid Himself down… so we could rise up. That’s not natural instinct. That’s unconditional, divine love—quiet, powerful, and eternally fruitful.
Final Thought: Don’t Just Read Illustrations—Generate Them
You’ve just seen how one well-told story can bring a biblical truth to life. But imagine having 30 illustrations like these—customized to your topic—in under 30 seconds. Not just text, but powerful images too, ready for slides or sermon notes.
That’s exactly what you’ll learn (and receive!) in the course:“How Pastors Can Use AI for Sermon Prep—Without Selling Out or Cheating.”
You’ll get:
The top AI prompts for sermon preparation
A simple tool to generate 30 illustrations in 30 seconds
A step-by-step system to generate stunning visuals for sermon slides
Start today at: https://ai.newstartdiscipleship.com