The Casserole Brigade of Tuscaloosa

When the tornado tore through Tuscaloosa, Alabama in April 2011, it left a mile-wide scar across the city. Houses flattened. Lives shattered. In the days that followed, reporters descended on the wreckage expecting to find chaos. What they found instead puzzled them.

Members of a small church on 15th Street had set up folding tables in a destroyed parking lot, serving hot meals to anyone who walked up — neighbors they knew, strangers they didn't, people of every background. They weren't wearing matching t-shirts. They had no banner. One journalist asked an older woman stirring a pot of chicken stew who had organized all this. She laughed and said, "Nobody organized it. We just know how to love each other, and it spills over."

That phrase — "it spills over" — captures exactly what Jesus meant on the night He was betrayed. He told His disciples that the world would recognize them not by their theology exams, not by their church buildings, not by their worship style. "By this everyone will know that you are my disciples," He said, "if you love one another."

The love Jesus commands isn't a feeling we manufacture. It's the overflow of a community shaped by His sacrificial love. When Christians genuinely love each other — practically, visibly, recklessly — it becomes an unmistakable sign. No banner needed. The love itself tells the world whose we are.