Deacon Jude Tam Tran

REMAIN IN MY LOVE

“As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; remain in my love” — (John 15:9)
“Keep my commandment… love one another as I have loved you” — (John 15:12)

It began with a simple, terrifying command.

In January of 1833, the Vietnamese Emperor decided there would be no more hesitation, no more hidden loyalties. Christians were ordered to prove where they stood. One action would decide everything: step on a crucifix and live—or refuse, and face prison or death.

Imagine the moment. A wooden cross on the ground. Soldiers watching. Silence thick enough to choke on. All it would take was one step. One small movement of the foot. No speeches required.

No explanations. Just a quiet betrayal disguised as survival.

Some stepped forward.

And some did not.

Those who refused were chained, imprisoned, tortured, and killed. By the end of the persecution, nearly 300,000 Vietnamese Christians had been martyred. Their names, their stories, their faces—mostly known only to God. It would have been impossible to canonize them all. So, in 1988, Pope John Paul II canonized 117 of them, representing the countless others who chose faith over fear. Their feast day is November 24.

The Vatican later acknowledged something sobering: the suffering endured by these martyrs was among the most brutal in Christian history. And that is where we will stop—because the details are not what matter most.

What matters is love.

One of those martyrs was a man named Le Bao. He was imprisoned, shackled, and awaiting death. From what we would call “death row,” he wrote a letter to his family and friends. Not a letter of bitterness. Not a letter of despair. A letter of astonishing peace.

“I, Le Bao, in chains for the name of Jesus Christ,” he wrote, “wish to relate to you the trials besetting me daily… the prison here is a true image of everlasting hell.”

That sentence alone could have ended the letter. Anyone reading it would have understood.
But Le Bao kept writing.

“Nevertheless, Jesus is with me always and all the way; Jesus has dwelled in me through these tribulations and made them sweet.”

Sweet.

Not bearable. Not tolerable. Sweet.

“In the midst of these torments, which usually terrify others,” he continued, “I am, by the grace of God, full of joy and gladness, because I am not alone—Jesus is with me. Our Master bears the whole weight of the crucifix, leaving me only the tiniest bit…”

That is not the voice of someone clinging to courage by his fingernails. That is the voice of someone resting in love.

Le Bao was not preaching from a pulpit. He was preaching with his chains. He was living the Gospel Jesus spoke in John 15: “Remain in my love.” Not understand my love. Not admire my love. Remain in it—stay there, dwell there, refuse to step out of it, even when the ground beneath your feet is shaking.

We hear stories like this and immediately think, I could never do that. And maybe we’re right.
Very few are called to die for their faith. Saints like Le Bao or St. Maximilian Kolbe—who volunteered to die in place of a stranger in Auschwitz—stand at the summit of love.

But Jesus did not say, “Remain in my love only if you are a martyr.”

He said, “As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; remain in my love” (John 15:9).

That love is not reserved for prison cells and death rows. It is meant for kitchens, classrooms, offices, traffic jams, family arguments, and quiet disappointments. It is meant for daily life.

Think of it this way: imagine a swimming pool filled—not with water—but with Jesus’ love. Most of us stand at the edge. We dip a toe in. We test the temperature. We like the idea of love, but diving in feels risky. What if it changes us? What if it asks something of us?

Le Bao dove in completely. And he discovered something astonishing: Jesus’ love held him up.

Jesus carried the weight of the cross. Le Bao was not strong on his own—he was held.
Jesus gives only one condition for remaining in his love: “Keep my commandment… love one another as I have loved you” (John 15:12).

The first part sounds doable. Love one another. Be kind. Be polite.

The second part is harder. As I have loved you.

Jesus loved to the point of sacrifice. To the point of forgiveness. To the point of staying when it would have been easier to walk away. Loving like Jesus does not mean becoming weak or pretending sin doesn’t exist. It means choosing mercy over revenge, prayer over resentment, patience over pride. It means going the extra mile, turning the other cheek, and loving even when love costs something.

And here is the beautiful promise Jesus makes: when we remain in his love, joy follows. Not shallow happiness. Not temporary excitement. But a deep, steady joy that pushes out bitterness, jealousy, fear, and resentment. A joy strong enough to love difficult people. A joy that frees us from ourselves.

When we remain in Jesus’ love, we begin to see clearly. We notice the needs of others. We shed selfishness, pettiness, and hesitation. We rise—slowly, imperfectly, but truly—above our human limitations.

Le Bao’s story is not meant to intimidate us. It is meant to invite us.

You may never face a crucifix on the ground with soldiers watching. But every day, you are invited to choose love over fear, faith over comfort, mercy over self-protection.

Remain in Jesus’ love.
Dive in.
You will find that the weight you feared was never meant for you to carry alone.