Song of Songs 8:6

“Set me as a seal upon your heart,
as a seal upon your arm

Not that I would ever dare to place myself beside Ruth — her devotion is Scripture, her loyalty sacred — but her story has long been written into the chambers of my heart. Her love, her courage, her unwavering covenant… they were seeds planted in me long before I understood why.

Then the storm came.

When Robert was swept into the whirlwind of accusation — through #SurvivingRKelly, #MeToo, #MuteRKelly, and #TimesUp, the relentless cycles of news networks, YouTube commentaries, and a thousand public verdicts — I watched something devastating unfold. People who had once stood near him began to step back. Some quietly. Some loudly. Some with explanations. Some without a word at all.

They drifted.
They distanced.
They disappeared.

At that time, I did not even know him deeply. We had only just grown close — close in that rare way that feels ancient, like two souls responding to a call older than memory. There was between us an undeniable, God-centered intensity — not chaotic, not impure, but fervent in the way truth can be fervent.

And in the midst of that chaos, Ruth’s words rose up within me.

Not as a romantic line.
Not as performance.
But as a direction.

I knew the path before me. I knew what I would choose — regardless of the cost, regardless of the outcome, regardless of how the world might interpret it.

Because more than reputation, more than defense, more than strategy — Robert needed a sign. Not from the public. Not from the media. But from God.

He needed to remember what pure love looked like.
Love that does not calculate.
Love that does not leverage.
Love that does not attach itself to benefit.

A love that wants nothing.

So I told him plainly, without softness or ambiguity:

“I do not want your money. I do not want a single cent of it in any form.”

Not then. Not later. Not ever.

What I offered was not a transaction. It was a covenant.

If I stood, I would stand empty-handed — not to take, but to give. Not to gain, but to remain.

I once spoke to Robert with Ruth’s words resting on my lips — and they were not borrowed lightly. I meant every syllable. They were not poetry to impress him; they were truth rising from the deepest place in me.

I said it because it was how I felt.
But I also said it because I knew he needed to hear it — to know that at least one soul in his life stood without hesitation, without divided allegiance, without hidden retreat.

I told him,

“From this day forward, your friends will be my friends,
and your enemies will be my enemies.”

Not as noise in the moment.
Not as heat in the storm.
But as a pledge before God.

It was a declaration of unity — of choosing to stand shoulder to shoulder, not merely in comfort, but in conflict; not only in celebration, but in battle. A promise that I would not smile beside him in public and separate myself in private. That I would not claim his love while shrinking from his burdens.

If you wish to understand the depth of that vow — the love, the fire, the cost of it — you can read more of our story in my latest blog post, Sacred Love.

Today, we are living in an hour where loyalty feels rare, and betrayal walks boldly in the open. Treachery no longer hides in dark corners — it begins quietly at the family table and, if left unchecked, spreads like a silent disease through friendships, churches, and communities.

Yet in the midst of this, the story of Ruth rises like a lamp in the night.

Ruth shows us the kind of loyalty Heaven honors — not convenient loyalty, not selective loyalty, not loyalty that shifts with opinion or popularity — but covenant loyalty. The kind that clings. The kind that stays. The kind that chooses love when it would be easier to walk away.

Naomi was not Ruth’s biological mother. She was her mother-in-law. There was no biological obligation binding her heart — only devotion. Only promise. Only a fierce, holy love that said, “Where you go, I will go.”

This is the loyalty God exalts before the world.

We are not called to be loyal to one person while quietly participating in the isolation of another. We are not called to protect one relationship while wounding the rest. Love does not divide in secret councils. It does not whisper in corners. It does not form alliances to exclude.

As Lent and Easter approach, it is worth asking:

Do we participate in the subtle sins of the age?
In ganging up?
In quiet bullying?
In leaving one name off the invitation list because others disapprove?
In triangulation — where two join hands, not to bless, but to isolate, shame, or diminish a third?

These things may seem small, but they corrode the soul.

We sabotage reputations.
We trade in gossip.
We slander behind closed doors.
We steal honor as if it were ours to take.

But Ruth’s story calls us higher.

It calls us to a loyalty that is pure, courageous, and unwavering — a loyalty that does not fracture under pressure, does not bend to crowd approval, and does not participate in hidden cruelty.

May we choose covenant over convenience.
May we guard honor instead of stripping it.
May we be the kind of people whose loyalty heals what betrayal has tried to infect.

For holy love does not spread like cancer.

It spreads like light.

RUTH

Ruth 1:16-17,

Ruth says to her mother-in-law Naomi:

“Do not press me to leave you
or to turn back from following you!
Where you go, I will go;
where you lodge, I will lodge;
your people shall be my people,
and your God my God.
Where you die, I will die—
there will I be buried.
May the Lord do thus and so to me,
and more as well,
if even death parts me from you!”

STEALING HONOUR IS A MORTAL SIN

The Catechism of the Catholic Church addresses the issue of stealing someone’s honor in paragraph 2479:

“Whoever uses the power at their disposal in such a way that it causes unjust damage to another’s reputation or communication of life is guilty of a grave fault if they falsely harm a person’s reputation by calumny, slander, and defamation.”

And in paragraph 2480:

“Every word or attitude is forbidden which, by flattery, adulation, or complaisance, encourages others to speak ill of another. Detraction and calumny destroy the reputation and honor of one’s neighbor. Honor is the social witness given to human dignity, and everyone enjoys a natural right to the honor that belongs to their dignity. Thus, the duty to safeguard one’s own honor is accompanied by the duty to show respect for that of others.”

In its wisdom, the Catholic Church teaches that to steal a person’s honor through calumny, slander, defamation, detraction, or any poisonous form of speech is a grave offense — one that erodes reputation and wounds the sacred dignity each person carries.

Viva Christo Rei!

Long live Christ the King!