When love is not a decision, all sorts of indescribable human vices are entertained...intertwined. Emotions out of control. Pain turned inward. Pain turned outward. Emptiness seeking respite. Sophistry becomes its answer. When love is not altruistic—when love is not for the ultimate good of the other and toward the glorification of God, love is simply not love.
This is a thought experiment. Is it true? I invite your comments.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Thursday, April 17, 2008
what happened in Africa.
I gave a presentation last week, speaking on my first encounter with Africa. Here is the transcript.
How can I tell you what happened in Africa? I, myself, barely understand. I’ll have to tell you what happened to me there by telling you other stories.
First, the story of the last supper. Where the Master is there washing his disciples feet. He…the creator of the universe stoops to wash the feet of his own followers. He was their guest from heaven for a short time. But he cleans them up. He cleans up their dirty lives. He does so as the dirt and the grime of the Galilean roads dirty his own feet.
He eats the Passover meal they have prepared for him. It was their own ritual. It was their own food. And yes, they served it to the Son of God, the Creator of the universe. And he ate it and he did not die. He did die. Later. Later, they killed him, with their very own hands.
But he didn’t stay dead. And that is the point.
The terribleness of their messy lives couldn’t kill him and keep him dead.
The second story is the story of the celebration of the last supper from my childhood.
Now, I’m not going to sensationalize the Amish practice of shunning that was very much present in the way my community practiced the Lord’s Supper. We all have our shunning and excommunication rituals. Every culture has them. Minnesota, America tends to excommunicate by means of indifference through the practice of silence and unresponsiveness. There are no rules written anywhere but the practice is fully enforced whenever one wishes to exclude another from the group of the included. Every social group has their insiders and their outsiders.
It is clear, unless one is simply blind or in denial, there are insiders and there are outsiders. There are those who are included and those who are excluded. In my community of origin, the included sit down and eat the Lord’s Supper together and wash one another’s feet. The excluded don’t. The excluded take their plate and eat over there at a different table. Please understand I am not passing judgment on the practice itself or on excommunication practices everywhere other than to simply say that sin separates. There are those that eat at the table and there are those that don’t.
These two stories go together. One is the story of grace the other is the story of the fall. One is the story of Christ embracing us in our sin. The other is the story of how sin separates us from the community of God.
Now, against this backdrop I go to Africa. I am a stranger among them there. I am their guest. I am their very honored and distinguished guest. And I come from the land of the chosen, where the streets are gold and the angels sing. Well, maybe not quite but Africans had some idea that where I come from, life was unimaginably better, by comparison. In America food is cooked in ovens. There are toilets that flush. The pure water comes in bottles and is too expensive for them to buy. Everything else is really sanitary.
So in the most amazing expression of hospitality I have ever seen, the Nigerians opened their hearts and arms and received me. They would have even put me up in the most costly place they could find so that I would be comfortable, like I was back home. So that my toilet would flush and so my food would be cooked “properly” in a kitchen. This was the heart of the people toward me in the most amazing expression of love, other centeredness and hospitality.
But I quickly became almost angry as I recognized the other voices whispering through the people despite the people’s good hearts and arms loaded with hospitality. There were social structures and evil overlords and the all important colonists who were speaking also. There were people from the past, people from the present, sitting in high places in Abuja, Lagos, Washington DC or wherever.
Wordless things were being conveyed.
In the village I was preparing to eat the food that came out of the pot sitting on three rocks with the firewood underneath. They said, “No our food will make you sick! It might even kill you.” You must go to the restaurant where your food can be cooked properly.
What were they saying? Were they excommunicating themselves to their own humble table? Or were they excommunicating me also, as I sat alone in the restaurant situated inside high walls with barbed wire and a guard at the gate. This is more than excommunication! It was as though I heard, “Here, sit in this prison and eat, while we sit down at our own table to eat the terrible food that we have prepared for ourselves that even kills us, according to the official sanitation codes.” Who’s codes were these? My people’s sanitation codes? I read them half-heartedly on the plane trip over: a thick stack of documents that the Travel Clinic gave me in preparation to travel.
Excommunication works both ways it seems.
As I prepared to live and sleep in the village where the dirt floors were swept clean and the animals and the bugs ran freely. They said, “No, you must stay in the hotel in the city where there is electricity and your toilet flushes and everything is sanitary. You can’t stay here with us in our terrible situation. It will kill you. A mosquito might bite you and you’ll get malaria and die.”
I said to myself, “Ah. Ah!? Who has done this to these good people? Who has made these people believe this about themselves?” Your food is amazing and I don’t care if the toilet flushes. Get me out of this whitewashed prison!
The Master said of his mission, “I come not to be served but to serve and give my life for others.” The creator of the universe says this.
If your food kills me. If your viruses kill me. If living with you in your country kills me. So then I will die and it will be worth the dying. And even if I die. I will not stay dead. And that is the point.
So, I ate their dinner with them. And we sat at the same table. And we washed our feet in the same bucket of dirty water. And as you can see, I did not die. And the people saw and were amazed. They said to each other, “Ah, Ah!? Who is this who has come to eat with us and sleep with us and walk the dusty road with us? And the terribleness of our messy lives did not kill her.”
How can I tell you what happened in Africa. I, myself, barely understand.
How can I tell you what happened in Africa? I, myself, barely understand. I’ll have to tell you what happened to me there by telling you other stories.
First, the story of the last supper. Where the Master is there washing his disciples feet. He…the creator of the universe stoops to wash the feet of his own followers. He was their guest from heaven for a short time. But he cleans them up. He cleans up their dirty lives. He does so as the dirt and the grime of the Galilean roads dirty his own feet.
He eats the Passover meal they have prepared for him. It was their own ritual. It was their own food. And yes, they served it to the Son of God, the Creator of the universe. And he ate it and he did not die. He did die. Later. Later, they killed him, with their very own hands.
But he didn’t stay dead. And that is the point.
The terribleness of their messy lives couldn’t kill him and keep him dead.
The second story is the story of the celebration of the last supper from my childhood.
Now, I’m not going to sensationalize the Amish practice of shunning that was very much present in the way my community practiced the Lord’s Supper. We all have our shunning and excommunication rituals. Every culture has them. Minnesota, America tends to excommunicate by means of indifference through the practice of silence and unresponsiveness. There are no rules written anywhere but the practice is fully enforced whenever one wishes to exclude another from the group of the included. Every social group has their insiders and their outsiders.
It is clear, unless one is simply blind or in denial, there are insiders and there are outsiders. There are those who are included and those who are excluded. In my community of origin, the included sit down and eat the Lord’s Supper together and wash one another’s feet. The excluded don’t. The excluded take their plate and eat over there at a different table. Please understand I am not passing judgment on the practice itself or on excommunication practices everywhere other than to simply say that sin separates. There are those that eat at the table and there are those that don’t.
These two stories go together. One is the story of grace the other is the story of the fall. One is the story of Christ embracing us in our sin. The other is the story of how sin separates us from the community of God.
Now, against this backdrop I go to Africa. I am a stranger among them there. I am their guest. I am their very honored and distinguished guest. And I come from the land of the chosen, where the streets are gold and the angels sing. Well, maybe not quite but Africans had some idea that where I come from, life was unimaginably better, by comparison. In America food is cooked in ovens. There are toilets that flush. The pure water comes in bottles and is too expensive for them to buy. Everything else is really sanitary.
So in the most amazing expression of hospitality I have ever seen, the Nigerians opened their hearts and arms and received me. They would have even put me up in the most costly place they could find so that I would be comfortable, like I was back home. So that my toilet would flush and so my food would be cooked “properly” in a kitchen. This was the heart of the people toward me in the most amazing expression of love, other centeredness and hospitality.
But I quickly became almost angry as I recognized the other voices whispering through the people despite the people’s good hearts and arms loaded with hospitality. There were social structures and evil overlords and the all important colonists who were speaking also. There were people from the past, people from the present, sitting in high places in Abuja, Lagos, Washington DC or wherever.
Wordless things were being conveyed.
In the village I was preparing to eat the food that came out of the pot sitting on three rocks with the firewood underneath. They said, “No our food will make you sick! It might even kill you.” You must go to the restaurant where your food can be cooked properly.
What were they saying? Were they excommunicating themselves to their own humble table? Or were they excommunicating me also, as I sat alone in the restaurant situated inside high walls with barbed wire and a guard at the gate. This is more than excommunication! It was as though I heard, “Here, sit in this prison and eat, while we sit down at our own table to eat the terrible food that we have prepared for ourselves that even kills us, according to the official sanitation codes.” Who’s codes were these? My people’s sanitation codes? I read them half-heartedly on the plane trip over: a thick stack of documents that the Travel Clinic gave me in preparation to travel.
Excommunication works both ways it seems.
As I prepared to live and sleep in the village where the dirt floors were swept clean and the animals and the bugs ran freely. They said, “No, you must stay in the hotel in the city where there is electricity and your toilet flushes and everything is sanitary. You can’t stay here with us in our terrible situation. It will kill you. A mosquito might bite you and you’ll get malaria and die.”
I said to myself, “Ah. Ah!? Who has done this to these good people? Who has made these people believe this about themselves?” Your food is amazing and I don’t care if the toilet flushes. Get me out of this whitewashed prison!
The Master said of his mission, “I come not to be served but to serve and give my life for others.” The creator of the universe says this.
If your food kills me. If your viruses kill me. If living with you in your country kills me. So then I will die and it will be worth the dying. And even if I die. I will not stay dead. And that is the point.
So, I ate their dinner with them. And we sat at the same table. And we washed our feet in the same bucket of dirty water. And as you can see, I did not die. And the people saw and were amazed. They said to each other, “Ah, Ah!? Who is this who has come to eat with us and sleep with us and walk the dusty road with us? And the terribleness of our messy lives did not kill her.”
How can I tell you what happened in Africa. I, myself, barely understand.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Monday, March 31, 2008
amish spring break 2
Since I so recently did a post on Amish Spring Break, I must share with you another commentary on Sarasota, the Amish-Mennonite retirement capital of the USA.
It is appropriately entitled, The Prodigal Beachy.
Here are some enticing excerpts.
It is appropriately entitled, The Prodigal Beachy.
Here are some enticing excerpts.
Now when the two brothers had Come of Age, the younger brother, Jake Beiler, said to his father, “Verily, Father, now that I am Come of Age, I want to journey to Sarasota, Florida, on vacation, and since some of the youth group is going down over the same time, it could be a great bonding experience.” His father did not think too highly of this idea,
And Jake journeyed to Sarasota to sojourn for two months. And when his youth group was come unto the place, and he saw their manner of attire, that it was not Beachy. Then said he in his heart, “Yea, is this not the manner of Sarasota? For verily, I can come hither, and wear all manner of T-shirts and shorts, and get a full body tan, and the bishop can say nothing to me, for I am a stranger and pilgrim in a different land. Oh, what fun!” And so Jake went to Wal-Mart and stocked up on many shorts and every manner of striped and checkered and flowery T-shirts, and said in his heart, “Now no man shall know that I am Beachy.”
Thursday, March 27, 2008
respecter of persons
This is a coined phrase that sticks in my memory from childhood. It comes from the King James language of Acts 10:34. Peter stands up and says, “Of a truth I perceive that God is no respecter of persons. But in every nation he that feareth him, and worketh righteousness, is accepted with him.” This was the pronouncement of Cornelius’ acceptance into the present work of Christ.
But the story I remember hearing as an example of a situation where one should not be a respecter of persons was from James 2:3, where two types of people come to you, one is rich and wearing nice clothing and the other is poor and wears tattered clothing. In our little Sunday school we were instructed not to treat the rich person with more respect then the poor person.
At home and in the daily life of my faith community in rural Minnesota, there were plenty of chances to work this out. We were not a minister’s family. We were not the model citizens of this community. In fact we had trouble being model citizens. I remember being the odd one out most of the time. To this day, I still catch myself thinking, “I don’t have any friends.” I have a few counter responses to that one now. But over all, this status in that community provided me and my family with an opportunity to practice becoming people who are not respecters of persons. Often, we would host people who were even more rejected than ourselves. Some of them would come over and we would watch as my dad would sit in the living room with them and listen to their rambling or ranting for hours. We all knew it wasn’t very pleasant to be in my father’s position. But we learned from him. He would treat them kindly. My mother would cook for them. And we would all eat together. Very seldom would we hear my father complain about these rejected folks that came over. He only ever said enough to confirm our own judgments. These folks were lonely and because of their rejection and isolation among us, they’d become a little crazy. Everyone becomes a little crazy when loneliness sets in. When there are people who have become crazy as a result of isolation it is no reflection on their own person, it is an indictment upon the society that contains them.
To this day, I often feel more comfortable with folks that hover on the edges of social groups. If they stand a little to close when they talk. If they talk incessantly about something mundane and uninteresting. If they don’t understand the blatant cues your giving them about your boredom or your need to move on or get to work. These are the folks I feel at home with. Urban ministry has made great use of and given me a place to further practice treating everyone as equals.
The most surprising thing for one of my roommates to find out was that I was bothered by a number of people’s behavior or even their personality, but I still hung out with them. I can only credit it to my parents that I am able to embrace the outcasts, because otherwise I would be very picky and judgmental about the sort of folks I was with.
Inevitably, when I give witness to the grace God has shown me in my upbringing on the topic of preferring some above other people, people self-consciously ask, “Do I bug you”? Do you just hang out with me because you want to overcome your natural aversion to me?
So what if you are. You are loved anyway. You are accepted. This is the point. Soon we’ll all forget what our aversions were.
But the story I remember hearing as an example of a situation where one should not be a respecter of persons was from James 2:3, where two types of people come to you, one is rich and wearing nice clothing and the other is poor and wears tattered clothing. In our little Sunday school we were instructed not to treat the rich person with more respect then the poor person.
At home and in the daily life of my faith community in rural Minnesota, there were plenty of chances to work this out. We were not a minister’s family. We were not the model citizens of this community. In fact we had trouble being model citizens. I remember being the odd one out most of the time. To this day, I still catch myself thinking, “I don’t have any friends.” I have a few counter responses to that one now. But over all, this status in that community provided me and my family with an opportunity to practice becoming people who are not respecters of persons. Often, we would host people who were even more rejected than ourselves. Some of them would come over and we would watch as my dad would sit in the living room with them and listen to their rambling or ranting for hours. We all knew it wasn’t very pleasant to be in my father’s position. But we learned from him. He would treat them kindly. My mother would cook for them. And we would all eat together. Very seldom would we hear my father complain about these rejected folks that came over. He only ever said enough to confirm our own judgments. These folks were lonely and because of their rejection and isolation among us, they’d become a little crazy. Everyone becomes a little crazy when loneliness sets in. When there are people who have become crazy as a result of isolation it is no reflection on their own person, it is an indictment upon the society that contains them.
To this day, I often feel more comfortable with folks that hover on the edges of social groups. If they stand a little to close when they talk. If they talk incessantly about something mundane and uninteresting. If they don’t understand the blatant cues your giving them about your boredom or your need to move on or get to work. These are the folks I feel at home with. Urban ministry has made great use of and given me a place to further practice treating everyone as equals.
The most surprising thing for one of my roommates to find out was that I was bothered by a number of people’s behavior or even their personality, but I still hung out with them. I can only credit it to my parents that I am able to embrace the outcasts, because otherwise I would be very picky and judgmental about the sort of folks I was with.
Inevitably, when I give witness to the grace God has shown me in my upbringing on the topic of preferring some above other people, people self-consciously ask, “Do I bug you”? Do you just hang out with me because you want to overcome your natural aversion to me?
So what if you are. You are loved anyway. You are accepted. This is the point. Soon we’ll all forget what our aversions were.
Friday, March 21, 2008
witches and pagans among us
Around 5+ years ago, I made a concerted effort to hang out with witches and pagans. There was a ministry or two that did that sort of outreach but most of them didn’t last long. I don’t think they understood the depth of the spiritual forces they were dealing with and approached their audience in the typical Evangelical Christian Modernist way. I don’t think even I had a full grasp of it, nor if it is possible for anyone to have a full grasp of the mysterious dark forces, nor should they. Often in my quest I was with a lot of young punkish types and ravers, as well as Goths and new renaissance types. I didn’t have much success with long term relationships, although I had a few sinister offers and enough “visitors” at the witching hour to realize this was serious business.
I wanted to penetrate the darker circles—the ones which served another god and were to some degree aware of it in their rituals. But it must not have been my time yet. Last night however, I happened to be invited to a women’s group meeting at a local co-op. My friend didn’t tell me much about it but it sold itself on the themes of women’s empowerment and initiative in business etc. In actuality, it was a full blown pagan ceremony for the evangelization of more women into the serve another god sort of life. It was like Alpha but with an emphasis on ritual instead of an appeal to the intellect.
I knew something was a bit witchy when I walked into the space and there were rich red fabrics everywhere and then this get-up in the corner of the room with goddess and fertility symbols. Some nice ladies greeted me and offered me food to keep me company till my friend showed up. I noticed a tattoo on the daughter of the “high priestesses” neck of an ancient fertility goddess, arms outstretched with the dagger for sacrifice in hand. The meeting was to start at 7 sharp and the doors were to be closed at that time and the “meeting” was to begin as the equinox occurred at 7:07. We stood in a circle on a Persian carpet. We were welcomed and key people in the circle introduced. Like Alfa there were the leaders and the undercover helpers. As we began the ceremony we were given a candle and it was lighted by a leader or a helper. My phone began to vibrate as my friend was arriving and hoping to have me let her in. I broke from the circle, which is a significant desecration to the ceremony. I dallied with her outside hoping to avoid the ceremony but wishing to stick with my Christian friend and wanting to know what the rest of the empowerment meeting was all about. We came in, joined the circle and our candles were lit for us. Mine kept going out. Guess I won’t be going out from that place to spread the light of spring, as they suggested we do. We were urged to place our candles on the alter before beginning the creative project, which was just like Summer Vacation Bible School.
What’s my point? I don’t think I’ll really put a strong one out there. Perhaps I’ll simply say that we are called to evangelize. I do think it significant that I kept messing up the ceremony and the candle wouldn’t stay lit. It was an evangelistic demonstration of some sort. As Christians, we do interrupt any darkness in the works. As for fear, some of you may wonder--shouldn't I be afraid? Experience has taught me, fear is one of the worst temptations to entertain in the presence of evil. It stands next to blatant unbelief.
I wanted to penetrate the darker circles—the ones which served another god and were to some degree aware of it in their rituals. But it must not have been my time yet. Last night however, I happened to be invited to a women’s group meeting at a local co-op. My friend didn’t tell me much about it but it sold itself on the themes of women’s empowerment and initiative in business etc. In actuality, it was a full blown pagan ceremony for the evangelization of more women into the serve another god sort of life. It was like Alpha but with an emphasis on ritual instead of an appeal to the intellect.
I knew something was a bit witchy when I walked into the space and there were rich red fabrics everywhere and then this get-up in the corner of the room with goddess and fertility symbols. Some nice ladies greeted me and offered me food to keep me company till my friend showed up. I noticed a tattoo on the daughter of the “high priestesses” neck of an ancient fertility goddess, arms outstretched with the dagger for sacrifice in hand. The meeting was to start at 7 sharp and the doors were to be closed at that time and the “meeting” was to begin as the equinox occurred at 7:07. We stood in a circle on a Persian carpet. We were welcomed and key people in the circle introduced. Like Alfa there were the leaders and the undercover helpers. As we began the ceremony we were given a candle and it was lighted by a leader or a helper. My phone began to vibrate as my friend was arriving and hoping to have me let her in. I broke from the circle, which is a significant desecration to the ceremony. I dallied with her outside hoping to avoid the ceremony but wishing to stick with my Christian friend and wanting to know what the rest of the empowerment meeting was all about. We came in, joined the circle and our candles were lit for us. Mine kept going out. Guess I won’t be going out from that place to spread the light of spring, as they suggested we do. We were urged to place our candles on the alter before beginning the creative project, which was just like Summer Vacation Bible School.
What’s my point? I don’t think I’ll really put a strong one out there. Perhaps I’ll simply say that we are called to evangelize. I do think it significant that I kept messing up the ceremony and the candle wouldn’t stay lit. It was an evangelistic demonstration of some sort. As Christians, we do interrupt any darkness in the works. As for fear, some of you may wonder--shouldn't I be afraid? Experience has taught me, fear is one of the worst temptations to entertain in the presence of evil. It stands next to blatant unbelief.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
amish spring break
Since my Grandmother moved to Florida, my family has had reason to visit the place where Amish and Mennonites gather to go on Spring Break. Incidentally, the old also go there to make it their retirement home. Grandma and several aunts live in this place called Sarasota, which is a built up city along the gulf coast south of Tampa. Several aunts clean homes for the rich and make a good living doing so. I'm even told that Leno or the other evening talk show guy has a house on the coast down there.
But then there is this little space between the freeway and the coast, called Pinecraft, that the Amish Mennonites have occupied since before my grandparents' youth days. The Real Estate is interesting and this journalist writes about it here in the Sarasota Magazine.
What I found most interesting about Pinecraft culture was what my aunt has described to me. she even took me "cruising" past Pinecraft Park which is merely a dumpy looking city park that is overloaded with Amish and Mennonites during "amish spring break," which begins sometime in December and peaks during Christmas and New Year, then fades slowly until about April or May. Rental prices in Pinecraft accommodate the demands during this season. And yes, the state of the properties in Pinecraft is as awful as the journalist describes, compared to the rest of Sarasota. But then again Amish and Mennonites have always stepped to the beat of their own drum.
Gawking is Pinecraft's biggest pastime. There is this insurance agency across the street from a fruit stand on Bahia Vista Road that gives up its tiny parking lot for a bus that comes from Ohio or Pennsylvania or some other states with Amish population density. The bus arrives with it's mostly Amish passengers at a particular time of day. This is also the perfect time to go and see who is arriving to vacation in Florida. So, this large bus, packed with Amish arrives at this tiny parking lot filled with those who are welcoming them along with twice as many spectators. If the police weren't assured that these were peaceful people, they would assign officers to the area. One of these days I'm going to ride that bus to Pinecraft just for the experience.
But then there is this little space between the freeway and the coast, called Pinecraft, that the Amish Mennonites have occupied since before my grandparents' youth days. The Real Estate is interesting and this journalist writes about it here in the Sarasota Magazine.
What I found most interesting about Pinecraft culture was what my aunt has described to me. she even took me "cruising" past Pinecraft Park which is merely a dumpy looking city park that is overloaded with Amish and Mennonites during "amish spring break," which begins sometime in December and peaks during Christmas and New Year, then fades slowly until about April or May. Rental prices in Pinecraft accommodate the demands during this season. And yes, the state of the properties in Pinecraft is as awful as the journalist describes, compared to the rest of Sarasota. But then again Amish and Mennonites have always stepped to the beat of their own drum.
Gawking is Pinecraft's biggest pastime. There is this insurance agency across the street from a fruit stand on Bahia Vista Road that gives up its tiny parking lot for a bus that comes from Ohio or Pennsylvania or some other states with Amish population density. The bus arrives with it's mostly Amish passengers at a particular time of day. This is also the perfect time to go and see who is arriving to vacation in Florida. So, this large bus, packed with Amish arrives at this tiny parking lot filled with those who are welcoming them along with twice as many spectators. If the police weren't assured that these were peaceful people, they would assign officers to the area. One of these days I'm going to ride that bus to Pinecraft just for the experience.
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
what people think
So a friend was doing a search on Anabaptism and ran into this photo on flicker.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/toekneesan/307237705/
The photo was among his own personal family photos etc. Here were his comments...
Punk Anabaptist
Went to AAASS and AAR/SBL in DC last week. Two conferences about 3 miles apart, overlapping. Slavic studies and religious studies. Saw this woman on the way to the religious studies one. She had a traditional head cover, one I usually see on Anabaptists; Amish, Mennonite, Brethren, around here. Comes from Corinthians 11:5 which says, “Every woman who prays or prophesies with her head uncovered dishonors her head, for that is one and the same as if her head were shaved.” This woman put an interesting twist on that. As you can see she is also wearing a leather jacket, rattle snake skin blouse, backpack, and wrestling shoes. Cool.
I must say I never fail to be amused when I watch people watching me.
When my brothers and sisters were younger we had a lot of fun going everywhere together. It was a riot. We would intentionally embarrass my mother. It was so easy to do anyway. Naturally, we were noticed because we were traditional and everyone was gawking but we hammed it up so that even my mother had to laugh. The best moment was once when we were driving down the freeway in our ancient green gas guzzler from a few decades ago. Mom and Dad are in the front seat with the two youngest and about 5 of us are in the back seat. We all look over at the vehicle next to us at about the time when the 4 of them notice us and stare in wonder. The pace of traffic changed and our fans had to brake severely and swerve to avoid getting into an accident. Forever after that, we laughed about being a road hazard.
(picture to be posted later)
Thursday, February 14, 2008
attraction—where the battle lies
Sometimes I have been a true Peter Pan. I have wished to live forever in a world of fairies and fanciful tales and best of all—to remain a child forever. Even as a child I loved daydreams and was forever punished when I was caught gazing into space. Yet when it is time to become an adult, one must. I wrote the core of this essay close to a year ago. It was one of my own first deep intellectual engagements with the topic. I thought it appropriate to post it this Valentine’s Day.
What does it mean to face the whole reality of what it means to be a beautiful, available woman in the presence of eligible men primarily, but other men, otherwise? Often young women, like I once was, would have like to remain ignorant of the fact that she might have power over a man. There is an unexplainable, mysterious power of attraction that is either petrifying or all-consuming...or joyful exuberance. For in that power there is the terror of the battle between evil and good. In that moment, gone astray, when a woman realizes that a man is attracted to her, she can either revel in the power of it. She can absorb the energy of the moment to build up her confidence—a false confidence because it is based on a transient, unsustainable moment. Or she can glory in her Lord and cause that moment to represent eternity for her and exude an eternal confidence. Or she can do nothing.
Certainly, to be innocent, unaware of the effect we women can have over a man is to be preferred above knowledge of the power and wielding it for personal enslavement, and abuse and commodification of the other. However, to enter into the full understanding of the power one channels by the hand of the Lord is much preferred. For when one comes into the full understanding of their authority and power, then appropriates it to her creator, she truly becomes and unstoppable force of attraction and beauty, unto the glory of God. One can accomplish so much more under the full confidence of this power. For, one images God under the full confidence of this power.
Why reveling in the moment is a false confidence?
A woman must give that moment to God, as she must give every moment to God, for she can either ground her existence in the eternal security of the infinite attraction God has for his beloved or she can use that moment to grovel for the moment of elation that comes with being affirmed in the moment of attraction. How she receives that moment is everything to her identity. That moment can represent to her the amazing embodiment of God’s attraction for his beloved, and she can glory in her Lord and Savior. This grounds her in an eternal identity. Or that moment can by itself be the ground of her existence. It can be the minuscule moment that her value rests upon and she will sell the piece of eternity she holds to that moment. Certainly, if she sells herself, she may have many more moments—moments that fill her empty identity for a while. But as things generally go, those moments will never be enough. Even a 1000 don’t compare to eternity. The moments are offered by fallen men in a fallen world. Their promise will never be entirely fulfilled, even if it is until death do us part. Death disrupts the eternal attraction.
Why we must embrace the moment as a reflection of Christ himself, for the sake of the other, for the sake of the eternal kingdom. For even as God wooed Israel, even as he pursued them and gave them his gifts of provision and blessing. He longed for them. He loved them with all his passion.
Likewise, in the moment of seeming irrational attraction, the finite man bares his soul. He images God in his attraction to beauty of the other and the pleasure he receives from glorying in his beloved. A woman can sell this cheaply by taking advantage of the moment. She can get him to do as she wishes, without appreciation for him. She can collect favors for herself. She can heap upon herself the transient glory of the moment. Or she can image the bride of Christ in all respect and honor, accepting his attraction as gift, accepting the work from his hand in that moment of otherness, returning to him respect and praise, not asking him to sell his dignity in this moment of powerlessness. She is but finite. He is finite. But they together reflect the infinite in this moment. This moment is not a frivolous moment. Eternity is made manifest in this moment. Heaven and hell hang upon this pregnant moment.
What does it mean to face the whole reality of what it means to be a beautiful, available woman in the presence of eligible men primarily, but other men, otherwise? Often young women, like I once was, would have like to remain ignorant of the fact that she might have power over a man. There is an unexplainable, mysterious power of attraction that is either petrifying or all-consuming...or joyful exuberance. For in that power there is the terror of the battle between evil and good. In that moment, gone astray, when a woman realizes that a man is attracted to her, she can either revel in the power of it. She can absorb the energy of the moment to build up her confidence—a false confidence because it is based on a transient, unsustainable moment. Or she can glory in her Lord and cause that moment to represent eternity for her and exude an eternal confidence. Or she can do nothing.
Certainly, to be innocent, unaware of the effect we women can have over a man is to be preferred above knowledge of the power and wielding it for personal enslavement, and abuse and commodification of the other. However, to enter into the full understanding of the power one channels by the hand of the Lord is much preferred. For when one comes into the full understanding of their authority and power, then appropriates it to her creator, she truly becomes and unstoppable force of attraction and beauty, unto the glory of God. One can accomplish so much more under the full confidence of this power. For, one images God under the full confidence of this power.
Why reveling in the moment is a false confidence?
A woman must give that moment to God, as she must give every moment to God, for she can either ground her existence in the eternal security of the infinite attraction God has for his beloved or she can use that moment to grovel for the moment of elation that comes with being affirmed in the moment of attraction. How she receives that moment is everything to her identity. That moment can represent to her the amazing embodiment of God’s attraction for his beloved, and she can glory in her Lord and Savior. This grounds her in an eternal identity. Or that moment can by itself be the ground of her existence. It can be the minuscule moment that her value rests upon and she will sell the piece of eternity she holds to that moment. Certainly, if she sells herself, she may have many more moments—moments that fill her empty identity for a while. But as things generally go, those moments will never be enough. Even a 1000 don’t compare to eternity. The moments are offered by fallen men in a fallen world. Their promise will never be entirely fulfilled, even if it is until death do us part. Death disrupts the eternal attraction.
Why we must embrace the moment as a reflection of Christ himself, for the sake of the other, for the sake of the eternal kingdom. For even as God wooed Israel, even as he pursued them and gave them his gifts of provision and blessing. He longed for them. He loved them with all his passion.
Likewise, in the moment of seeming irrational attraction, the finite man bares his soul. He images God in his attraction to beauty of the other and the pleasure he receives from glorying in his beloved. A woman can sell this cheaply by taking advantage of the moment. She can get him to do as she wishes, without appreciation for him. She can collect favors for herself. She can heap upon herself the transient glory of the moment. Or she can image the bride of Christ in all respect and honor, accepting his attraction as gift, accepting the work from his hand in that moment of otherness, returning to him respect and praise, not asking him to sell his dignity in this moment of powerlessness. She is but finite. He is finite. But they together reflect the infinite in this moment. This moment is not a frivolous moment. Eternity is made manifest in this moment. Heaven and hell hang upon this pregnant moment.
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