Brought to Glory

It was fitting that God, for Whom and through Whom all things exist, in bringing many children to glory, should make the Pioneer of their salvation perfect through sufferings. (Hebrews 2.10)

Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it. (Mark 10.15)

Huge Burdens

Ethel Covington, my grade-school librarian, remains one of my greatest heroes. She had an impeccable flair that brought great joy to instilling in us the wonders of literature. Her library was the friendliest, safest, most adventurous place on earth and it often rang with her laughter as she roamed its premises to find out what we were reading. Miss Covington adored Dickens and firmly believed he was essential reading for young people, since many of his tales revolved around the plight of children. I trust there are still librarians who share her conviction, although I tend to doubt it. We now live in an age that romanticizes childhood as a blissful state of innocence—a world that bears not the slightest resemblance to Dickens’ universe. Consistently, in Great Expectations, Oliver Twist, David Copperfield, and other novels, children are at the mercy of a greedy, unstable society that views them as liabilities. They’re tossed from pillar to post, vulnerable to the connivances of vile criminals and callous bureaucrats, forced to hang on by the slenderest of threads. Of course, Dickens’ genius rested on his ability to countermand the evil arrayed against them with improbable twists of fate. But he never let his readers forget these lucky children were exceptions to the rule.

To be a child during England’s Industrial Revolution was to suffer tremendous hardship—to be abandoned, exploited, and ignored, to cause more grief by living than by doing everyone the favor of, in Scrooge’s infamous words, dying and decreasing the surplus population. We find such attitudes appalling now. But when Dickens wrote, less than two centuries ago, not much had changed since the time of Christ. And if we’re to grasp the import of Sunday’s readings, we first must recognize the “children” they mention are not the precious tykes we coo over and coddle. They’re the most useless, needy members of society. Until they’re old enough to pull their weight, they’re huge burdens to their families and communities, and their premature deaths are often greeted with sighs of relief, not inconsolable mourning.

Unlawful Control

While Mark is the slimmest and oldest gospel, in many ways it’s the most “modern.” The writer’s mastery of juxtaposition constantly invites us to read between the lines, detecting richer meaning in the tightly scripted passages by noting how and where they’re placed. In Sunday’s selection (Mark 10.2-16), we revisit one of his most beloved passages and see how this works. When parents bring their children to Jesus, the disciples speak “sternly” to them, the suggestion being that these little ones are unworthy of Jesus’s attention. But Jesus is “indignant” and tells the disciples, “Let the little children come to Me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that kingdom of God belongs.” (v14) By itself, this episode conveys a lovely, atypical sentiment for Jesus’s time. And verse 14 is often used in our day in a sentimental way, e.g., “Jesus loves the little children of the world.” But the power of Jesus’s words can’t be fully extracted without including the text immediately preceding them.

The Pharisees come to Jesus with another of their religiously and politically charged questions—in this case, the legitimacy of divorce. In their culture, marriages are contractual affairs that deed women to men as property by which they ensure the family line. Ideally, love would bind husband and wife together, creating a nurturing environment for marital offspring. But since marriages are typically negotiated long before the partners reach maturity, common assumptions we make about them—romance, sexual attraction, and compatibility—are off the table. Naturally, this leads to a lot of unhappy unions. Jesus cites a loophole given by Moses, permitting “a man to write a certificate of dismissal and to divorce her.” (v4) He instantly rebuts the law, saying Moses allowed it “because of your hardness of heart.”

Jesus isn’t interested in splitting legal hairs. He wants to talk about faithfulness reflected in a lifelong commitment. Later, with the disciples, He’s more frank, saying anyone who divorces a spouse for another commits adultery, a sin punishable by death. These are very strong words, and we’re wise to contemplate the gravity that provokes them. Jesus reviles divorce and remarriage as a disruption of divine order, a sin that effectively creates widows, widowers, and orphans by disowning one household for another. The Greek word He uses for “adultery” carries overtones indicating those who abandon spouses and children for other partners and offspring “usurp unlawful control.” In their neglect, they take it upon themselves to destroy lives entrusted to them. Such decisions are not theirs to make, Jesus says. Then we read on, where the disciples do the very thing that Jesus just told them to avoid: they turn parents and little children away. Is it any wonder Jesus is indignant?

Where Are We?

One of the assets—and liabilities—of Mark’s compact style is that it provides enough low-hanging fruit to satisfy every taste. As I studied this weekend’s passage, I easily imagined preachers cherry-picking favorite portions without bothering to shake the whole tree. Many will focus on the wonders of childhood, no matter that ancient childhood—as in Dickens—is far from wonderful. They’ll equate entering God’s kingdom with naïve trust, rather than the suffering and hardships that childhood presents to Jesus’s listeners. Others will capture the vulnerabilities of youth and extrapolate a message of compassion for the “little ones”—the undervalued and oppressed—a note that Mark consistently strikes throughout his gospel. Finally, many will no doubt reach for Jesus’s remarks on marriage with the same enthusiasm that provoked the Pharisees to broach the subject: to validate obsolete laws that promote inequality and the convenience of dismissing anyone who doesn’t meet with their liking. Personally, I struggle with how such a reading is justifiable, as this passage stresses the radical inclusion central to Christ’s Gospel. Nonetheless, it’s there for the taking, if one so chooses.

Yet as I looked at Mark, I kept asking, “Where are we in this passage?” Are we reckless spouses who shirk our responsibilities to pursue something we want so badly we’ll sacrifice anything to get it? Many times we are. Are we spiritual adulterers who usurp unlawful control of God’s kingdom and disrupt God’s plan? It’s possible. Are we disciples who take it upon ourselves to decide who is or isn’t worthy of Christ’s attention? Sadly, we do that too. Still, something inside me wouldn’t settle for quick reduction of so complex a text, or the ready-made guilt of human failure. There had to be more in this than first meets the eye and Sunday’s New Testament offering brought it to light.

In Hebrews 2.10 we read, “It was fitting that God, for Whom and through Whom all things exist, in bringing many children to glory, should make the Pioneer of their salvation perfect through sufferings.” We are God’s children and we will suffer the outrages of abandonment and abuse. People will disown us in favor of others. Some will use archaic laws to legitimize their scorn and neglect. And—if not literally, spiritually—some would prefer we die and decrease the surplus population, rather than burden them with our needs and longings. But each of us, regardless of who we are and how we’re made, are being brought to glory through Christ, the Pioneer Who made perfect our salvation through taking on our sufferings. He is our Leader, faithful beyond measure and wedded to us for life. It’s not about the villains. It’s all about the Victor Who says, “Let the little children come to Me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that kingdom of God belongs,” adding this assurance: “Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.” (v15) The Child Who is the Christ welcomes us to God’s kingdom. May we receive this divine invitation with a whole-hearted “I do!”

Despite our frailties and liabilities, the ever faithful and true Christ welcomes us to God’s kingdom.

Too Slick to Handle

After all, no one ever hated their own body, but they feed and care for their body, just as Christ does the church—for we are members of his body. (Ephesians 5.29-30)

(Longer than I’d like… about a passage NOBODY likes.)

Black Ice

That Ephesians 5 turns up in the daily readings just as “black ice” warnings peak is a rich irony indeed. The euphemism refers to thin sheets of ice frozen atop pavement. It’s not really black. It’s invisible. Artificial light penetrates the icy layer, making it imperceptible to motorists and pedestrians until they lose traction and often don’t have time to slow down before losing control. Yesterday, I awoke in an Indianapolis hotel room, turned on the news, and learned two highways had been closed due to black-ice collisions. Then I opened today’s readings, and when I got to Ephesians 5.22 (“Wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do to the Lord”), I could see spinouts and crashes everywhere. Paul’s “Instructions to Christian Households” (as the NIV coyly labels it) is, without doubt, among the most treacherous of New Testament passages. Even when we cautiously inch across it, probability we’ll be rattled runs very high. The thin metaphor frosted atop Paul’s underlying message is simply too slick to handle.

Modern readers who successfully navigate this perilous patch are no less shaken than those who impulsively hit their brakes and careen into trouble. What persuades Paul that marriage—which he presents as an inherently inequitable arrangement—is the most apt means of conveying Christ’s unparalleled love and our duty to one another? The gender disparity he takes for granted is (let’s not mince words) rank. He tells wives to submit to their husbands “as the church submits to Christ,” (v24) and instructs husbands to love their wives “just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her.” (v25) She submits; he loves. She answers to him; he oversees her. She’s “the Church;” he’s “Christ.” Ugh. A passing mention would be plenty to send us reeling. But, for some reason, Paul won’t let it go. He spends 11 verses (22-33) banging on his comparison, reiterating the same point again and again, doing a more egregious job of it each time. It’s no wonder feminist and equality-minded Christians—which should be all of us—dismiss his hoary idea outright. Meanwhile, LGBT believers don’t know what to make of it, as the metaphor holds no resonance with same-sex unions.

The Benefit of the Doubt

With flares going up like caution signals around black ice, do we back up and search for a safer detour to the same end—i.e., Christ's great love for us, our equality as believers, and our responsibility to care for one another? We can. The epistles contain numerous passages stressing this doctrine. But since we’re already here, it may be worthwhile to throw some road salt at Paul's slick patch, melt the ice, and regain our traction. Beneath its sexist surface lies a remarkable observation about Christ’s care for every believer. Read verses 29 and 30 with an open mind: “After all no one ever hated their own body, but they feed and care for their body, just as Christ does the church—for we are members of his body.”

Stripping Paul’s point of its infamous framework requires grace on our part. We’re in the odd position of doing for him what he constantly urges us to do for less astute believers. Rather than take offense, we offer patience and understanding. (Poor Paul. His refusal to quit his sorry metaphor proves he’s in over his head. We’ve all been there, done that, have we not?) So, in the spirit of Christ-like charity, let’s give him the benefit of the doubt. Why? First, we know he’s convinced Christ's sacrifice destroyed social, ethnic, and gender barriers. His passion for equality crystallizes in Galatians 3.28: “There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.” Second, our revulsion at Paul’s misogynist slant holds him to a cultural standard completely alien to his time. What we’re asking of him via hindsight exceeds his experience.

Unconventional, Unmerited Passion

For argument’s sake, though, let’s suppose Paul foresees the day when gender equality gains acceptance. Does he also foresee his letters surviving centuries needed to achieve that? If so, will the Ephesians comprehend his prescient vision of equality? Paul never indicates he’s consciously writing for the ages. And were his metaphor to reflect our times, his readers wouldn’t get it. Ancient marriages aren’t built on love and respect. They’re contracts families enter into for perpetuity (or acquisition) of wealth and lineage. Daughters are bartering chips traded by parents with little thought to their happiness. Their sole obligation centers on submitting to their husbands’ demands. Should a wife displease her husband, he can break the contract and keep her dowry as a severance fee. He’s free to remarry; her options are few to none. Lost virginity stamps her as “used” and her lost dowry hobbles her family’s ability to muster another, notably more costly one to offset her tarnished appeal.

Once we’re reminded of the dehumanizing aspects of first-century matrimony, as well as Paul’s commitment to social equality evidenced elsewhere, we may want to reassess our response to this passage. Our knee-jerk reaction may be the problem. Spinning out on the passage's slick surface, we may get so turned around we come at it backwards, assuming marriage is the topic and Christ's Body the metaphor. When we regain our bearings, however, we realize Paul's not misusing the Church’s relationship with Christ to advocate sexism. In fact, he's not talking about marriage at all. He's evoking the most commonplace, conventional union of his day to heighten our awareness of Christ’s singularly unconventional passion for us—women and men alike.

Loved by Choice

Don’t worry if all of this makes you itchy under the collar. You’re not alone; I’m close to breaking our in a rash myself, as this next curve risks total wipeout. (Hold on tight now.) Since Paul knows no congregation better than the Ephesians, it’s doubtful his metaphor troubles them; he specifically chose it for them. Yet if they are outraged by anything, it’s not his diminution of women. It's his conviction that husbands should love their wives! Instructing Ephesian men to replicate Christ's love for the Church amounts to telling them, “Forget custom. Go way out of your way to care and provide for your spouses. Choose to love them like Christ loves both of you.” That’s the core principle here. Finally, the rubber meets the road.

We free this text of its surface chauvinism by ignoring everything Paul says about wifely subservience and husbandly superiority. None of it can be taken literally, because the contractual nature of ancient wedlock no longer exists. We can shout, “Hallelujah for that!” and shelve the premise alongside other anachronisms Paul addresses—e.g., treatment of slaves, eating meat offered to idols, and engaging temple prostitutes in pagan rites. Once the black ice melts, what’s below secures our steps with a gripping revelation we can’t afford to skim over: Christ goes out of the way—way out of the way—to love us. We are loved by choice. On purpose. Without merit. Christ loves us because we’re part of Christ. “After all, no one ever hated their own body, but they feed and care for their body, just as Christ does the church—for we are members of his body.”

Membership in Christ’s Body equalizes all of us, regardless of gender, class, ethnicity, and orientation. As equals, our concerns cannot supersede the concerns of others. For me to care more about myself reveals an exalted self-opinion. I’m out of joint with Christ’s Body. For you to put your needs first reveals an inflated sense of importance. You’re out of joint with Christ’s Body. And we’re both out of synch with Christ’s leadership. That’s why Paul opens this passage by making it abundantly clear what he’s driving at: “Submit to one another out of reverence to Christ.” (v21) There’s no mention of gender, marital roles, cultural traditions—not one. In the final analysis, all of this marital and gender craziness distills into one abiding truth. Service to one another is an act of worship to God. We answer those who insist Paul's antiquated metaphor has doctrinal relevance with, "It's got nothing to do with women, men, or marital relations. It's about Christ's unfailing passion for us and service among equals in the Body of Christ." We answer those who rage at the apparent gender bias in Paul's parallel the same way.

Too many centuries divide Paul and us. Too much has changed, all for the good, we hope. Having deserted the archaic customs and attitudes that ice Paul's metaphor, we've every cause to detest how it reads. But once we regain traction and approach the text from the right direction, how can we not love what it actually says?

Paul’s obsolete marriage metaphor sends us into a tailspin and we miss what he’s driving at. Beneath the icy layer lies a gripping revelation.

Scandals

Because Joseph her husband was faithful to the law, and yet did not want to expose her to public disgrace, he had in mind to divorce her quietly. (Matthew 1.19)

Ancient History

We’ve got so comfortable discussing sex, marriage, and pregnancy we forget as late as the 1960’s, they weren’t appropriate topics for casual conversation. Sex stayed off the table entirely, while marriage and pregnancy only got mentioned when they were happy news—meaning, in mutual context. Divorces were like deaths. Unfaithful spouses were shunned as if they were murderers. Living in misery for the sake of the children—many of whom were badly scarred by anger and violence that attended “sticking it out”—was viewed as the best thing to do. Unwed pregnancies shocked everyone. Most middle- and upper-class single women who conceived quietly surrendered their babies for adoption to spare their family’s disgrace. (That is, if they didn’t pay a discrete visit to a trusted gynecologist, a luxury seldom available to lower-class unwed mothers, who had little choice but to raise their children on their own.) Couples cohabiting without marriage licenses were dismissed as morally reckless. If they brought children into the world without marrying, they were vilified all the more.

If this reads like ancient history, that’s because it is. Though methods and morals of marital relations, along with childbearing, have waxed and waned across time, it’s only very recently that society as a whole has taken a more liberal view. (That’s why two of English’s most inflammatory castigations refer to children born out of wedlock.) Reading the Christmas accounts, cross-referencing Matthew’s telling from Joseph’s perspective with Luke’s version from Mary’s, we’re jolted by the intense pressure they’re under from the first. Honoring custom, their marriage contract has been formalized, the dowry negotiated, and their union announced. We now call this “engagement to marry,” though reasons for the delay have got lost. In Mary and Joseph’s time publishing banns (as the practice eventually was called) gives time for anyone to disclose information that might nullify the union after consummation. Grounds include: prior sexual activity, previous marriages not yet dissolved, hereditary illnesses, and legally prohibited degrees of kinship.

Deadly Serious

Ancient communities adopt such policies to protect their interests. If new facts void a marital contract after sexual union, the divorcée and children become social outcasts andburdens. To preempt future scandal from this, families do thorough background checks before entering into the contract. Publishing it seals the deal, with the couple named husband and wife before living and sleeping together. Sex is forbidden to bar status changes during the wait. Non-compliant couples face fornication charges. Straying partners risk adultery convictions. Under Mosaic Law, both are capital offenses. So when Mary finds out she’s pregnant without her consent—a little detail we don’t dare mention—and Joseph learns of it, they realize they’re fodder for deadly serious scandal. Mary’s benefitted from discussing the situation with God’s messenger; her response is tempered by resolute faith. Her husband isn’t as fortunate.

Joseph’s first impulse urges him to take the most legally prudent route. But it’s an impossible dilemma forcing him to choose where his heart lies. Matthew 1.19 spells it out beautifully: “Because Joseph her husband was faithful to the law, and yet did not want to expose her to public disgrace, he had in mind to divorce her quietly.” That is, he decides to obey his community and religion’s rules by discretely severing the marriage contract before Mary’s pregnancy becomes obvious. That frees her to disappear—possibly returning to Jerusalem to live with her cousin, Elizabeth, and raise her Child there. If all goes well, the couple will escape scandal and legal action they’d inevitably confront in Nazareth. It’s a smart plan. But it’s not a safe one, because it’s not God’s plan. To paraphrase a thrilling observation my pastor made in last Sunday, by design, God hands Joseph a scandalous situation and dispatches an angel instructing him to face the scandal with Mary and choose to protect someone beside himself. “Do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife,” the angel says, “because what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit.” (v20)

The Big Difference

That’s the big difference between Mary and Joseph. She has no choice. He does. Christ’s presence in his life hinges on courage to confront scandal and placing Mary’s welfare above his own. He says “no” to fear. He says “no” to pressure. He says “no” to the Law! Telling them “no” is how he tells God, “Yes.” And his willingness to confront scandal is essential here, because scandal will follow Jesus from manger to tomb. Based on this tiny glimpse of Joseph’s character, can we doubt Jesus is also his Son? God chooses Joseph as Christ’s earthly role model in full confidence he’ll make influential choices.

From what we see in Joseph and the Babe he raises to adulthood, by its very nature, a Christ-led life is scandalous. If that doesn’t shock us, perhaps we’re not aware how often fear, pressure, and accepted rules decide our actions. What seems smart isn’t always safe, because our wisdom typically lacks courage and puts self-interests first. That’s not what God wants. It’s not what Christ teaches. It’s not what Jesus exemplifies. So we’re subject to derision in communities where logic ridicules faith. So? So religionists bellow when we defy their rules and say yes to God. So? So determination to house Christ in our hearts, nurturing Christ’s presence in our thoughts and actions, raises suspicions and threats of rejection. So? The Babe conceived in Mary by the Holy Spirit is the Christ conceived in us. This thing is bigger than we realize—too holy to hide, too daring for discretion, too wonderful to worry with human rules. If dreading scandal sends us packing, we haven’t fully embraced God’s purpose and power in our lives. Face scandals. Don’t be afraid. Choose right. Say “Yes!”

Saying no to fear, pressure, and manmade rules is how we tell God, “Yes!”

Postscript: “Trading My Sorrows”

Oh my, talk about scandal! I’m about to embed a John Tesh video into this post! But go with me on this. When you hear the refrain, I’m sure you’ll get it. Saying “yes” should swing wide huge windows of joy in our spirits. And indeed it does.

The Bowl

You, my brothers, were called to be free. But do not use your freedom to indulge the sinful nature; rather, serve one another in love. (Galatians 5.13)

With deepest gratitude to Sylvia Gomez and Jon Duncanson for teaching Walt and me about The Bowl.

Veering Into What?

Though less now than before, we socialize most gay kids alongside straight kids without allowing for differences taking place in their minds and bodies. There’s a reason for this. Humanity needs to reproduce. So gay boys and girls grow up observing rites of passage that reinforce heterosexuality. In America, these include “going steady,” first kisses and dates, school dances, sexual initiation (rounding the bases until you hit a homer), engagement, marriage, childbirth, and restarting the cycle with a new brood of procreators. As a result, the gay youth’s personal circumstances—where he/she lives, family traditions and values, religious upbringing, ethnic background, etc.—seriously impact the point where he/she can veer off this course.

But veering off the beaten path with its clearly marked milestones means veering into what? Gay longings are the same as straight ones—loving companionship, stability, affection, and integrity. Without a proven model to emulate or social and legal bumpers to steer them, many gay people step right out of the closet into the woods. It goes beyond dangers associated with looking for love in wrong places—promiscuity, substance abuse, emotional injury, and so on. When love presents itself, many of us jump in over our heads. We fall too easily and give up far too easily. After a few failed tries, many of us settle for “single life,” which basically means self-imposed loneliness or frequenting places where it's most likely Mr./Ms. Right-Now will drift by. This suggests gay men and women struggle less with finding love than making it last.

Ironclad Reasons

I admit I’m knee-deep in presumptions here. I’ve also not mentioned many straight people wrestle with identical issues and tendencies. I beg forgiveness for this. My intent is not to perpetuate these stereotypes. It’s to guide all of us—gay and straight—away from considering them worthy of us as believers. The wisdom and discipline we gain by following Christ are not to be minimized in how we approach our personal lives. If anything, His principles apply more aptly to our most intimate relationships than anywhere else in our lives. Our relationships' importance to us, our desire to sustain them, and our ability to build them on Scriptural truth give us ironclad reasons to infuse them with faith.

Too often we presume since our partners know us so well, we’re free to indulge lower instincts—our sinful nature—and prevail on their love and forgiveness after the fact. And they may continue to love and forgive us. But every time we wrong them, we build higher walls and set narrower boundaries. We compromise real freedom and ease that make for healthy relationships. This isn’t just reckless of us; it’s contrary to our faith. Galatians 5.13 says, “You were called to be free. But do not use your freedom to indulge the sinful nature; rather serve one another in love.” Relationships founded on service in love are relationships that last.

“You Gotta Get a Bowl”

Very quickly, Walt and I gathered the dynamics and stresses common to people in love are fundamentally the same for everyone, regardless of gender or orientation. One is neater than the other. One is more candid. One manages money better. Etc. Hence, the first phase of any relationship is invariably its most fragile and bruising. But especially as a freshly minted gay couple, every time we bumped into each other became a crisis. Our insecurity goaded us to magnify minor mistakes into intentional affronts. As expected, there was a fair share of “Shouldn’t he know this by now?” and “Why would he assume this?” and “This is who I am. Better get used to it.” We wanted our love to last. We just had no idea how to make it last. When we mentioned our anxiety to our friends, Sylvia and Jon, they smiled. “You gotta get a bowl,” Sylvia said. Jon agreed and they told us about the bowl—what it is and how it makes love last.

“People tell you the surest way to stay together is never to go to bed mad. Well, the bowl’s like that, only better,” they said. Here’s what we learned. When two people fall in love, they create a third entity—their union. It’s made from both of them, but it has a life of its own. It becomes the most important thing they share, and both make it their duty to nurture and protect it. “Think of it as a bowl between you guys,” Jon and Sylvia told us. “You need to love that bowl more than anything in life—in particular, more than yourselves.” They explained the bowl’s survival depends on each partner filling it with an act of kindness for the other every day. It’s the motive for the gesture—not its size—that’s important. “There will be plenty of times you won’t feel happy with each other,” they said. “But even if it’s the last thing you do, you don’t let a day pass without doing something nice for the other guy. So what if you don’t love him at that moment? You still love the bowl. You’ve put a lot into it. You want it to last.”

Now, 18 years later, I see Sylvia and Jon taught us the principle in Galatians 5.13. Commitment and intimacy don’t liberate us to give in to whimsy and weakness. They free us to show our commitment to one another in intimate ways. Every day, we add a special act of kindness to the bowl. A candy bar. Doing the dishes. Vacation tickets. An “I love you” Post-It on the mirror. A new car. Size and distinction don’t matter. Our willingness to nurture and protect the bowl is all that counts. Love worth having is worth the effort to make it last.

You gotta get a bowl.

(Tomorrow: Golden Opportunities)

Enter Laughing

So Sarah laughed to herself as she thought, “After I am worn out and my master is old, will I now have this pleasure?”

                        Genesis 18.12 

Midlife Changes

The other morning I found myself transfixed by a little-known movie called Bigger Than Life (1956). James Mason plays a teacher diagnosed with arterial inflammation and given weeks to live. He consents to experimental treatment with cortisone, a new human steroid with miraculous powers. It helps his condition, but warps his mind. He becomes egomaniacal and scathingly abusive to his wife and young son. I couldn’t believe it—a 50’s film about ‘roid rage! As the picture went on, I detected Old Testament shades of Abraham I couldn’t pin down. Other than centering on husbands whose unexpected midlife changes turn their lives upside down, the stories had nothing in common. Then, at Bigger Than Life’s climax, the connection fixes itself. Without spoiling the end, it defines Mason’s character as an anti-Abraham, a modest man monstrously bent on destroying his family by a drug-induced God complex. While the film doesn’t exact retribution for this, it finishes on a tragic note. The ordeal changes his gentle wife into a suspicious, snappish mate. Afterward, my mind kept drifting to this woman, comparing her to Abraham’s wife, Sarah. While she faces realities of her husband’s protracted withdrawal and likelihood he’ll never return to himself, Sarah’s midlife change is so unrealistic, merely thinking about it makes her laugh.

Disappointments

Abraham’s faith and obedience afford him such towering presence it’s easy to forget Sarah’s an enthralling character in her own right. While his tale brims with adventure, disappointments riddle her story. She’s unable to bear children. Married into a family of restless men, she never settles in one place for very long. Early on, she joins Abraham as he, his father, and his nephew, Lot, leave home for Canaan, a rich and lovely land. Alas, that doesn’t work out. The father takes a liking to a community en route to Canaan and the couple ends up growing into middle-aged prosperity there. Then Abraham announces God’s sending them to Canaan, where he’ll father a nation to inherit the land. The wildest imagination can’t conceive Sarah greeting this with “That’s great, honey! When do we leave?”

Canaan amounts to one disappointment after another. With Lot tagging along, the couple futilely searches for a place to live. Famine drives them to Egypt, where Pharaoh, smitten with Sarah, kidnaps her and Abraham steals her back. Lot relocates near Sodom, gets in trouble with the king, risks his family’s safety, and loses his wife in a firestorm of wrath. One of Sarah’s maids bears Abraham’s son, humiliating her and creating problems in her marriage. Year after year, crisis after crisis, she must wonder, “How long can this drag on? Where’s this nation?” Yet despite the letdowns and dead ends, she stays true to Abraham, trusting him as he trusts God. So far, she’s not been asked to believe for herself. That changes when she overhears Abraham talking to three strangers in their garden. Unaware they’re divine messengers, she hears this: “I will surely return to you about this time next year, and Sarah your wife will have a son.” The notion is too nuts to entertain. She’s never been able to conceive and even if she had, she’s long past menopause. So Sarah laughs and puts it out of her mind—until she gets pregnant with Isaac.

Promises, Promises

We might chastise Sarah for giggling at God’s promise were it not for its whopping size and her integrity as a faithful wife. Having lived on promises for decades, it’s completely understandable another one—especially one so preposterously over-the-top about her—would trigger laughter. There are many colors in that laugh, though, a subtle mingling of incredulity, surprise, fatigue, absurdity, confusion, worry, and anxiety. Those last two aspects are particularly poignant, as they reflect Sarah’s care for Abraham. While she tries to dismiss the promise as beyond belief, she knows he accepts it full-bore. He’ll expect what she’s physically unable to do. After supporting him without pause, she’s been set up to let him down. Her laughter masks nervous questions she prefers not to ask: Why me? Why this? Why now? Why not sooner? She walks away before the messenger asks the one question worth considering: “Is anything too hard for the LORD?” (Genesis 18.14)

Can you feel Sarah? So often life feels strung out on promises, promises. What we most hope for falls beyond our grasp. Before we settle down to enjoy some stability, we’re swept up by unanticipated pursuits. We get captivated by new admirers and tugged away by old ones. People we take into our hearts repay us by falling into trouble or taunting our inadequacies. We’re faithful to a fault, yet the more we give, the more absurd expectations get. And when God shows up with a whopper, promising success where we’ve always failed, it sounds like more the same, tempting us to laugh and walk away. But we should hang around, because He has a question. Is there anything too hard for Me? Those are His promises we trust. His plan guides us. What’s inconceivable for us is laughable to Him. If God’s opening closed doors for us, why laugh and walk away, when we can enter laughing?

We can laugh at God’s promises because they're impossible for us or laugh because nothing's impossible for Him.

(Tomorrow: Refreshment)  

Revisiting Landmarks

Six days before the Passover, Jesus arrived at Bethany, where Lazarus lived, whom Jesus had raised from the dead.

                        John 12.1

Going Back to Move Ahead

Bethany is the final place Jesus visits prior to His triumphal entry into Jerusalem. Situated on the southeast slope of the Mount of Olives, it sits just a mile-and-a-half outside the capitol. Travelers often pause there to freshen up, water their animals, and take a deep breath before heading into Jerusalem’s big-city hubbub. Jesus has more in mind than sprucing up, though; His decision to stop at the village comes not by coincidence. He’s altogether aware that once He passes through Jerusalem’s gates, there’s no turning back. He’s always been welcomed and appreciated in Bethany. His dear friends, Lazarus, Mary, and Martha, live there. He performed one of His greatest miracles there by restoring Lazarus to life. So Bethany holds many fond memories for Jesus, and in the manner of many facing certain arrest, conviction, and execution, He makes a point of calling on His beloved friends and supporters one last time before walking into destiny. He’s going back to move ahead. Ironically, what happens during His layover there cements His fate.

Open Arms

Obviously, the good people of Bethany haven’t the slightest inkling this is Jesus’s farewell visit. What He’ll soon experience is beyond their imagination. Unlike Nazareth—where He was run out of town after chiding His childhood neighbors and relatives for looking for His wonders rather than listening to His words—any time Jesus comes to Bethany, He’s received with open arms. (This explains why He works miracles there that Nazareth never sees.) Bethany loves Jesus for Who He is, not what He does, and they treat His arrival on this Saturday before Passover as a homecoming event. After sundown brings Sabbath’s end, they give a dinner in His honor. Martha waits table. Lazarus sidles up near Jesus, eager to spend time with the Friend Who gave Him life.

Taking some license with John, it’s easy to envision Mary seated at distance, overcome with emotion while watching the brother she’d lost dining with Jesus. An uncontrollable urge seizes her. She rushes off and returns with her prize possession, a jar of costly perfume. Boldly, as convention frowns on women interrupting male conversation, she pours the fragrance on Christ’s feet and towels them with her hair. Her gesture stuns everyone, none more than Judas, who’s appalled by her excess. “Why wasn’t this perfume sold and the money given to the poor?” he asks. Jesus silences Judas’s protest with a rebuke indicating Mary’s lavish gratitude for a past resurrection signals another to come. “Leave her alone,” He says. “She was saving this to anoint My body after death.” Two extraordinary, inextricably linked things coincide in that moment. Judas’s outraged disapproval turns him against Jesus and Jesus predicts His corpse won’t remain lifeless long enough to require preservation. By this time next week, both men will be dead. Only one will rise.

Choosing the Route

So often when facing unfavorable inevitabilities, we withdraw under the impression what’s coming is ours to face alone. We walk in solitude, staring at trials looming ahead, hanging on to every moment before the unavoidable will wait no longer. But here Christ teaches us the importance of choosing the route we take to confront our problems. Before we plunge into ordeals, we should follow His example and take time to return—if not physically, then mentally—to people who love us for who we are and places where we knew God’s power in very real, life-affirming ways. Revisiting landmarks provides invaluable assurance and solace while hazarding our way through future unpredictability and anxiety. Past accomplishments and feats of kindness become touchstones that keep us steady when failure seems likely and cruelty engulfs us. I can’t help but think Jesus looked at Lazarus and saw Himself leaving His own tomb. Possibly even on the cross, staring down as His life’s blood pooled at its base, Lazarus came to mind. In those final moments, confidence in His resurrection held firm if for no other reason than He’d recently reunited with a friend who experienced resurrection.

But revisiting landmarks also achieves two other benefits. The acceptance and gratitude we rediscover there bring clarity to what we will find as we move on. Mary based her offering on the past, yet Christ received it as a promise for the future. And finally, returning to sites of indubitable strength provides contrast we need to separate hangers-on and bad influences from legitimate friends. John says Judas objected to Mary’s generosity “not because he cared about the poor but because he was a thief.” Surrounded by genuine love for Jesus, Judas revealed his true colors. Though he stuck with the other disciples until the Passover, his actions in Bethany already belied his loyalty to Christ. In times of trial, the last things we need are so-called friends covertly opposing us. Pausing to reflect on people who prove their faithfulness and devotion again and again often awakens us to reality of those traveling with us. In the end, what began as a homecoming banquet became a going-away celebration. It’s always that way with revisiting landmarks. We go back so we can move ahead.

Lazarus was living proof of Christ’s resurrecting power. (Giotto di Bondone: Raising of Lazarus; circa 1320)

(Tomorrow: In the Name of the Lord)

Postscript: Speaking of Landmarks…

You all heard the news, I’m sure. After supposedly progressive states like California and Arizona expressly vote against Constitutional equality for all, Iowa sneaks up and reaffirms it. I’m happy to leave political opinions to the pundits, religious opinions to the preachers, and personal opinions to the people. But as an American and Midwesterner, I couldn’t possibly let the moment pass without paying tribute to the state next door and its Supreme Court’s commitment to liberty and justice for all. In the words of The Music Man’s author and composer, Meredith Willson, “You really ought to give Iowa a try!”

“Iowa Stubborn” from The Music Man (1962).

Gentle, Obviously

Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near.

                        Philippians 4.5

A Gentle Giant

I’m not a “born” pastor’s kid. I entered the world the son of a machinist and nurse, both devout Christians in Birmingham, Alabama. Soon after, a strike closed my father’s workplace. It dragged on for months, and out of concern about providing for my mother and me, Dad moved us to Chicago. We settled in a Southside neighborhood called “Canaryville,” a common landing spot for Southern émigrés. It quickly became clear Canaryville and Birmingham were worlds apart. Problems discretely dealt with down South—substance and spousal abuse, runaway children, teen pregnancy, and so on—were public matters. At first, my folks joined an established Pentecostal church a half-hour away. But as they learned of their neighbors’ troubles, they became convinced the neighborhood needed a lighthouse, a haven within reach of the battered souls around them. They prayed for guidance. It took a few years before the call finally came.

Actually, the call came before I was born. As a teenager, my mom heard God beckoning her to ministry. Fear of rejection as a woman preacher caused her to bury her gifts, however. Now, over 10 years later, a second call came—this time with such force she couldn’t escape it. Yet her obedience teetered on Dad’s accepting the call also. He didn’t blink. While Mom devoted her days and nights to study, prayer, and outreach into neglected communities, Dad supported her emotionally, prayerfully, and also financially by keeping his full-time job. Together, they built a congregation of families and young people distressed by poverty, drug addiction, abusive parents, educational challenges, gang life, mental instability, and spiritual hunger. Our house became a hiding place for dozens on dozens seeking shelter from inner city turmoil. (My brother and I once started a list of everyone who lived with us at some point. We quit at 50.) And though Mom took the dynamic lead, Dad’s quiet tenderness and care always reassured those they helped that our church, our home, and our hearts were safe and trustworthy places. He was—and is—in every respect a gentle giant.

Evident

This lengthy personal background comes after recently opening Philippians to read, “Let your gentleness be evident to all.” My father has exemplified this to me all of my life. By nature, he’s an easy-going guy with the patience of a saint. But ask anyone about his Christian witness, and gentleness is the first to get mentioned. Whether you’ve just met him or known him for decades, it’s evident. There’s no mistaking it for a lesser quality like politeness, or a weakness like passivity. Evident gentleness brings with it pronounced compassion and strength. It displays God’s love and faithfulness in a decidedly human fashion that no one can dismiss and everyone can appreciate. Who in his right mind prefers unprovoked hostility to unsolicited gentleness? Who doesn’t recognize a gentle response is by far a riskier, more demanding gesture than blunt indifference or harsh frankness? Gentleness is a powerful trait. Its subtlety conveys innumerable other virtues—such as respect, concern, and acceptance—that sometimes appear disingenuous when explicitly expressed.

Gentle People

True believers are gentle people. In Galatians 5.22, Paul lists gentleness as a fruit of the Spirit. We produce it. It grows out of God’s presence in us and ripens in open view. Many of us demur from using it, though. Cultural conditioning trains us to regard gentle people dimly, as non-ambitious and unimaginative—harmless, but useless. Because they don’t jump at the chance to show off or stand their ground, we write them off as too weak-kneed to succeed in our overly competitive world. That’s a mistake. But we also make another mistake, one that affects us more directly, when applying this logic to matters of faith.

When challenged—by non-believers and fellow Christians—about our confidence in God’s acceptance and right to believe, competitive instincts are the first to rise. Walking with Christ is the most treasured aspect of our lives. We’re naturally compelled to defend and protect it. These are the most crucial times to hear Paul: “Let your gentleness be evident to all.” They provide us wonderful chances to prove our faith by action rather than word. I love Paul’s advice about handling faith skirmishes. “Don’t have anything to do with foolish and stupid arguments,” he writes in 2 Timothy 2.23-26, “because they produce quarrels. And the Lord’s servant must not quarrel; instead, he must be kind to everyone, able to teach, not resentful. Those who oppose him he must gently instruct, in the hope that God will grant them repentance leading them to a knowledge of the truth, and that they will come to their senses and escape from the trap of the devil, who has taken them captive to do his will.” In all we do, we must be gentle, obviously.

Telling the Philippians this, Paul attaches a coda—“The Lord is near,” a not-so-subtle reminder the hour of His coming is unknown. We don’t know how long we have. Nothing is assured. Whether we die an hour from now or live many years to come, if the Second Coming occurs next Monday or millennia from now, we’ve no time for squandering opportunities to make our gentleness evident to all.

My mom, the dynamo, and my dad, the gentle giant who supports her.

(Tomorrow: Try Me)

Together

Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work: If one falls down, his friend can help him up.

                        Ecclesiastes 4.9-10

The End

After dazzling the world with their prodigious talent and stirring up every imaginable sort of controversy, The Beatles entered the studio one last time to record “The End,” a deceptively brief, simple tune that ingeniously captured the whole of their art and philosophy. They left the world this message: “And in the end/The love you take/Is equal to the love you make.” Take a moment to let your mind wander through the entire Beatles catalog—from “Can’t Buy Me Love” and “Help!” to “Eleanor Rigby” and “In My Life” and on to “Come Together” and “Let It Be”—and you realize every stylistic road they traveled inevitably led to “The End”. Likewise, every mode of enlightenment they explored inevitably brought them back to their spiritual foundation as Anglican catechism students. For what is “The End” if not a superb distillation of Christ’s doctrine of selfless love?

“The End” frames Jesus’s commandment to love others as we love ourselves (Matthew 22.39) in the context of an earlier statement: “Give, and it will be given to you… For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.” (Luke 6.38) We give love with confidence it will be repaid measure for measure, if not by those who receive it, then from another source. Faith in the divine principle of reciprocation profoundly alters our search for companionship. Instead of rushing to and fro looking for love, we continue to love others as love looks for us. Ecclesiastes 11.1 says, “Cast your bread upon the waters, for after many days you will find it again.” The love we give today—the compassion, forgiveness, and sacrifice we invest—determines the quality and quantity of love we receive in the future. In the end, the love we take is equal to the love we make.

A Never-Ending Beginning

The quest to love and be loved doesn’t conclude with finding “that special someone.” Love is a never-ending beginning, a dynamic process of discovery that starts over and over each moment a new factor emerges. Changes within and around us relentlessly challenge us to adapt, to reset our expectations, and to reassess our responsibilities. Companionship, whether with life partners, friends, or family, is seldom a static, predictable undertaking. Often the needs of the other demand we forego our needs and give more than we desire for his/her benefit. We keep making love, producing it at great personal expense sometimes, in order to take love when we need it.

Love is hard work, and the world runs rampant with people who selfishly prefer lazy loneliness to the intensive labor of companionship. They’re the ones who bail out the minute a partner or friend asks for more patience, understanding, or mercy than they can easily give. “I didn’t sign up for this,” they say. “It’s not working out.” And in all fairness, many times we’re misled into relationships that turn unhealthy when fiction created to lure us there breaks down and ugly facts come to light. But there are just as many times when “It’s not working out” is no more than a cowardly way of admitting “I don’t want to work this hard.” Being together means being in it together—working through difficulties, uncertainty, and unwelcome surprises. But if we uphold our commitment to those we love, Ecclesiastes 4.9-10 promises our faithfulness will be rewarded.

For Better

Two are better than one, Ecclesiastes tells us, because they accomplish more together than on their own. They’re there for one another, ready to do the heavy lifting when the other stumbles. The writer continues in verses 11 and 12, observing, “If two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone? Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves.” What’s fascinating here is the focus on hardship, suggesting companionship is primarily meant to sustain us rather than fulfill cravings for romantic or friendly bliss. Before we recoil in horror—What? No happiness?—let’s ask how any relationship can be happy unless both parties care for and protect each other. Bearing the other’s burdens, shielding him/her from harm, and tending to his/her growth and contentment are the hallmarks of happy companions.

Proverbs 17.17 says, “A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.” Borrowing from traditional marriage vows to stay together “for better or for worse,” companionship is designed to capitalize on worse for better. It exemplifies God’s stubborn love and unfailing concern for us. In exhorting the Early Church to lead lives that please God, Peter stresses this, saying, “Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.” (1 Peter 4.8) True companions overlook one another’s faults, forgive one another’s mistakes, and compensate for one another’s weaknesses. This is how God loves us. This is how we love one another. This is how we stay together.

Two are better than one.

(Tomorrow: Mysterious Ways)

Postscript: Love Online

I’m delighted to recommend two blogs, both of which contributed to the inspiration for today’s post. First, though, I also must apologize for my absence this week. Professional commitments got the better of me and although I sat down a number of times hoping to produce something worth your time, the thoughts and words didn’t come. (Even today’s post shows signs of strain.) But I’m back on the job and look forward to resuming the daily schedule starting today.

Mariah and Byron Edgington are a marvelous couple who visit and comment here frequently. The care and acceptance expressed in their responses reflect the tender joy that courses through their blog, Caffection! Married to My Best Friend. The title says it all. They believe the best, happiest marriages (straight and gay) are built on nurturing the relationship between two best friends for life—lovers who are committed to one another at all times, i.e., “Co-affection” or “Caffection.” Their posts are always refreshing and inspiring. I encourage all those desirous of enriching their relationships to make Caffection! a regular reading habit.

The Parish Blog of St. Edward the Confessor far exceeds its intended purpose as the online extension of the congregational life of a vibrant parish in Albany, New York. Edited and predominantly written by Fran, whose personal blog FranIAm and regular comments here are a constant joy, the St. Edward blog is an embarrassment of riches—meditations in keeping with the liturgical calendar, essays probing theological topics, and superbly chosen illustrations. One of my favorite things about it is “Poetry Tuesday,” a weekly poem by local parishioner Donald G. Harmande. Don and I have become good friends via email. As I’ve got to know him better—particularly learning of his cherished marriage to his late wife—I’ve come to appreciate the spirit of love and wonder in his words. Drop by St. Edward’s and bask in its gentle light.  

Joe the Carpenter

Joseph her husband was a righteous man.

                        Matthew 1.19

A Warm Morning in Late March

For the moment, let’s look at the Nativity as a domestic drama about teen pregnancy rather than an epic pageant about the birth of the Redeemer. We have two young people pledged to one another, both still living with their parents. Their families have agreed to—and possibly even arranged—their marriage. All of Nazareth knows about it. On a warm morning in late March, Mary comes by Joseph’s carpenter shop, without her mother, to speak with him. This is highly unusual for her and disconcerting to him. He’s not thrilled that Mary’s been seen walking alone and entering a male-dominated workplace, but her pensive manner troubles him. Joseph sets his plane aside to listen. Reluctantly, Mary describes the prior night’s events, trying her best to explain an inexplicable experience. As she relives the angelic visitation, informing Joseph she’s been divinely chosen to deliver the promised Savior, Mary’s words grow more assured and all signs of worry leave her face. Her story is altogether unbelievable, yet her conviction and confidence make it impossible for Joseph to doubt her.

By the time Mary finishes, reactions normally expected of a young man in Joseph’s position—outrage, anger, and feelings of betrayal—are replaced by far more complex concerns. Mary must be shielded from scandal. How best to do that, though, isn’t clear. If they go through with the marriage, the baby will come too soon and both of their reputations will be ruined. On the other hand, if Joseph deserts Mary—as he’s legally entitled to do—having conceived while engaged to him brands her with adultery, a capital crime. When her pregnancy becomes apparent, she’ll be stoned. Joseph will lose the love of his life. More important, and surely Joseph realizes this, the world will lose the life of its Savior. It’s safe to say no young man who’s dealt with unwed pregnancy ever confronted issues and emotions remotely like those Joseph faced.

Best Supporting Actor

Obviously, Mary is the star of this story. The enormous faith and obedience she brings to it are nothing short of spectacular—so much so, she nearly eclipses Joseph’s performance. Yet when we consider the gravity of his situation, it’s plain to see God’s casting of Joseph is as flawless as His selection of Mary. The way Joseph subtly handles his role earns his standing as the Bible’s best supporting actor. His willing sacrifice of personal pride and security for the safety of Mary and her Son is astonishing, particularly for one on the brink of manhood. And his daring walk with Mary into an unpredictable, momentous future becomes one of the most moving, least discussed aspects of the Nativity. Perhaps Joseph recedes into the story’s folds because he remains calm from start to finish, taking things day-by-day, and trusting God’s direction without hesitance. Still, without him, the birth and survival of Jesus are inconceivable.

Carpenter Mentality

As with every decision He makes, God’s plan to enter the world in human form accounted for every detail. So it’s no coincidence that He chose a carpenter for His earthly father. Pausing briefly to consider this reveals why. The carpenter mentality superbly reflects God’s mindset and methods. It combines creativity and vision with patience and deftness. A carpenter begins with raw material to slowly mold and assemble it into something useful, one step at a time. What he builds must be beautiful, but also strong enough to serve its purpose. In light of this, we see why Joseph played his role so naturally. He intuitively grasped God needed his help to build a beautiful thing and his primary job was making sure the pieces came together solidly and soundly.

While our stories lack the historical importance of Mary and Joseph’s, they—and our parts in them—are no less eternally significant. God calls us to do exactly what He asked of Mary and Joseph. Like them, we've also been cast to usher His presence and love into the world. We look at ourselves as woefully unqualified and poorly equipped for the job. Then we reflect on Joseph’s life and what he achieved. The hidden beauty in his story emerges as God takes the mentality and skills of a young provincial carpenter and amplifies them into heroic wisdom and effectiveness. What we have doesn’t seem any more special to us than how Joseph’s abilities seemed to him. When God decides to use us, however, the little we have becomes extraordinary.

Mary is the Nativity story's star but Joseph's performance makes him the Bible's best supporting actor.

(Tomorrow: Servant by Choice)

Postscript: Issues and Answers

Recently, I received an email from Jim Johnson, the editor of Straight, Not Narrow. While I’d seen his blog listed on several others I regularly visit, I regret to say I’d not made time to drop by. After finding his way to Straight-Friendly, Jim wrote that he thought it would be “mutually beneficial” if we cross-linked our blogs. His suggestion was spot-on.

Straight, Not Narrow’s focus is “advocating for LGBT equality in the body of Christ from a Progressive Christian viewpoint.” It’s an enlightening compendium of issues and answers that directly impact gay Christian inclusion in the Church. Yet—true to its name—it’s not so narrowly focused that it isn’t of interest and relevance to all believers who care about justice and equality. Furthermore, its spirit and objectives mirror those here, making it a perfect complement. While Straight-Friendly strives to stay focused on inspiring all of us to embrace our rights and responsibilities as true followers of Christ, clicking over to Straight, Not Narrow provides tangible reasons why it’s so essential that we do so. If you’re not yet familiar with Jim’s blog, I strongly recommend you give it a look.

Searching and Surrendering

A time to search and a time to give up…

                        Ecclesiastes 3.6

The Same Old Song

Thinking about this evokes more Top 40 hits than one might expect: The Rolling Stones’ “Satisfaction,” U2’s “Still Haven’t Found,” Waylon Jennings’s “Lookin’ for Love,” Chicago’s “Searchin’ So Long”—the list is endless. It’s also enlightening. It tells how deeply seated our drive to find and claim what we haven’t got really is. The compulsion is so overwhelming it eclipses questioning why we’re not satisfied, haven’t found what we’re looking for, etc. If we took proper time to analyze our objectives, though, we’d get a clearer idea of why we’re always singing the same old song.

There are as many reasons for not locating what we want as songs about it. For the record, let’s toss a few around. We may search for more than we can handle or less than we need. We may be captivated by an imaginary ideal that prevents us from seeing the real thing. We may look for something actually secondary to more elusive goals like impressing neighbors or building a façade. Our search may rise from envy or insecurity that ignores the thing itself to focus on what it symbolizes. Examining these and myriad other motives exposes flaws behind the futility of our search. In such cases, it’s time to give up and seek fulfillment in more beneficial, realistic pursuits.

Unexpected Places

Not every search is superficial, though. If it’s legitimately worthy, our search stays in effect until its objective is realized. It demands commitment and endurance. What we’re after remains top of mind. Our eyes stay open and faith guides us to believe it’s already there, waiting to be found. Where “there” is, though, isn’t always where we anticipate it will be. Many searches end in unexpected places, in unusual ways. Matthew 17 describes an incident where taxmen confront Peter about Jesus’s unpaid temple dues. While there’s a bigger point to the story—honoring obligations—what happens illustrates why we never dismiss any endpoint as too unlikely. Peter has no cash. He takes the problem to Jesus, essentially looking for money to pay the tax. “Go fishing,” Jesus says. “You’ll find it in the mouth of the first fish you catch.” It probably was the craziest idea Peter ever heard. Yet he took Jesus at His word and found what he needed.

Finding Love

The most significant search most of us ever undertake is finding love that lasts a lifetime. This quest is particularly urgent for gay people, many of whom view loving partnerships as the ultimate means of validating their worth and reconstructing self-images critically marred by hatred and rejection. The “urge to merge” plays such a potent, prevalent role in our overall community, however, that wisdom is vital to know what we’re really searching for versus what our culture encourages us to seek. Our media and merchants jam our minds with so many images, myths, and mystiques—and we invent so many codes, rituals, and catchphrases—that it’s a constant struggle to hold fast to our search. Too many distractions interrupt us. Too many surfaces gleam. Too many dreams cloud our focus. So our streets and establishments teem with Mr./Ms. Right Nows while Mr./Ms. Rights seem nowhere to be found. But if we’re there, they’re there, because we are they. Yet instead of seeking someone worthy and willing to love us as we are, we insist on circling the ring, looking for someone better—butcher, buffer, bigger, etc., etc., etc. Our world is full of lonely lookers chasing illusions.

If we’re truly sincere in seeking meaningful, lasting love, we have Jesus’s promise we’ll find it. Matthew 7.7 says, “Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.” We must believe that and take confidence we’ll find what we seek. But before we jump into our jeans and head to the hunting grounds, we should heed Jesus’s warning above His promise: “Do not give dogs what is sacred; do not throw your pearls to pigs. If you do, they may trample them under their feet, and then turn and tear you to pieces.” Placating ourselves with momentary pleasure puts us off our search and belittles our bodies, our emotions, and our beings as disposable commodities. It numbers us with the fast and furious crowd, putting us in serious jeopardy of being stampeded and ripped to shreds. “There’s a time for searching and a time for surrendering,” Solomon writes. Our search for what’s real will come to naught if we won’t surrender the unreal figments and fantasies we cling to and let cling to us.

Sincerity in our search requires surrendering our illusions.

(Tomorrow: Retaining and Ridding)