thecuttingtruth's Xanga Site

Weblog

Thursday, May 15, 2008

when sexual purity leads to bad marriages

Chris is a committed believer, has “kissed dating goodbye,” and believes in saving sex until marriage. He also has a normal sex drive which means that he thinks about sex every seven seconds. Then he meets Christina at church, a helplessly voluptuous woman who also believes in saving sex until marriage. They fall deeply, powerfully in love, the stuff of romance books. All manner of hormones flow through them during those heady first weeks and months: norepinephrine, serotonin, dopamine, oxytocin, inevitable chemicals of romance, enflaming an eruption of that red-hot lava called lust.
Ah, lust. Lust which clouds judgment and leads sensible people to make questionable and rash decisions. Poor Chris, suddenly so overwhelmed with lust: committed to no-sex-until-marriage, he is going nuts trying to stay true to his convictions. He has lost all objectivity, all ability to rationally assess life-long compatibility with Christina (and she him), all ability to discern God’s will. Within a few short months, in the midst of his pulsing libido, he proposes to Christina. Their engagement period is (surprise, surprise) only four months. Though filled with virginal nervousness and clumsiness, their wedding night is as hoped for.

Eight months later, however, they’ve come to realize how truly incompatible they are, how different they are, how – had they not been so intoxicated with lust – they would never have gotten married. They were duped by lust. On some lonely nights, Chris, feigning sleep, silently curses the name Joshua Harris not knowing that at the very same moment Christina, also feigning sleep, is cursing the name Elizabeth Elliot.

Whatever else may be said about the secular dating method, the decision to marry is usually made with cooler heads, calmer hearts, and more objectivity. The typical secular couple falls in love, and, while under the throes of passion, have sex, regular sex. After the initial rush of romance inevitably settles, when lust has taken a backseat, they make a more rational decision regarding marriage and their compatibility.

But not Chris and Christina. They were left with only one recourse to satiate a lust-hunger, to tame the lust-beast, and that one recourse was to make a huge decision with lifelong ramifications. The Christian dating scheme is one which fails to take into account the blinding, overwhelming, and duping power of lust.

Now, I am certainly not advocating the secular dating scheme. I still believe the Chris-Christina scheme is the Christian gold standard. But it is a standard embedded with difficulties often downplayed or altogether ignored. If we are to advocate to singles this gold standard, we have a responsibility to also warn of some quagmires. But I have yet to think of any workable solution to this embedded lust issue.

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

A letter to my college church

This is a letter I recently wrote to the church I attended during college:

Dear _____ Church

You probably don’t remember me. I was one of hundreds of students who attended your church during my four years in college. We walked through your doors, we sat in your pews, we enjoyed your worship, your sermons, drank your coffee, we came and went via the buses you provided. Over the years, countless thousands of students have breathed your air and taken up your space.

My reason for writing you is to apologize. For all that you gave us, we never gave anything back. We used your facilities, but never tithed a cent. We enrolled in Sunday School classes, but never offered to teach (or help with e.g., nursery). We enjoyed your worship services, but almost never helped out. You welcomed us into your fellowship with arms wide open, but we kept our arms clipped downwards, huddling in cliques after service, stiff-arming you. We did lip-service tokens of service like occasional acapella performances, but they tended to be of the min-commitment/max-limelight vein. We were the kind of churchgoer I now despise, the parasite who offers nothing, expects the world, and takes everything for granted. We came to be entertained and edified; we left having given nothing. We were parasites, like the typical church youth, too myopic and self-centered to know better. But we were older and should have known better, and for that, I apologize.

There is another reason why I’m writing you. It’s to thank you. Now that I am older and perhaps wiser, I realize what it cost you. You sacrificed in real, tangible ways to accommodate us. Real money spent to expand the church to be able to fit us. Buses bought to transport us, people willing to attain bus licenses, willing to wake up early to pick us up. More teachers willing to teach Sunday School classes to half-asleep, dozing ingrates. Muffins and coffee prepared or purchased, only to have them gobbled up by students already on full meal plans. So many examples: invitations to home meals, mentorship, allowing us to use your facilities for overnights, guidance, etc. etc. You gave and gave and gave, and demanded nothing in return.

I was baptized at your church. In my testimony, while standing in the water before the church, I thanked everyone but you. You still clapped and cheered and cried when I came out of the water.

Thank you for modeling Christ to me, for truly demonstrating what sacrificial love looks like. Years too late, but for what it’s worth:

Thank you.

(and here’s a check covering what I should have tithed)

Monday, May 12, 2008

my weird sp_r_t_al gift

my weird spiritual gift
I have this really weird gift. When I watch a movie trailer, I come away knowing all there is to know about the movie. Just from the trailer, I can predict the overall movie’s quality and eventually find that I’m not far off.
But not only can I predict the quality of the movie, but I can predict . . . the whole movie. My gift allow me to, in my mind’s eye, “fill in the gaps” of the trailer and mentally imagine how the movie plays out. Like, everything: plot developments, establishing shots, dramatic turns, dialogue, plot devices, etc, etc.. It’s scary how right on the money my prediction usually turns out. With this gift, I "saw" Ironman before anyone else did – before even I did. In fact, I’ve already "seen" this summer’s blockbusters: Indy Jones, Batman, the Hulk, SITC. Going to movies now is an exercise in redundancy. They no longer entertain.

I also have this really weird spiritual gift, which is a lot like my movie-trailer gift. When I first sit down in the pew on Sunday mornings and read the sermon title and outline, it’s like my movie-trailer gift. I already know what’s coming. I can effectively “fill in the gaps” of the outline, flesh it out. Before the pastor has even cleared his throat, I already know how the sermon will play out. Like, everything: illustrations, transition points, application, bible references. It’s uncanny how accurate my prediction plays out. I can run the sermon in my head in 10 seconds flat, then be amazed at how little off the mark I am as the actual sermon later plods along over 45 minutes. (Sadly, sometimes my 10-second sermon is better than the actual). The point is that after sitting through thousands of sermons, I am no longer surprised, illumined, or even interested with the current sermon. It is all so predictable. The illustrations may be different (or not!), but the point is always the dreary predictable same. Because I know what’s coming up, listening to sermons now is an exercise in redundancy. They no longer enlighten.

Something drastic has to change about the sermon format because 11 am on a Sunday morning is fast-becoming the most sleep-inducing, mind-numbingly stale hour of the week.

(for those who might be tempted to tell me that the fault is mine, that I should have a more receptive heart and attentive ear during the sermon, that I should pray for enlightenment, you should know that I have this other gift. It's called the blog-response gift, and I already know what you're going to say).

Monday, May 05, 2008

lost fellowship

Oh, my dear friends, where art thou now?

I never had better friends than the buddies I had in college. I never had deeper, richer fellowship than those days when I explored college and life and faith with friends in my Christian fellowship. And since those days long gone by, I’ve come to realize that nothing will ever come close to what I had back then when it comes to fellowship.

I miss those days, painfully at times. I miss the college fellowship group – where in our innocence, naiveté, and youthful energies, our relationships transcended mere friendship and touched the ideal we professed in – loving fellowship between brothers and sisters.

A Hallmarky phrase, perhaps, but back then it was real to us. We held hands in circles as we prayed and it didn’t seem cheesy. We hugged constantly, literally soaking shoulders with tears – and it didn’t seem corny. I remember midnight treks in the snow under a canopy lit up by a blaze of stars and a mercury moon, worshiping God. Spring break missions trips to hell and back, but together, always together. Another time, around a campfire, a group of us praying, our eyes open, looking at one another with tenderness, overcome with love for one another. So many other moments, where the intercept of idealism and friendship and spiritual passion made for a beautiful collision. In those times, I truly felt like I was in heaven with spiritual brothers and sisters. Fellowship wasn’t an overused and emptied word, but a living ideal, breathing, flowing, pulsing, invigorating. It was a given that we’d all be lifelong friends.

I never thought we’d forget each other so quickly after graduation. No, that’s not quite right. We never forgot each other, we did something worse. We drifted, became indifferent to one another. Within a couple of years, we no longer mattered to each other. And now, today … we might live in the same city, but never bother to meet anymore. Be part of the same fantasy league, but not even a quick email to say hi, even when head-to-head. Members of the same church, even, but hanging out in different circles. We were spiritual siblings who once thought we’d literally die for one another; instead, we’ve become redundant to one another.

The last scene in The Age of Innocence is one of the more poignant ones in all of literature. Archer sits outside Ellen Olenska’s apartment – a woman he has not seen in 25 years, yet a woman daily in his mind because of the deep, passionate and youthful love they'd once shared. Sitting on a bench below her apartment, he visualizes going up to see her. He pauses. He realizes that the memory of her is more precious than what the present reality. There was something sacred about his past which the present reality would only sully and desecrate. In the end, Archer gets up and returns alone to his hotel.

Sometimes I feel like Archer a little bit when I decline college reunions, or Facebook notifications. Responding yes to such invitations would no doubt put me in the loop again – but it’s a loop of obligation and perfunctory hellos and obligatory Christmas cards and scripted small talk. Something is lost, not gained, by answering yes. Something lost: the tears, the laughter, the canopy of stars, the love, the idealism, the worship, the ridiculous sense of belonging . . . the fellowship.
And that's why I decline reunion and Facebook invites. Because as much as I miss my college friends, I miss the fellowship we once had even more.

Friday, May 02, 2008

stop the (conference) madness

Once upon a time, Christian conferences were an invaluable resource. They brought together the best speakers, pastors and leaders of the church to a receptive and teachable audience. For most of the attendees, it was the first time to see, hear, and learn from some of the leading voices of the church who dispensed new and original thoughts and ideas.

Fast-forward to today. Conferences have, for the most part, lost their utility and are nothing more than a gargantuan waste of money.
- They have lost their utility because of the internet. Whereas conferences once provided a platform for some of the leading voices to articulate original or little-heard and inaccessible messages, speakers today simply regurgitate the same old message they have already spoken or written about, and which are already accessible via the internet. The essence of – or the very same message itself – can be found online or in a book. Conferences are reduced to little more than a performance on American Idol: the song is already available online even before the singer picks up the mike. But the audience still wants the speaker to perform live!
- They are a gargantuan waste of money. For a two day conference: Commuting cost (trains, planes, and automobiles) = average $450 roundtrip. Room & board (at an economical hotel for two nights = $250); food = $ 40/day; conference ticket = $150; Misc. = $70. Total estimate per attendee = $1,000. In addition, the conference organizers dish out $ to the speakers, rental of venue and facilities, insurance etc. At the end of the day, hundreds of thousands, if not millions of $s are ~~wasted~~ spent. And all for messages which could be downloaded online for free, or bought for $14 at a bookstore.
The Q conference is an extreme example of this conference splurging. Held in New York City this year, it cost the attendee $800 just to be admitted, never mind the cost of traveling and staying at one of the most expensive cities in the world. At this conference, speakers are given 18 minutes to show their soul patches, turtlenecks, and articulate entrepreneurial ideas for the church.

Hey Q, here’s my entrepreneurial idea. It will take you only 30 seconds to read:

Cancel Q conference next year. Instead, have new 18 minute presentations available for viewing online. The speakers (who will forego their pricy honorarium) will no longer have to travel. Nobody will have to travel. No money doled out to hotels, restaurants etc. But lessons can be learned, ideas exchanged (through a messageboard etc.). It could be a brilliant success at a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of the cost. And here’s the where the brilliant part comes in. Each “attendee” will still pay the $800 to download the messages. And the organizers of Q will still have to fork over the major $ - but not to venue/insurance/speakers costs. Instead, they will use this money to buy an annuity which will, on interest alone, be able to support five foreign, poverty-stricken orphanages/ministries forever. Did you catch that last part? Forever.

What a great idea. Too bad it will never happen. Because why would we want lasting good to come out of a conference when we could instead get the short-lived joy of travelling, meeting old chums, and sounding spiritually intellectual and intellectually spiritual for a few days?