Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Observationews:
It was Emma's 25th birthday, and our 6 months together, on Sunday.
After several insinuations by one of my work colleagues, in general day-to-day conversations, I came out and said to him that Emma and I are not having sex before marriage. He looked at me like I was from another planet. Then said, "so you've only had it once, then not since then?" I then told him again that Emma and I are not having sex before marriage. He looked at me like I was from another planet. Again.
That said, (and I've written on this before, but only from a before-perspective), after experiencing it for myself, and plenty of times, I really don't see how the interlocking of lips for kissing cannot be recognised as sexual and intimate.
After several insinuations by one of my work colleagues, in general day-to-day conversations, I came out and said to him that Emma and I are not having sex before marriage. He looked at me like I was from another planet. Then said, "so you've only had it once, then not since then?" I then told him again that Emma and I are not having sex before marriage. He looked at me like I was from another planet. Again.
That said, (and I've written on this before, but only from a before-perspective), after experiencing it for myself, and plenty of times, I really don't see how the interlocking of lips for kissing cannot be recognised as sexual and intimate.
Saturday, March 11, 2006
I am wrong
Of all the times of change in my life, I changed the most the summer when it was my job to teach the gospel every day. St. Augustine wrote somewhere about a vision of some sort where God asked him what he wanted to know.
"Myself. And Yourself."
I've learned that sainthood is both the most alien, and the most natural, state for a human to be in. It's natural because in Christ the relationship that you were always meant to have with your Creator is remade, and the life that was always meant to animate you -God's life- begins to flow into your heart; you start to become human in a way you never were before. Yet it's alien because of dishonesty, selfishness, and rebellion we were born with continue to continually rear their ugly heads.
There is nothing that really changes someone more than the realisation of who and what they are, and Who Christ is and What He has done for them. Isaiah 64:6 - that all my righteousness, all my goodness, all my purity, is really nothing more than dirty menstrual rags ("filthy rags" is an undertranslation) - is not kidding or exagerrating. Pick any thing I've ever done, with my thoughts and intentions and motivations. I have done plenty of things that are horrible. But I'm not talking about those things right now. I'm talking about the way I do things in my heart and head. In the way I don't even bother to listen to most of the time. And in the way that I might not have noticed had I not encountered a greater goodness and purity than myself. In each case, there was always some way I could have been more selfless, more pure, more loving, more genuine, more innocent. I'm no longer comparing myself to other sinners. I'm comparing myself to the righteousness of God, displayed in the life of the most real Man who ever lived. I'm not that.
There used to be two standards I held to. What was ok for me, and what was ok for God. I think part of your transformation into sainthood is the falling away of the former so that the latter stands alone. Wait, forget that. There is no "ok" for God. There is perfect goodness and love, and the great corruption called sin. "Ok" is for people who can't see clearly or have the option of indifference. I don't think God has either of those. Even "acceptable" in God's sight must mean that God positively loves it, because it is as good as He is.
When you take away my dishonesty, my reaction to defend myself and my actions, and my forgetfulness, nothing I've ever done has been truly good. Sometimes I am able to see that. Those moments are too rare and too brief. It's not just the things I've done, it's me. I am wrong. There is nothing that breaks me, holds my tongue and makes me real like that knowledge.
It was not part of my life that Christ died to redeem, but all of it. My life's work was, and in one regard, still is, to make the mess from which Christ saved me. Someone might miss the point and argue "Well, you pray each morning 'that all my doings and life may please You'. You wouldn't be praying that unless it was possible.'" Oh, it is possible, and I strive for it every day - though even that striving is far from perfect - but it won't be complete for a little while. Nevertheless, I am truly wanting what I do not yet have.
There is nothing in me that God saw as good or acceptable. He is the One to whom the nations of the world are like a grain of dust. Yet He loves me. He became man and lived and died and rose again, for me. His perfect and acceptable life replaces my imperfect and unacceptable life.
There's a song that stuck with me since I first heard it.
"Myself. And Yourself."
I've learned that sainthood is both the most alien, and the most natural, state for a human to be in. It's natural because in Christ the relationship that you were always meant to have with your Creator is remade, and the life that was always meant to animate you -God's life- begins to flow into your heart; you start to become human in a way you never were before. Yet it's alien because of dishonesty, selfishness, and rebellion we were born with continue to continually rear their ugly heads.
"Who can discern his errors? Cleanse my hidden faults." (Ps 19:12)
There is nothing that really changes someone more than the realisation of who and what they are, and Who Christ is and What He has done for them. Isaiah 64:6 - that all my righteousness, all my goodness, all my purity, is really nothing more than dirty menstrual rags ("filthy rags" is an undertranslation) - is not kidding or exagerrating. Pick any thing I've ever done, with my thoughts and intentions and motivations. I have done plenty of things that are horrible. But I'm not talking about those things right now. I'm talking about the way I do things in my heart and head. In the way I don't even bother to listen to most of the time. And in the way that I might not have noticed had I not encountered a greater goodness and purity than myself. In each case, there was always some way I could have been more selfless, more pure, more loving, more genuine, more innocent. I'm no longer comparing myself to other sinners. I'm comparing myself to the righteousness of God, displayed in the life of the most real Man who ever lived. I'm not that.
There used to be two standards I held to. What was ok for me, and what was ok for God. I think part of your transformation into sainthood is the falling away of the former so that the latter stands alone. Wait, forget that. There is no "ok" for God. There is perfect goodness and love, and the great corruption called sin. "Ok" is for people who can't see clearly or have the option of indifference. I don't think God has either of those. Even "acceptable" in God's sight must mean that God positively loves it, because it is as good as He is.
When you take away my dishonesty, my reaction to defend myself and my actions, and my forgetfulness, nothing I've ever done has been truly good. Sometimes I am able to see that. Those moments are too rare and too brief. It's not just the things I've done, it's me. I am wrong. There is nothing that breaks me, holds my tongue and makes me real like that knowledge.
It was not part of my life that Christ died to redeem, but all of it. My life's work was, and in one regard, still is, to make the mess from which Christ saved me. Someone might miss the point and argue "Well, you pray each morning 'that all my doings and life may please You'. You wouldn't be praying that unless it was possible.'" Oh, it is possible, and I strive for it every day - though even that striving is far from perfect - but it won't be complete for a little while. Nevertheless, I am truly wanting what I do not yet have.
There is nothing in me that God saw as good or acceptable. He is the One to whom the nations of the world are like a grain of dust. Yet He loves me. He became man and lived and died and rose again, for me. His perfect and acceptable life replaces my imperfect and unacceptable life.
There's a song that stuck with me since I first heard it.
A shapeless piece of steel, that's all I claim to be
This hammer pounds to give me form, this flame, it melts my dreams
I glow with fire and fury, as I'm twisted like a vine
My final shape, my final form, I'm sure I'm bound to find
(chorus:)
So dream a little dream for me in hopes that I’ll remain
And cry a little cry for me so I can bear the flames
And hurt a little hurt for me, my future is untold
But my dreams are not the issue here, for they, the hammer holds
The water, it cools me gray, and the hurt subdued somehow
I have my shape this sharpened point, what is my purpose now?
And the question, it still remains, what am I to be?
Perhaps some perfect piece of art displayed for all to see
(chorus)
A hammer pounds again, but flames I do not feel
This force that drives me helplessly through flesh and wood reveals
A burn that burns much deeper, it's more than I can stand
The reason for my life was to take the life of a guiltless Man
So dream a little dream for me in hopes that I'll remain
And cry a little cry for me so I can bear the pain
And hurt a little hurt for me, my future is so bold
But my dreams are not the issue here, for they, the hammer holds
This task before me may seem unclear, but it, my Maker holds
-The Hammer Holds, by Bebo Norman
