Hieropraxis» Culture

Just Ignore the Lion in the Corner? Facing the Reality of the Enemy

Holly Ordway — Sat, 17 Apr 2010 04:54:45 +0000

“My dear brothers, never forget, when you hear the progress of the Enlightenment vaunted, that the Devil’s best trick is to persuade you that he doesn’t exist!” – Baudelaire

Our culture has largely forgotten God; should we be surprised that we have forgotten the Enemy as well?

The idea of a malevolent, personal entity that exists in opposition to God, and with the intent of keeping us from God, seems patently absurd to most people. I’ve gotten some strange looks even from Christians when people hear me, a college professor with a Ph.D., say straight-out that the Enemy is real – not a metaphor, a literary device, or a quaint superstition.

Yet most people recognize that there is such a thing as evil. How do we explain it and deal with it?

For the “spiritual but not religious,” the forces of evil get vaguely described as “bad karma,” “bad luck,” or the equivalent: in other words, as something that is neither personal nor possible to oppose. You can’t fight bad luck; you can only keep your head down and hope for the best.

As a culture we seem to believe readily enough in forces that shape our culture, society, and individuals in negative, even horrific ways – but we call them things like “the economy,” “racism,” “stress,” “peer pressure,” and so on. The terms take on a solidity beyond what they describe: racism, for instance, is often discussed as if it were a literal disease that can be eradicated, like polio. The trouble is that we cannot really do anything at all about “racism”: we can only address specific instances of unfair treatment and educate and (more to the point) civilize our children so that they will treat others with respect regardless of skin color or national origin. That approach – despite having had marvelous results in the U.S. in a remarkably short time – doesn’t satisfy us at a spiritual level, though. Whatever we do is never enough; we must address not just actions but intentions, feelings, thoughts, at an ever-finer level: in short, racism takes on the characteristics of a permanent Enemy. Why? Perhaps because we know there is one, but we don’t want to admit who he is.

If we do we have an unsettling intuition that it is not just “forces” that assault us, but a Being, that might account for our tendency to demonize specific institutions and people. In the absence of a known Enemy, we attack whoever is at hand. For example, it is not uncommon in liberal circles (or at least academic ones) to hate Starbucks. Honestly, I am not quite sure what Starbucks has done to merit such opprobrium, except that it is a successful company that sells a product people enjoy, but a certain subset of people basically hiss and give evil eyes at the very mention of Starbucks. Never mind that Starbucks supports organic and fair-trade coffee growing, and water for poor children in developing countries; never mind that Starbucks is an employer noted for excellent benefits to part-time employees; it is a large and successful corporation, and it must be evil. Perhaps Starbucks has done enough environmental penance to be absolved of its sin of success; never fear, another target will be forthcoming.

Even among Christians, who acknowledge to at least some degree the reality of the supernatural, we tend to lose sight of the fact that there are evil forces out there. Forces that mean us harm; forces that work consciously, deliberately, and maliciously to turn us from God.

What better playing field could the Enemy possibly ask for?

Our culture’s failure to recognize the spiritual forces of evil as real is a significant problem: it essentially gives the Enemy a free pass to mayhem. The failure of Christians to recognize the reality of the spiritual forces of evil is also a very bad thing. Not only has the country been infiltrated, but the warriors are asleep at their posts.

As Christians, we need to recognize the reality of the Enemy as a personal and malevolent force, no matter how un-cool that makes us seem. And yes, it does make us sound like freaks.

Yet we should not despair. Scripture tells us that the Enemy has been defeated by Christ, in His saving work on the cross. As Christians, we need have no fear about the ultimate outcome of the war between good and evil: Good wins.

However, we in the Church Militant are still on the ground of that warfare, despite being en route to joining the Church Triumphant. Let us be watchful and wary, for our adversary “prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.” (1 Peter 5:8)

The Romance of Celibacy

Holly Ordway — Sat, 13 Feb 2010 06:25:54 +0000

Celibacy? Romance? How can those two things go together?

Friends, I argue that celibacy is indeed a romance. It is not a negative, but a positive choice; it is not the denial of love but rather a loving commitment made to Christ as the Beloved. Celibacy is the opposite of marriage only in the sense that a coin has two opposite faces: marriage and celibacy are two sides of the coin of love in Christ.

Many people are confused about the difference between celibacy and chastity, so let me briefly define them. Celibacy is the condition of refraining from marriage or any sexual activity; it is a charism, a gift of the Holy Spirit. Chastity is the condition of appropriate sexuality in one’s particular state, whether married or single.

All Christians are called to be chaste – all Christians, at all times. For single people, that means refraining from sexual activity until such time as they are married. For married people, chastity means fidelity to one’s spouse and appropriately participating in the marital act.

All Christians are called to be chaste, but not all are called to be celibate. Most Christians are called to marriage, and so will practice chastity in both the single state and the married state at different times. Marriage is a profound mystery of the Christian faith, instituted by God before the Fall; it is a mystical union that reflects the union of Christ and His Church.

But some Christians are called not to marriage, but to celibacy, which is more than just an extended period of chastity – it is a particular calling, and a gift. It’s no surprise that the wider culture doesn’t understand celibacy, but even within the Christian community, celibacy is often misunderstood. It’s not a state of waiting for the right person. It’s not a condition of having given up on finding a spouse. Really!

Rather, celibacy is a gift, the charism of deliberately choosing a life of total chastity for the sake of the Kingdom of Heaven.

As such, it is not the opposite of marriage, but its complement.

Consider Jesus’ teaching on celibacy in Matthew 19. Jesus had just been speaking about marriage – in the strongest possible terms. He calls the listeners’ attention to Genesis, saying “Have you not read that he who created them from the beginning made them male and female, and said, ‘Therefore a man shall leave his father and his mother and hold fast to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh’? So they are no longer two but one flesh. What therefore God has joined together, let not man separate.” (Matthew 19:5-6).

In response, the disciples, alarmed by the prospect of marriage without divorce, exclaimed “If such is the case of a man with his wife, it is better not to marry” (Matthew 19:10). In other words, they saw celibacy as the negative option: the only option if marriage seems like too much responsibility.

Jesus replied by saying, “Not everyone can receive this saying, but only those to whom it is given. For there are eunuchs who have been so from birth, and there are eunuchs who have been made eunuchs by men, and there are eunuchs who have made themselves eunuchs for the sake of the kingdom of heaven. Let the one who is able to receive this receive it.” (Matthew 19:11-12).

For some, an extended period of chastity may come because of circumstances: a necessary choice due to physical issues or disorders, or because of harm done in the past. We cannot expect that it will be easy to follow Christ, and for some people, celibacy is the cross that they must bear. Suffering is at the heart of the Christian faith – we worship Christ who suffered and died on the Cross for our redemption – and we should not make the mistake of thinking that it is possible to follow Christ without any suffering or self-denial. As Jesus says earlier in Matthew, “whoever does not take his cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it” (Matthew 10: 38-39).

But when Jesus speaks of celibacy, it is not just in the context of suffering. There are those who are celibate “for the sake of the kingdom of heaven.” The Kingdom of Heaven! Suddenly this doesn’t seem so much like self-denial… in fact, it seems a lot more like an invitation to participate more fully and more deeply in the mystery of Christ. An invitation? Indeed, yes: for Jesus says, “Let the one who is able to receive this receive it.” We receive celibacy as a gift, an invitation to participate in a deep mystery of relationship with Christ. The one who is called to celibacy does not enter into marriage, and thus does not bear or sire children, but instead directs that energy and attention into his or her relationship with Christ.

But notice what comes next in Matthew’s gospel: “Then children were brought to him that he might lay his hands on them and pray. The disciples rebuked the people, but Jesus said, ‘Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.’ And he laid his hands on them and went away” (Matthew 19:13-15).

The call to celibacy is framed on either side by marriage: by commitment to marriage between the man and the woman, and by loving care of the children who are the fruit of that union. The disciples try to keep those annoying kids away from their teacher, but our Lord insists that the children come to Him. Celibacy does not mean that you don’t like kids, or that you don’t think raising children is important. For me, at any rate, being celibate and childless means that the children of my friends are precious to me, and I consider it a true privilege and blessing to be the “auntie” for them and all the children in my church family.

Celibacy is the complement of marriage. It is a choice made for the sake of the Kingdom of Heaven. It is a path of self-sacrifice, a participation in the way of the Cross – but so too is marriage. Each has its challenges and sacrifices, each its joys and blessings. Both the married and the celibate participate in the Body of Christ and receive God’s grace in the roles to which He has called them. And both celibacy and marriage center on love – the love of Christ. May we all honor Him every day by living our lives in joyful chastity.

Salvation and Marriage

Fr. Doran Stambaugh S.S.C. — Thu, 11 Feb 2010 00:26:57 +0000

Marriage plunges spouses right into the heart of the mystery of Christ.

And Pharisees came up and in order to test him asked, “Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?” He answered them, “What did Moses command you?” They said, “Moses allowed a man to write a certificate of divorce, and to put her away.” But Jesus said to them, “For your hardness of heart he wrote you this commandment. But from the beginning of creation, ‘God made them male and female.’ ‘For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.’ So they are no longer two but one flesh. What therefore God has joined together, let not man put asunder.” Mark 10.2-9

This past fall, late night talk show host David Letterman interviewed pop icon and sexual revolutionary Madonna. Last December Madonna divorced her most recent husband, so in his interview, Dave (who is having some relational issues of his own these days) asked Madonna if there were any aspects of marriage that she missed. He asked point blank, “Do you think you’ll ever be married again?” To which Madonna promptly replied, “I’d rather get run over by a train.” (Not much ambiguity there).

No doubt there are many others who would share Madonna’s sentiment. The destruction of the marriage ideal is just one part of the widespread collateral damage caused by our sinful nature.

In a culture which grows increasingly supportive of promiscuity, permissiveness, pleasure, and self-gratification, the institution of marriage and its inherent values of fidelity, monogamy, and life-long commitment seem to have faded into the mists of time. Nowadays, marriage is commonly viewed as passé, old-fashioned, irrelevant, and unnecessary.

But while our culture has pretty much completely lost the meaning of marriage, as the church we are bound to reclaim, restore, and preserve it. In fact, it’s not too much to say that our salvation depends on it.

As Christians — whether we are married or not — if we do not have a proper understanding of marriage, then we cannot have a proper understanding of the hope of our redemption. The two are inextricably linked. Contrary to Madonna’s sentiment, marriage was not to be for us an illustration of hell, but rather an icon of heaven, created by God, and manifested fully to us through the Incarnation, death, and Resurrection of Our Lord Jesus Christ.

Now you may wonder, what does marriage really have to do with Jesus? He was never married, right? Wrong! Jesus IS a spouse; he is a husband; he is, in fact, the bridegroom. And we – the Church – are his bride. And it is in our marriage to Christ – union with Christ — that our salvation is made complete.

The story goes like this. We humans were created to be in perfect communion with God. And this vision of perfect communion was fulfilled through the Incarnation of Our Lord, who reconciled in himself the human and the divine; in him, the two have become one. Our hope of redemption, of reunion, of perfect and complete communion with the living God is fulfilled in Our Lord Jesus Christ.

And he invites us into that union.

The whole sacramental life can be related to marriage. In fact, “all the sacraments church have a ‘nuptial’ character since their purpose is to unite the Bride (the Church) with her Bridegroom (Christ).”(1) In this way, “The entire Christian life bears the mark of the spousal love of Christ and the Church.” (2)

Earthly marriage, then, is a natural and intentional reflection of this heavenly marriage to which we are all called.

The union of husband and wife in holy matrimony is a living, breathing, incarnate icon of that perfect union of Christ and his Church which is our salvation, our redemption, our ultimate spiritual consummation and bliss.

Viewed through this lens of union with God, we begin to see just how sacred and profound marriage really is. It plunges spouses right into the heart of the mystery of Christ.

Alas, outside of the Christian purview – and even within it — the spiritual meaning of marriage continues to unravel.

In particular, the physical dimensions of this sacred union are falling to pieces. Our sexuality has long since been unleashed from what the culture perceives as the old-fashioned confines of marriage. But our sexuality was created for the express purpose of consecrating this most holy union, as Our Lord himself demonstrates for us. The heart of Christ’s physical love for his bride the Church is found in the action of his sacrifice of himself on the cross, when he says, “This is my body . . . given for you” (Luke 22.19).

Our bridegroom Jesus Christ actually demonstrates four particular qualities of love for his bride the Church, qualities of love that specifically involve his body. Like his Word these qualities they serve as a lamp unto our feet and light unto our own relational paths.

These four qualities come from Pope John Paul II’s magnificent work, The Theology of the Body.

“First, Christ gives his body freely (“No one takes my life from me, I lay it down of my own accord,” Jn 10.18).

Second, he gives his body totally – without reservation, condition, or selfish calculation (“He loved them to the last,” Jn 13.1).

Third, he gives his body faithfully (“I am with you always,” Mt 28.20).

And fourth, he gives his body fruitfully (“I came that they may have life,” Jn 10.10).

If men and women are to avoid the pitfalls of counterfeit love, and live their vocation to its full, their union must express the same free, total, faithful, fruitful love that Christ expresses.” (3)

This is precisely what a bride and groom commit to at the altar with the words spoken in their vows. Their physical union in the marital act when “the words of the wedding vows become flesh. It’s where men and women are meant to incarnate divine love,” and in fact every time a husband and wife engage in the marital act they are “renewing their wedding vows with the language of their bodies.” (4)

The physical union of husband and wife then, is literally the outward and visible sign of the sacrament of Holy Matrimony.

I know that all this can sound like some impossible ideal when we consider the complexities of our relationships and the brokenness of our own sinful natures. But if we do not understand this fundamental vision of marriage, than we have absolutely no hope of attaining that vision. The whole idea of progress is predicated on a common vision or ideal that a people, or a couple, or a culture can work towards. If there is no goal or vision to move toward, then we are not progressing but regressing. As progressive Christians, it is essential for us to understand these fundamentals of marriage.

Our Lord has profoundly and selflessly demonstrated that the heart of divine love is the complete self-offering of ourselves — our souls and bodies — to our beloved.

Love is not about what we get, it is about what we give.

Love is sacrifice.

May Our Lord have mercy on us all, married, single, divorced, widowed, lonely, young and old alike; and may he give us the grace in all our relationships to increasingly walk in love just as Christ loved us, and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God. Amen.

————–

References:

1) Christopher West, Theology of the Body for Beginners: A Basic Introduction to Pope John Paul II’s Sexual Revolution, (West Chester: Ascension Press, 2004), 86.

2) Catechism of the Catholic Church, n. 1617.

3) Theology of the Body for Beginners, p. 91.

4) Ibid, p. 92.

Reading Versus Television: Which Is Better?

Holly Ordway — Mon, 18 Jan 2010 03:31:27 +0000

Which is better – to read a book or watch a television program? I’m a literature professor, a writer, and an avid reader. I bet you know what my answer will be. Don’t be so sure.

What seems like a straightforward comparison – books versus TV, culture versus the boob tube – is more complex than it seems at first, because we have to ask questions – not just about what we are reading or watching, but how we are doing it.

The Activity Factor

Both reading and watching television are sedentary occupations. However, the level of mental activity is considerably different. All else being equal, reading is considerably more active than watching television, because reading is a cognitively active task. When you are watching TV, you are passively receiving images, in an order controlled by another person. What you see is what you get. In contrast, reading requires you to imaginatively bring to life what you are reading. Even the most basic, undemanding form of reading requires decoding, the transformation of printed letters into meaningful words, and as such is more active than viewing a TV program. Furthermore, readers are in more control of their activity, able to slow down, speed up, skip, and re-read as desired, something that they are unlikely to do while watching TV.

So: all else being equal, reading is better for you than watching TV.

But there’s a social variable that makes a difference.

The Social Factor

Reading seems like an essentially solitary endeavor: just you and the book. However, it’s not as simple as that. First of all, reading doesn’t have to be solitary and silent. Through most of history, written texts have been primarily used to read aloud to a listening audience, an activity that is preserved today mainly in parents reading to children, and people listening to audio books. The experience of written text heard aloud is enduringly popular, and not just as a second-rate substitute when one is driving or can’t see, and it can be social.

Even if we take reading as silent and individual, it does not have to be solitary. Consider two bibliophiles sitting in a room together, each reading his or her own book. To a non-reader it might look very unfriendly, but book lovers know the companionable feeling of reading in the presence of another reader. There’s a sympathetic vibe, a sense of shared enjoyment underlying the apparent individuality of the reading experience. Reading in this context is a kind of interaction in parallel – experiences that remain separate, but within touching distance, and therefore still social.

What’s more, even solitary silent reading can be social in a different way. One of the greatest pleasures for a true reader is to share a book with a friend. “What did you think of it?” I have taken great pleasure in reading a book along with a friend, both of us with our own copies read in different times and places, but coming together for discussion that enriches the experience far beyond that of solitary reading. Similarly, I have benefited greatly from both borrowing and lending books from friends and mentors. Call it being sequentially social: the book is read in independent solitude, but the experience becomes relational.

The last kind of reading that is the most frustrating is silent, independent reading with no outlet for communication or discussion with another person. Sometimes this is a frustrating experience: the book might be an escape, but it is a dead-end escape, an escape to an emotional desert island with no one else around. The value of a book in these circumstances is to be a window to a different place, showing the isolated reader something beyond the here and now. Especially when the here and now is oppressive or discouraging, the value of such a window is incalculable.

However, not all silent, unshared reading is reading-to-escape. Quite on the contrary. Reading can be the start of an internal dialogue; the silence and solitude of the reading experience can be conducive to intense reflection and growth. To be able to share such an experience is wonderful but not necessary for the experience itself to be enriching.

Now consider television. The best way to watch television or film is with family and friends present. It becomes an interactive experience: discussing what is happening, what you want to happen, explaining or discussing bits of it as you go along. Isn’t that the fun of watching a horror movie with friends? You exclaim, “Look out! The monster is lurking in the shadows!” and even though the characters on-screen can’t hear you, your friends do. It is almost participatory.

The next best way for television to be social is for it to be parallel. You might watch an episode of your favorite show alone, but the next day you’ll discuss it with your co-workers, classmates, family, and friends. Even a trivial show can become a kind of social glue, giving people something shared even when they differ in other interests.

The worst kind of watching television is the show that is watched alone and never discussed with anyone. It is often, quite simply, “watching TV” in general – whatever’s on – rather than watching a particular show because it interests you in some way.

What does that mean for reading compared to television?

The Content Factor

We’ve left out one major factor, which is content. That there are bad television shows few people will deny (though they often watch them anyway); that there are bad books that you shouldn’t read is a harder sell, because our culture rather curiously idolizes books while simultaneously denying that a book can have a bad, as well as a good, influence on the reader. We won’t go into that at length, but we’ll take it as a factor.

Tradeoffs

If your choice is between reading something morally bad for you, and either discussing it or not, or watching something insipid by yourself – watching television is better.

If you are by yourself, and have the choice of either reading or watching something insipid (or better), and will have no one with whom to discuss what you watch or read – reading is better.

If your choice lies between reading something insipid and never discussing it, or watching something insipid and discussing it with friends – watching television is better. It is more incarnational; it draws you into a shared experience.

If you have the choice between reading something truly good by yourself or watching something decent with your family and friends, that’s a tough call, and it should probably go different ways at different times. Perhaps you can suggest something better to watch… or suggest that you all play a game together instead of watching TV… but sometimes it’s just the right thing to do, to watch something fun with your friends.

I’d add, though, that it’s far too easy to use “the value of spending time with friends” as an excuse for why you never read the books – or Book – that in your heart of hearts you know you ought to, and want to, read. If you never choose to read by yourself, and you always choose to hang out and be social, you need to start choosing to read.

If you have family and friends to interact with, and they like to read as well, and you have your choice of whether to share an experience of reading together, or an experience of watching television together – as a general rule, reading is better.

What do I do?

I don’t have a television in my house. That’s because I like watching TV, and if I have a TV, I’ll default to watching it when my real, willed preference is to read more. I’m happier without the television – and I still watch things on my computer now and then. One important factor here is that I live by myself, so for me the social component of television is reduced.

I read a lot – and I talk to my friends about what I read. When a friend recommends a book to me, I get it and read it, and talk about it. Sometimes I read books in parallel with a friend. I lend my books to others; I borrow their books.

I make a point of reading books that are good – that is, I don’t read junk. A lot of what I read is challenging and demanding material; I read a lot of the classics – which, by the way, become much more interesting and much easier to read when one is used to a richer, literary style. But I also always have a “light” book going – something to read when I am tired, or I need cheering up. I like mystery stories, and re-reading Harry Potter. I read a lot, and I talk about books with my friends, and my life is immeasurably the richer for it.

Sometimes I miss watching television and movies, at least in the abstract. But when it comes down to it, I only have a limited number of hours in the day, and I have to make choices about how I use those hours. Once I got rid of the television, so that it was just slightly more difficult to watch a TV program than it used to be, I found that I very rarely actually did watch anything on my computer. When I made more mindful choices, rather than defaulting to the easiest option, I never ended up actually choosing TV.

Instead, I read a lot of books. And wrote one.

…but I still think Seinfeld is a work of genius.

Thoughts?

Bach at 30,000 Feet: Does Accessibility Diminish the Value of Art?

Holly Ordway — Fri, 11 Dec 2009 02:04:50 +0000

As I write this, I am listening to Bach on my iPod, on an airplane, a setting that is clearly not what the composer had in mind. Here’s the question: does this elevate the moment, or degrade my capacity for appreciation?

Consider, first of all, the marvelous achievement that lies behind my listening experience. Even apart from the brilliance of the musical composition itself, and apart from the talent of the musicians who brought Bach’s score to life, there is the marvel that this performance could be recorded and compressed and made available to anyone who wanted to buy it. Consider the amazing technology that enables me to listen to these Brandenburg Concertos (for that is what I am listening to now) on a device smaller than my palm, tucked into the pocket of my jacket, with earphones so that I, myself, am my own private concert hall.

Technology has made music of all kinds vastly more accessible. I am not knowledgeable about classical music, though in a desultory way I am trying to develop more appreciation of it. I don’t go to concerts, so if I didn’t have this music on my iPod, I would not listen to classical music at all. So, sitting here on the plane listening to Bach, I am entering a world that would otherwise have been closed to me, making me richer than if I had not listened to it. What’s more, listening to this music on an airplane brings something of Bach’s joy and brilliance into an otherwise tedious and somewhat unpleasant experience. In a small way, the music makes this cramped window seat into a tiny concert hall.

And yet, there is a cost.

Portable Bach, airplane Bach, is a kind of shadow Bach. If I were to go to a concert to listen to Bach, I would give my full attention to the music, or at least I would try to. Here, though, I am using the Concertos as pleasant background noise to distract me from the hum of the jet and the chatter of the other people on the plane. I am not really listening – that is, I am not fully taking in the beauty of Bach’s creative work, nor the work of the musicians who are bringing it to life.

By having all this beautiful music available, whenever and wherever I want, do I become inured to its beauty? I can hear the same song over and over on my iPod if I want to, and it will always be exactly the same. But even when I ask a friend to play a particular favorite song on his guitar, it will not be the same song the second time. The ephemeral quality of live music reminds us that we are creatures moving through time and intersecting with eternity only now, in this present moment. We can only experience the moment; we cannot hold on to it. Recorded music gives me the illusion of control, gratifies my desire to hold on to the moment, possess it – a desire that I ought to starve rather than feed.

When we have music around us 24/7, do we hear it any more? When we are inundated with spectacular scenes of nature on high-definition TV, do we lose the ability to truly see it when we are confronted with the real thing? I think we do, or at least we can. Sadly, we can even learn to prefer the artificial to the real. Do we need less, in order to experience more?

And yet – deprivation does not automatically create a sense of appreciation. The absence of culture and beauty can help people to appreciate it more when they do experience it, but lack can also cause us to grow accustomed to a flatter, duller level of experience. Deprivation and surfeit can both lead to disregard of beauty.

Let us, then, be mindful of our riches, seeking out what is beautiful and good. Let us develop appreciation by also spending time in silence and stillness. Let us use music, and all art, not to anesthetize ourselves, but to awaken us to see and hear more clearly.

Spiritual Starvation

Holly Ordway — Wed, 13 Aug 2008 19:07:18 +0000

How do you starve a culture? Not by taking away its food all at one go: people would notice, and be hungry, and resist. But slowly, by stealth, replacing real food with filler, making portion sizes smaller and smaller, letting people get a little more tired, a little weaker, a little less likely to have the energy to complain… and making the changes small enough so that there never really seems to be a big deal to complain about. Until we starve to death.

That’s what’s happening here, now, in our culture, not physically, but spiritually. I’ve chosen the word “starvation” deliberately. Merely saying we are spiritually malnourished doesn’t cut it. Our culture is starving us, to our spiritual death. And one way that it is happening is through the slow and deliberate erasure of all evidence of Christian faith from the exemplary lives of those who have gone before us.

It looks like this.

Alexandr Solzhenitsyn dies, and the New York Times runs a front-page obituary on him, a lengthy and glowing report of his suffering in Stalin’s gulags, his brilliant writing challenging the Soviet system, his influence on a whole generation of writers. The article does not mention that he was a Christian.

We all learned about Florence Nightingale in grade school. How many of us learned that she was a devout Christian who was committed to the spiritual as well as the physical health of her patients? I can’t speak for all the other children of the 70s and 80s, but as for myself, I did not know Florence Nightingale was a Christian until August 12, 2008, the day in the Anglican church calendar that celebrates her life and ministry; I was at morning mass and our pastor read an excerpt from her biography as part of his sermon. Our culture of deliberate spiritual starvation – a culture not even as well developed in the 80s as it is now, thirty years later! – held her up as an example of courage, tenacity, and goodness, while carefully omitting the basis of all of her good work: her Christian faith.

How many of you know that during the so-called Dark Ages, the Anglo-Saxon King Alfred the Great began a massive, ambitious literacy campaign? Inspired by his devotion to Christ, Alfred worked to translate the Gospels into English, to increase the number of people who could read and understand what they read, to encourage the copying and distribution of books throughout his kingdom – not to improve the economy, but to enable God’s Word to be known by all. In modern times, we study social, economic, and political movements, but the role of Christian faith is systematically downplayed and edited out.

Our culture revises the biographies of our heroes to make their Christian faith a matter of private piety: something along the lines of whether or not they had a pet dog, or liked to read mystery novels. Watered down, these lives are no longer exemplary, but merely interesting. Like zero-calorie soft drinks, they give us a temporary sense of satiety but do not strengthen our souls or bodies.

It’s a very effective program. It was not until I was a Christian, looking with new eyes at the people who had made a difference in history, that I realized how many great advances in civilization — the building of hospitals, orphanages, universities; advances in public health and literacy; great works of art — were done by followers of Christ. Now, when I read about the lives and works of Christians, I am inspired by the example of how Christ worked in and through them, and I long for Him to work in and through me. I am not merely interested and entertained; I am nourished.

We aren’t allowed to talk about this, of course. We are not allowed to suggest that following Christ is in any way better than another way of life. (We are encouraged, however, to dwell on the intolerance or crimes of those who claimed to be Christians.) If we didn’t edit out all references to Christian faith in the biographies of our heroes made for public consumption, we would be in the uncomfortable position of acknowledging that an awful lot more good things are done by Christians than by atheists.

This is the culture we live in. We are starving, in the midst of a superabundance of would-be ways to satisfy our spiritual hunger: crystals, vibrations, goddess worship, sexual gratification, consumerism. We are glutted with self-worship. Our spiritual palates are jaded; our systems are dulled. The spiritual food that would nourish us has been systematically removed from our diet, replaced with fillers and artificial flavors, and wrapped in bright packaging to distract us from the fact that it does not satisfy and does not give us strength.

Jesus asked, “Is there anyone among you who, if your child asks for bread, will give a stone?” It is a rhetorical question that sets up Jesus’ real point, about His infinitely loving and generous Father: “If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good things to those who ask Him!”

The truth is that He who is the Bread of Life offers real nourishment to all who ask.

But we who are starving for bread no longer know to ask for it; and when we are offered stones instead of bread, we take them – and think we are fed.

Choose This Day

Holly Ordway — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 21:49:25 +0000

There doesn’t seem to be much rhyme or reason to fashion. Consider jeans, so common as to be practically invisible. Ever wonder why jeans are the thing to wear, and not khakis? I don’t know; it’s just fashion. Or take shoes: when I first came to southern California, I was startled to see people wearing flip-flops everywhere (in the supermarket! in church!), but now I’m used to it. The SoCal crowd could just as easily wear sandals in town and reserve the flip-flops for the beach like they do on the East Coast; it’s just a matter of fashion.

It’s no big deal whether you go with the crowd on wearing jeans and flip-flops, or whether you prefer slacks and sandals. What is more of a big deal is that our culture is full of spiritual fashions, too.

The “in” thing is to be “spiritual,” as in, “I don’t go to church, but I’m very spiritual,” or “I’m spiritual but not religious.” It’s the moral equivalent of a zero-calorie soft drink: have it when you feel like it; it won’t change your figure! It’s fashionable enough to admit to an occasional deep thought about God, assuming you aren’t so extreme as to let it change your behavior. Even going to church once in a while is OK, as long as you don’t take it seriously.

On the other hand, being a devout Christian is so not the cool thing.

Consider what might happen if I profess in a mixed gathering that I am a born-again Christian. I can imagine someone giving me an incredulous look and saying, “Come on. You’re a college professor. You mean you really believe all this Jesus and miracles stuff?”

The easy answer, the devilishly easy answer, is: “Well, kind of…” It’s tempting to soften it, to say, well, it’s kind of like a spiritual resurrection, and prayer is good for relieving stress, and well, yeah, I go to church, but I’m not, you know, serious about it…” The temptation is to say these things, thinking that it means “Yes, I believe,” in a non-threatening way… but it really says “No, I don’t believe.”

The true answer is also the harder one: to look straight back and say, “Yes, I believe that Jesus is the Son of God, that He died and was bodily raised from the dead on the third day. And I follow and obey Him as my Lord.”

Not fashionable, not fashionable at all.

Maybe our imagined questioner isn’t done yet. “So you think Jesus is the only way to salvation?”

The “Yes” answer to that is deeply unpopular. What do we get called when we affirm that yes, Jesus is the way, not a way? That the Bible is the truth, not a truth? Let’s see: bigoted, hateful, out of touch, ignorant, irrational, closed-minded, intolerant, sexist, homophobic, oppressive. Et cetera, ad nauseam. This was not unforeseen. “If they have called the master of the house Beelzebul,” Jesus pointed out, “how much more will they malign those of his household!” (Matt 10:24).

So why not soften it? If we get flak for saying that He is the way, why not suggest that He is just one of many possible ways to God, and that He happens to be our way? Maybe your way is different, but equally valid. Doesn’t that smooth things over nicely?

One of the reasons this “many paths” heresy has traction is that, phrased a certain way, it sounds like humility: who are we to say what’s the right way to God? But this “humility” rings false when tested. God made us, not we Him, and we have the truth on God’s say-so, not our own. It is sinful pride to think that we are a better judge of truth than God; that we know better than God does how to come to Him. Nice trap, that: the pride that leads us away from Christ is disguised as the humility that ought to lead us to Him.

To claim that Jesus is just one of many ways to God may seem like just a little softening of the message, but in cold truth it is to deny Him: the only-begotten Son of God, who suffered death upon the cross for our redemption.

Jesus doesn’t leave us in the dark about who He is. Telling us straight, looking each of us in the eye, He says, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” (John 14:6-7) To deny that He is the only way is to deny His Lordship. And Jesus is clear that this is a decision with consequences: “Everyone therefore who acknowledges me before others, I also will acknowledge before my Father in heaven; but whoever denies me before others, I also will deny before my Father in heaven.” (Matt 10:32-33).

Will those who distort the Gospel and say that Jesus is just one option on the multifaith menu be among those to whom Jesus will declare on the last day, “I never knew you; go away from me, you evil doers”? (Matt 7:23). I don’t know, but I do take to heart Jesus’ stern warning that “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father in heaven.” (Matt 7:21).

This is not a popular position.

None of this would matter in the least if faith were like fashion. It really doesn’t matter whether you wear jeans or khakis, sandals or flip-flops; personal taste is an acceptable guide here. However, the great lie of modern culture is that faith is just like one’s taste in clothes or shoes. It isn’t. We are called to make a choice: to follow Christ, or deny Him. One is truth and life; the other falsehood and death. There is no middle ground.

As I write this, today’s Gospel lesson has Jesus’ warning: “I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.” (Matt 10:34). He continues: “Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever who loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.” (Matt 10:37-39)

This is not fashionable at all. It is something far better: it is true.

A clear, honest witness to the truth of the Gospel is an incredible thing. If I had only ever heard that Jesus is one of many possible ways to God, if I had only heard the feel-good evangelism that leaves out the terrifying life-changing commitment part, then I would still be dead in my sins.

But, thanks be to God, I have friends who were willing to be unfashionable: to live out the Gospel in their lives, and to look me in the eye when I was a skeptical atheist and say, “Yes, I believe.” That did more than any softening of the Christian message could ever do. It made me take the Gospel seriously. Here was something that good people built their lives on. Could it possibly be true? If it was true, then it would change everything. It was, and it did.

“Choose this day whom you will serve.” (Joshua 24:15).

Are you uncomfortable? Perhaps a little nervous? I am. This is not fashion; it is serious business. This is what the Gospel demands of us. Life or death. Commitment or rejection. To say Yes is to commit ourselves to Christ, with no going back, whatever the cost; at the very least, that cost includes the death of our self-will, the painful confrontation with and crucifixion of our sinful nature. There is no comfortable, safe middle ground. To follow Him partway is not to follow Him at all; to say “maybe” to Jesus is to say No. And there is no other way than Him.

As for me – I have said Yes to Christ, my Risen Lord.

Intention Matters

Holly Ordway — Tue, 25 Mar 2008 21:48:27 +0000

Every so often there’s a headline in the popular media about the psychological benefits of doing good things. This week it was a report on the positive effects of giving money away. A study had found that people reported more happiness from giving $20 away than from spending it on themselves. Reports like this have appeared frequently in recent years, suggesting that people who pray regularly report greater contentment than those who don’t, or that people who go to church regularly have better social relationships than those who don’t.

All of this suggests a calculus of happiness. Give to charities; pray; perform acts of kindness; go to church. Why? To make yourself happier. It seems reasonable enough; after all, we can observe that generous, loving people are often happy, so why not do what they do in order to be happy like them? Except that it doesn’t work that way.

When we do something only for the sake of its positive effects on our lives, the joy goes out of it. The most obvious example is exercise. Regular exercise is good for us, but to do exercise purely for the sake of its health benefits is exceedingly tedious, as many people find each January after a few weeks of trying to follow New Year’s resolutions. Depending on how badly we want to become fit or lose weight, we may suffer through our scheduled workouts anyway, but we’ll drop them like a hot potato if an alternative comes along. (Why do you think diet pills are so perennial popular, despite the fact that people ought to know better?)

Compare that to how an athlete feels about exercise. The avid runner, or tennis player, or fencer, or surfer, does not do the sport because of its health benefits. The surfer surfs, the fencer fences, the runner runs for joy of the activity. As a fencer myself, I can tell you that I enjoy the strength and muscle tone that I get from fencing, but I don’t fence to become fit. If I did, the downside would have driven me away long ago: sore muscles, late practices knowing I have to get up early the next day, making sacrifices to afford the gear or the lessons, getting injured, dealing with plateaus in training. The “not so fun” part of being an athlete ranges from the trivial to the painful and difficult. So why do it?

What makes someone keep it up, day after day, week after week, year after year, is the activity itself. The flow state of running. The thrill of body and mind working together in fencing. The challenge of the waves and the peace the surfer finds out in the ocean. The runner, the fencer, the surfer all enjoy the benefits of fitness, of a healthier body and a refreshed mind, but to a great extent, the good health that results is incidental. It’s the joy of the activity itself that fuels the whole endeavor, that makes me not just willing but eager to take on whatever difficulties and challenges arise in my training.

As I think about how God made us, that starts to make sense. He made us to be creative, active, interactive beings, and when we act in ways that are in line with those attributes, we are blessed with more than the immediate enjoyment of the activity. We are happy and healthy because we are being what we were made to be. There’s no way to take a shortcut here; if we cut out the process, we lose the end result.

But our culture has less and less patience for experiences, for process. We want it all, and we want it now – without working for it, without waiting for it, without even experiencing it. We want health and fitness without exercise; we want peace of soul without commitment. So we keep looking and looking for the right numbers to plug into the equations, for the right way to solve the calculus of contentment.

What we get are psychologists who, in all seriousness, suggest that we should pray so that we feel comforted, that we should give money away so it will make us feel generous and happy.

When these activities are done for the right reasons, yes, we are often happier. But that’s God’s gift to us – when we do the activities for the sake of getting the happiness, the happiness evaporates. Expect it, and it will not be there.

Intention matters.

To give money away because it makes me feel better is an attempt to buy happiness, just as much as if I went to the mall with the money. It might seem like a better way – doesn’t someone benefit from my charity? – but it’s probably not. The selfish kind of giving puts chains on the soul of the giver and receiver alike: chains of obligation, expectation, humiliation, pride.

There’s another kind of giving that is with open hands, freely and with a joyful heart – that is the kind of giving that blesses both giver and receiver. But this latter kind of giving is never done with the objective of feeling good. Those who give like that, give out of a generous spirit, because it is the right thing to do. And the Lord blesses them for it.

We give, when we give rightly, in grateful response to all we have been given. To give simply because it makes us feel better is to shrink love of neighbor into love of self. And love of self that is not rooted in love of God will collapse in on itself.

The tragedy is not that the attempt to solve the happiness equation will fail – although it will. The tragedy is that the very attempt to do so poisons our relationships. If I am kind to you because being kind to others is supposed to make me happy, what happens when I don’t get that happy feeling? I’ve already been using you as a tool for my own selfish needs, an act that generates contempt for the other person. Contempt slides ever so easily into hate, and so if you don’t give me the emotional satisfaction I demand from my act of supposed kindness, I will probably hate you for it, somewhere deep inside.

Our actions matter. Our decisions each day shape us into who we are becoming. If we assess whether to give on the basis of how it will make us feel, how long before that self-interest creeps into our friendships, our family lives? Is it already there?

And that is why I fear the worst from the “science of happiness.” It will fail, yes. What scares me is that we may be fooled into thinking that it has succeeded: that we will become so locked into our self-centered private universes that we are completely alienated from our Lord, the Giver of Life. I fear that we will earn, and buy, and give, and mouth polite words, and sit in church, and fill our hearts with hate. We will hate our neighbor for not giving us what we need, hate ourselves for not being happy. And out of hate, despair; and out of despair, death.

Charity, kindness, prayer, fellowship – these things aren’t right to do because they’re good for us; they are good for us because they are the right things to do. And in that distinction lies all the difference.

The High Cost of Low Expectations

Holly Ordway — Fri, 08 Feb 2008 23:56:56 +0000

“Image” is itself a neutral word. The important question to ask is, image of what? Of whom? Modern culture has us chasing after false, destructive images most of the time, but in radical contrast stands the most profound Christian statement of identity: that we are made in the image of God. Whether we use that image to determine our expectations for our lives, or whether we settle for something less, has a profound effect on our lives.

I found myself thinking of this the other day, when I read in the newspaper about another teenage celebrity getting pregnant, this time a 16-year-old television actress. Predictably, there were expressions of dismay about the effect of this example on her young fans. What struck me most, though, was a quoted comment from a teenage girl: “It’s unrealistic to expect that 16-year-olds won’t be having sex.”

Unrealistic.

In that single word, we see the loss of hope. What we cannot envision, we cannot achieve. This is not rocket science; it’s obvious to anyone who has ever tried to achieve anything. If we envision a result and strive for it, we may or may not succeed – but, ironically, if we envision failure we are sure to achieve it.

The aggressive expansion of “sex ed” is based on this expectation of failure. If kids are going to have sex, then let’s at least teach them to not get pregnant or sick. In my lifetime, even, I have seen sexual education programs spread from high school to middle school to elementary schools, apparently on the theory that if if some sex ed isn’t working, then more of the same is needed.

In response to that, we have the promotion of abstinence-based sex-ed programs, but this utterly misses the point. “Abstinence-based” sex education still operates in the context of preventing negative consequences: it’s touted as the most effective means to avoid pregnancy and disease. Great. But it’s ultimately self-defeating to teach abstinence as a protection strategy: if another approach seems to allow for more “fun” while still avoiding pregnancy or disease, why practice abstinence?

More important, though, an emphasis on abstinence as “sex education” trivializes the issue of healthy sexuality, allows it to be defined by the forces operating in the broader culture. And if you don’t think boundaries of healthy sexuality are blurred these days, consider the study that found middle-school girls who performed oral sex on classmates claimed they were not sexually active. Were they in danger of getting pregnant? No. Of getting a sexually transmitted disease? Probably not. Were both the girls and the boys degrading themselves, abusing their God-given sexuality, and setting themselves up for alienation and self-destructiveness? Absolutely.

Consider GK Chesterton’s comment on the subject: “A young man may keep himself from vice by continually thinking of disease. He may keep himself from it also by continually thinking of the Virgin Mary. There may be question about which method is the more reasonable, or even about which is the most efficient. But surely there can be no question about which is the more wholesome.” Sadly, what was not in question in 1905, would not be taken seriously – perhaps would not even be allowed to be expressed – in public or private debate today.

This is an issue for everyone, not just kids in school. In fact, I think it is even more of an issue for those of us in our twenties and thirties. There’s at least a slight sense of cultural discomfort with fourteen-year-olds having sex, but for young adults on their own, the assumption is that being sexually active is normal and expected. What passes as responsibility is using a condom; what passes for conservative values is dating for a month before having sex.

What we need is to regain a view of chastity as a positive value.

Chastity outside of marriage, and appropriate sexual behavior within marriage, is not about protecting yourself from nasty consequences. The Christian virtue is 180 degrees away from the contemporary view of chastity as denial and repression. Chastity is about living as a child of God, living in wholeness and happiness by accepting God’s guidance in our lives. It is a positive choice, not a negative one.

Let me be clear that I’m speaking to this not in an academic sense, but from personal experience. As a young adult, with no knowledge of God’s plan for me, no idea that I was made in His image and precious to Him, I made poor choices about my own sexual behavior, choices that seemed OK at the time because I had no idea there was another alternative… choices that ultimately led to an unadvised and destructive marriage and, later, divorce. The crash-and-burn of my marriage led me to take a hard look at (among other things) God’s will for me in terms of my sexuality.

I know that without a doubt it is God’s will that I live a chaste life outside of marriage; I also feel that He may be calling me, personally, to celibacy, not just chastity. Jesus’ words in Matthew 19:12, and Paul’s teachings on marriage and celibacy, have struck me deeply. In the past year and half, as I have embraced those words in my life, I have had challenges to deal with, but it has been a glad and freeing experience.

In choosing to live without sexual relationships, I am not closing down but rather opening up. I am consciously directing myself toward Jesus. I am freeing myself from distractions and obligations so I can give more of myself to serving others in my church, and build more and stronger relationships. I am no less a sexual being – but I am a rational, God-created sexual being, and by virtue of Christ’s redemption no longer a slave to my desires. Being celibate has not been a turning from, but a turning to: turning toward Christ, with my whole self. It has been – and is – joyful.

Not all are called to be celibate; I don’t know for sure that I am for my whole life, just that I am right now. But we are all called to be chaste, and it is vital that we see that as a positive thing, as a reflection of the right image – the image of God.

Perhaps the saddest thing about the loss of chastity as a virtue in our culture is that it is a symptom of the loss of hope. If we cannot imagine a better way of living, we cannot strive for it. The loss of hope for ourselves leads to accepting low expectations, and, in turn, to rejecting even the value of higher expectations. Where are we now? It’s not that our culture sees chastity as too much of a challenge; it sees it as pointless and stupid.

And so we, as Christians, are called to be profoundly counter-cultural. It is not “hip” or “cool” to be chaste. Chastity is more likely to meet with disdain than tolerance. It is likely to be viewed as an excuse for not being able to “hook up,” or as a defense for emotional problems. Personally, I am incredibly blessed that most of my friends view chastity as a normal part of living in obedience to God, but I’m keenly aware that’s not the norm.

Is it difficult to face up to infinitely higher expectations? Is it hard to admit how our past choices have grieved Jesus? Is it tough to swim against the tide? Yes, and yes, and yes. But we would do well to remember that it’s not about me, but about Christ who lives in me (Gal 2:20).

As Paul writes,”don’t you know that all of us who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life.” (Rom 6:3-4).

Let us give our bodies as well as our hearts and minds to loving obedience to God. Let us recognize that we are made in the image of our loving Creator, and, turning from our own low expectations, accept His gracious help in meeting His higher expectations for our lives, day by day.

Sin and Love

Holly Ordway — Tue, 29 Jan 2008 21:19:05 +0000

We’re losing the word “sin.” And along with it, we’re losing something of the meaning of love.

What is sin? We can’t define sin as breaking the “rules” any more, because in America we admire rule-breakers. We’re the people who make the rules, who toss out the old ones when they don’t suit us any more. We’re too big for rules! Rules are for conformists, for sheep, for people who can’t think big enough to make their own way in the world. So just breaking a rule, in and of itself, isn’t wrong any more. It depends on the rule, and on the consequences of breaking it.

Some rule-breaking gets to be called a “crime,” which does a nice job of objectifying the action. After all, we learn in history that many things that were once called crimes, are now (in our tolerant society) no longer considered criminal. (This is progress.) So “crime” might just be breaking some (arbitrary) rule of our culture; I might refrain from doing it because I’ll get punished for it (if I get caught).

Let’s be fair. Some crimes still carry weight: those that hurt someone else, especially someone who is vulnerable, like children or animals. We feel that this sort of crime is wrong. We shouldn’t do that sort of thing. Why not? Because in order for our society to work, we all have to “get along” and that means not doing to others what you’d prefer they didn’t do to you.

But this sort of crime, the crime of deliberately doing something horrible to another person… that is the kind of thing that other people do. Those deviants we read about in the newspaper or see on the news. Not us. Them. We are not like them.

As for us – well, we might make mistakes once in a while, but doesn’t everyone? And anyway, if what I do doesn’t hurt another person… and it doesn’t get me in trouble… and it doesn’t immediately have a negative effect on me, personally… what’s the big deal? I do things my way, and you do things your way, and we’re both cool with it. When it comes to responding to mistakes, we resort to two of the most morally neutral phrases in our language: “Oops, sorry” and “Oh well.”

Mistake, lapse of judgment, alternative choice. This is about as tough as we get in modern culture when it comes to facing up to doing something wrong… and for good reason. All these ways of framing “I did something wrong” enable us to continue to sidestep responsibility for what we do.

Admitting the word “sin” changes things. The Hebrew for “to sin” is the same as “to miss the mark.” Recognizing sin means recognizing that there is a mark that we ought to aim for – and that we miss. It means admitting that I need to change myself, to become better. This admission is a direct challenge to our culture of self-love, whose rallying cry is “Love yourself just the way you are.”

Like so many postmodern ideas, “love yourself just the way you are” is halfway true. Or rather, it’s a truth that’s been flattened out.

When we love someone or something, we do love it as it is… but we also want the best for it. Let’s say you love antique furniture. You go into a dark, dusty shop and find a beautiful oak desk tucked away in the corner. It’s covered in dirt and grime, and has been partly repainted an ugly yellow, and it has a couple of handles missing. Even so, you can see that it’s beautiful – in tough shape, but beautiful. You buy it and take it home. Do you love it as it is? Yes, definitely – that’s what moved you to buy it, take all the trouble of getting it in the back of your car, finding just the right spot for it in your house.

But are you going to leave it that way? Do you really love it “just” the way it is, with its mouse droppings in the corners of the drawers, and cobwebs around the edges? No – you’ll clean it up. Do you love it now? Yes, of course. But are you going to leave it with that awful yellow paint? No, you’ll strip off the old paint and refinish it. Are you going to leave it with missing handles? No, you’ll buy some new handles, maybe replace the whole set so that it matches.

In the end, the desk will have gone through quite a lot of re-finishing, a lot of time and trouble. From the desk’s point of view, it might have been an alarming experience. (Whoa, paint stripper? But that yellow paint had gotten so comfortable and broken-in! Hey, whaddaya think you’re doing with that screwdriver?!?)

But you did the refinishing because you saw that it was not what it could be and indeed should be – because you had an image of what it really was and loved it enough to want to get it there. People understand this. It’s why we call it a “labor of love” when people remodel old houses, or put in hours of labor transforming a weedy garden into a place of blooming flowers, or run bake sales to buy books and toys for their children’s classrooms. Love sees what the beloved is… and wants to help it be more than it is.

Yes, we should feel that we are worthwhile and precious just as we are – just as that oak desk was valuable even tucked away in the corner, covered in cobwebs. But we should also respect ourselves enough to recognize that we are not all that we could be or ought to be.

We should understand that we are broken people, broken by sin; and that we are blessed above all imagining that our Lord loves us so much that He won’t let us stay that way.