Gathering Voices: Faithful Conversations from The Thoughtful Christian

The Men in Mentors

You know that woman. That woman who doesn't like other women. That woman who claims that she'd rather work for a man than deal with the supposedly high-maintenance emotional work required of a female boss. Just last year, an informal poll of ForbesWomen's Facebook group confirmed what the latest Gallup data had revealed; women - more so than their male counterparts - prefer men in leadership. 

This phenomenon has implications beyond the professional world. It is noticeable in the church but perhaps especially in the academy where mentorship plays a pivotal role in the training of young Christian minds. According to the ethnographic data from Living on the Boundaries: Evangelical Women, Feminism, and the Theological Academy (InterVarsity Press, 2005), most women identified male professors as their most significant mentors. Female role models continue to be inaccessible or scarce.

The non-conformist in me works hard to go against the grain of what collective statistics and experience prescribe. I was determined to find a female faculty member to work with who would be riveted by my interest in Christian feminism, who would gush over my brilliant intellect, and who would invite me over for dinner and a glass of wine, followed by an artsy documentary on the couch. 

I tried. I promise. The first female professor I attempted to connect with had to reschedule our first meeting - and then didn't get back to me until three months later. The next one referred me to her office-hour schedule. Two weeks later and a whirlwind thirty minute time slot and I still I felt more disconnected than ever. Another with whom I wanted to work on my thesis over the next year asked me to wait until she returned to campus in the fall before even beginning a real conversation.

Perhaps this was just the rigamarole of a larger university. My liberal arts education had lulled me into the belief that real, live academic adults wanted to spend time with me, a simultaneously over-confident yet under-prepared young adult. 

My experience was beginning to fit the collective pattern. Women in the theological academy were too scattered, too busy, too inaccessible to get to know me. And ironically, every man I emailed to meet wrote back within an hour. 

It's not that I was without female mentors all together; The founder of the Resource Center for Women and Ministry in the South proved to be one of my best allies, as did her fellow board member and my spiritual formation guide. A couple of local female authors who hired me for publicity consultation became some of my biggest cheerleaders 

However, I was struck that the majority of women who offered me their time were without children in the home. Questions haunt me; are female leaders and professors juggling the infamous "second shift" at home and thus more limited at work? Are the boundaries they set between their personal and professional lives a wise safeguard or a savvy survival tactic? Are the pressures they experience both self-imposed and institutionally-enforced? Or are women academics ages 35-55 just plain harder to connect with their male counterparts?

I love my "men"tors. But I'd like to give a few female faculty a stab at my impressionable mind.

I'll even babysit. 

What Just Happened on The Mentalist? And Why Do We Love Cliffhangers?

A Gathering Voices Post by Greg Garrett

I recently watched the season finale of the hit CBS show The Mentalist, in which the former “psychic” Patrick Jane (played by the great Australian actor Simon Baker) works with the California Bureau of Investigation as a consultant helping to solve crimes—and getting information that might lead him closer to finding the notorious serial killer Red John (seemingly played in the Season Three finale by Brad Whitford). You see, some years ago, Red John took offense at words Jane said about him on a TV talk show and killed Jane’s wife and young daughter, leaving behind his trademark bloody smiley face on the wall of Jane’s home.

Jane has been transparent about his motives—he has always told anyone who listened that if he found Red John, he intended to kill him. But could such a breezy, charming character actually do such a thing? 

SPOILER ALERT. Yes. He could. In the final four minutes of the Season Three finale, Jane confronted the character claiming to be Red John in the food court of a shopping mall, convinced himself that the man knew enough of the details about the death of his family, and shot him dead, in plain view of a hundred people. END SPOILER ALERT.

This is a game-changer, as great cliffhangers always are. As actress Amanda Righetti, who plays Special Agent Van Pelt on The Mentalist, told TV Guide, “This forces a huge change in the dynamics of the series and every character. . . It's nice to always shake up your show at the end of the season but this is pretty insane!”

Ah, the insanity of the TV cliffhanger. Someone shoots J.R. in the shower. A bomb goes off. Someone proposes. Things will never be the same again. And we don’t know how the game-changer will play out for a long summer—

Now, we don’t normally seek this kind of radical change in our lives. For better or worse, most of us want to feel the ground stable under our feet. Even if it’s a sad life, a boring life, better the devil you know—

But in the stories we consume, we want to see these radical changes. We want to watch people wrestling with unexpected joy, loss, and surprise. No one wants to see characters continuing to live the status quo forever.

So here’s my question: What in our narrative or spiritual DNA accounts for our love of conflict-laden story?

A couple of possibilities come to mind. First, these characters might serve as surrogates for us, having adventures, wrecking and then rebuilding their lives so we don’t have to.

Or they might give us the chance to benefit from their mistakes and triumphs. We might ask ourselves, would I have killed the man who murdered my family? Would I take another path?

Or they might remind us how, in our sacred stories, loss, despair, and destruction are confronted and made right in the loving mind of God.

What do you think?

 

Tornadoes, Manure and False Prophets

 

A Gathering Voices Post by Lara Blackwood Pickrel

 

Since Sunday, I've been holding my breath. 

Is it because I've been afraid of the news another phone call might bring?  Yes.  Is it because I've been more than a little terrified of the storms that have followed the Joplin tornado?  Yes.  Is it because I'm scared of the images that may pop up without warning on the television or computer screen - and the sense of helplessness those pictures stir up in me?  Again, yes. 

Still, those aren't the only reasons I've been holding my breath.  I've also been holding my breath in hopes that complete stillness might keep him and his followers at bay, that not speaking his name might keep them off the scent and away from victims' and survivors' pain.

I suppose with language like that, I've got to clarify:  I haven't been worried about Voldemort - I've been worried about Fred Phelps. 

It was only a matter of time before Phelps and his Westboro Baptist Church folk found the misery of Joplin irresistible.  For whatever reason, they seem to glut on the pain of others.  Whether it is the funeral of a gay teen or a soldier or a tornado victim, the despair of loss moves them to a revelry that borders on obscenity. 

I know that I shouldn't be surprised.  They do this every time - showing up to proclaim "God's hatred" in moments that instead require love.  And every time they arrive with their signs and bullhorns, I struggle to find an appropriate response instead of a violent reaction (how do you stand up to hate without becoming a hater?).  Again, I know that I shouldn't be surprised.

But this time it's personal.  This time, when they celebrate the deaths of 125+ precious children of God, they will also be saying that they are glad Stan is dead.  Stan, my parents' longtime best friend.  Stan, my honorary uncle.  Stan, the good-hearted, laughing-eyed husband and father who worked hard every day and still had time for kindness.  Stan, a man whose life was snuffed out when a Walmart collapsed.  On Sunday, when WBC starts spewing hatred, they'll be saying that God is glad Stan is dead.

I wasn't prepared for how angry that makes me.  And what about his family?  What about the families of all the other people killed, or all the people rendered homeless or jobless because of the violent storm?  How will they receive such hateful news?

There's a part of me that wishes no one would pay attention to Phelps - that the news media would ignore him and that we all (myself included) could simply refrain from mentioning his existence.  But that is not only unrealistic - it also squelches the goodness that can grow out of such darkness.  Manure isn't fit for human consumption, but great nourishment rises up out of it; likewise, the nourishment that springs forth out of WBC's protests is not the message they proclaim, but the widespread acknowledgement that Phelps is a false prophet.  If we can recognize falsehoods shouted in the name of God, then perhaps we can edge closer to truth. 

Honestly, none of that makes me feel any better at the moment.  I'm kind of glad that I can't attend Sunday's memorial precisely because in this moment I don't trust myself to face the Phelps clan.  In my anger and grief, I don't trust myself to do or say the right thing.

So for now, all I can do is trust in God: that God has the power to transform even the foulest dung into fertile soil, and that in this moment God is planting seeds of love, compassion, justice and peace, even in me.

Home and Journeying

A Gathering Voices post by Lynne M. Baab

Do you ever wonder where home is? I moved a lot in my childhood, so I have never really felt at home anywhere. Often I long for a stronger sense of home in the place where I live.

All my angst about home has encouraged me to think about my home in heaven, my longing for a better country (Hebrews 11:8-10). I have enjoyed pondering the notion that our citizenship is in heaven (Philippians 3:20) and that we are sojourners and aliens here on earth, but also members of the household of God (Ephesians 2:19).

Because of my rootless childhood, I’ve been open to frequent journeying as an adult. I spent a year of college in France. In our young adult years, my husband and I lived in the Middle East for two years (Iran and Israel), then later in Sweden for a year. Now we’ve been in New Zealand for four years, and we plan to live here for the foreseeable future. We’ve also travelled a fair amount. In all of our moves and in most of our travels, God has led us, spoken to us and shaped us. We would be very different people without our journeys.

My longing for home and my experience of God’s presence in journeys came to the forefront as I read a book for a seminar in the department where I teach. In Crossing and Dwelling: A Theory of Religion, Thomas A. Tweed argues that religions help us make homes and they help us move across boundaries. 

Religions, Tweed asserts, help us make homes in four arenas: our bodies, the homes we live in, our homelands and the cosmos. And then religions also help us make movements in and across those same arenas.

Tweed’s framework helped me think through my own life in the light of my commitment to follow Christ. In the area of movement, I can see clearly and easily the way God has led me to move to different countries and to undertake other journeys, and I can see equally clearly that God has used those journeys to grow my faith. All that movement, and all the ways God has guided, accompanied and transformed me through it, feels like a great gift and significant affirmation that being a bit off balance is necessary for growth. There’s nothing like living in a foreign country, or even a journey within one’s own country, to contribute to that feeling of risk that helps us grow.

For some reason, that recent affirmation of the significance of God’s presence with me in the journeys of my life has helped me feel more at peace about my longing for home. God is, and should be, the person to turn to when I long for home. Tweed’s four categories related to home (bodies, homes we live in, homeland, and cosmos) have been helpful as I reflect on my own experiences of home, experiences grounded in my faith in Jesus Christ and earthed here, where I live, in my body, in this home and land, and in the beautiful cosmos created by God.

Squirrels dying in your yard and people dying in Africa

A Gathering Voices post by Adam Copeland

My partner Megan and I have had shared some eery moments recently when we both independently had what we thought were unique thoughts only to find we were thinking the same thing. For example, we both had planned to bring the same risotto salad to a potluck. And we both liked the identical couch and accent chair from several vast furniture stores. Increasingly, a similar experience happens now with Internet ads, on Facebook, and via Google searches. I’ll look for some shoes on Zappos one day, and the next day a sidebar add on a random news site scrolls through similarly styled shoes that I really dig. Spooky? Handy? Both.

This type of niche marketing has happened for a long time, but with the bounty of information our Internet lives leave and with code improving, we’re getting close to the time when pop-up ads might mimic that lovely odd moment when you and a close friend have the same random thought at the same instant. 

Eli Pariser cautions against this movement in Monday’s NY Times. This caution is particularly noteworthy coming from Pariser since he’s president of the board of MoveOn.org, a groundbreaker in using the Internet for social causes. Pariser acknowledges there’s no going back to the old time days when editors and social elite chose what was broadcast, but he’s uncomfortable with where we’re headed. 

Apparently Mark Zuckerberg of Facebook fame once said, “a squirrel dying in your front yard may be more relevant to your interests right now than people dying in Africa.” I suppose that may be true, but it is not as it should be. The world should not be governed by Internet codes that filter out stories of African catastrophes. 

Unless you’ve changed your settings, chances are your Internet moves are being tweaked as we speak. If you search, “Christian church” on Google you (assuming you’re a Christian) may get very different results from an atheist who searched the same words. As companies filter search results for personal relevance, they help shape our point of view. 

Similarly, a friend of mine recently lamented that Facebook’s newsfeed is set to prefer the friends with whom you interact most. This friend complained that Facebook seemed to inappropriately narrow her awareness of her social connections to a small select group. 

[By the way, you can change both Google’s search and Facebook’s newsfeed functions. Go here for Google and here for Facebook instructions.] 

I’m of two minds about all this. On the one hand, I do enjoy Zappos helping me choose the coolest shoes. On the other hand, I don’t want my political thought or access to information governed by an algorithm that prefers certain perspectives. 

But it’s not as if this is a totally new phenomenon. Post college and grad school, I’m increasingly aware that beyond extended family gatherings I rarely socialize with people of widely varying political views. Even my choice of coffee shops and grocery stores narrows my awareness to people who tend to look (and buy) like me. And, honestly, congregations I know are looking more homogenous by the day. 

So here’s an idea (maybe there’s already an app for it, and I just don’t know it). Could someone please develop a website that intentionally seeks diverse views, one that does so not by grabbing an idea from the left and an opposing one from the right, but a site that looks carefully at my search history and Facebook friend list and fills in the gaps with what I’m missing. Now that’d be a website that’s relevant to my interests. 

 image by Giuseppe Acquaviva

Funny Girl

A Gathering Voices post by Erin Lane

Funny girls ain't no joke. They are a rarified rush of redemptive humor. Within their satirical, slap stick, and sarcastic rhetoric, they hold the paradox of laugh-your-rump-off playfulness and serious-as-all-get-out truthfulness. 

I dream of a church where these women are as plentiful (and pesky) as the advertisements on Hulu. I want to be inundated with their wise-cracking wit on Sunday mornings and beyond. 

Tina Fey stands behind the pulpit in her "Liz Lemon" sweatpants and scunchie, preaching about the need for Sabbath with her cry, "O Lord, break the Internet forever." Amy Poehler is the humble pastor of children's ministry who admits the only way to manage youth is to enlist robots. "I have, like, 15 robots. They do everything from singing lullabies to driving the kids to soccer. It’s just amazing what robots can do." And Kristen Wiig is the inspiring worship director who unabashedly punches her fist in the air during hymns, akin to her Bridesmaids' dance-along to the 90's flashback hit "Hold On."

Before you dismiss my dream as some media-induced, pop candy coma of generation-Yers, I'd argue these women are already present - although perhaps in subtler forms - in our congregations. I know them. I've seen them do the robot dance to Justin Beiber. I've done it with them.

And I'm telling you, there is something spiritual about their humor. It lifts. It holds. It heals the often tragic nature of our lives. It doesn't just seek a laugh; it seeks deep joy.

But for some strange (cough <sexism> cough) reason, women don't unleash this very raw and radical hilarity in the church. They already have a hard enough time being taking seriously. Why risk a failed joke when judgment is already plentiful for their open-toed shoes or kindergarden-teacher tone? 

It matters to me that women bring their inner funny girls to their faith. I'm writing my Master's thesis at Duke Divinity School on Humor in Feminist Homiletics - a highly un-saturated field of research. 

Christian Humor? I had a good chuckle at Jon Acuff's Stuff Christians Like blog and Susan E. Isaac's Angry Conversations with God.

Feminist Humor? Look up any of the women enlisted in my liturgical fantasy above. But Christian Feminist Humor?

Even Amazon puts a strike through one of these descriptors when searching, telling me they can't possibly be strung together in a resource, let alone an individual.

I'm not convinced, despite the unfounded chorus of sinners that insists women just aren't that funny. Stringing together paradoxes of wit and wisdom is part of the boundary-breaking nature of our God and our faith and our women.

Thinking anything to the contrary is just plain silly. 

photo credit orangeacid

 

 

 

Faith and Foo Fighters?

A Gathering Voices post by Greg Garrett

 

Most people don't immediately connect spiritual wisdom with the multiple-Grammy-winning rock band Foo Fighters, fronted by Dave Grohl (formerly of Nirvana). People may know that they are one of the most successful bands in the world (the album Wasting Light debuted in April atop the Billboard charts, as well as atop the charts in Switzerland, Belgium, Sweden, Norway, and Australia, and the band’s recent and immediate sell-out of 110,000 tickets at Milton Keynes induced the BBC to call them “Britain’s Favorite Rock Band”). But one doesn’t immediately think of their music as having a spiritual quality.

Foo Fighters plays arenas. They play loud, they play well, and that in itself, as we’ve argued in this space, is a good thing. When one reviewer described “Dear Rosemary,” one of my favorite songs from Wasting Light, as “a brilliantly chiming, anthemic song of real restraint and grace that shows the parts themselves to be very much secondary to their sum,” I was reminded that even though we’re talking about arena rock, clearly this reviewer finds grace and beauty present. 

To play a song so well that its grace and beauty become apparent is a step in the direction of spirituality. But the lyrics of many of these new songs demonstrate real life wisdom—some of it hard-earned—and a real attention to the spirit. They are songs about how we spend our lives on the way to death, on decisions we made we should have made better, on living with regret. Rolling Stone’s David Fricke summed up the album’s thematic emphases by noting “There are references to death—and the responsibility to leave things better than when you came in—all over this album.” And Paul Brannigan wrote in Q that this “soul mining” by Grohl had led to the “most life-affirming, positively-charged record of his career.” 

And that is the spiritual wisdom that informs many of these songs: whatever has happened, we are capable of more, we are capable of better. In my tradition, we usually close those statements with another clause: “By God’s grace.” 

One example of many: the album’s opener, “Bridge Burning,” refers to that thing human beings often do, burning our bridges behind us. Generally we’re taught not to do this. But what if our bridges to the past are the very things holding us back?  Grohl sees this pyre not as the end, but as something capable of leading to new life—to the thing, perhaps we have been seeking:

Your bridges are burning down

They're all coming down

It's all coming round . . .

Gathering the ashes

Everything thrown away

Gathering the ashes

Scatter as they blow away 

I am not the only person suggesting recently that the band has a spiritual side. In April, chaplain Tim Barrett put together a lovely resurrection-y clip to the song “Come Alive,” and the Catholic Diocese of Camden used Foo Fighters last fall at a men’s retreat.

Why don’t you take a listen—or listen more closely—and tell me what you hear?

 

The Ministry of Listening

A Gathering Voices Blog Post by Don McKim

I’ve been thinking lately of the ministry of listening.

We live in a world where a lot of talk goes on; all around us, most of the time. And we contribute our share to that talk (some a bigger share than others!). We love to do it. We love to get our ideas out, share our views with others. But in the midst of it all, how many of us take the time to listen? To listen. To hear what others are saying. As the theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer noted, "Just as love to God begins with listening to [God's] word, our love for others is learning to listen to them" [Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together (London: SCM, 1967), 75].  We think we need to contribute something to a conversation by adding our "two cents worth." But did you ever stop to think that sometimes "listening can be a greater service than speaking"? (Bonhoeffer, 75). The Christian psychi­atrist Paul Tournier has made it his life to listen to people. He takes an interest in them, sits down and hears what's troubling them. And he wrote in one of his books about some people: "Suddenly [they] break off, as if astonished at [themselves]. 'I don't know why I tell you all this: I've never told anyone else. I never thought I should be able to tell anyone.' Then the person adds, looking me in the eyes: 'What a relief it is to get it all off one's chest^{'" [}Paul Tournier, The Meaning of Persons (London: SCM Press, 1968), 136].

Many people desperately search for an ear that will listen. Sometimes, sadly, they do not find the ear they need among Christians because these Christians are talking when they should be listening! But if we can no longer listen to our sisters and brothers, we will soon no longer to able to listen to God. As Bonhoeffer says, whenever we think our time is too valuable to spend keeping quiet, we will eventually have no time for God and for others--only time for ourselves and our own little plans.

And this is a problem too when we do that kind of listening called listening with "half an ear." That's when we just can't wait for the other person to finish so we can jump right back in again. We presume to know already what the other has to say and the sooner that person gets it said the sooner we can talk again. That^'s no way to ^"listen^" as a priest of Jesus Christ to others.

Is it any wonder that in our Protestant tradition we've lost what has been called the "greatest service of listening that God has committed to us--that of hearing another's confession"? Remember the Book of James where it says: ^"Confess your sins to one another" (James 5:16)--not because another person can take the place of Christ to forgive your sin; but confess to one another, to find the love of Christ incarnate in someone who listens to you. How many people do you suppose have trust enough in your willingness to "listen" to them that they would confess their sins to you? Psychology and psychiatry know the therapeu­tic values of listening. But these disciplines can't go much farther. How much more should we Christians remember that our ministry of listening has been given to us by the One who is the greatest listener, who hears our deepest cries--even our Lord God. Let us "listen to others with the ears of God," says Bonhoeffer, "that we may speak to them the Word of God" (Bonhoeffer, 76).  

I want to resolve more fully to engage in the ministry of listening.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Children in Worship?

 

A Gathering Voices Post by Lara Blackwood Pickrel

 

He stood in front of the communion table, beaming out at worshipers while reciting a liturgy known by heart.  When he was finished, from behind the table she lifted her arms high, straining to raise the hearty loaf to a place of prominence and honor.  When both bread and cup had been blessed, we came forward and met the smiling eyes of their brother who helped to serve the holy meal.  The service was tender, joyful - one of the most meaningful I've experienced in ages (and as a Disciples of Christ pastor, that says a lot because we Disciples really love our weekly celebrations of the Lord's Supper). 

Can you picture it, a sacramental meal filled with so much love?  What if I told you that those three "celebrants" were under the age of seven; that their clergy-parents were presiding at the table, while they stood or were held and participated alongside them? Would that change things? 

There's a fair chance that it might.

I've always thought that children should be welcomed and fully engaged in our worship services - and that it is a good thing to hear little ones as we gather in a sanctuary or other holy space.  Of course, that could be because I don't have any kids.  I welcome the sounds of their young voices because their presence helps to make my experience of creation all the more whole.

As it turns out, including children in worship is a somewhat divisive issue in many congregations.  To some it seems like it should be simple, that we should take a stand and say: "It doesn't matter that kids get fidgety and noisy.  They belong here.  We need children in our worship spaces/times because we are incomplete without them and because they are precious in the eyes of God.  Children shouldn't learn that worshiping-God-space is adults-only space." 

But it's not always simple - especially for parents of little ones.  What about the father who needs a break, who loves his daughter but also needs a pocket of silence in order to worship and reconnect with the Divine?  What about the single or stay-at-home mom, up to her ears in frustrated exhaustion, who counts on that hour's worth of Sunday stillness to regroup, recharge and prepare for another week?  What about what parents and other care-givers need?

And there is so much diversity of experience present:

• Some parents DO want time apart from their children so that they can worship.
• Some children ARE more of a "handful" (for whatever reason, be it psychological/medical or otherwise, some kids really are disruptive).
• Some adults ARE hyper-sensitive and even grumpy about normal kid noise.
• Some kids pay attention to sermons and liturgy better than most adults.
• Some adults love the presence of children in the worship space.
• Some churches aren't able to provide childcare, so parents have no choice but to attend worship with their kids (if they want to attend worship at all).

Meanwhile, in the midst of all these realities (as well as all the other examples and rationales I didn't have space to list), Jesus cries out from the Gospels:  "Let the little children come to me, and do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs." (Luke 18:16, NRSV)

I don't have any answers to this issue, other than to say that it is complicated.  As a pastor, I find myself living in the tension that exists between all these interconnected needs and people, between my own theology and our actual practice of worship. 

And at the same time, in the midst of that tension, I can't help but shake the power and the joy of that communion service.  I can't get those earnest little lips mouthing the liturgy, those small but resolutely-reaching hands, those smiling eyes out of my heart.  We may not always agree on how to include children in our worship of God, but in my heart of hearts I fervently hope that the Kin-dom of God looks like that.

• Do you include children in worship?  If so, how?  If not, why?

• How can we balance and honor the diverse needs of all the people in our community?
  

Talking about Lust and Chastity

A Gathering Voices post by Lynne M. Baab

Some readers of this blog may not know that the Thoughtful Christian produces and sells lessons for use in small groups and adult Sunday school classes. Some are designed for adults, some for parents and some for teens, and each lesson includes a handout and a leadership guide. I’ve written a handful of lessons over the past few years, and I recently wrote one on Lust and Chastity for the newly released adult series on the Seven Deadly Sins. I was eager to write that particular lesson because I wanted to help Christians engage in discussion about sexuality.

Christians were known from the earliest days for their sexual ethics. In the wild and debauched Roman Empire, Christians engaged in distinctly different sexual practices and ethics. In what ways are Christians today distinct from our culture in our sexual attitudes and practices? In what ways should we be? In the lesson on Lust and Chastity, I wanted to set the scene for discussion about those questions.

In the lesson I didn’t express my personal opinions, so I’ll do that a bit here. I agree with many other Christians that sexual intercourse is healthiest and glorifies God the most within the shelter of a covenant relationship. One of my biggest worries is that the age of puberty has been declining and the age of marriage increasing, so those of us in the “sex belongs in marriage” crowd are expecting teens and young adults to abstain from sexual intercourse for an average of a decade and a half between puberty and marriage. Earlier generations did not have such a long wait because the average age of puberty and marriage were so much closer together. How can we help young people deal with their sexuality in a healthy and redemptive way for that decade or more? Some Christian leaders advocate early marriage. That makes me uneasy, but I’m not sure about other solutions.

In researching the “Lust and Chastity” lesson, I came across a lot of great quotations that I included in the lesson. One of them suggests a perspective that might help answer my question: “A characteristic of lust, and of our sexually provocative popular culture, is to exaggerate the importance of sex in life. To a certain extent this is a reaction against earlier puritanical attitudes.  . . . But to give the impression, in advertising and the mass media, that happiness depends upon being forever sexually attractive and fulfilled, is to propagate a grand lie. . . . Lust falsely asserts that love in the absence of sex is not possible and that sex satisfies in the absence of love.” (Solomon Schimmel, The Seven Deadly Sins, Oxford University Press, 1997, pages 129 and 132).

Building on Schimmel’s ideas, I wonder if we need to affirm more frequently the many ways that people (both married and unmarried) engage in forms of love in the absence of sex. Perhaps we need to do more teaching about what love looks like in non-sexual relationships, and encourage people of all ages to grow into those kinds of love and learn to view them as rich and satisfying. Perhaps we also need to say more about the fact that sex in the absence of love can never satisfy at a deep and profound level. Surely there are many people in our congregations who can testify to that reality. What would it take to get them to tell their stories publicly?

Perhaps most of all, we need to gather the arsenal of biblical and theological truth – and also draw on people’s stories – to refute the prevalent idea that “happiness depends upon being forever sexually attractive and fulfilled.”

Additional Resources from www.TheThoughtfulChristian.com

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