Holiness and Boobies

Okay. Somebody will be offended by this post. If that somebody is you, go sit in the corner until it’s over.

All clear now? Good. Let’s proceed.

Two weekends ago, I rode with two friends from work in a poker run benefiting a local breast cancer support group. We had an awesome time riding through some beautiful Somerset and Wicomico County countryside for about 75 miles, and then we returned to the origination point for hot dogs and sodas. After ogling the hot looking bikes (and a few that were merely lukewarm), I went to the registration trailer to draw my cards.

(For those who don’t ride, a poker run is a motorcycle ride which typically involves 5 stops. At each stop, the rider draws a playing card from a deck provided by the business proprietor at that stop. When the ride is over, the object is to make the best poker hand out of the 5 cards you have drawn. Best hand wins the door prize. I had two pair: 8’s and 9’s. I didn’t win squat, but I beat my two friends.)

Anyways, at the trailer were some women, young and old, wearing shirts which had been printed just for this event. This ride had been billed as a family-friendly event, and to be sure, there were kids tossing a football in the adjacent field, an ice cream truck was present, and there were no ‘adult’ beverages available. But the legend on some of the T-shirts made me a bit uneasy. Some women wore a shirt I had seen first on ‘The Daily Buzz,’ a morning news/variety show on CW Network that I occasionally watched while I was wheelchair-bound. One of the more boorish hosts was a guy named Mitch (I forget his last name) who liked to do and say things that, though not crossing the line into obscenity, really blurred it a lot. He had taken to wearing a shirt regularly which featured the familiar pink ribbon for breast cancer awareness, but also contained the words, in bold black font, “Save the ta-tas.”

How crude, I thought. Who would ever wear something like that in public?

I’ll tell you who. Some ladies at this event wore that shirt. (Cue sound effect of loud gasp here.)

Not to be outdone, they had printed up several copies of a new graphic on some bright pink shirts, featuring a pair of bumblebees, each labeled ‘Boo!’ and the legend, “Save the boo bees!” (Replay gasp effect here.)

The nerve! In public! These women! Selling! These! Shirts!

I sat down to eat my hot dog and read the promotional flyer they handed me. They gave their web address, so when I got home, I looked them up. (By the way, it’s www.womensupportingwomen.org if you are interested.)

I was humbled by what I read.

Some of these women were themselves cancer survivors. Others served in memory of a loved one who didn’t make it. There were men serving for mothers, wives, and sisters. All with a common goal. This wasn’t ‘a race for the cure’ (although that’s a laudable organization as well.)

These people were doing this as a labor of love.

These were people whose hearts were touched in one way or another by something horrific. These were people who decided to not just sit there and let tragedy smack someone else in the face. They were intent on being there to support someone else who was walking the same road they had already been down or were currently on. This was about helping with a bill that couldn’t be paid, sitting up with someone who is scared to death, giving a ride to a treatment, holding a pan while someone puked her guts out into it, or simply a friendly ear, a warm shoulder, and a loving hug.

These people were all about showing love. The kind of love Jesus used to talk about. He wasn’t afraid to get His hands dirty. He got down where the hurting people were. He got humanity all over him. And no doubt, at some time someone likely said something that polite people don’t say around polite people.

Somehow, I think Jesus was okay with it.

Richard Wurmbrand tells of a Russian soldier to whom he was sharing the Gospel. In his book, ‘Tortured for Christ,’ he related that this man, who had never heard of Jesus, let alone been to church, was ingesting as much about the Savior as Wurmbrand could dish out. Eager for more, he pressed the pastor to tell the entire story, up through the crucifixion. The poor guy was distraught. He was weeping bitterly at the loss of his new-found Savior. Hurriedly, the pastor related the story of Christ’s resurrection and ascension. “When he heard this wonderful news, he beat his knees and swore—using very dirty, but very ‘holy’ profan­ity. This was his crude manner of speech. Again he rejoiced, shouting for joy. (Wurmbrand)”

Did you catch that? ‘Holy profanity.’ ‘Rejoiced.’ ‘Shouting for joy.’

Isn’t that a contradiction in terms? Not exactly.

Holiness isn’t a static thing: it’s not etched into concrete. It is fluid, changing, always moving in the direction of Christ. It’s more about the direction of travel than the speed of travel. And that speed varies from person to person. If Pastor Wurmbrand had let loose a string of the same profanities as his soldier protégé, we might rightly consider that unacceptable behavior.

But should we expect the world to come to a screeching halt and alter its behavior when one of those ‘Christians’ shows up? How realistic is that? Yes, of course we’re supposed to be the example, shining like stars in a crooked and perverse generation. But we are supposed to be real too, aren’t we? Should we hide our ‘real-ness’ from them under a made-up pretension of ’Jesus-ness’? Does it hurt or hinder us if people see that we are people too, with flaws and faults and character issues? I would think it helps us. It shows that we don’t have it all together, and that makes us approachable.

(Before my ministry friends call me a heretic, I do not claim that we should abandon a pursuit of holiness in order to win the world. I merely desire not to hide the not-quite-perfect-yet parts; to become ‘naked’ [I loathe the word ‘transparent’] and vulnerable; to show that we are not unlike them.)

When I had my ‘disagreement’ with my motorcycle last August, and I had finally come to a complete stop in the ditch on the right side of Pepperbox Road, and tried to separate my broken body from that of my machine, I was hurting. Badly. I was scared. Frightened. And I said the same thing any good, moral, upstanding Christian man might have said.

Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit.

Haven’t said it since. I’m not going to make an excuse for it. I can apologize to you for it if you like. I already did to God. It wasn’t right. But I can’t take it away. It’s there. It happened.

We do strange things when we are in pain, physical or otherwise. Things we might not ordinarily do. We cry out in anger to God, to family, to anyone or anything. Sometimes we say hurtful things, as if spreading the hurt makes ours hurt less. Sometimes we blame others, God, the church, the government.

Sometimes we say on-the-edge things on T-shirts.

At some time, now or later, we all will see someone who is hurting. Pray for them. Better yet, be with them. Others who may not even know our God are standing with them. It’s okay to show them your human side. Show them Jesus was human too. He hurt with His friends. Peel off the holy mask and be genuine. That can mean more than all the Scripture we could read to them. It lets people know we’re real, that we hurt too, and that we share in their hurt. That’s compassion.

The next time you see these shirts or posters, remember there’s someone who is hurting. I will smile at their ‘holy profanity.’

I may not wear the ‘Save the Ta-Tas’ shirt, but I will support you. You do a better job of acting like Jesus than I have done.

Identity Crisis (pt. 2)

When last we left our intrepid essayist, he was fighting off a horde of wagon salesmen who were scrambling for their government bailouts…..oh wait, that was that guy in Washington. Never mind…..

As I was saying, words mean things. A name should tell us something significant about its bearer. A refocused church needs a name that indicates that it is refocused.

So what are we to focus on?

There’s a video that plays frequently during Sunday morning services. It is intended to welcome newcomers and assuage any fears they might have about this motley bunch of Jesus freaks amongst whom they now find themselves seated. A line from it says something like this: “We’re not asking you to change your beliefs before attending our church. We’re simply inviting you on a journey toward Jesus.”

That’s where we all are. On a journey. Some of us are looking for Jesus.

Some of us are a whole lot closer than others. Jesus once told a questioning scholar, “You are not far from the kingdom of God.” This was a guy who was on the road and headed in the right direction. Jesus told another guy, a rich dude who seemed to be doing everything right, “You are lacking one thing.” That guy turned away, headed in the wrong direction. One man ran away from Him naked. A woman came crawling to him through a crowd. Yet another tried to drive Him away with demonic yelling and tantrums. An immoral woman was dragged and slung to the ground in front of Him. Another met Him at the local watering hole.

These people all had one thing in common: at one point, they were all headed toward Him.

We can deduce that people are either headed toward Jesus, or they are headed away from Him. All points away from Jesus lead to death, but there’s only one way to life.

And it’s our job to help guide people toward Him. The speed of travel doesn’t really matter. The direction of travel is everything. I can’t move very fast anymore (unless I’m on my bike), so you may be able to run me down. That’s ok. I will move at my own speed. I’ll get there soon enough. Maybe you’ll get there first. Maybe I’ll catch up with you. It doesn’t really matter, as long as we are moving in the same direction.

George Harrison, no Christian theologian, nonetheless made a very valid point when he sang, “If you don’t know where you’re going, any road will take you there.” I wrote a song several years ago about a journey. “If you don’t have a map or a guide to lead the way, you could end up stranded on a lonesome highway.”

We have a map. It’s called God’s Word.

We have a guide. His name is Jesus.

If we display our map in our lives, the strong possibility exists that we may be given the opportunity to introduce our Guide to fellow travelers. There’s safety in numbers. The more of us there are headed in the same direction, the less likely it is that one or more of us gets stranded. Traveling companions help to keep each other on the road. This journey isn’t meant to be made alone.

As with any journey, from time to time we need to stop for refreshment, for refueling, for rest. Travel any highway for any length of time and you’ll come upon a rest area. Just in time, too….I need to unload that 44 oz. Diet Coke I had about 44 exits back. This is why we come to ‘church.’ (Read Part 1 for my treatment of the word ‘church.’) We are refreshed, refueled, rested, and we can continue the journey. The journey isn’t about a place. It’s about the trip. If it was about the place, we’d call it a destination.

There is no destination when we travel toward Jesus. (My holiness professor might like that line.)

Not this side of Heaven, anyway.

So, if this walk with/toward Jesus isn’t about ever actually getting there, but is all about what happens on the way there, why do we say things like ‘go to church?’ Doesn’t that confuse the issue?

I mean, if we tell people they need to ‘go to church’ to get their lives right, what’s so magical about a building that it has the power to change lives? No building can do that. Only a God can transform people.

And He doesn’t need a building to do it.

He does His work when we are moving toward Him, seeking Him, asking Him, calling out to Him.

And He continues His work as we continue to move toward Him.

Jesus told His followers He had no place of His own to lay His head. He was always traveling.

On a journey.

A journey towards God.

What a remarkable name for a church.

Identity Crisis pt. 1

I am a student of words. I like words. I love crossword puzzles, acrostics, cryptograms. I read dictionaries for fun as a small boy. I derive secret pleasure from spotting spelling errors in the daily newspaper, in books, in the Sunday school literature used at my church, and on TV. I was once a copy editor for a two-bit biweekly paper. Scrabble is my favorite board game but, alas, no one in my family wants to play with me.

Words are tools. Words are to a writer what paint or charcoal pencils are to an artist. Words mean things. To convey an accurate message, the correct words must be chosen. (By the way, fellow board members who might be reading this: the word I was looking for last night was ‘solidarity.’)

My fascination with words annoys my bride incessantly. She will ask, “Honey, do you want to take the trash out for me?” I reply, “No.” Why, you ask? Because I don’t want to take the trash out. I want to sit in my chair, sip on my glass of iced tea, and watch Wipeout.

And she has the audacity to get mad at me for merely rendering a truthful answer to her question!

I told her that if she had asked, “Will you please take the trash out?”, I would have said yes, and then proceed to take the trash out. But she asked if I wanted to. That, apparently, is her way of asking me to do it.

“But honey, you asked if I wanted to, and I don’t want to. You need to be more precise with your words.”

It can be assumed that after such an exchange, the chance of rejoicing with the wife of my youth that evening is nil.

If there was a way to make money at it, I’d like to be an etymologist. Someone who studies the meaning and history of words. We use the word ‘vulgar’ today to describe something profane, something crude, boorish, or obscene. Just a few hundred years ago, Bible scholars rejoiced that Scripture was now available in ‘the vulgar language.’ The word then meant ‘common, or ordinary.’ A Bible in the vulgar language was a Bible that a working man could read and understand. Similar changes in meaning and usage have come upon words such as ‘cool,’ ‘sick,’ and ‘gay.’

What we say has meaning, whether we wish to acknowledge it or not. The words we use mean something, describe something, say something about us. It is important that we choose them carefully.

Same thing goes for names. Jewish families in Scripture would assign names to their children which reflected an attribute they had observed in the child, or one they hoped to inculcate. ‘Cain’ means to acquire. Genesis 4:1 quotes Eve as saying: “I have gotten a man from the LORD.” Jacob means ‘one who grasps the heel, or one who deceives.’ Jabez means ‘pain.’ (I wonder what Mom was thinking there.) It sometimes still happens. My mother-in-law wanted to name her last child Elizabeth, but her husband had an argument with a woman by that name at work and vetoed the idea. Instead, she was so glad to have finally delivered the child that she shouted out, “Glory Hallelujah!”. Hence, my wife’s name became Gloria.

Today we typically give our children names that we think sound good. My parents gave me my name because it was my father’s name. I’m not crazy about my name. I thought about using my middle name, but it’s a little late to be making changes, so I guess I’m stuck with what I’ve got.

Ronald (from Old English ‘Reginald’) a king, a mighty ruler.

Wayne (from ‘Wainwright’; an occupational name) maker of wagons.

Sutler (an occupational name) a merchant who sells provisions to an army.

Put it all together, and it says I am the king of the wagon salesmen. Perhaps I should work for GM. Maybe they wouldn’t have gone bankrupt if I had.

The meaning of words can change over time as society’s usage of those words change, and as society itself changes. This can create an uncomfortable identity crisis.

Case in point: “Millsboro Wesleyan Church.”

Back in the bygone days of faeries and trolls, this was the proper way to name a church. You identified its physical location, its affiliation, and its intended usage. If you lived in Millsboro and you belonged to the Wesleyan communion, this was your place to worship.

Fast-forward to the 21^st century. We are no longer merely a wide spot in the road on the way to the beach. We are no longer a homogenous community where everyone looks alike, thinks alike, dresses alike, and walks to church. The 19966 zipcode encompasses a large portion of Sussex County. Retirees, immigrants, and families are relocating to the areas surrounding Millsboro. Is it right that we should focus our attention solely on Millsboro (pop. 3,500) when some 35,000 people live within a 15 minute drive from us? Are we not supposed to ‘meet people where they are,’ both literally and figuratively? Concentrating our efforts only on one small town seems a bit myopic.

Yet that is what our name suggests we are about.

On to the next word. I doubt John Wesley would have authorized a denomination to bear his name. He was a devout member of the Church of England (known on this side of the pond as the Episcopal Church) who, after going through the motions as a parish priest, missionary, and scholar, posited that, based on Scripture, it was possible that the transforming power of Jesus could permit one to live without a desire to sin. From that came what is now known as the Methodist Church, and later, the Wesleyan Church. John was never a member of either organization. The term ‘Wesleyan’ was adopted to reflect the denomination’s focus on holy living in an unholy world, based on the theology of Wesley and Jacobus Arminius, a Dutchman who, likewise, would have blanched at the idea of a movement attached to him. Aside from bookworms like me, who knows (or cares) about Wesley or Arminius? Probably very few people. Certainly not the lost individual who, driving past a church with the script ‘WESLEYAN’ above the door, says. “I can’t go there; I’m not Wesleyan, whatever that is.” We exclude many people by brandishing that name. Christ is about inclusion, not exclusion.

And finally, one of my not-so-favorite terms: church. Those of us stuffed-shirts know that the church is the assembly of believers, the ekklesia, the family of God, the Body of Christ. To Joe and Jane Sixpack, however, the church is that red brick building on Wilson Highway. A church has a steeple, pews, probably an organ (that’s for another essay), and a cross somewhere on a wall. When most people think of church, they think of a structure, a building, a piece of real estate. Nothing could (or should) be further from the truth. Can we have church without a building? Of course! We ARE the church! How does our name indicate that? It doesn’t.

So what do we do about it? I’ll leave that for the next essay. Until then, I’ll be exerting my authority over the kingdom of wagon salesmen.

Summary

This is my first attempt at a blog. But, since I have developed a habit of posting essays on my Facebook page, it seem logical to post them in a blog, then import them to FB. So, here goes something.... HEre are a few of my favorites imported from FB to the blogosphere.......

Comments re: the death of an 'adult' film star

If 'adult' is equated with 'mature', and 'mature' equates to 'old enough to know better,' or 'responsible and sensible', then what adult would want to watch such a film? Many of you know that I am a 'recovering porn addict.' I know what damage I did to my soul and my marriage by exposing (pun intended) myself to these pieces of toxic waste. The demand is great for such product as this...far greater now than when Marilyn Chambers made her debut. (yes, I did see her film. Unfortunately.)

People. if any one reading this is into porn, I have something to say to you. I was there for 25+ years. I am not going to slam a Bible on your head and pronounce damnation on your head, although I could show you passages which indicate God ain't too happy with it. I want to tell you in no uncertain terms that this stuff is poison. Poisonous to your mind. Poisonous to your relationships, whether you are married or not. Poisonous to your view of the opposite sex (or even the same sex...been there, done that too.) It corrodes your ability to have and enjoy intimacy...not just physical intimacy, but emotional, conversational, relational intimacy. After viewing or reading it, every single time you attempt to engage in an intimate moment (with or without clothing), a little of your capacity to be intimate is eaten away. Eventually, you find yourself unable to become close to anyone without having a sexual thought or impulse pounce on you.

I poisoned my life and my marriage with this stuff. I gave my bride a taste of it, and she went and did exactly what I was doing. This stuff is contagious. Kill it. Kill it now.

If we reduce the demand for this toxin, the supply will shrink as well. And how many more Marilyn Chambers-wannabes will be spared a miserable life?

BIG recommendation if you're into books: 'The Dirty Little Secret' by Craig Gross, founder of xxxchurch.com . Take a look at the unairbrushed underbelly of porn, warts and all. If you aren't sick now, you will be when you finish.

I wouldn't be a ministerial student if I didn't include at least a LITTLE Scripture...Jesus said if we even lust, that's the same as actually engaging in adultery. Adulterers are listed in several lists of people that won't get into Heaven. 1 Corinthians 6:9-10 is my favorite list:

Or do you not know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived; neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor homosexuals, nor thieves, nor the covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor swindlers, will inherit the kingdom of God.

I am batting 9 for 10 in that list. But there's hope! Read verse 11:

Such were some of you; but you were washed, but you were sanctified, but you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and in the Spirit of our God.

It's possible to be cleaned of this scourge. Jesus can remove this toxin...and any others as well. I'm proof that he can do it.

I don't know where Miss Chambers stood with the Lord, but there are many others out there in her shoes who need to make that decision. Pray for them. Pray for all the victims of porn....the husbands who swallow a little, then a little more, then eventually the whole thing until they have to get more and more to satisfy; the wives who struggle with the loss of their husbands to an airbrushed impossibility; the women who, faced with hunger or loneliness, are lured into this trap with seemingly no way out; the purveyors of these poisons, who may or may not realize what their product is doing to countless millions; the young man or woman who stumbles onto something during an innocent Google search and now can't get away from it; and many more. our God is big enough to handle this. Dare we ask Him to?

When Doves Cry

ALERT TO NICE LADIES AND KIDS: There is a crude phrase buried in this essay. It is needed to illustrate a very valid point. Please accept it in the spirit in which it is offered, and extend to me grace and mercy as well. Thank you.

There are tears flowing in a bedroom somewhere tonight. Painful tears. Avoidable tears.

Prince had a song about 20 or so years ago that began, ’Dig, if you will, a picture….’ Okay, I’ll bite. Dig, if you will, a picture of a successful politician, widely touted as one of the brightest his party has to offer. He is promoted as a possible contender for a national office in the next presidential election cycle. His policies have caused many to rally behind him, and his principles and morality are beyond reproach. His doting wife supports him strongly, and he is looked upon as a paragon of family values. In the dark, however, there is a sinister side. He seeks sexual gratification outside of his marriage. He manages to keep it secret for a while, but eventually his moves prove more and more bold until, finally, he is caught. And the media explodes.

South Carolina, 2009?

Well, yes. But I was speaking of Maryland, 1980. Bob Baumann was a representative from an area of Maryland not far from where I live. He was a darling of the Republican Party, happily married, a good church-going man, and was thought of as a strong candidate for a 1984 nationwide office. Then his secret romps in the gay lifestyle and dealings with a 16-yr-old male prostitute became front page news, and he lost the election, as well as his career, his reputation, and his family.

Oh, but that was way back then. What does that possibly have to do with here and now?

A lot. Rep. Baumann and Gov. Sanford threw everything away for a few minutes of pleasure. These guys were not idiots. They were well educated, ambitious men. They were doing good things for families and for the country. They were hard-working men.

Men who should have known better.

Look at that last line: “Men who should have known better.” See yourself in that phrase? I hope so.

These guys have staff members who do nothing but coordinate schedules. Order coffee. Drive. Certainly someone of this stature would be concerned about the possibility of being caught in a situation where there seemed to be no escape? A situation that would spell doom to their career? Why did they not have a staff member, a friend, or a trusted colleague to hold them accountable for their actions, their words, their use of time?

Our government has a contingency plan for any kind of potential threat. Kim Jung Il wants to fire off his nuke at Honolulu? We have a plan for that. Iranians want to attack Tel Aviv? We have a plan for that. Obama falls and breaks his neck? God forbid, we have a plan for that. (Please stay healthy, Mr. President. I don’t have a plan for a President Biden.) We as men need to develop contingency plans for any and all potential threats to our purity, our marriage, and our families. We all have heard the old line from the locker room that says, ‘A stiff dick has no conscience.’ We know this. We know our weaknesses. We know how we are wired.

Use that knowledge to your advantage.

Scripture tells us with every temptation there is also a way of escape. Sometimes that way of escape is to RUN. Sometimes it is to resist…after submission to God. Sometimes the best offense is a good defense.

Set up a perimeter so that your weakness can not be exploited. Establish a relationship of confidence with another man whom you can trust and who you know will pray for you. When you sense that temptation coming, call him and tell him. Turn the light on it. Cockroaches run from the light (no pun intended). Better still, avoid situations and locations where you expect such temptations to arise (again, no pun intended.) Don’t place yourself in situations where you are alone with a woman. Call the front desk and tell them to block all the pay TV channels. If your favorite quickie-mart sells porn, change quickie-marts (Thank you, Wawa!) Block the inputs – eyes, ears – so the trash stays out. The hottie with the 38 inch chest and the 34 inch shirt has eyes. Look at them instead.

We need to reinforce our core as well. So you want a million-dollar wife? Treat the one you have like a million dollars. There was something there once that you liked. See it again. Spend time with her. Not just sitting with her watching NFL, either. (unless she’s also a fan….) Do the dishes. Dump the trash. Mop the kitchen. Cook her dinner. Rub her feet. Rub her back, and don’t expect anything in return.

In short, Ephesians 5 her! Love her sacrificially. Give it all up for her. The TV, the golf, the times spent daydreaming about that other girl…give it all up for the one you pledged to forsake all others for. Make her feel like a queen. If she feels special, she’s more inclined to make you feel special, wink wink nudge nudge.

But even if she doesn’t, dude, you made a promise…not just to her, but to God. Keep it. Honor her. Love her as Christ loved the church. How did He do that? He died for the church. That’s us. What did we do to deserve Him? Nothing. But He did it anyway. That’s love.

Die to yourself. Invite Christ into your marriage. This builds a wall around your marriage that keeps out the invaders.

The men I wrote about earlier had no such walls, no such perimeters, no such accountability.

They lost (or may lose) everything they hold dear. And at what cost? Raise your defenses.

No defenses means it is easier for us to make poor temporary choices that bring permanent pain.

Sneak up to the bedroom window at the Sanford’s tonight if you want to hear what it sounds like when doves cry.

Building the Perfect Beast

Don Henley had a song about 25 years ago by this name. He mentioned genetic engineering and refers to it as a Pandora's box, which is actually quite an apt allegory. Recent weeks have featured a movie based on a true story about a girl with a horrid disease, and her parents' attempt to make a baby as a 'spare parts' warehouse for the sick daughter. (I have read many positive reviews of the movie, but I am not really concerned about the entertainment value in this essay---more about the ethical value of the parents' decision.) We read of the harvesting of fetal stem cells from embryos which were left over from in vitro fertilizations.

Harvesting.

Like potatoes or beans or cotton.

Only with humans.

Jump in the wayback machine with me for a moment. Let's take a trip into the not-too-distant past.
In the late 1970s, lab experiments were conducted with the hoped-for outcome of producing a child for childless couples. Sounds like a page out of Huxley's novel, Brave New World, where people are created in labs and nurtured by machine, and motherhood (as well as childbirth) are considered barbaric. Anyway, it seems like a laudable goal...a loving mom and dad can't make a baby the old fashioned way, so Science steps in to assist. And in 1978, they finally succeeded. Louise Brown was born in England; the first 'test tube baby.'

And everybody's happy, right?

Maybe.

Remember, the outcome that is desired here is a fertilized egg. It is understood that a fertilized egg is the first step toward a viable human life. The next step cannot take place without it.

Many ova were removed from women and mixed with their husband's (or boyfriend's) sperm in hopes of achieving fertilization. Some are implanted back into the woman, and with a lot of luck and some skill, a pregnancy occurs.

But what of the unused embryos?

Some are unavoidably destroyed due to the nature of the process. Some spontaneously abort themselves. Some are selectively removed from the woman (to avoid multiple births.) Others are frozen and stored for later use.

But they were valuable as potential babies, right? Ok, ok, I am sorry. The pro-abortion people tell me they are actually 'tissue masses.' And what do we do with tissues? Throw 'em away.

Now we've gone from Science playing midwife to Science having an active hand in the creation process. You want twins? Not a problem. You say you want EIGHT babies? Pony up the cash, and the good doctor will hook you up. No man in the picture? Negative perspiration, mi amigo, we just dial up the sperm bank or get a good friend to serve as a donor. No woman in the picture? Hey, we rent-a-womb and voila! Like a pizza, just more expensive.

Life has become a commodity. In recent months, there has been news of 'sex selection techniques' which permit prospective parents to decide for themselves whether they want a boy or a girl. Genetic testing now permits mothers-to-be to abort their babies if it is determined the child possesses a defect of some sort. Legal abortions allow women to end their babies' lives at any time for nearly any reason prior to birth. As the price of these new medical procedures rises, the value of life seems to decrease.

Several things about this scenario trouble me greatly. First, we as people have taken it upon ourselves to determine the value of a life. That child-to-be's life will not be worth living, so let's be merciful and end it before it starts. Sounds so humane, doesn't it? But what's next? That child is one more than I can handle, so let's get rid of it before it's born. That child is the wrong sex, and we're only permitted to have one, so lets dump it and try again. We are treating children as if they were clothes in a discount store. Don't like this one? Throw it back into the pile. Better yet, throw it out.

And the leftovers? The not-good-enoughs? Hey, free enterprise and science say that we can use them for experientation! Dr. Mengele would be soooo proud! He went to prison for doing to post-birth people some of the same things that are now being done to fetuses. But hey, he was promoting the gain of scientific knowledge.

Genesis 3:6 - When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom, she took some and ate it. She also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it.

Sometimes a little knowledge isn't necessarily a good thing. Some things we are just not meant to know. We're playing in God's toolbox. When he was little, my son picked up some screwdrivers from my toolbox and nearly stabbed himself when he fell. He didn't know how to use the tools.

God knows how to use the tools, we don't. Remember<> The Sorcerer's Apprentice? Mickey Mouse made a big mess of the wizard's lab by playing Wizard.

He wasn't qualified to play wizard.

Neither are we.

Take a look at the world around us. Surrogate mothers. Mom and Mom. Dad and Dad. Marriage rates declining. Divorce rates increasing. Ethical arguments around what to do with the several thousand frozen embryos that will likely go unused by their parents. Sticky legal battles over who is the legal parent of a surrogate child, or of a 'sperm donor' child.

Who gets caught in the middle? The children.
Who suffers the most? The children.
So is it really about the children, or is it really about selfish people who want a child at any cost....even the cost of their ethical system?

Yeah, I mentioned the 'a' word, but this isn't really about abortion. It's about the value of life. Life, and what's really important. Life that was created (at least initially) in the image of God. And how we have co-opted that process so it now seems to look more like the chorus in the Don Henley song I mentioned at the beginning of this essay:

And now the day has come,
Soon he will be released!
Glory hallelujah!
We're building the perfect beast!

I am certain the Beast approves. I am equally certain that God does not.

In defense of marriage: A rebellious viewpoint

Before anyone launches on me, let me state what should be considered obvious: Marriage is a holy relationship between a man and a woman, designed to last a lifetime, and intended to provide Godly children to perpetuate the faith. It is intended to be a model of the unity and community that exists between the three members of the Trinity. It is intended as an earthly representation of God, modeled to those around us here on earth. I could quote Scripture here, but you all (hopefully) already know those.

Now on to the controversy….

Shouldn’t we be working on restoring marriages, strengthening marriages, and reinforcing marriages within the Church before we go about defining what it is? I know this is heresy and someone might just take away my Wesleyan membership card for stating it, but when the divorce rate IN THE CHURCH is as high or higher than that of the populace at large, how can we as a church go around demanding that government restrict its legal sanctioning of marriage to that of the traditional Biblical definition?

I think this is a case of us needing a telephone-pole extraction from our own corneas prior to our performing ocular surgery on those with whom we disagree. We are screaming to uphold a Biblical model of marriage. Are we indeed modeling it ourselves? If we aren’t, how can we expect others to accept our self-proclaimed moral authority? Are we then any better than the Pharisees who were so despised by Jesus for their hypocrisy?

The time and effort expended in the fight against so-called ‘gay marriage’ (which I consider to be an oxymoronic phrase) could be so much better and more effectively spent strengthening marriages within the Body of Christ. The best argument is often a good example. Jesus said that when He told us to let our light shine among men so they could see our good works and glorify God. How brightly is our light shining when men sneak into their mancaves to scope out naked babes on the Web? Can anyone read by the light emitted when husbands demean their wives openly and publicly? Is there any luminescence generated by someone imposing their own selfish wishes, desires, and demands on their partner? When someone is sleeping with someone to whom they’re not married? When someone fantasizes about escaping with a TV or movie star while ignoring the one they’ve pledged their love to, sitting next to them, starving for even a morsel of affection? The list goes on. And I haven’t even mentioned abusive relationships, overwork, abandonment—both physical and psychological, and just plain old mean-spiritedness. Is it any wonder when proponents of same-sex marriages say they are not desecrating marriage? Friends, we don’t have to worry about homosexuals devaluing marriage: we’ve done a pretty good job of that all by ourselves.

Please, please, please…go to your husband or wife now. Tell them you’re sorry for the way you’ve made them feel, for the things you’ve done to hurt or devalue them. Whether you had a fight today, or you’ve been estranged for a while, it’s still worth saving. There’s still time. Don’t throw away what God built. The best defense of marriage is a strong marriage. Strong enough to withstand catastrophe, strong enough to endure storms, strong enough to make it through whatever you or I can do to destroy it. A cord of three strands is not easily broken, Ecclesiastes tells us. Invite Jesus into your marriage. Let Him be the third strand. Become involved with other couples, and keep each other accountable to the vows you’ve made to God and to your spouse. Once we’ve strengthened and saved the crumbling marriages in our homes, our churches, our families, our communities,…..THEN we might have some ground on which to stand against any encroachment on God’s plan for marriage.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go and beg my wife’s forgiveness.