I heard another sermon on marriage this morning. As far as sermons on marriage go, I'm sure it was ok. I really have no way of judging. But I sat there listening to another sermon on marriage, and it got me thinking.
I have never once ever heard a sermon on singleness.
Oh, I've heard snippits of sermons on singleness, mostly in sermons on marriage. Mostly which tell me I need to listen because this might apply to me someday.
But I have never once ever heard a sermon on singleness.
And somehow those snippits on singleness, embedded into a sermon on marriage, and which tell me to listen because it might apply to me someday, leave me feeling like I've been thrown a few dry crumbs to justify my getting up that morning and going to church. They make me feel like I really don't belong in the body of Christ, at least, not until the sermons on marriage actually apply to me.
I have never once ever heard a sermon on singleness.
It's almost like we've forgotten that 1 Corinthians 7 is actually in the Bible. And that 1 Corinthians 7 states that singleness is as legitimate a choice for a follower of Jesus Christ as marriage is. In fact, 1 Corinthians7 says that in some ways, singleness is better than marriage.
So you'd think, then, that I'd have heard at least one sermon on singleness for every sermon on marriage. But I haven't.
Why is that, I wonder? If I wasn't confident in who I was in Christ, it might give me a complex.
It might make me think that, as a person who is happily single, there is something wrong with me. You see, I've discovered that within the walls of the church, it's ok to be single so long as I am hoping that one day all those marriage sermons will apply to me, but to be single by choice, and to be single and happy about it is just . . . weird. Unless I go off to serve the Lord as a missionary in a jungle somewhere -- then it's ok. That kind of justifies my singleness.
It might make me think that I don't belong, that the body of Christ is just for married people. People who used to be married and aren't anymore now are on the fringes. People who aren't married yet but want to be are on the fringes. But those who aren't married and are perfectly happy not married and aren't looking to get married? Well, those people don't belong. When the congregation, in the context of a sermon on marriage, is asked to hold the hand of their spouse, or to turn to their spouse and say something then every person without a spouse is excluded. I am excluded. I don't belong.
It might make me think that I am incomplete. Or at least, it might make me feel like other people might think I'm incomplete, or lonely, or even "unwanted". Yes, I've had people say to me, "Why is a nice girl like you still single?" I've had well-meaning church people tell me that they sacrifice their own family Christmas so they can have "all the single people over". It used to bother me. On a bad day, it still does. On a good day, I have a hard time containing my laughter because it's just so ridiculous.
Now, I've wrestled through those issues in the years I've been single. I know, more than intellectually, that there is nothing wrong with me. It is not a plight, and I am not to be pitied. I know that my singleness is a gift, that I have freedoms and opportunities to serve the Lord that I'd not have if I was married. I enjoy my singleness. My life is rich and full. I know that I am complete in Christ, and if others think me incomplete, that's truly their problem, not mine. I know that people are not intentionally excluding me, and now I just kind of roll my eyes and watch as the spouses turn to each other in those supremely awkward moments. I'm not sure they like it any more than I do.
But it still does make me wonder -- why have I never heard a sermon on singleness? Why have I never heard singleness preached as a genuinely legitimate alternative to marriage, and not just an opportunity to grin and bear it patiently until Prince Charming comes along and rescues me from my poor, miserable, lonely existence? Why have I never heard a sermon on actually choosing to be single? Why have I never heard it extolled as the gift that it can be?
I really wonder why.
It makes me kind of sad, because I think the church is missing out on a pretty spectacular group of people by ignoring us singles and trying to get us all married. I think the church needs us. I wonder how long it will take the church to figure that out.
But I'm way too busy following Jesus and enjoying my life to sit around and wait until it does.
Sunday, 21 April 2013
Wednesday, 17 April 2013
On Beauty
There is a new commercial floating about cyberspace right now. It's a thing put out by Dove, in which a series of women sit down with a forensic artist. Each woman describes her own face and the face of another woman, who she has just met, as the artist sketches what he hears her describing. In each case (at least, in the cases we see in the commercial) the picture of the woman as she describes herself is less lovely than the picture of the woman as others describe her. The conclusion of the commercial is, "You are more beautiful than you think."
It's made me think about the whole concept of beauty, and measuring up to standards. Let me speak out of my own experiences.
For years, I struggled with the concept of "beauty". Perhaps I was one of the few women out there who didn't want to be beautiful (although there may be more out there than I know who feel the same way). I didn't want the attention beauty brings. It felt dangerous. I wanted to be invisible. For years, I tried hard to be invisible.
For years, I struggled with my weight. I was heavy, way too heavy, unhealthily so. I lost weight, a lot of it, and suddenly found myself in the "beauty camp", a camp in which I was wretchedly unhappy. I'm now somewhere in between, not nearly as heavy as I was at my heaviest, but not as thin as I was at my thinnest. Sometimes that bothers me; sometimes it's not worth the very hard work it is to maintain that lowest weight, and I find myself drifting closer to acceptance of where I am right now.
For years, I rejected the world's standards of measuring my value by my looks. I wanted to be known for anything but how I looked. I wanted to be known as smart, capable, professional, successful. And I was all those things.
And here's what I've learned in the struggle.
First, like it or not, fight against it or not, the world judges us by how we look. Period. I may be more beautiful than what I think, or I may not be, but the fact is that not everyone is beautiful, and in the world, that matters. Doors opened for me when I was thin that had never been opened before. People noticed me. They smiled more. They were quicker to help. And I was suddenly viewed with suspicion by those who were heavy. I was accepted for meeting the standard by those who met the standard, and I was condemned for meeting the standard by those who didn't.
Second, changing the standard of beauty does not really change anything. I might be successful at changing the standard of beauty to be pleasantly plump and older, with naturally coloured hair and no make-up, but that still leaves some people "in" and some people "out". Someone, somewhere, won't measure up.
So let's say I can somehow change the standard by which my value is measured from "beauty" to something else. Maybe the world no longer judges me by how I look, but by what I accomplish. (Although the world already judges me by what I accomplish.) What happens to those people who just aren't particularly brave, particularly strong, particularly clever, or particularly accomplished at pretty much anything? Do they have no value? You see, whenever we set our value by an external standard, there are those that are "in" and those that are "out". Someone will always not measure up. Someone will always be "more" and someone will always be "less". That's the nature of a standard.
The problem is not with the fact that our society measures value by beauty. The problem isn't the narrow standard of beauty to which we hold. The solution is not broadening the definition of beauty, or even redefining our measure of success with other attributes. No, I believe that the problem is, at its root, that we don't believe we have value. We do not understand our intrinsic worth. The lie is not that we are not as ugly as we think we are, but that we are not worthy.
We are not worthy unless we are beautiful.
We are not worthy unless we are strong.
We are not worthy unless we are accomplished.
We are not worthy unless we are rich. Or married. Or parents. Or drive a nice car. Or have a good RRSP. Or whatever you want to fill in, we are not worthy unless we have that or are that.
We are not worthy.
And that is a lie.
Because we ARE worthy. We have intrinsic value because we are created in the image of the invisible God, and he has declared that creation "very good".
I am worthy.
I am valued and cherished and loved. I am precious beyond words.
I am a treasured possession.
What does it really matter if I am more beautiful than I think, or less beautiful than I think? The King of the Universe loves me, warts and all. He loves me at my best. He loves me at my worst. He loved me at my heaviest. He loved me at my lightest. He's particularly fond of me right now.
He is the measure of my value. Not you. Not Dove. Not the world. Not what I look like. Not what I accomplish. He is the measure of my value.
And he says this:
"But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light. Once you were not a people, but now you are the people of God" (1 Peter 2:9-10).
What more could I possibly want?
It's made me think about the whole concept of beauty, and measuring up to standards. Let me speak out of my own experiences.
For years, I struggled with the concept of "beauty". Perhaps I was one of the few women out there who didn't want to be beautiful (although there may be more out there than I know who feel the same way). I didn't want the attention beauty brings. It felt dangerous. I wanted to be invisible. For years, I tried hard to be invisible.
For years, I struggled with my weight. I was heavy, way too heavy, unhealthily so. I lost weight, a lot of it, and suddenly found myself in the "beauty camp", a camp in which I was wretchedly unhappy. I'm now somewhere in between, not nearly as heavy as I was at my heaviest, but not as thin as I was at my thinnest. Sometimes that bothers me; sometimes it's not worth the very hard work it is to maintain that lowest weight, and I find myself drifting closer to acceptance of where I am right now.
For years, I rejected the world's standards of measuring my value by my looks. I wanted to be known for anything but how I looked. I wanted to be known as smart, capable, professional, successful. And I was all those things.
And here's what I've learned in the struggle.
First, like it or not, fight against it or not, the world judges us by how we look. Period. I may be more beautiful than what I think, or I may not be, but the fact is that not everyone is beautiful, and in the world, that matters. Doors opened for me when I was thin that had never been opened before. People noticed me. They smiled more. They were quicker to help. And I was suddenly viewed with suspicion by those who were heavy. I was accepted for meeting the standard by those who met the standard, and I was condemned for meeting the standard by those who didn't.
Second, changing the standard of beauty does not really change anything. I might be successful at changing the standard of beauty to be pleasantly plump and older, with naturally coloured hair and no make-up, but that still leaves some people "in" and some people "out". Someone, somewhere, won't measure up.
So let's say I can somehow change the standard by which my value is measured from "beauty" to something else. Maybe the world no longer judges me by how I look, but by what I accomplish. (Although the world already judges me by what I accomplish.) What happens to those people who just aren't particularly brave, particularly strong, particularly clever, or particularly accomplished at pretty much anything? Do they have no value? You see, whenever we set our value by an external standard, there are those that are "in" and those that are "out". Someone will always not measure up. Someone will always be "more" and someone will always be "less". That's the nature of a standard.
The problem is not with the fact that our society measures value by beauty. The problem isn't the narrow standard of beauty to which we hold. The solution is not broadening the definition of beauty, or even redefining our measure of success with other attributes. No, I believe that the problem is, at its root, that we don't believe we have value. We do not understand our intrinsic worth. The lie is not that we are not as ugly as we think we are, but that we are not worthy.
We are not worthy unless we are beautiful.
We are not worthy unless we are strong.
We are not worthy unless we are accomplished.
We are not worthy unless we are rich. Or married. Or parents. Or drive a nice car. Or have a good RRSP. Or whatever you want to fill in, we are not worthy unless we have that or are that.
We are not worthy.
And that is a lie.
Because we ARE worthy. We have intrinsic value because we are created in the image of the invisible God, and he has declared that creation "very good".
I am worthy.
I am valued and cherished and loved. I am precious beyond words.
I am a treasured possession.
What does it really matter if I am more beautiful than I think, or less beautiful than I think? The King of the Universe loves me, warts and all. He loves me at my best. He loves me at my worst. He loved me at my heaviest. He loved me at my lightest. He's particularly fond of me right now.
He is the measure of my value. Not you. Not Dove. Not the world. Not what I look like. Not what I accomplish. He is the measure of my value.
And he says this:
"But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light. Once you were not a people, but now you are the people of God" (1 Peter 2:9-10).
What more could I possibly want?
Monday, 15 April 2013
Quitting
Have you ever noticed how giving up is catching?
One person gives up, and that leads other people to assume that they have permission to give up, too. One person stops running, and soon other people begin to drop out of the race.
It got too hard . . .
It hurt too much . . .
It was too much work . . .
So they quit. They bail. They give up.
And somehow, the rest of us are supposed to feel sorry for them. Somehow, those who give up become heroes, examples worth following. We seem to think that those who give up have it harder than those who persevere. We think that if they get to quit, we can quit, too.
Now, I'm not talking about people who are forced to give up. Sometimes your boat tips when you're at sea, and you can't right it alone no matter how much you try, and, through no fault of your own, you're forced to quit. There's no other choice. No, I'm talking about people who entertain the thought of quitting just because things are hard and uncomfortable. Even to the point of feeling unbearable.
Let me tell you something: hanging on, persevering, getting through one more day is way harder than giving up. Giving up is easy. Giving up costs nothing except to everyone else. But holding on? Holding on is hard. The heroes are not the ones who quit. The heroes are those who hold on to live and fight for one more day.
I don't know about you, but I don't get to give up. Quitting is not an option. Period. I will not allow it to even cross my mind.
It is exhausting to fight the lies in my head with the truth of God's word, but I will not quit.
It is heartwrenching to grieve the losses I have experienced, but I will not quit.
It is inside-out painful to allow the Lord to uproot sins of pride, bitterness, anger, and unforgiveness to make me more like Jesus, but I will not quit.
It is wearying to attempt to establish Christ-like habits and disciplines in my life, but I will not quit.
I can cry until my insides hurt but I don't get to quit.
I can fight, scream, yell, and ask why, but I don't get to quit.
I can stumble and fall, but I don't get to quit.
It might hurt so that every movement, every breath, every heartbeat is an agony, but I still don't get to quit.
Quitting is not an option. This is the life God has given me, and I don't get to quit. I don't set the finish line. I don't call the race. He does. I just get to run.
So I run. My run is a ragged affair. There is little about it that is impressive or glamorous. Most of the time, it's more of a painful shuffle. But that's ok. Scripture doesn't tell me to fight the good fight and win the race. It tells me to finish. It tells me that quitting isn't an option.
The ones who give up are not heroes. The heroes are the ones who bear the pain for one more day. They are the ones who keep running when everything in them screams to stop. Even if they cross the line dead last.
One person gives up, and that leads other people to assume that they have permission to give up, too. One person stops running, and soon other people begin to drop out of the race.
It got too hard . . .
It hurt too much . . .
It was too much work . . .
So they quit. They bail. They give up.
And somehow, the rest of us are supposed to feel sorry for them. Somehow, those who give up become heroes, examples worth following. We seem to think that those who give up have it harder than those who persevere. We think that if they get to quit, we can quit, too.
Now, I'm not talking about people who are forced to give up. Sometimes your boat tips when you're at sea, and you can't right it alone no matter how much you try, and, through no fault of your own, you're forced to quit. There's no other choice. No, I'm talking about people who entertain the thought of quitting just because things are hard and uncomfortable. Even to the point of feeling unbearable.
Let me tell you something: hanging on, persevering, getting through one more day is way harder than giving up. Giving up is easy. Giving up costs nothing except to everyone else. But holding on? Holding on is hard. The heroes are not the ones who quit. The heroes are those who hold on to live and fight for one more day.
I don't know about you, but I don't get to give up. Quitting is not an option. Period. I will not allow it to even cross my mind.
It is exhausting to fight the lies in my head with the truth of God's word, but I will not quit.
It is heartwrenching to grieve the losses I have experienced, but I will not quit.
It is inside-out painful to allow the Lord to uproot sins of pride, bitterness, anger, and unforgiveness to make me more like Jesus, but I will not quit.
It is wearying to attempt to establish Christ-like habits and disciplines in my life, but I will not quit.
I can cry until my insides hurt but I don't get to quit.
I can fight, scream, yell, and ask why, but I don't get to quit.
I can stumble and fall, but I don't get to quit.
It might hurt so that every movement, every breath, every heartbeat is an agony, but I still don't get to quit.
Quitting is not an option. This is the life God has given me, and I don't get to quit. I don't set the finish line. I don't call the race. He does. I just get to run.
So I run. My run is a ragged affair. There is little about it that is impressive or glamorous. Most of the time, it's more of a painful shuffle. But that's ok. Scripture doesn't tell me to fight the good fight and win the race. It tells me to finish. It tells me that quitting isn't an option.
The ones who give up are not heroes. The heroes are the ones who bear the pain for one more day. They are the ones who keep running when everything in them screams to stop. Even if they cross the line dead last.
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