When Pornography Becomes an Option

He hadn’t said much since we’d sat down. I knew he wanted to talk to me about something serious, but I didn’t want to press. Ron was tall and built, a man’s man, and a good ten years older than me. But we’d hit it off talking about our athletic exploits, which had grown significantly over the years. At one point I’d asked him about his family, his wife and three kids. Immediately tears had come to his eyes. I’d asked him the next week if he wanted to chat, and much to my surprise, he’d agreed.

We were sitting in a Tim Hortons. It was late, and aside from a few teenagers in the other corner, the place was empty.

“I don’t know what to do, Steve.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s Beck… she won’t get any help.” He paused, the pain evident on his face. “It’s been six months since we had sex.”

Ron had told me before a bit about his wife’s past. She’d been sexually abused as a child, but her parents were stalwarts in the church. She’d refused to get counseling. After their third child, Ron said, she’d had enough.

“The last time I asked her about it she threw me a Kleenex and told me to go take care of myself in the basement.” He said. “I’ve been watching these movies and… I hate it, man. I hate it.”

“Wow.”

I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I couldn’t imagine even being in his situation. At the time I was engaged, still a virgin, and Ron’s words were troubling. What would I do if my wife didn’t want to have sex? What would I do if suddenly my wife decided that sex was only for procreation, or that it was inherently sinful? I felt my eyes fill up, and suddenly it wasn’t about my own life, my own questions. Instead, I was impugned by a deep sadness, although if you’d asked me, I couldn’t tell you exactly why.

I can’t remember what I said to Ron that day. I’m sure it wasn’t much. But over the past ten years I’ve had similar conversations with other husbands, most of them Christians, and when they tell me that they sometimes watch pornography, I don’t know what to say to them. I know what the church says about pornography, I know all about the “porn burning” sessions of the Promise Keepers and the fights to keep “those pornographers” out of business by citizen groups over the years and everything else. But it hasn’t worked. Pornography isn’t juet a problem, it’s also a sympton, and until we address the real problem… Let me put it this way. If pornography is alive and well within the church, as damaging as it is, the church has no one but herself to blame.

Someone once asked me what the biggest problem was in the church today. Easy, I said, the inability for Christians to be honest with each other. The inability to be transparent is poison to any community. Especially a spiritual community that is supposed to be based on grace and love for each other. Jesus said that the world would know us by our love for each other. Instead, the world seems to know us better for our judgement and hypocrisy. We can debate until we’re blue in the face about the truth of those allegations, but as long as the world sees denominations spitting in each other’s face over a small issue of doctrine, who are we to judge? Because you know what… they’re right.

I remember another young man. He was suffering from an unexpected separation from his wife. Alone, in a new city, he was struggling to find himself. To find a community. His wife had kicked him out after 11 months of a tumultuous marriage, and he suddenly found himself alone in a strange city. He was living in a basement apartment with a job he despised, a job that barely left him enough to pay the bills. Once upon a time he’d been an up and coming preacher, destined for great things in the ministry. Or so he thought. Alone and feeling abandoned, he left the church, wondering about this God he’d dedicated his life to.

A few months after his marriage disintegrated, one night he found himself in a strange place, a place he’d never been. The lights were dim inside the store, and staring at him from every wall was a mound of flesh and sin. It was repugnant to be in this place, but strangely comforting. Soon enough, he picked a box, and without looking at the man behind the counter, paid for his purchase and left. Later that night he sat in front of the flickering images, feeling a strange sense of both relief and despair. From that day, he would visit places, places he never thought he’d ever be, and bring things home, things that went against everything he’d ever stood for. The disconnect and despair heightened. He so desperately wanted to believe everything that he’d been taught, but more than anything, he felt alone. His marriage… his dreams… it was all over.

The reason I remember that young man is because that man… was me.

We hear about the evils of pornography all the time, but many women, and men, for that matter, do not understand how or why pornography enters the question. Especially for people of faith. The first thing that we need to understand is that pornography is not merely a “sin” to be cast out. It is also a symptom. As one woman once said to me, “how many breasts does a man need to see?” Women, of course, are quite offended by the pornography question, especially conservative women. But most of the time the question is not about sex. It’s about intimacy and loneliness. It’s about a man being wanted by a woman, about a man who feels accepted for who he is and what he is. That’s what sex is. Sex is becoming naked, becoming vulnerable, and still being wanted by the person we cherish.

I know that many women, especially Christian women, have something to say about this. But the bottom line is this: men desperately want to be naked with someone, but many Christian men, for various reasons, are afraid to expose themselves, and they’ve turned to pornography to meet their needs.

The issue here than, is less about sex and more about intimacy. Do men need to do a better job confronting their own feelings and insecurities about relationships. Yes, they do. But as long as the church allows women to work their relational issues (with overeating, for example. The church virtually excuses gluttony as a sin in Western culture.) with impunity, and continues to impugn men with a higher standard. Expect men to remain closemouthed about their own issues, especially controversial ones like pornography.

I’ll be honest. When I hear stories from men about their sex life, there are many times when I understand why they’ve turned to pornography. The sad part is that I also know that pornography brings nothing but despair and heartache. Is it sin? Yes. But the greater sin is that church has not built itself in North America on open and honest community. Most men who admit that pornography is appealing, for example, face rejection and vilification and worse. Why is it a women can say she struggles with overeating, and receive support. A man says that he is lonely and longs for intimacy and so is attracted to pornography and he is vilified as a pornographer?

The church holds a double standard. And if we are to be a church of grace, a spiritual community of sinners redeemed by God’s mercy, how can we possibly cast judgement without first offering love? The truth is, there’s a reason men remain closemouthed about their struggles. Certainly men need to be more like men, to step forward and say exactly what they’re feeling, But until the church allows men to speak freely, and allows them to be completely transparent without fear of judgement and vitriol, pornography will flourish within the church.

There are days still when I think about turning my computer to certain sites. I'm celibate and proud of it, but still sexual. And though I wish nothing more than to honour God with my life, there are days I long for the intimacy of a woman, of someone who will tell me that I am loved and special. (Unfortunately, I had to learn the hard way what a powerful and destructive lie pornography is) And that, ultimately, is what sex is all about. Women who fail to understand this, women who fail to understand that their man desires so desperately to be naked with them, miss the whole picture when they become caddy and self-righteous about pornography. Perhaps the first step is not to judge those who “sin so gleefully”, but rather, perhaps the first step is to look at ourselves, and see if we are using sex as something else. Are we using it as a tool of guilt? Are we holding it out for the special occasion when only we feel like “doing it?” The thing about pornography is that it sells the idea that the women actually want to have sex. Translation for men, "this woman wants to be with me." It’s an illusion of course, and highly destructive, but it’s a powerful one. What we don’t realize is that the power of a great lie does not emanate from the one who speaks it. The power of a great lie is in the echo that forms in the soul of the one who hears it. The illusion of intimacy is powerful because it is already absent.

I’ve always hated the response of women who say to their men in our culture, “Tonight, maybe you’ll get lucky.” Aren’t you both enjoying it? Aren’t you both getting lucky? Sex is not a toy nor a tool, and until we understand that sex, that pornography, isn’t really about sex, men will continue to bury their feelings and seek out the illusion.

We are a culture that prides itself on individualism. We’re a church that focuses on the salvation of the individual. Neither is biblical, and neither is healthy. God created us to live in community. A spiritual community.

Is pornography sin? Yes. But the greater sin is the wall of pride and self-righteous that echoes through the corridors of many church buildings. Jesus once told his disciples that the world would know us by our love for one another. But do they?

Pornography is like mould. It flourishes in dark corners. If you do nothing else, remember that Christ has called us to a life of authenticity and openness. If you wish to remain with your head buried in the sand, keep it there. But women, don’t be surprised when the man you love finds himself caught in the web of porn. And men, until you understand that pornography is about intimacy, and that you need to step out and stop burying your feelings and hurts because you’re afraid of what others will think, the cycle of loneliness and despair will never be broken.
And for all of us, until the church recognizes that it is a community of grace, where transparency is the only foundation for real discipleship, nothing will change. And our faith will flounder in the shallow fields of rocky soil, and the relationships we so deeply hunger for, especially the one with a certain Carpenter, will never grow.

God help us to open our hearts today. May He give us the courage to examine ourselves, and to reveal ourselves, in honesty and truth, as He intended, that the world would truly know us for our love.

-Steve

Kingdom Living

I think it's difficult, in our culture, with all of our wealth and easy access to everything, to maintain the meta-narrative pf a purposeful God and a purposeful life without focusing on ourselves. It strikes me that it is nearly impossible at times to drag myself away from the television, American Idol, daily routine of wealthy living.

A friend of mine reminds me of these things. She's gone to Africa (Lesotho) for six months on her own dime to help and teach in one of their schools. Every week she has been posting a blog about her experiences. IN reading these, I was struck by how easily I allow my self to operate in self pity, instead of getting out there and trying to make a difference.

This past month I've applied for an internship with Sojourners in Washington, D.C. For a year you volunteer and live in community with a group of 8 other volunteers, and work for their organization, which advocates for social justice and the poor. A surprising number of people apply for these internship positions, and I know that there are a lot of good people who do apply, so it will be quite an honour if I am selected. Still, I'd love for you to keep it your prayers.

If not this internship, I'll be looking for something else, something similar. I recognize that my life, such as it is, is getting lost, and I do need some sort of missionary like experience to help me see the big picture. God grant me the strength to continue to pursue what He wants for me...

-Steve

What Do You Really Want?

She was wearing a tight black skirt and loose turtle neck with a gold medallion around her neck. Her makeup, though thickly applied, was perfect. Her heels clicked against the floor as she strode through the café, shaking her long shag of neatly coifed hair once down her back. John noticed my reaction and smirked into his coffee.

“You and every other schmuck.”

I heard his voice faintly, but gathered enough wits to glance at the other men around the tables. He was right. Surreptitious glances followed the woman as she ordered and even as she waited at the bar for her latte.

“You’ll never get her. She’s out of your league.” He said, this time with a chuckle.

“What are you talking about?” I said.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Do I look like an idiot?” He said. “Money, Burns. You’ve got to have money for that.”

I bent back to my keyboard, and didn’t respond. He was right. What woman like that would be interested in a man like me? A man who worked with disabled children and made less than forty thousand a year, a man who thought that the hopes and dreams of people were more important than financial success, a man who firmly believed that understanding God loved His children was the key to understanding life. What chance did a guy like me have with a woman like that?

“Yeah. You’re right.” I said.

But my gaze followed the woman as she left the café. It was hard not to want that in a significant other, hard not to be attracted to such a beautiful prize.

“She isn’t for you, anyway, Steve. She’d just drive you crazy with her demands.” John said, scratching his goatee.

I nodded again, only this time I wasn’t sure if it was out of understanding or despair. I’d been single for a long time. Seeing a woman like that made your heart stick inside your throat. Maybe it was cultural; maybe the modern version of what made a woman appealing had arrested my heart. But it was still difficult.

John studied me from across the table.

“C’mon man, what do you really want? Do you really want a high maintenance chick like that?”
I almost told him off. Easy for him to say. He was happy with his girlfriend. But me, well, I’d been down this path so many times before, so many times every new relationship had begun to bleed somehow into all the rest, and lately, well, lately I hadn’t really wanted to even look at a new relationship.

My hope, I think, bordered somewhere between reality and fantasy. The only problem was that I never bothered to answer the important question. What did I want? Not just from a woman, but from life? What were my hopes? My dreams?

It was odd, but as I sipped my coffee, I realize that most of us have a hard time these days seeing that end goal. We have a hard time seeing our dreams as something attainable. Something real. Maybe we don’t think that God can deliver. Maybe we think that God has disappointed us so many times before that it’s pointless to dream about what we really want. Or maybe we’re just so lonely that we’ll settle for someone, anyone, to validate our existence. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that he was right.

I didn’t want to settle. And while I wanted a woman I thought to be attractive, I desperately wanted a woman who loved God, a woman who believed in people, someone who believed that a life without compassion was a life not worth living. It was the oddest thing. The more I thought about what I really wanted, the more the beautiful girl began to fade from my memory.
We all want things. We all want better houses and cars and relationships. But maybe God is asking us what we really want. What is our deepest desire? It strikes me that our world is full of quick solutions, but rarely gives us fulfillment. Perhaps we should look more at those things we have pursued (for some of us, since the time we were children) and instead of selling out to what the world offers, standing back and waiting.

Maybe then God will give us our heart’s desire. Maybe then, we’ll understand why we’re really here…

-Steve

Supernatural

“What did you pick up?” The girl asked, with a quick smile for her friend.

The man, who looked to be somewhere in his late forties, was wearing jeans and a long sleeved rugby shirt. He rustled through his Chapters bag and pulled out a couple of books.

“Let me show you.” He said. He handed the books over, one to each of the young women sitting at the next table. The girls were wearing low cut jeans and fitted tops. I guessed that he was one of their Professors from school, obviously well liked.

“The books outline the nature of biblical translation. They detail why the Bible is inaccurate, and why it’s so impossible for any religion to declare itself to be inspired by God.” The man shook his head. "Irrational drivel."

I raised my eyebrows but turned back to my laptop. It was impossible not to listen. The professor was only about ten feet away and spoke in a stentorian voice accustomed to lecture halls.

The girls asked him a few questions, but the professor did most of the talking, waiting for the girls to nod in agreement with him, before continuing his rational diatribe against the Bible and religiously inspired texts.

It was a startling conversation to witness, on so many levels. Unfortunately, it brought with it a lot of sad memories. The professor said his good byes. The girls went back to their homework, and from what I could gather, a conversation about the previous weekend. I stopped listening and dragged myself out of my chair.

I moved to the magazine racks, slipping in between a few patrons to pick up a writing magazine, and idly listening to the light jazz filtering through the speakers. No use. I put the magazine back and strolled through the store.

When I first became a Christian, I’d been so anxious to share the gospel. In those days, handing out pamphlets and talking to strangers was not only encouraged, it was expected. After a few years, however, I was thoroughly discouraged. I felt guilty all the time because I didn’t want to share my faith anymore. It wasn’t that I didn’t love people or want them to hear the gospel, but I was tired of fighting this uphill battle, always giving reasons why I believed in God’s existence, why Jesus was the Son of God, why the Christian faith was the only way, why church was important, and why my life was better than their own. I guess I was just tired of carrying this weight on my shoulders. I was tired of hearing people in the church tell me that I was “the only Jesus they will ever see.” The pressure was enormous. Soon my joy left, and within two years, I followed my joy and walked away.

The memories flashed through my mind as I strolled through the shelves of books. I moved to the large window at the rear of the store. The sun was bright today, and it reflected off the snow covered parking lot like a thousand little crystals. The vehicles coughed into the cold winter sunlight, and people scurried between their car and the building, anxious to be out of the wind. Two men in toques were having a cigarette out back, but the cold doesn’t seem to bother them. They laughed between puffs, although from the window it was difficult to tell the difference between the smoke from the cigarettes and their breath frosting in the icy winter air.

I tried to let go of it but I couldn't. I couldn't stop thinking about that conversation between the professor and his two impressionable young students. About how desperately people wanted to get along, how the professor’s search for approval from the younger generation was mirrored by the girls’ expectations of respect from their more experienced, and more learned, professor.

I was thinking about that because I knew how much I wanted to get along with the people around me. How I hated being in conflict. And as a young Christian, I always felt so much pressure to pound away at people, people I didn’t even know. Instead of enjoying this journey God had put me on, I was more concerned about saying the right words, about having the right words, about somehow working the word ‘Jesus’ into every conversation like it was magic syrup.

I moved back to my chair and threw on my coat. Time for a walk. I headed over to the entrance and pushed the door open, momentarily surprised at the burst of cold air. I readjusted my toque and jammed my hands into my pockets. It no longer surprises me when I hear that Christians have stopped sharing their faith. Or that too many Christians seem more concerned with people inside the church than outside the church, why churches engage in so much bickering. It makes sense. I never used to understand why, but I do now.

What most Christians don't understand is that when they bicker and pick on other Christians, they're at least arguing from the same perspective. The culture around us does not share our world view at all, so arguing with them often feels like your having a conversation with a block of cheese. God? Who is God? Can you prove He exists? It's the reason why at one time I might have approached this professor, and why I no longer did so. What would that professor had said if I had told him that I thought he was wrong, had engaged him in a rationalistic debate about the reasons proving God’s existence? I can tell you what would have happened.

Nothing.

He would have answered me, argument for argument, debate for debate, and in the end neither one of us would have been convinced of anything, except perhaps that the other person was completely wrong. And for me, like most Christians, it would have been another stake in my willingness to even try and share the gospel. Another loss. Another person outside the church “not willing to hear the Truth.” And it only would have strengthened my resolve not to share with “those people” any more, since they obviously didn’t want to listen.

The wind was cold, and the sun was so bright it made me squint. I’d forgotten my sunglasses, but I wasn't ready to go back in yet. Slowly I headed back towards the entrance. Since the 18th Century, Western society has defined itself in scientific terms. We explain everything. Where people originated. How the body works. The reasons we get sick. The sociological importance of certain cultural structures. We make numbers out of everything. God is not part of the hypothesis of Western thought, not anymore.

We don’t think about it much, but it is, as my professor says, the soup we swim in. Maybe we forget that our hypothesis -- as Christians -- actually includes God. That God is not an appendage to our beliefs, but the very core of who we are. Oh, we say that He is, but if that is true, than why do we feel so much pressure to share our faith or not share our faith. Why do we get so angry when people do not listen to our reasons… our proof?

A woman pushing a stroller walks past. Her baby is dressed in a red snow suit. She smiles when I hold the door open for her, gurgling at her young one the way mothers do. It’s all kind of a miracle, isn’t it? A mother and her child. People laughing and sharing their lives. Science helps me when I get sick, but this world, this great, crazy, sad, wonderful, broken world we live in, what part of that is rational? How much of it is natural?

Maybe our problem is that for too long we have tried to answer the world on their terms. Maybe our tendency to either hide our faith or angrily confront those who disagree, with no middle ground, happens because we’ve forgotten that this God we serve is not natural. I can’t explain Him any more than I can explain the way I love my mom and dad, or the way I love my friends, or the reason a movie about loyalty and dreams can move me to tears.

God is supernatural, far above our 'scientific' proofs and reasons. And we aren’t the Savior, but His children. And as His kids, maybe He doesn’t want us worrying about our words so much as He wants us to experience the joy He brings to our lives. Maybe it is His joy, and not the words, that he wants us to share with others. A joy unconstrained by the rigidity of finding a numerical solution for everything we believe.

The sun has begun to set. The horizon glows like a ridge of fire lilting into a smoky mass of orange and pink, splashed against the fading twilight. My cheeks burn from the cold, but I find my gaze locked onto the sudden swirl of natural beauty. Science may explain how the sun sets, why it sets, where it goes, and the exact number of rotations the earth makes in a year. But as I stand there, absorbed into the moment as if my soul had suddenly fit itself into a special place, somehow I know that God exists, and that He loves me.

Is it a rational thought? Do I have scientific proof of these things? No. But then, my God doesn’t need to be explained. Not like that. I know that my faith isn’t rational. Not completely anyway, and that’s the way it should be.


-Steve