That G-Spot

Yesterday afternoon John and I saw Love Happens starring Aaron Eckhart and Jennifer Anniston. It was a pleasant enough movie: sort of an old fashioned boy meets girl comedic romance. Both actors did an excellent job in their roles, Eckhart as, Burke, a successful author and self-help life counselor; Anniston as, Eloise, a florist with a series of bad relationships.

While the budding romance between Burke and Eloise is the primary focus of the movie, it blossoms only amid the back story of the tragedy that set Burke on the path of authorship and self-help guru. Three years prior to the current events his wife died in a car accident near Seattle where they lived.

Burke has now returned to Seattle to conduct one of his “A-OK” seminars. For all appearances, he has completely recovered form his wife’s death. Attendees have (apparently) read his book and now expect the same sort of recovery for the tragedy in their own lives through group sessions and upbeat lectures by Burke. Now and again some pearls of “wisdom” are dropped from his mouth, the greatest of which is that those suffering from a tragedy in life must confront their fear before they can move on; i.e., overcome or move through their grief. The big surprise (Not really for those of us who can practically write such films in our sleep!) is that Burke has not come to grips with his own fear. (No spoilers here, but again, for those of us who can practically write these things ourselves, there were no surprises, either.)



“Fear” it seems, is a code word for guilt, the G-spot. Can’t call it that, of course, because guilt it tied to sin and sin means there is a God. Oh! what a piteous word-playing world we live in! Guilt often hides behind a mask, from sexual promiscuity to fear and anger. In Love Happens, guilt hiding behind a mask of fear, can be handled quite easily: Just do one thing you are truly afraid of, like walking on a bed of hot coals, and your g-spot is lessened. The release of tension brought about by one fear abated grants permission for another to be set free. Soon your g-spot is entirely set free.



What a concept! Perhaps we can do that in our churches. We can have coal-and-ash beds implanted into the entry way of every church so that as each one enters he can be absolved. His G-spot can eventually be eradicated. Isn’t that the way so many think of Confession and Absolution–as if they were being asked to walk on a bed of hot coals? As if it were the most fearful of all things imaginable? Yet we believe, teach and confess that “confession is to be retained for the sake of absolution” (AC: II; xxv; 13. Tappert).

Absolution is what the seminar attendees are truly seeking, after all. The death of a child can in fact be “just an accident,” but the parent who could not save his own son will nonetheless punish himself for what he could not do. Drat! that g-spot. The husband who was driving the car in which his wife was killed will do the same. There goes the g-spot again.

The guilt of grief takes many forms; each one finds its answer in only one place, and yet in this movie once again the world hears that the answer can be found in the silence of one’s own doing-ness. In another movie the lead character yelled to the night sky, confessing his sins to God. The answer was the silence of the stars brightly shining upon him. In Love Happens, the Absolution comes in shopping at Home Depot and walking on hot coals, but not in words of comfort relating to life and death itself. Too bad they weren't thieves hung on crosses so they could hear from their Savior Himself.



“It was an accident. It wasn’t your fault.” How true. How very true. Accidents happen. Now there’s a good movie title: Accidents Happen. When accidents happen, who sends them? Scripture says God disciplines us as His own sons (Deu 8:5; He 12:7). Yet in the same way God took Abraham’s son and then returned him to Abraham by way of the ram He sent for the sacrifice, what God takes from us He gives back to us through His Son. God’s discipline is for the sake of our repentance. There is no such thing as an accident that happens for no purpose, as if to say “Accidents happen” with a shrug of the shoulder in the same way one would intone, “skubalon happens.” Joseph received all the injustices to his life from the hands of his own brothers as if purposed by God, “As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good, to bring it about that many people should be kept alive, as they are today” Gen 50:50. Joseph spoke these words to his brothers when they stood before him, convicted of their guilt for crimes against their own father, brother, and God in heaven. Joseph’s words were an absolution to them. Ah! There’s another movie title: Repentance Happens.



All humans have the capacity to believe, and do believe in something. Movies like Love Happens bring to the forefront a need grounded in that capacity, to be absolved of one’s guilt. When repentance happens, who is there to speak the words of forgiveness as if Christ Himself is present? Christ instituted the means whereby His words of Absolution should be spoken by His servant and received by the hearer (John 20:22-23). If anything at all, Love Happens, in a quirky mixed up way, redefines why it is important to be where the things of Christ are going on and to receive them as often as one is able. That thief comes whenever he will. His Absolution is the only cure for that nasty g-spot that accuses and wills not to be silent. His comfort is the only true one, and is found nowhere but in the things of Christ and the unity of His Body.

Listening to Children

“I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you.”

That’s the day-in and day-out litany of the children in my classroom. My students apologize for the least little infraction.

“Remember to dot your ‘i’s’”

“I’m sorry. I won’t forget.”

With as much sincerity as the apology is given, they expect to hear they’ve been forgiven. “That’s OK. I know
you’re still learning.” This is the gentle pattern of our life in the classroom. The students learn that all their failings are carried by Another, and that One carried them to the cross to die for them. Perfection is not attainable because sin has robbed us of that ability. Besides, no sin, no Jesus; Jesus only came for sinners. That doesn’t mean repentance is cheap. For, holding onto sins is the same as telling Jesus, “No, thank you. This sin’s on me. I’ll die for this one.” The children get it. They live from it freely and openly.

I cannot count the number of sermons I’ve listened to based on Eph 5:22-33. I can tell you this: The number of sermons based on this text encouraging husbands and wives to confess sins and absolve each other can be counted on the fingers of one hand.

I watch my students submit to one another daily. They admit their sins openly and freely. They receive each other’s absolution, and the gates of heaven are opened to each other. Anger is released, grudges are stopped before they are even begun. Gossip is halted in its tracks.

When the sins against each other are serious, the students are asked if they would like to speak with the pastor to receive Absolution “as if Christ was speaking Himself” into their ears. Often they do. Sometimes it’s not an option. They are simply sent to pastor so he can help them untangle the mess they have made for themselves. They do not return without his Absolution, and an apology to all concerned.

These children live from the Absolution as Christ intended it (Mt 6:12). Luther caught the whole of it in the first of his Ninety-five Theses: “Our Lord and Master Jesus Christ, when He said Poenitentiam agite (Repent), willed that the whole life of believers should be repentance.”

What of husbands and wives, though? Too often I’ve heard a sermon based Paul’s instructions to husbands and wives that seemed to want to only reminded me that “submit is not a dirty word.” Then it failed to tell me that the sort of confession of sin and forgiveness practiced by my students should also be practiced between husbands and wives. Of what higher service can any spouse be to the other than to speak Christ's words of forgiveness to the other? What better submission can any wife give to her husband than to ask that he forgive her, and he, in turn, die to her sins as Christ did for his, and hers?

This is not merely “looking over” the day-to-day trivia of human life encountered when two people live together. Did he miss the clothes basket again? Does she snore? Who forgot to close the refrigerator door or turn off the garage light? No, this is real confession of sin. Hurts and angers can submerge deep inside the heart and mind, not seeming to affect a relationship. Yet their edges poke and prickle, wearing away until finally they find a weak spot and emerge. Will it be confronted with more destruction? Or will there be an opportunity for forgiveness in Christ? Marriages can survive long and hard, even looking the healthy picture of Pauline dual submission, yet still be suffering without this joyous service between husband and wife.

Pastors, preach it as often as you are able! Husbands, wives, submit to each other with the confession of your sins. Husbands, love your wives as Christ loved the Church by forgiving her; wives, submit to your husbands forgiveness, for it is as Christ’s own to you--just as your wife's is Christ's to you. As Paul also says, “But I want you to understand that the head of every man is Christ, the head of a wife is her husband, and the head of Christ is God,” (1 Corinthians 11:4). But also as Paul's Teacher taught him, we are to forgive sins as we have been forgiven in and by Christ.

Feminism That Leads to Christ

Mary writes a beautiful post at the Concordian Sisters of Perpetual Parturition titled Why pregnancy is good for me. It is a gripping confession of a young Christian woman rejoicing in her pregnancy.

 

Æons ago when my own babies were very young, I picked up C. S. Lewis’ Space Trilogy. Apart from whatever else it is, it is the finest treatise on feminism that I’ve read—especially That Hideous Strength. I’d not suggest reading this last volume without having read the first two, but it is in this final work that the previous two come together.

 

In That Hideous Strength, Jane considers herself locked in the opposite of what she regards marriage to be. Marriage ought to be a source of mutual comfort, but she finds hers to Mark to be a source of solitude. They have mutually consented not to have children. They are a mutual source of small unspoken irritations to each other. The silence between them is the greatest of solitudes.

 

Jane is confronted, at last, by her decision not to have children. The Director, a sort of Father-figure, reminds her that she is not a Christian wife. And since she chooses not to have children from this married union, she is living as though she were a virgin. She is a neither-nor.

 

“You mean,” said Jane slowly, “I’ve been repressing something?”

 

The Director laughed; just that loud assured bachelor laughter which had infuriated her on other lips.

 

“Yes,” but don’t think I’m talking of Freudian repressions. He knew only half the facts. It isn’t a question of inhibitions—inculcated shame—against natural desire. I’m afraid there’s no place in the world for people who won’t be either Pagan or Christian. Just imagine a man who was too dainty to eat with his fingers and yet wouldn’t use forks!”

 

Reading this Trilogy was when I began to really understand the insidious grip of feminism on myself. Ask me truly and I will tell you sincerely: the greatest feminist alive today is me. I do not say that for bragging rights. I tell you this because in all my years of trying to combat the feminism within me, I am unable to do so.

 

There is a simple reason for this that is not so very simple. Although feminism and original sin are not the same, because feminism mocks original sin, it is nearly impossible for anyone now living today to escape the influences of this all-pervasive worldview. First, feminism is a deception. It deceives the hearer to thinking that is an authoritative voice for woman and her needs, as well as society in general.  Second, because feminism considers itself to be authoritative, it presents itself as a movement for empowerment. The individual is her own authority. This is the key to the wrongful use of individualism. This is the same thing that the serpent promised our First Mother when he said she would be “like God.”

 

Eve was deceived into thinking she had to do something in order to be like God, when she was already made in His image. We spend much energy trying to do anything but our vocation—that which God has placed in our hands to do—and trying to take credit for it as if that is what will grant us salvation. This is the core of feminism, and its root is original sin. Mary speaks eloquently of how God has reclaimed her through the repentance of pregnancy.  

 

I can no more free myself of my feminism than I can free myself of my sin. Still my pastor frees me of it, often and much with his word of Absolution in my ear and his hand upon my head. And daily and much my Baptism keeps me free of it, daily and much. In this there is much to rejoice about feminism, as Mary has found—for it brings women back to Christ.

  

Catechism Essay

Why the Catechism is Important

The Catechism is important to keep us from going crazy. It does this by reminding us of what Jesus has done for us. The Commandments, Baptism, and Confession are important parts of the Catechism that do this.

The first part of the Catechism that is important is the Commandments. The Commandments are important because they tell you how you should treat your parents, not to hurt or harm your friend, to not misuse God’s name, and not to steal. We learn to do this because this is how God treats us in Jesus. The second part of the Catechism that is important is Baptism. Baptism is important because it brings you to Christ our Savior, and Jesus tells us to do it. The third part of the Catechism that is important is Confession. Confession is important because you repent of your sins and receive Absolution, that is, forgiveness.

In conclusion, the Catechism is an important book to learn. It has a lot of good things about our Lord Jesus Christ.

Fifth Grade

Draftees and Volunteers

Recently I spoke with a friend of mine whose wife has been struggling through cancer. She has already tried several forms of chemotherapy. To date none has been successful. The treatment she is currently taking is her last option. The treatment itself causes pain and suffering. She is literally at a crossroads. She is ready to for release from her body of death. Her husband is loath to let go of his wife of too few years. They were barely home from the honeymoon when they received the news of her cancer.

Knowing what they are going through would only be a pretense on my part. John and I will be married thirty-eight years this June. Cleaning up after each other is second-nature. He straightens out my checkbook (which no man nor beast but he can fathom); I wipe the walls when he pours the spaghetti sauce too quickly into the bowl and it splashes everywhere. We’ve both had medical needs requiring the other to be the other’s nurse, and, if need be, orderly. It goes with the territory called marriage.

Generally speaking, though, these are things that are worked into gradually—over years of knowing each other intimately and after having had years of “the better” before “the worse” is thrust upon the marriage. There is simply a “not fair-edness” when a marriage is barely months old and it is plunged into the burdens of bearing the worst of what life has to dish out.

To add to this husband’s burden, two congregations decided they would not bear his wife’s illness with him. He was unceremoniously and without cause sent packing from both congregations, in part because they tired of a pastor with an ill wife.

Maundy Thursday brought welcome respite to their lives. Pastor Husband was invited to officiate at Mass for the first time in several months. His bride was well enough even after a recent hospital stay to attend. When I spoke to him afterward he talked of nothing but the joy he had being in the pulpit once more, and even more of serving his wife the precious Body and Blood of our Lord. “This may be her last Easter this side of heaven.”

Simon of Cyrene was not a volunteer, but a draftee. He was just a visitor to Jerusalem who stood by the side of the road watching the proceedings, when suddenly a cross was thrust upon him to carry. And not just any cross, but Jesus’ cross. It was the cross on which a murderer, thief, adulterer, or a liar should be hung—and was. Jesus became all those things for our sakes. Barabbas, the murderer whose name means “son of the father” was set free so that on his cross the innocent Son of the Father was crucified in order that all men—all sons of the father—might be free.

Christians are brought to Baptism by the Holy Spirit working through the word, often in others who carry little infants to the font. It is then the cross of Christ is placed on the Christian, even little babies. Paul says all those who have been baptized were baptized into Christ’s death, and then raised from that death just as Christ was by the glory of the Father (Ro 6:3-4). Baptism is not for volunteers, but draftees.

The cruelty of sin strikes us in its unfairness. Baptism levels the playing field once more. In Christ there is no Jew or Greek, no slave or free, no division by enmity (Ge 3:16) between male and female—nor even any illness of body or soul—because all are redeemed in Christ (Gal 3:28-29). The redeemed in Christ are those baptized in Christ. Christ makes all things new again (Rv 21:5). Christ takes the baptized into himself, yet his cross still rest upon them. Just as Simon was drafted to carry Jesus’ cross when he could not, the baptized have also been drafted in Baptism to bear the cross for others when they are unable. It’s vocation: faith in Christ becomes love for neighbor.

It is by dying we live. In baptism we died on Christ’s cross. We are brought to death in baptism so that we might live by the glory of the Father, just as Christ did before us. For the Christian, life begins in water. In his work De Baptismo, Tertullian writes, “But we, little fishes, after the example of our Icqus (Icthus, fish) Jesus Christ, are born in water, nor have we safety in any other way than by permanently abiding in water.” What Christ has wrapped in himself by water we dare not unwrap—nor let dry out by neglect. This includes dumping the cross placed upon us because we think it’s just too bothersome to carry any longer.

We tire too easily of our crosses. We craftily manipulate the Law to suit our desires, and then we employ the Gospel to justify our sins. We flip and flop, exerting much energy trying to breathe, not really noticing that the font in which we are supposed to be flourishing is actually drying out. Woe to the one who actually leaps from the font, imagining from the desires of his heart that his life will be better outside it (2Pe 2:21).

Absolution—ever notice how wonderfully wet a word that is?—is tied to baptism. It plunges us once more into the depths of cleansing baptismal waters, wrapping the penitent once again in Christ. Absolution is a return to the cross for the sake of freedom from sin, but there is no escaping the cross that is to be borne for the sake of others. That is the life of the baptized: We are freed from the cross in order to bear the cross for others.

In Christ the playing field is leveled—even when it comes to the devotion of spouses bearing crosses for each other in their marriage. It is only sin that “unlevels” the field, makes it all unfair. In baptism—in Christ—what is done for one is done for Christ himself.