My Confession

None of our race likes to talk about Sin. Don't take me the wrong way. Most human beings love to point out the sins of others, while all the others like to point out the sin of pointing out sins. Evangelicals often talk about sin as something that will send you to the sulphurous pits of hell and satanspawn; but like a burning office building, you'll be fine if you just get out before it's too late. Then there are us Calvinists, who talk about sin at length with the tone of gardeners discussing a particularly nasty infestation of mites. It's easy to point out a problem when you get to be scientific about it.

What we don't talk about is Sin: our own sin, filthy, disgusting, flooding our lives and actions and tainting everything we touch. A glass of water may be pure and sweet, but drop even a tiny bit of muck in the bottom and no one will drink it. The things of our own hearts can be very good, but they can also be gross. That's why we keep each other at a distance and always wear our masks. We have to keep up the facade, because if anyone knows what we are tainted with, they will not touch us anymore. I believe there is no deeper fear in man than the fear of being cut off.

But I am getting married, and getting married means complete intimacy. Physically, emotionally, spiritually, intellectually--the bond of a covenant will bind us in all aspects of our humanity, and no facade will hide us from each other. Like Adam in the garden, I will be naked and know it, and all hiding and covering will fail. So my fiancee and I have begun sharing our sins with each other, our real sins, the kind that can crack friendships with the shock of them. I was terrified and horrified: terror at how she might react when she really knows me; and horror at being forced to look at my sin in the light, with someone beside me looking too, and having to call it what it is. She suffered in a similar way, although she tends to be more open with me than I am with her on this. And then we both had to deal with the fact that the other person had horrific sins, too, gross and ugly.

Jessie referred to our sin as shit. She spoke rightly. That's what Sin is, when you can see it clearly. Shit smells; shit steams; shit is that poison which our very bodies ache to expel, and the meaner, filthy creatures of the earth are drawn to. Hopefully even the word 'shit' offends you, for shit is offensive stuff. Sin is shit, and it is disgusting.

After we had talked for a while, we held each other for a long time. And I felt tears in my eyes. Just as man's deepest fear is of being cut off, one of our deepest joys is the knowledge that once a person has seen how filthy, gross, and undesirable we really are, that very person reaches down into our filth and touches us anyway. The physical part of our humanity consumates things, and to physically touch someone after they have shown you their shit is to say with your whole being that you embrace them despite it. It is an immensely powerful thing. That's the kind of love that sent a man to die as the worst of criminals, to be forsaken by God himself, because that man loves us while we wallow in shit. That's the Gospel, lived out and tangible in our lives. That's what our marriage will be a symbol of. May God bless it.

Can Can't

Captain Jack Sparrow teaches us that what matters is what a man can and can't do. Planning a wedding is a great opportunity for me to see how this applies to me personally.

What I can do: Make big decisions... eventually. Ever-delayed proposal aside, now we have big decisions to make regarding ceremony details. The biggest one on my mind at the moment is where to have the wedding. We've looked at more than half the churches in town, and although there have been a couple that would work, nothing fits quite right. We're planning to look at a few more, but once that's done, that's pretty much it. Decision time. And that's ok with me, we'll have all the information we could get, and I have no problem picking something once I know as much as I can.

What I can't do: Colors. The bridesmaids are going to be wearing dresses in lilac and seafoam green. If, like me, you think that rainbows have three colors in them, the subtle shading of lilac may be lost on you. It's purple. Lightish purple. How can anyone see all these colors, much less care about them?

This is a good example of why the groom doesn't plan the wedding. If I had to plan it all, there would be four colors: grey, black, white, and blue. Blue goes with everything.

From the Right Side of the Altar

At the recommendation of my fiancee, for the next several months I am setting as my theme for this blog "A Groom's Perspective on Engagement and Wedding Planning." As she put it, hilarity can easily ensue from such a topic. For comments on my studies, primarily my research interests, I humbly direct you to my academic blog, http://sublimenal.blogspot.com .

Jessie and I got engaged on December 15th. Now, we were supposed to get engaged the night before, but Jessie postponed our date for a day so that she could study for her Russian final. Fortunately, nothing in my plans for the evening required that it be on that day. I suspect this will be a recurring theme of being engaged, and married for that matter. We are going to have to keep plans flexible in order to keep from having them smashed at every little thing. For those of you that know me, you know that I do not make backup plans. That could end up being a problem.

Unless someone expresses a desire that I write about something particular soon, next up: Decision making, colors, and one of the reasons grooms don't get to design weddings.

In a Castle by the Sea

Here written are the names of the kings and queens of Narnia who vanquished the army of the White Witch:

Queen Lucy, called the Valiant. How true it is that this young queen and healer should have such a name. Though she is small, and frail, none of the Pevensie's love Aslan more than she, and there is no truer friend in all of Narnia. Who more than she could rightly be afraid of harm from the witch or her servants? Yet by trusting Aslan, her fear melts away, and she would be by his side even as he is surrounded by all the armies of hell. This smallest one is indeed the strongest ruler of them all.

King Edmund, called the Just. He is the traitor to his family, bought from the blade of the White Witch with the mane and blood of the Lion. Who better than he knows the demands of justice, or the blessing of mercy? He has shattered the wand that turned men to stone shall become a king of great wisdom and truth. He will deal with the creatures of Narnia as rightly as Aslan dealt with him. Would that every king could have so great and understanding.

Queen Susan, called the Gentle. Always trying to be smart and practical, looking after her self, hesitant to help any creature about her when she first enters Narnia. Yet with the tears she shed over Aslan's shaved and shamed body, her stoniness was broken. Who knows compassion greater than she who has seen it lived out before her eyes in the blood on the stone table? Great is the queen who can set aside the bow and raise her hand to care for the poor creatures of her realm.

King Peter, called the Magnificent. What can be said for this man, once blown about by circumstance, who is now the protector of all Narnia? He was once harsh and sarcastic with his brother and sisters, yet as soon as danger came he accepted responsibility for his error towards Edmund. He is Aslan's man, High King of Narnia, wolfsbane, and dear friend to all who know him. In his rule more than any other, Aslan's kingship is reflected. He is like Aslan's mane, a brilliant and regal symbol of all that the true king should be.

Once a King of Queen in Narnia, always a King or Queen!

Winter is Almost Over

I went to see The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe at the premier, but am only now getting around to commenting on it. And really, what could I say? The work of the filmmakers was good, which is to say the screen expressed beauty, honesty, fear, joy, peace, and above all longing. I long to be guided to the camp of the King by a creature, like myself, lowly and faithful; and to stand with my brothers and sisters at the tent when the Lion steps out to meet us, face to face. I long to bend the knee on that great day.

But something that moved me much more than I expected was the coming of Father Christmas. What does the coming of Father Christmas mean?

Standing in the snow, with a hand on his sleigh and his warm breath visible in the muted sunlight, Father Christmas is an angel of hope. His brow is wrinkled, weathered with struggle and waiting. She has kept him back a long time, a long time. For 100 years there has been the Witch's winter, always winter but never Christmas. But as surely as Father Christmas stands before the children, this winter belongs not the the queen of narnia, but to the King. Aslan's thaw has begun. As he visits the woodland creatures, I can imagine him saying something like this:

My dearest of friends, welcome. For all these years she has kept me back, but now the time is at hand. Take these gifts, to celebrate with joy the coming of the Lion to His land. These icy drifts can not muzzle Him, nor shall any craft of the witch. Aslan will seat his kings and queens at Cair Paravel. Tell it too all the woodland creatures; to driads and niads, and all manner of dwarf; shout to all the mountains and lands and stars from here to Aslan's Country: Happy Christmas to all, in the name of Aslan the true King!

That is why I was made weak at the sight of Father Christmas. His presence describes where we are right now, where I am. I cannot see him, and much snow still lays upon the earth. But the Lion, who is not tame, yet is so very good, the Maker of Kings and bringer of the thaw, has come at long last.

Like Butter Scraped Over Too Much Bread

I've just submitted my first graduate school applications, and it scares the hell out of me. Don't get me wrong, I'm looking forward to grad school. But there's something very humbling about the process. No matter how good a face I try to put forward, no matter how I spin my past mistakes or emphasize my accomplishments, I still feel like I am saying "please tell me I am worthy of your program." All of these fancy protocols for admission elevate the prospect of affirmation or rejection to a new level. My pride and ambition are laid bare for complete strangers to see. I know this would be an ideal time to turn my cares over to Christ, but of course it's easier to know that than to really do it.

I am also feeling overwhelmed by the last of my assignments. I am studying for my capstone test tomorrow, which I really have to do well on since my last test was a D. I am also trying to get my senior paper written, which you would think would be easy since I have an outline. It's not. On top of which, I am still desperately hoping to pull an A out of Linear Algebra, although I'm pretty sure that's a lost cause at this point. I guess this is my chance to prove I work well under pressure.

I realize this is a really boring post, so I won't make it drag on. I'm still trying to figure out what exactly the theme of this blog should be. I plan to start one up that's oriented toward economics, but this one needs to be a little more interesting than that. Movie reviews? Axiological musings? My latest Scripture readings? What I made for supper? I'm just not sure yet. What would Gary Lee do?