Sex in (the Last) City

In response to my post earlier this week about the redemption of our ethnicity and culture, my friend and former student Ashleigh asked this great question:

Do you have any on how this might jive with what we're always taught that there won't be marriage (and implicitly sex, another very embodied thing) after the resurrection?

Do you think this is a misinterpretation of Jesus's comments to the Sadducees? If not a misinterpretation, what do we do, then, with what appears to be an instance of God "decimating recreationally" a good and important part of the embodied human experience?

My attempt at a response:

My arm-chair musings on this might be rambling, let's see if i can make any headway...

First, the redemption of all things is the fulfillment of those things, the perfection of all things. that includes our ethnicity and culture as well as our gender.

Some of the purposes of those things, like culture, have served us well here but will not be necessary in the end. Take the example of curing diseases during the Enlightenment. a great function of white culture in the here and now, not necessary in the world to come.

But there are many authors (Dallas Willard among them) who argue that our participation in the world to come will be an active one. The challenges and opportunities will not arise out of problems (like diseases) but out of God's holy creativity who delights to create and make and who delights to invite us to be a part of his creating nature.

So there might still be art, for example, or perhaps we would participate in creation of planets or other things. This would keep some of the essence of culture--in fact, might be the fulfillment of it entirely.

Bottom line: what seems here and now to be "culture at its best" we might find to be just a lame precursor to the fulfillment we'll find on the other side of making all things new.

So back to the original question. right now, we can't imagine the fulfillment of our gender and sexuality apart from marriage and sex...which makes sense on a number of levels!

But our trust is that the redemption of all things is the true fulfillment of them, not the negation of them. So what if we discover that gender and sexuality is fulfilled not in the sex act itself but in other ways that we can't even begin to imagine?

C.S. Lewis talks about this. He draws a parallel with a boy who asks if you eat chocolate while having sex. Upon hearing "no," he can't imagine why anyone would want to have sex, not imagining how there might be fulfillment that is greater than chocolate-eating.

Again, these are mostly guesses. I think that you're interpreting Jesus' answer correctly, which presses me to think that there's a much greater fulfillment of our sexuality that is not a negation of it, but rather a fulfillment of it that we can't quite yet imagine.

Sleepwalking, Poetry, and the Promise of Life Doing Good Work

There's a lot of severely over-romanticized talk about the importance of living every day as if it were your last, about enjoying every moment of life. But the reality is, we can't do that. It's exhausting. And it's not real life.

The reality is, all of us have stretches of our lives that just aren't scintillating. Most of us have seasons that are somewhere between boring and hellish.

You probably have a season like that--a summer or a year or a couple years where you look back and wonder what that was all about. Like you were sleep-walking, or stuck in a deep, deep rut...or a nightmare you couldn't quite get out of.

In Ephesians there's an interesting word to describe us as we commit ourselves to God: we are "his handiwork." The Greek word there is "poemas"--our word for poems. We are God's poems.

The thing about great poems is that (unlike rambling blog posts) every word does work. There's no wasted words in a great poems. Great poets make sure that every word does exactly what it's supposed to--great poetry is lean and exacting, even when it flows and wanders.

God is a great poet. Your life and mine are his poems. As such, there are no wasted seasons in his hands. Every season of your life and mine is meant to do work, will do work, in the hands of the one who is the perfect poet.

Some good news to lean into next time you're in a season of life that doesn't feel particularly spectacular.

Old School Caedmon's Granting Some Perspective on Some Old School Frustrations

Given that I'm heading into a season of transition, I've done a good bit reflecting on my five years at UNC.

Much of it has been joyful. Some of it has not. In fact, just last week I kicked over/the Lord showed me a place where I was carrying around some bitterness and frustration from a season that was particularly hard.

This morning I was praying about the hard stuff. And on my way down to campus, as I was fasting from sermons and listening to some worship music, the Lord met me in worship.

I was hitting up some really old-school Caedmon's Call, the song is called "Lead of Love." It reminded me of what's true, maybe it'll encourage you today, too:

Looking back at the road so far
The journey's left its share of scars
Mostly from leaving the narrow and straight

Looking back it is clear to me
That a man is more than the sum of his deeds
And how You've made good of this mess I've made
Is a profound mystery

Looking back You know You had to bring me through
All that I was so afraid of
Though I questioned the sky, now I see why
Had to walk the rocks to see the mountain view
Looking back I see the lead of love

Looking back I can finally see (I'd rather have wisdom)
How failures bring humility (than be)
Brings me to my knees (a comfortable fool)
Helps me see my need for Thee

The Woman at the Well In Madison

A year ago this time, I came back from a week in Madison brimming with excitement. I had participated with fifteen other IV staff in a week of thinking and dreaming and praying about building healthy, growing chapters.

My enthusiasm carried me into the fall...where it was met with a harsh reality that didn't turn out anything like I thought it would. It wasn't all bad. The hardest part of it was what it revealed about my own soul.

So it was with a humble and cautious heart that I returned to Madison last week. I was set to participate in a situation much the same as last year--thinking about healthy growth. I wanted the results to be different. But I wasn't sure what that looked like.

The Scripture that came to mind was John 4, the woman at the well.

In that passage Jesus meets a woman in the heat of the day coming to draw water. In the course of the conversation we get a picture of this woman's checkered past--several husbands, living with someone who's not her husband.

This explains why she's drawing water when all the other women would generally draw water in the cool of the morning or evening. She's avoiding the town social and gossip scene.

So the well is her place of shame. It's her daily reminder that she's made mistakes and is now an outcast as a result. And it's significant that it's here, at this well of her shame, that Jesus meets her.

The well of shame is now the place where she has met "Messiah." Jesus makes one of his most direct and powerful self-identifying statements in all of Scripture that conversation.

And so I prayed that returning to Madison last week, this place that reminded me of my mistakes from the year before, might be a redemptive experience. That the Lord might meet me there.

And he did. I was disciplined in Scripture and prayer going into the week. I was disciplined in Scripture and prayer during the time there.

But most importantly, the Lord was good to meet me, to give perspective. I came back encouraged but not intoxicated, expectant but still recognizing the limits of my own plans.

Several weeks ago I argued that second chances weren't the same thing as true redemption. I still think that's true. But man, it feels good to have them.