The Sacred Romance

I've been on the look out all summer for a book to share with my BCM community group--the group will be all girls, primarily freshman. I looked at several "just for women" studies but they tended to be either aimed at married women or younger girls. And even then, the primary object in many of these books seemed to be marriage--dealing with it if you are married or finding the right man and being content in the meantime if you aren't. For obvious reasons, books of this kind did not appeal to me. A) I'm not married, and B) I don't want to sit around every Wednesday with these girls and mope about being single or listen to them mope about being single, should they be so.

So many books for Christian women, young and old alike, seem to be focused on marriage. How to love God while single or how to be a godly wife, etc etc. Sure, many of us have "Get married" pretty darn near the top of our list of life goals, but my relationship with Christ shouldn't have to depend upon my marital status. I found myself getting frustrated with so many of the books, because there is more to growing as a young Christian woman than getting married. It takes the focus off God and puts it on Mr. Right or becoming Miss Right, and I'm not cool with that. And at this point in my life, I'm neither ready nor interested in getting married, so all of those studies, however acclaimed some may be, were difficult for me to relate to. I imagine the same could be said for the college freshmen girls taking on the study with me.

Yesterday, I found myself with an open Saturday with little to do but write a paper for my summer course. Needlessly to say, that option was less than appealing, so I found myself going to the one place I go most often when alone and bored: Barnes and Noble. :-)

Finding a book for my community group was still high on my to-do list, so I found myself in the Christian section of the store.

(Can I digress for a moment? Why is it that every single book labeled Christian Fiction has a faded woman on the cover, looking wistfully off into the distance? Or a faded, unsmiling man staring hard at the reader? What are they all looking at? Despite the fact that a handful of books labeled Religious Fiction are superb, the corny titles and melodramatic cover art are not doing this genre any favors. And I can say this because I have read a good deal of religious fiction. Some of it is not to be taken seriously--some are just Mary Higgins Clark with clean language, less blood, no sex, and a conversion at the end. I know, I've read plenty of them. ;-) However, hidden among these such books are a few true gems: three of the best books I have ever read, in fact. France Rivers' Mark of the Lion Trilogy. Absolutely breathtaking. I highly recommend those.)

Well, as in real life, this blog entry finds me distracted by fiction in search of inspiration. ;-)

After a brief stroll through various aisles of fiction, I found myself in the Christian Inspiration section--Barnes and Noble's name for theological books, devotional journals, Bible study guides, etc. After picking up dozens of books, I stumbled upon one labeled The Sacred Romance.

The title itself was enough to catch my subdued interest; I snagged it, and carried it over to a table at the cafe to scan while I munched on a pastry and sipped iced black tea.

The first sentence was relentless, and my attention was secured:

Some years into our spiritual journey, after the waves of anticipation that mark the beginning of any pilgrimage have begun to ebb into life's middle years of service and busyness, a voice speaks to us in the midst of all we are doing.

(Now, I may not be in my middle years yet, but I know all about anticipation fading into service and busyness.)

There is something missing in all of this, it suggests. There is something more.

After reading these words, I felt a stab of guilt. Despite the way I unconsciously nodded my head in agreement, I felt like I'd been punched. Here it is, in black and white, the struggle of my entire Christian life. Ten years, I've been a Christian, and I've been telling myself to stop whining and be content for most of it. But here, in black and white, someone had verbalized my struggle.

Later on the first page, the authors basically slap me in the face.

We listen and we are aware of... a sigh. And under the sigh is something dangerous, something that feels adulterous and disloyal to the religion we are serving. We sense a passion deep within that threatens a total disregard for the program we are living; it feels reckless, wild.

By now, my heart is pounding against my ribcage and all the blurred chatter and general noise of the coffee shop has faded away; all of my senses are focused on the words on the pages. The first chapter flew by, and I found myself back in the aisle, searching for the companion journal and workbook to The Sacred Romance, finding myself reading through it, and I stumbled across a prayer that nearly brought tears to my eyes.

O God, I have tasted Thy goodness, and it has both satisfied me and made me thirsty for more. I am painfully conscious of my need of further grace. O God, the triune God, I want to want Thee; I long to be filled with longing; I thirst to be made thirsty still. Begin in mercy a new work of love within me. Say to my soul, "Rise up my love, my fair one, and come away." Then give me grace to rise and follow Thee from this misty lowland where I have wandered so long. (A. W. Tozer, The Pursuit of God.)

This book is not written only for men or only for women. It isn't written for those who still haven't found earthly romance, or as quick, surface level study to fill up an obligation to a quiet time or weekly Bible study. And this appealed to me. The first chapter of the book had my heart pounding and my knuckles white, and the companion pages of the journal were raw and meaningful. This is is, this is what I want for myself and for my girls, most of whom will have come from Christian homes and established walks with Christ. I want to "draw closer to the heart of God" as the subtitle of the book says. I want to pull them together for a journey that we take both together and individually. Page ten says this:

It is possible to recover the lost life of our heart and with it the intimacy, beauty, and adventure of life with God. To do so, we must leave what is familiar and comfortable--perhaps even parts of the religion which we have come to trust--and take a journey."

Bring it on, book. Me and my girls are ready.

Confessions

Sometimes I sit down at my computer and stare at this empty text box, so full of words but with so little to say. I want to take the pieces of poetry or narrative or reflection and place them together to form a stunning picture,

to take your breath away
make you laugh,
or cry,
or imagine.
Or pray.

But like a jigsaw puzzle, that picture can never be rid of the lines that mark its division. Always imperfect, never whole, even after the last patterns are matched and the final hole is filled.

I want to write about my life as a young woman who is confident and mature and aware. But the truth is that sometimes, my doubt stifles me. Even an optimist can have nails worn down to the quick, or nights when sleep can never quite catch up with concern. The truth is that sometimes, I am immature in the worst of ways. I can pout, I can whine, I can think only of myself. The truth is that sometimes I am horrifically unobservant, insensitive to the pain of others; sometimes God escapes my notice.

In Galations, Paul writes this message: "Indeed, I have been crucified with Christ. My ego is no longer central. It is no longer important that I appear righteous before you or have your good opinion, and I am no longer driven to impress God. Christ lives in me. The life you see me living is not "mine," but it is lived by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. I am not going to go back on that." Galations 2:20, The Message.

What a relief! I feel like Paul took those words right out my head; and seeing it in the Message translation rather than the NIV I've read most of my life really made the words click with me. I don't have to worry about trying so hard to impress God or the church; the truth of my life is simple: faith in the Son of God. My daily struggle isn't about me, but about Him, who loved me and gave himself for me.

I wrote the beginning of this entry last week, but couldn't finish it. I had so much I wanted to say, but I didn't know how to put it into words. And when I write, I always push myself to be eloquent, like what I have to say isn't worthwhile if I say it simply. But like Paul, I don't have to be driven to impress God with fancy words (which He gave me the ability to put together!) . And believe me, it is such a relief.

Changing a Cliche

You know the old saying, "You don't know what you have until it's gone?" and all its variants in song and poetry, etc? I'm not so sure that I believe that entirely. My experience lately has been you don't know what you have until you lose it THEN get it back again!

I can think of so many examples. Just a few moments ago, I was having a video chat with a bunch of staffers from camp, and it just hit me in that moment how much I loved them and missed them and longed to work at camp again. I don't go through my days thinking of how much I miss everyone-- I work, I study, I keep living. But when I see them again on my screen, hear their voices, visit them and feel the excitement of life on a Christian camp, I really realize what I have, not because I've lost it, but because I've found it again.

The same with a good friend of mine who studied in France for a semester. I went months and months without seeing or hearing from her. Of course I missed her, but I wasn't crippled by it and it didn't consume me, but the past two days of being with her, I've realized just how much I value her friendship and how much I was really missing when she was gone.

The same goes, I think, for the joy of our salvation in Christ. We can stray from the straight and narrow, or grow apathetic and distant from God, and while it's happening, sure we realize what's going on, we absently miss what we had with Jesus, but it isn't until we collapse at the foot of the Cross, utterly convicted and despairing and feel His always loving presence embrace us again that we truly realize what we've been missing yet had along.