December 26, 2009: To A Son Getting Married (Part 2)

Ben,

You must be faithful to Amy.

That seems obvious, doesn't it? You asked for marital advice, and here I say something so unprofound, so basic, so blindingly obvious that it hardly seems worth mentioning. “Of course I'll be faithful to Amy,” you say. And I'm sure you will be. But indulge me a bit as I go over this fundamental. I want to do this because I’ve been shocked and discouraged to find so many people, even Christians, forgetting the fundamentals. Many people I never imagined would ever cheat on their spouses did exactly that 10, 20 or even 30 years into their marriages. So I want to carve these words in stone now - or at least send them into cyberspace - where I cherish the hope that they will last as long as they are needed.

Ben, I think a main reason adultery is so common now is that so few people regard it as truly evil. Even the Christian radio station I listen to tends to treat it as one of those things that can happen to good people. It can’t. Adultery never happens to good people. It is something that bad people do - very bad people. Bastards. A-holes. Swine. People who cheat on their spouses (or who dump their good spouses to take another partner, which is the same thing) are swine. You, Ben, are not swine. You are a son, my son, my beloved son.

As my son, you must never regard faithfulness to your wife as a mere lifestyle choice that happens to appeal to religious conservatives like me. Nor are you to consider it a heroic achievement, a noble act of discipline practiced by good men going beyond the call of duty. No, lifelong faithfulness is simply minimal marital decency. You don’t get a medal for it. It is not even, strictly speaking, “good” – just neutral. Adultery is the abomination; fidelity is a matter of not committing it. I want you to regard adultery as an act of such unspeakably cruel hatred against your spouse that you could no more do it than you could torture a child. You could not mutilate a kid, could you? Of course not! Perish the thought! Well, let adultery be like that to you. Unthinkable. Beyond the pale. The kind of thing done only by people who deserve to die or rot in prison. Not by you. Not by a Lundquist.

Am I being extreme? Would that all were as extreme as I. The world would be a better place.

Actually I am a lot less extreme than the Bible, which in the Old Testament mandates that adulterers be killed (Leviticus 20:10; Deuteronomy 22:22) and, in the New Testament, informs us that they go to hell. A lot of people think that the New Testament is more lenient than the Old on the matter of adultery, but they are wrong. The OT never says that adulterers get thrown into the fiery lake of burning sulfur as it does in Revelation 21:8. You may recall that I began my letter to my unrepentant adulterer brother-in-law with the words, “Hank, it is important for you to understand that you are going to hell.” I meant it. Still do.

You might perceive that I differ from most pastors regarding the strength of my convictions about adultery. Often I have seen pastors counsel forgiveness, reconciliation and restoration in a marriage where one of the partners has been unfaithful, but I do not see this pattern generally in the Bible. As I said, adultery meant death in the Old Testament and hell in the New! Jesus called it a grounds for divorce (Matthew 19:9), not a rough patch that couples have to endure. When Joseph thought Mary had cheated on him (perhaps just one time), he immediately planned to divorce her. In today’s evangelical culture I think that Joseph’s action would be considered harsh and unforgiving (“He should ask her to go to counseling with him!”), but the Bible disagrees. It calls Joseph a righteous man (Matthew 1:19).

Ben, I know that you will never cheat on Amy and Amy will never cheat on you, so this is all a moot point – but let me put it down here anyway: if you ever do cheat on her, I will advise her to divorce you, and if she ever cheats on you, I will advise you to divorce her. I will not make the mistake (which strikes me as a cruelty) of pressuring a cuckolded spouse to forgive and take back the philanderer. Nor, for that matter, will I ever be a safe haven an adulterer can run to for comfort, encouragement and support. (I will be a safe haven to the victim instead.) More than once I have seen family members “stand by their own” when a sibling or offspring trashed a spouse - and it filled me with outrage and disgust. Family loyalty will not tempt me to enable an adulterer to wreak destruction in another’s life.

Amy, I’m happy to be able to say that I have full confidence in Ben. I’m also happy to say that Ben is bequeathing to you an honorable name. No one related to us bearing the name “Lundquist” has ever cheated on or dumped a spouse, and Ben will not be the first. I like to think that we as a family have a stake in guarding the sanctity of the Lundquist name – a name rendered worthy by Ben’s grandfather Lowell, a man of integrity, love, faithfulness, grace, discipline and good cheer. Yes, Ben, it is meaningful to me that you are a Lundquist, and will always remain so. I have kept the honor of the name that I have passed on to you. I was faithful to your mother, keeping the vows I made to her even when she renounced the ones she made to me. I’m faithful to your step-mother now. To this day there are only two women I have ever slept with, kissed, or even held hands with – your mother and my wife Lisa. I do not use people – whether for one night, or a few months, or 20 years – and then toss them aside to move on to someone else. The main reason for that is because I fear God, but even if I didn’t, I am still a Lundquist, and Lundquists know the difference between right and wrong.

You are Ben Lundquist. You will be a good and faithful husband.

December 8, 2009: To A Son Getting Married

Ben,

When you got engaged a couple weeks ago you asked me if I had any advice about marriage. That was an intelligent and humble and gracious thing to ask, and I give you a lot of credit for it. Would that all sons asked their fathers the same question! (Unless of course their fathers are jerks. Then maybe they should ask someone else. Like a pastor or something. But I digress.)

I couldn’t think of anything to say at the time. (Your brother is a lot better at these impromptu speeches.) But now I have given it some thought, and am prepared to douse you with Polonial wisdom. Hearken, young Laertes, O Son Of My Right Hand.

I begin with a quiz. Whom do I love more, Ben, you or my wife Lisa? Answer: Lisa. Lisa Lisa Lisa Lisa Lisa. See how easy that was for me? I didn’t have to think twice. The answer popped into my head before I was finished saying the word “wife.” Don’t feel bad about your demotion – it is nothing personal. I still love you very much. It is just that I love Lisa more. And I won’t even qualify that with the sentimental, hair-splitting, spare-everybody’s-feelings “Son, I love you as much as a father can love his child and Lisa as much as a husband can love his wife.” No, you and I are grownups and men. We can speak plainly. I love Lisa more.

You might say (you wouldn’t actually say this - I’m putting words into your mouth for rhetorical effect), “But Dad! How could you? You’re my friggin’ father and Lisa is just somebody you met 10 months ago!” True, but she’s my wife, and that makes all the difference.

For the record, son, I love you as much as I possibly know how to. Witnessing your birth remains the most transcendent moment of my life. Nothing compares to it. Remember that terrific scene in the movie Juno where Jennifer Garner says, “I have a son”? Well, it was better than that. More moving.

A few years ago a nice person paid me the best compliment I have ever received. She said, “I’ve never met a man who loves his sons as much as you love yours.” That was probably an exaggeration, and maybe even a kindly indulgence sensitive to my yearning to be a good father – but I’ll take it.

A student speaker at a chapel service I went to about 15 years ago told us that he had a father who was so great and loving that he (the father) would go as far as to die for his son. Graciously I did not go up to the young man afterward and burst his bubble by telling him that any father would do that. In fact, it seems to me that a father who wouldn’t give his life for his son is a scum-sucking antichrist beast from the darkest depths of hell. My dad would have given his life not only for me but for a total stranger. (When he passed away from a heart attack, your grandmother said something odd. She said she had always assumed he would somehow die a hero, like maybe by running into a burning building to rescue somebody, or jumping into a lake to save a drowning person. It was the kind of thing he would have done. Not just for me but for anybody.)

Let’s see, back to my point. I love you very much. Enough to die for you, certainly – but now I guess I’ve undercut that by explaining that that really isn't such a big deal. Hmm. I think I’ll just press on ahead here. What I’m trying to say, Ben, is that as much as I love you - and it's a lot - I love Lisa more. She is my wife.

That is how you must love Amy. She is to be your wife, and you must love her more than anyone but God. You must love her more than your friends, more than your family, more even than the children you may someday have by her. From your wedding day until death parts you, your love for Amy must exceed all other human loves.

I'll try if I can to flesh that thought out over the next few weeks, and give some examples of what love looks like. I'll start with this: the measure of your love for anyone can be gauged by how much you are willing to suffer for him or her. When you love your wife, Ben, you are (among other things) handing her the power to make you suffer.

That theme is written right into the wedding vows where it says "in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or for worse." Ben, it is possible that someday Amy will become chronically ill, and rather than being the happy husband of a delightful and productive wife, you will be the caretaker of a woman who is depressed and bed-ridden. Love absorbs that sorrow and responds with steadfast perseverance. It does not fail. You love her whether she is healthy or sick.

Or, maybe, it will happen that as a result of her decisions and actions you will be poor - bankrupt in your 40s, embarrassed to meet old friends or invite anybody to your tiny apartment. Love her anyway. Endure poverty, if need be, for her sake.

Of course I believe that Amy will become an even more wonderful person than she is now. But I have found that I am utterly unable to predict whose personalities will sweeten and whose will sour, who will become kinder and nobler as the years pass and who will become more selfish and hostile. More men than I can count got married hoping for "better" and wound up experiencing "worse". Ben, you must continue to love Amy more than anybody else in the world even if she becomes worse as a person. This is the hardest thing that some men will ever have to do, and I pray to God that you are spared this misery.

But I believe that all men contemplating marriage should be prepared for it. Christian men have before them the perfect image of what it means to keep on loving in the face of meanness and ingratitude: Jesus himself. Have I read to you my favorite C. S. Lewis quote on the topic of marriage? It is in The Four Loves, the chapter titled "Eros". Lewis writes, "The husband is the head of the wife just in so far as he is to her what Christ is to the Church. He is to love her as Christ loved the Church - read on - and give his life for her (Ephesians 5:25). This headship, then, is most fully embodied not in the husband we should all wish to be but in him whose marriage is most like a crucifixion; whose wife receives most and gives least, is most unworthy of him, is - in her own mere nature - least lovable."

Amy is lovable and will always remain so, so this won't be an issue for you. You won't get to be a Christ-like hero in your marriage - just as I can't be in mine, because Lisa is too good. (She has said that she wants our marriage to model the relationship between Christ and his church, but the reason that will never happen is because she's so much better than the Church. She would have to be immature and grumbling and faulty and backsliding - and I forgiving and patient and gracious and holy - in order for the two of us to mirror together the real relationship between the Church and her Lord Jesus Christ.)

But be prepared. Admire men who are faithful and courteous and gracious to bad wives. They are true heroes and worthy of your respect. I hope you never become one of them - even as I hope you never become a recipient of the Congressional Medal of Honor. (How those men suffered to gain that prize!). I do however want you to be the kind of man who loves and loves and loves whether that love is returned or whether it is uselessly poured down a black hole of narcissistic contempt. Love Amy no matter what she is like or what she becomes.

It goes without saying that you must always be faithful to her. More about that next week.

December 1, 2009: Fencing the Table

I have attended worship services in three different faith traditions where I was not able to participate in holy communion.

One was a Roman Catholic mass. While seated in the pew I read a publication that explained in gracious terms why non Catholics must refrain from partaking of the elements, so of course I respected that.

Another was a service at a Lutheran church that my family visited. Before distributing the bread and the cup the pastor explained the doctrine of consubstantiation - the presence of Christ in, around and under the elements – and advised that only believers in this doctrine should participate. While we had to let the tray pass, my parents always spoke fondly of that church because of the kind and hospitable way everyone greeted us afterward.

Then about 15 years ago I visited a strict Reformed church where it was explained that only those who professed the real spiritual presence of Christ in communion should take the bread and wine. This position is distinct from the transubstantiation of the Catholics and the consubstantiation of the Lutherans, but nonetheless affirms that Christ is present at the Lord’s Supper in a way that he is not when - simply - two or three are gathered in his name (Matthew 18:20). I do not believe the narrow specifics of the “real presence” doctrine either, so, again, I could not eat and drink in remembrance of Christ.

My own view might be called “Zwinglian” (for the Swiss Reformer Ulrich Zwingli), where the Lord’s Supper is understood as a symbolic remembrance feast. I believe that we partake of Christ only by faith, and that the elements of bread and wine communicate to us neither his body nor his blood nor his grace nor his presence (in any way different from the presence already promised us when we worship him). I contend that through communion we indicate our belief in Christ, our fellowship with him and with one another, our gratitude, and our wordless proclamation of his saving work.

I do not regard the holding of any of these four views as a cause for barring from participation at the Lord’s table those who hold differing views. So, if I were responsible for officiating at a communion service, a devout Catholic and a Missouri Synod Lutheran and an Orthodox Presbyterian and a Southern Baptist - each at the theological center of his tradition – would be welcomed to eat the bread and drink the cup with his brothers in Christ.

But despite what seems to be a broadly tolerant view on my part - and despite the fact that my Christian pedigree is as impeccable as Paul’s Jewish one (Philippians 3:4-6) - I do not mind being excluded from the Lord’s Table by different churches for different reasons. Why? Because I love the fact that they all take the Lord’s Supper seriously. It matters to them. They want to get it right so that God will be honored, and I respect that. No worship tradition should take communion lightly. Taking the bread and the cup is not like passing the offering plate or singing a hymn or listening to a sermon. It is an act of worship that lies at the heart of what it means to be a Christian.

There are people whom I would bar from the table of the Lord. Unbelievers must not participate. Some time ago a couple agnostic friends of mine visited a worship service I was leading. I pulled them aside beforehand and explained, in what I hope were the most gracious terms possible, that the bread and the grape juice were only to be received by Christian believers, and they should let the tray pass when it came to them. They understood. As I have sometimes said during the communion devotional: “St. Paul says that through this ‘we proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes’ (1 Corinthians 11:26). By partaking of these elements we proclaim that Jesus died in such a way as to save our souls. We are also proclaiming his resurrection, for it says that we do this ‘until he comes.’ Only those who believe that he rose from the dead can also believe that he is coming back. If you cannot in good conscience proclaim that Jesus died for your sins, that he rose from the dead and will return some day, then do not eat this bread and do not drink this cup. To do so while guarding a spirit of unbelief would be to lie, and to lie against God in this sacred assembly would be to invite his judgment. Only those who trust in Jesus Christ should participate.”

The others who must be forbidden to partake of the elements are those who say they are believers but who do not act like it. I refer to those who are undergoing church discipline, or, in older terms, have been excommunicated, or, in even older terms, have been handed over to Satan. In 1 Corinthians 5, Paul tells the Corinthian church to discipline a man in their congregation who is guilty of profound sexual immorality. "Hand this man over to Satan," (verse 5) Paul writes. "Expel the wicked man from among you" (verse 13). However this expulsion is carried out, at minimum it must include a denial of a place at the table of the Lord. The reason is simple: persistence in grotesque sin, despite warnings and calls to repentance, is a sign of unbelief. See Titus 1:16: "They claim to know God, but by their actions they deny him." Or 1 Timothy 5:8: "If anyone does not provide for his relatives, and especially for his immediate family, he has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever." It is possible to deny the faith with one's actions. Those who act like unbelievers should be treated like unbelievers, and barred from the table until they repent. The goal is to shame them into remorse and change, and bring them back to full fellowship if possible.

None of us can claim sinlessness, and holy perfection has never been (and never should be) a requirement for participating in communion. But we must nonetheless maintain the purity of the Supper in honor of the Lord who commanded us to celebrate it. The Supper is only for Christian believers who are not (rightly) undergoing the discipline of excommunication by their brothers and sisters in Christ.