On Losing Virtue, Part 2

A while back, I wrote an article about the modern cultural fluency that governs sexuality. I argued specifically that our secular humanistic culture exalts sexual gratification out of a conspicuous pandemic of impatient self-indulgence. With this seemingly cavalier attitude toward sexuality, we attempt to “cheat” and acquire a level of intimacy we haven’t truly earned. In other words, we try to get it cheap, and like children having just succeeded in some grand misbehavior, we revel in the freedom from any accountability inevitably tied to the sex act. In biblical Christian doctrine, however, God is glorified by preserving sexual intimacy for the marriage bed, where the solemn promise of fidelity has already been secured, and the requisite emotional attachment, devotion, and all the responsibilities implicit in sexual congress (including the possibility of pregnancy and all the rest of it) are guaranteed, having already been pledged ceremonially through the blessing and sacrament of marriage. Many try to downplay the significance of such ceremony, as if their hormonal impulses alone were blessing enough. We try to get sex cheap, without having to earn it by winning someone’s love and respect and promising lifelong fidelity before God. As I stated in that
previous article, I think this attitude clearly reflects a depreciation of marriage in addition to a degenerate enslavement to sexual desire.

There is, however, another side to this cultural pathology. I’m aware that a great many “churched” people who may have been applauding my convictions in the previous paragraph might be suddenly and rudely struck by the assertions that follow, offensive and morally alienating as they may be. I would love to believe myself able to transcend bias, but of course, a great deal of understanding must be tinged by some degree of personal predilection. That said, whatever response this may inspire, rest assured my thoughts are constructively meant, and while I base them on many years of experience in faith communities and serious study of the scriptures, this is simply what I've distilled so far. To be sure, if what I wrote previously outlines the principle inconsistencies implicit in the enormous mess that our larger secular culture has made of sexuality, then the community of Christian believers—committed to following Jesus and to the earnest pursuit of God’s word and will—cannot overlook the genuine mess the modern church itself has made of the same.

Sexuality is among the few aspects of ordinary human experience wherein the difference between sin and righteousness depends specifically on the context and meaning by which it has been established and upon which an individual commits to those impulses to which we are, each of us, biologically prone. The deeper, doctrinal understanding is quite simply that such intimacy was designed by God to be shared between a husband and a wife. And yet, in a fractured world where things have gone miserably awry, and despite what sexuality ought to be, we allow ourselves to succumb to desire without fidelity. To make matters worse, the evil one is still more deceptive, a maker of messes, both in the human heart and thereby in the world, and what seems like wisdom and insight is often a disguise concealing a deeper layer of sin.

Many raised among church communities are certainly familiar with the “sex talk.” Of course, churches implore their young people to preserve their virginity until marriage. And why should they not, when such is the biblically-inspired directive? However, church rhetoric and “Christian-ese” often give evidence to a spiritual posture by which this lecture on sexual purity frequently becomes a kind of sanctimonious fear-mongering. The Bible itself and all orthodox doctrines verify that sin separates us from God, and it always merits death but for the salvation we find in Jesus. And yet, how many have grown up in communities where people have been some way made to feel that the mistake of surrendering one’s virginity before marriage is somehow irredeemable? Too often, for many acculturated in the church, the message implicitly conveyed is that the spiritual effects of sexual impurity are a level of imperfection to which one is permanently demoted. A church, as a corporate entity, can corporately forgive a great many things, but reconciliation with God and with people do not always coincide. In fact, they are often diametrically opposed. And in many faith communities, this same dynamic seems to poison the lexicon with which sexual sin is discussed.

To be clear, every sin merits death, but in Jesus, the gospel himself, while sin may be interpersonally irredeemable, it is never spiritually so. This bifurcation is understandable enough, but too often, personal limitations inform spiritual admonition. And yet, where else but in a church community should the redeemable quality of sin be spiritually contextualized? The problem is that too often we rationalize the unrecoverable state of perfection as impacting the recoverable state of redemption. Think of it this way. Every moment, we commit ourselves to choices—how we spend our time, our energy, our words, or better yet, how we don’t spend them. Of course, we’re tied to this existential commitment every moment of our lives, and the loss of virginity is such a moment, whose passing is likewise a commitment. And like all the others, despite what some will say about recommitting one’s sexuality or the attractive notion of becoming a “spiritual virgin,” virginity itself can never be reclaimed nor re-spent. It seems then that church leaders and members of church communities often communicate, perhaps inadvertently, that the sin of sexual impurity cannot be forgiven because virginity cannot be reclaimed, which completely undermines the very nature of redemption, since the blood of Christ is said to cover a multitude of sin. What’s more, orthodox doctrine reveals that one of Satan’s chief aims is to convince us that our sin cannot be redeemed. An insidious and serpentine thread, it occasionally creeps its way into sermons, exhortations, and sex talks. And what better weapon has the enemy than to attack believers by disguising sin as wisdom in the words of preachers, pastors, and teachers who believe they’re doing right, but who lead young people and many others to feel they might as well keep sinning since they’ve already missed the only perfect path by which God might be glorified? My argument, then, is simply this. There is a fine line to walk between convicting ourselves to glorify God with our sexuality and exalting such perfection at the expense of redemption.

And what of recommitment, the reclaiming of chastity by those who have already sinned? Most often, it feels like an epilogue, a pastor’s half-attempt at inclusiveness. Many who give the sex talk seem to treat recommitment as an afterthought, by which they attempt to include the members of their audience who have, for whatever reason and by whatever mistake, not measured up to the status of purity they've attempted to champion for their listeners. To me, this doesn’t appear to be quite so much a matter of hyper-valuing sexual purity as it is of under-valuing spiritual redemption. It takes a sincere faith to believe that our sin is truly redeemed when the secular world is telling us it wasn’t a big deal in the first place, and many in the church world make us feel tainted and blemished beyond repair. Of course, regardless of what church leaders and speakers say or do, we cannot lose sight of what we know to be right simply because we don’t feel it was campaigned for effectively. I believe this brings me full circle. What is my point, then? If some in the world are trying to convince us that sex is no big deal, and some in the church world are communicating that it’s the biggest deal of all, we must penitently commit ourselves to what is still right and true. Sex is a big deal, and sexual sin, while not physically redeemable, is certainly spiritually so. An omniscient God, who can peer into the heart of the sinner and verify true repentance from detachment and insincerity, thus makes all things new in Christ Jesus.

I’ve heard teachers and church leaders tell young people that virginity is the greatest gift you can give your spouse. Not to minimize the value of spending virginity wisely nor of glorifying God in so doing, but this must be nonsense. I can think of twenty spiritual fruits and measures of love and sacrifice that trump virginity in the category greatest gift given a spouse, and short of campaigning the threat of sexually-transmitted diseases and unwanted pregnancies, such a statement often seems little more than a hair's width away from fear-mongering. The threat of hell, as true as it is, allows us to contextualize God’s grace, but avoiding it is not the chief aim of sanctification. Likewise, physical blemish, regret, and disease can be helpful deterrents, but they are not the principle point of chastity. To worship God is to be in awe of Him and of all He has done, both universally and individually. Likewise, by our chastity we give further expression to this by glorifying Him as He has designed us to do and exercising those intimate gestures under the protection of a fidelity and a trust that far surpass the superficial payoff of the moment, not being contingent on one’s dynamic or fleeting impulses. No, they are promised, committed, solemnly pledged. And therein is sexuality a reflection of God’s glory.

I’m sure many will disagree with me and find that I am trivializing sexual sin, whereas I mean only to emphasize that such sin is as redeemable as any other, which is not to trivialize the idea that saving oneself for marriage is precisely what God requires. But we can only encounter God through His son, and this only because the world itself is so completely fractured that the dream of perfection is only realized in the redemption he offers in himself. There is no true perfection in the world. It is a gossamer cloud and figment of the mind, a lie we entertain as we pass through the world, hopelessly addicted to the life of our bodies, which draw nearer to death each moment, and our spirits nearer the continuing opportunity for renewal.

I once read a forum post by a young man who bemoaned the fact that the girl with whom he was so taken was not a virgin, and he admitted that this might become a “plague” to their relationship. Because he had saved himself in the hope of trading his virginity with his future wife, he admitted that he would feel “gypped” because she got his when he didn’t get hers. While he conceded that she had been forgiven, it didn’t change for him that he wanted to scream because he otherwise liked her so much. I thought on it a good while and gave myself the time to craft what I felt was a respectful response to add to the chain of comments he had received, most of which expressed some combination of sympathy, counsel, or support. I think this young man’s feelings are fairly representative of the unctuous paradigm by which many prejudices of believers and non-believers alike are substantiated. Pride in one’s resume is a common trap. How hard it is to balance our moral triumphs and those things for which God Himself would commend us with the perpetual realization of our own depravity. There is never an end to needing Christ, which I always find so beautifully demonstrated in 2 Corinthians 12. The apostle Paul, excellent as he was, endured a mysterious "thorn" in his flesh, which served to remind him that in his weakenss, the power of Christ is wonderfully perfected.

My response to the young man's forum post went as follows: “You’re seeking perfection, and you may well find it. Glorify the Lord with your sexuality and remain pure. But don’t pursue perfection to the point that you allow it to undermine the nature of redemption, which is far better. Placing such importance on virginity (as opposed to chastity) can almost be like trying to get back to Eden. Jesus is better anyway. He makes all things new. Live by faith and remember that no one is spotless. You can draw too far from the spirit by exalting the state of the body.” I have no idea what the young man thought of my words, if anything, since he never responded. I’d like to believe he thought better about the young lady’s history. If, however, he chose to move on and seek out someone equally pure, as I said, he may well find it, and it is certainly to his credit to have saved himself. But I get the feeling he will one day be confronted with the very same conflict again, in another context perhaps.

Virginity is precious, to be sure, and everyone who has saved him- or herself for marriage has done right and done well. What is wrong, in my view, is to be drunk on virtue, and thereby to overlook redemption, of which we are, all of us, in need. It is wise and good to be faithful stewards of our bodies. At the same time, the body is dying every moment. So subject it firstly to what is not dying, but may be every day renewed and made more beautiful. One of my favorite movie quotes is from The Ten Commandments, at a moment when Nefretiri, the Egyptian queen, tries desperately to tempt Moses, played by Charleton Heston, to forsake his wife, drawing attention to how Zipporah’s beauty pales in comparison to her own. Moses simply replies, “There is a beauty beyond the senses, Nefretiri—beauty like the quiet of green valleys and still waters, beauty of the spirit that you cannot understand” (The Ten Commandments, 1956). If only we could each apply such understanding to marriage, and to sexuality, that bedlam and celebration of the senses, which must be directed by a spiritual beauty to fulfill its sensual purpose. What is right and virtuous is for the body to serve the spirit, not the spirit to serve the body. The spirit, as mentor, then deserves the greater care to be kept healthy, lest it be corrupted by an overly ambitious and sometimes conniving protégé, whose joy is swift, febrile, and fleeting. Seek the still water first. Lay stones in the life that is to come, instead of straw over the elusive veil behind which we now toil. As all believers must come to understand, salvation is only a beginning, and the duality of sanctification is just this: pursue righteousness, and when you stumble, as you surely will, repent and celebrate the grace you enjoy by an earnestly restored pursuit. If you’re saving yourself because you’re strung out on perfection, without realizing you’re inevitably flawed in a hundred other ways, you’ll succumb to pride. No question. And your sexual purity, while not entirely in vain, will surely perpetuate that pride. And again, what seems like virtue becomes yet another disguise for sin. To be sure, the gospel is easier to believe than to live.