Love
Everything You Know about 1 Corinthians 13 Is Wrong
You can’t find a more popular portion of the Bible than 1 Corinthians 13.
It’s the bubbly “love” chapter, clamping down on the biblical meaning of love.
Or so you think.
First Corinthians 13 at first blush is perfect for weddings. Hallmark cards. Little plaques above your kitchen sink [where ours hangs].
Who wouldn’t love the simplicity of “Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude”?
It carries a certain charm–an almost mystical hold on us when it comes to love.
I once found this chapter in an anthology of love poems, alongside the likes of Lord Byron and Kahlil Gibran. Unusual bedfellows if I ever saw any.
Never the Purpose of 1 Corinthians 13
I know during one of my crankier moments in life [that extended from birth to MAYBE just a couple of weeks ago] I memorized this chapter in hopes that it would manage to make me a more kinder, gentler man.
It didn’t work.
Why? Well, it was never intended to be a charter on sweetness. Or seventeen habits of highly-sentimental people.
Paul intended it to be a lot dirtier than that.
Just think were the chapter is embedded…in between two very tough chapters on spiritual gifts.
But you’re still being very narrowed minded if you leave it at that. You must step back even further.
Think about Who Paul Was Writing To
First Corinthians 12-14 are couched in a letter to who? The Corinthians. A self-absorbed, smug, stingy set of church members.
That means while writing his letter hunched over, pen in hand and brow furled bent on setting the Corinthians straight, Paul didn’t sit back and say, “I feel like writing a splendid little reverie on love. Barnabas, did you hear that? I’m going to write a love poem!”
No.
He intended chapter 13 to serve much like God intended the ten commandments to serve: a schoolmaster who drives the disobedient to Christ.
Think about this: Paul is saying, “You think you know what love is? You don’t have a clue what love is. Love does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful….”
In other words, 1 Corinthians 13 is a reprimand. Not an elegant poem that gives us the warm and fuzzies.
A Good Sermon on 1 Corinthians 13
Alistair Begg makes this point in a wonderful series on 1 Corinthians 13. He explains that taken in isolation, 1 Corinthians 13 is often abused, as I noted above.
But once you understand Paul’s original meaning and purpose behind the chapter, you’ll appreciate the chapter so much more.
In the end, 1 Corinthians 13 is a statement against the popular notion [that still holds today] that love is out of our control.
Paul declares that godly love is manly and willful:
It does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
It takes guts to endure all things.
What to Do Next
But Paul’s point in the end is that we will never measure up to the standard laid out in 1 Corinthians 13. There is only one person who did such a thing. Jesus Christ.
And what that means is that we will always struggle with this love–a love that never ends–until we humbly submit to the only living person who ever fully and completely fulfilled the law of love–Jesus Christ.
Does this mean you throw out that plaque hanging over your kitchen sink? No. It means you look at it and remember that you will never measure up to that standard until you bow down to the very lord of love–Jesus Christ.
Two Reasons Why We Need to Correct Our Views on Love and Sexuality
Yesterday’s candid post on the Song of Songs prompted some interesting comments.
My wife said: “Ummm, babe, I think someone just hijacked your blog.”
Yes, I take that as a compliment.
My buddy Scott said, “This is by far the toughest sentence I have ever read.” He was referring to this statement:
Contrast this with the ephemeral, capricious and shallow character of contemporary loveand you see God’s vision for marriage involves a volitional, muscular emotion that has a singular and solitary intent to honor the object of it’s affections.
That’s actually my most favorite-ist sentence. And yes, I take his comment as a compliment.
Richard DeVeau’s comment is a different story.
He said, “Perhaps it’s my age, but when I read about apples, raisins, figs, walnuts and spices, I only think about pie.”
That nearly brought my yogurt through my nose.
Then another good buddy said, “Very well done. I feel that this is one of the most beautiful books of The Bible.”
I have to agree.
Finally, there’s Rob’s comment…a comment which pointed out that our silence on the topic of love and sexuality has led the culture to dominate and define it.
This is not good. Rob went on to say:
[Songs] clearly shows that sex, and even boyish giggle inducing when you talk about it sex, is a glorious & God-honoring blessing to man and woman and the only stipulation is within the hedge of protection provided by marriage.
In other words, sex within in a monogamous, heterosexual marriage is not only part of God’s original plan for creation [and indeed, a pivotal ingredient if we are going to succeed in this thing called "our cultural mandate"]–but it can also be erotic, deeply emotional and ultimately satisfying.
Rob closes his comment with two penetrating questions. Questions I want you to respond to:
How many Christian couples do you know that struggle with this? How many unbelievers do you know that have gotten a flawed view of sexuality from the church and that’s lead to them dismissing Jesus altogether?
I have to confess that my own view of sex within a Christian marriage has been distorted in the past. It wasn’t until pastors like Piper and Driscoll and a book by Kostenberger
This brings to mind something Grudem expresses the “Introduction” to his Systematic Theology
That’s not easy to do. But it’s part and parcel of developing a mature Christian mind.
And while the second question might sound shallow and baseless and somewhat offensive to an agnostic or atheist, it’s really not.
The reasons for dismissing Jesus and Christianity are often emotional and moral–not intellectual. Thus a flat, flawed view of sex within Christianity amounts to a dull, boring life…
“No thanks,” the non-believer might say.
That’s why I think it’s important to get this topic right–both for the believer AND the non-believer.
On the one hand a healthy, Christian view of love and sexuality avoids frustration and division within a marriage. Instead, it invites joy and unity.
On the other hand it allows us to control the cultural conversation and express a genuine benefit to unbelievers [not that we're trying to attempt to bribe them...merely taking an excuse away] about the passion and bliss found in Christian love and sexuality.
So what about you: Do you struggle with what love and sexuality look like within a Christian marriage? Besides reading and studying a book like Songs, how have you attempted to remedy that? And do you know anybody who’s dismissed Jesus and Christianity because of a flawed view of love and Christian sexuality?
I look forward to your thoughts. Brutal and all.
What the Song of Solomon Really Means
The sexually-charged language of Song of Songs [or Song of Solomon] makes it a provocative read…
But one wonders if it actually makes a major theological contribution to Judaism or Christianity.
In fact, one wonders why it’s even in the Old Testament…why it’s even in the canon at all.
I mean, what was the original author or editor hoping to communicate to his reader?
And what about the fact that there’s no mention of God. Isn’t that problematic?
Well, no. Not really. Not after you see that this short, but potent celebration of intimacy between husband and wife sheds light on our own relationship with God. It’s a good lesson to learn.
Common Approaches to Song of Songs
Some pastors would have you think Songs is a manual to a smokin’ hot marriage…
While others would want you to see it as a allegorical narrative of God’s relationship with the Israelites.
Still others suggest it’s a typological story–one in which the groom plays Christ and the bride plays the church.
These three interpretative strategies are the literal, allegorical and typological approaches.
The allegorical grew out of the embarrassment over the erotic details found in the text [the very same details the sex-crazed literalists exemplified]. Take the explicit mention of two breasts in Songs 4:5 for example:
Your two breasts are like two fawns,
twins of a gazelle,
that graze among the lilies.
Some Christian interpreters argued the two breasts were the two testaments–spiritually nourishing the church…
Another view suggested the breasts reflected the dual command to love God and neighbor…
And a third view believed the breasts represented Mount Ebal and Mount Gerazim. [Keep your comments to yourself.]
Another good example of allegorical interpretation born out of timid temperaments is the the sachet of myrrh lodged between the two breasts. Some early scholars said it was Christ who spans the two testaments.
Then there’s the graphic, boyish-giggle-inducing walnut grove: ”I came down to the walnut grove / to see the blossoms of the valley,” said the woman.
If you blushed, then you know why some early church fathers went to interpretive extremes to suggest alternative meanings, like the hard outer layer of the walnut is the Mosaic Law–and the nutritious center is Jesus Christ.
But this is fellatio, folks. Plain and simple.
To be honest, you wonder what’s more embarrassing: the topic of oral sex or a scholar’s theological interpretation of that act. Let’s keep digging.
The Problem with Allegorical Interpretations
The problem with interpreting Songs allegorically is that the text simply doesn’t hint at a deeper meaning.
I mean why take the breasts to be the OT and NT? Two mountains? Two commands of God?
The text simply doesn’t support any of those arguments.
But if Songs is NOT an allegorical love story between God and his people or Christians and Jesus–then what is it?
We found part of our answer in the discovery of unique ancient Near-Eastern documents found in the 19th century.
What these specific documents taught us is that Songs is from the exact same genre–love poems. More precisely, matrimonial love poems.
That makes Songs a collection of matrimonial love poems. Songs sung at weddings.
Scholars are divided on how many actual love poems make up Songs. But that’s not really important. What’s important is uncovering the theological contribution Songs makes to the canon…
And this is where it gets good.
The Essential Meaning Behind Songs
The text itself gives us many clues. And whether there are three or thirty poems, the Song’s primary importance relates to love and, no surprise here, sexuality–something near-and-dear to our humanity.
See, what Songs defines is a love that is mutual, exclusive, total and beautiful. And in many ways Songs is an expansion of Genesis 2:24:
Therefore a man shall leave his father and his mother and hold fast to his wife, and they shall become one flesh.
In frank but beautiful language, this tiny little book praises mutual, intense love, culminating in this robust, evocative statement:
What we see here is an expression of love that transcends this earth and is deeply emotional–as God intended between husband and wife.
What God-Ordained Marriage Looks Like
Contrast this with the ephemeral, capricious and shallow character of contemporary love and you see God’s vision for marriage involves a volitional, muscular emotion that has a singular and solitary intent to honor the object of it’s affections.
And this is exactly the way God wanted it when he created man and woman in Eden. When you comprehend that the allusions to the garden in Songs are allusions to Eden, then the meaning behind Songs becomes immediately apparent…
The implication is that before sin, man and woman stood bare, unashamed, in front of each other. Now, we sense an intimacy since lost.
Song of Songs then is about the redemption of sexuality. A return to the God-ordained concept of marriage, a concept illustrated throughout Scripture to help us understand the relationship between God and his people.
In the OT, marriage is used negatively to shed light on Israel’s betrayal and unfaithfulness. In the NT, marriage is compared to our union with Christ–a union climaxing [no pun intended] at the end of time with a wedding feast.
Here on earth we get to enjoy the splendid privilege of experiencing the union of man and woman as one flesh, a profound mystery Paul said refers to the union between Christ and his church.
In other words, the better our marriages–the more they reflect the glory of God. And I think that’s pretty sexy. You?
Death Lessons: What You Can Learn When Someone Dies
Seventy years from now more than likely you will be dead.
Don’t worry: So will I.
Some of us will die earlier than others [before we reach fifty].
Some will live longer [well after we turn ninety].
See, as humans, we all share this in common–death.
But we also share something else: When we are dead all of the things in our head–our thoughts, dreams, ideas, feelings–will be gone from this earth…
Lost forever to this world. And the people we leave behind.
Why the Morbid Mood?
Yesterday I learned about the death of a distant uncle. A man who I hadn’t seen in twenty years, but for good reasons meant a lot to me.
During a brief time of vulnerability, he took me, my mother and sister into his fold. But during that brief time he taught me how to work hard, hunt and think.
He even gave me a beautiful rifle.
Unfortunately, after a short period of time we parted ways and I never spoke to him again.
I regret that.
And so this morning I found myself a bit tired, wistful and nostalgic. A wee bit indifferent to the world but profoundly interested in hugging my children and embracing my wife.
It’s a classic introvert defense to news heavy on the death of people close to you.
Furthermore, streaming through my thoughts this whole time is an acute sense of our mortality–and the selfishness of living in one’s own head…an introvert’s favorite place to be.
12 Lessons We Can Learn from the Death of a Loved One
So in order to combat that, here are some reflections–commands, really–on how to indulge in the little time we have left in this world–whether you are an extrovert or introvert–and make the most of the time you have with your people.
It applies to us all. Enjoy.
Talk. Nurture deep conversations with meaningful people like your spouse, children, best friends and neighbors. Do this relentlessly.
Journal. Record your thoughts, feelings and ideas. Document tough questions. Sketch out your answers. The point: Be liberal so people can learn something about you when you die.
Pray. Nurture a deep, never-ending conversation with God. Pour out your soul to Him. Ask him for help. Plead with him to teach you how to be more like Christ.
Confess. Shed secret sin by rehearsing the gospel daily, pleading with God for forgiveness and asking an exclusive set of godly men and woman to hold you accountable.
Blog. Share your thoughts, feelings and ideas with a wider audience. Or keep it private and simply share it with family you are geographically separated from.
Contemplate. Think about your past. Evaluate your present. Plan your future. And once you contemplate, share it with others–in a conversation, on a blog or in your journal.
Write. Lubricate lines of communication with a regular letter or email. For times when you can’t pick up the phone or sit down in front of someone. Do this daily.
Slow Down. Resist invitations to do more. Simplify. Enjoy life. Enjoy your spouse. Your friends. Your children. Your home. Your car. The path through the woods. The lake. The clouds. The cross of Christ.
Create. Take those thoughts and ideas and give them life. Write songs. Sculpt statues. Paint portraits. Design cartoons. Build houses.
Play. Go sledding or fishing. Rock climbing or wind surfing. Teach your son to throw a ball. Twirl with your daughter in the den. Uncork a bottle of wine with your wife and watch her trounce you in a game of Scrabble.
Obey. Do when the Holy Spirit nudges. Don’t hesitate. Call that friend. Skip work and run away with your children to the beach. Visit that dying uncle. Share the gospel with a shop clerk.
Love. Grieve with the suffering. Laugh with the jubilant. Talk with the lonely. Listen to the gregarious. Give to the earthquake-shattered. Evangelize the hostile.
As you can probably tell, when I say indulge, I’m speaking about pouring yourself out for others. Giving away EVERYTHING in you to those you love AND to those you don’t love…
To those you know–and to those you don’t know. What you want is to say at the end of your life you held nothing back.
See, it’s worth forcing ourselves outside of our shelters [skulls, homes, churches, nations] and subduing the earth in Christ and for Christ.
Not only is it a biblical mandate, but it also provides for a rich, meaningful life. One that is perilously short.
Don’t waste it.
Why Creative People Frighten Me
It all started with an image of Carlos Whittaker posing in an ad on Michael Hyatt’s blog.
It wasn’t so much that he was posing–but that look he had on his face…
And his body posture.
At first blush, innocuous. Bland. Marginally detached.
Nothing to cause alarm or concern. It’s just a photograph promoting Whittaker’s EP.
But the thing got under my skin. In a low-grade BAD way. For days even.
The thing is, I couldn’t really put my finger on why it bothered me so much. It just made me go–ick.
And it wasn’t a dislike for Whittaker or his music. I knew that much. No, it went to the core of something else.
Something deeper. In my own being. Or our culture’s soul. Or both. I just didn’t know until the mystery started to unfold.
Disturbing Photographs of Disturbed Poets
I have a book on my shelf called Eight American Poets.
It’s a slim anthology on Theodore Roethke, Elizabeth Bishop, Robert Lowell, John Berryman, Anne Sexton, Sylvia Plath, Allen Ginsberg and James Merrill–poets who characterize the 20th century’s “second brilliant generation.”
[...the first generation being Whitman, Dickinson, Frost, Hughes,Stevens, and Williams...]
On the cover–as you might suspect–are photographs of each poet…all of them, except Ginsberg, staring at you.
It’s disturbing on many levels.
First, human eyes staring at you are strange things indeed. Photographs of human eyes staring at you even more odd. Photographs of eyes staring at you that belong to dead people–haunting.
But photographs of human eyes staring at you that belonged to dead people who, when alive, led very creative, but disturbed lives takes the cake.
These are such photographs. And it doesn’t help that I’ve got history with these poets. Let me explain.
The Powerful Impact of Disturbed Poets
Long ago as a moody, half-cocked young poet I fell for Sylvia Plath. Adored Anne Sexton. Admired James Merrill. Cherished Theodore Roethke. Envied Robert Lowell. And idolized John Berryman.
The only poet who I spurned was Allen Ginsberg and that was due to his pedophilic tendencies.
But the others I’d canonized. Bizarre since these poets lived and died tragic lives.
Three of the poets killed themselves–Plath, Berryman and Sexton.
Lowell made a career out of writing candid poetry about his multiple mental hospitals admissions.
Bishop lived the life of a recluse with her lover in South America.
Theodore Roethke endured crippling episodes of depression.
And James Merrill, who painted a candid portrait of gay life in the early 1950s, lived modestly despite great personal wealth and eventually died in Arizona from AIDS complications.
You wonder why I–or anyone for that matter–invested so much hope and emotional capital into such people.
But here’s the deal: These troubling writers powerfully shaped my mind. And drug me to dark places I’d rather not go. Which brings us back to Whittaker.
What Does This Have to Do with Carlos Whittaker?
When it comes to romantic poetry and rock n roll both are at their best when they come from emotionally raw places says Craig Schuftan in his book Hey Nietzsche! Leave Them Kids Alone.
Take the former Smashing Pumpkins front man Billy Corgan, for example. He said, ”And the more intense it was, the better, and we would probably have to suffer for that.”
Then there’s the British romantic poet George Gordon Byron who said about Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage–perhaps his best poem–”I was truly mad during its composition.”
[Note: Before Byron the notion that you had to suffer to create great art seemed ridiculous.]
Unfortunately, this notion is leaching into the Christian culture. Whittaker is but a mild example.
So my question to you is this: Is this the least bit healthy–regardless if you are a Christian or not? Furthermore, does it belong in the Christian community?
Or is this just anonther example of our incumbent narcissism rearing it’s ugly head and placing the focus on us rather than Christ?
Understand: I am one of those creative people. And I have a bent for suffering. But I’m not sure the focus should be placed on me or my pain.
I’m also reminded of Keith Green performing beneath his piano so people would focus on God and not him.
My irredeemable love of obscurity likes that. A lot.
So what do you think: Is this a zero-sum game? Or can we strike a balance? I look forward to your thoughts. Brutal and all.
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