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The call of the void
Have you every been on the edge of a very high point and felt the sudden urge to leap or fall? Not in a suicidal way, but in a more “I wonder what that would feel like” way.
Obviously, if you’re reading this, you never actually jumped. The vast majority of us will probably feel a rush of adrenaline, and slowly back away from the edge.
That sensation is called: “L’appel du vide”, or “The call of the void.”
It’s an experience we’d rarely share with anyone else simply because there’d be almost no way to convince them we weren’t suicidal…that we were merely profoundly curious, and we’d never actually jump. In fact, sometimes it can be easy to mistake a fear of heights with “The call of the void.”
It’s the same with temptation: when we give in, it’s because we’re far more curious than afraid. (Consequences be damned.)
The Genesis poem about creation…the serpent asks Eve, “Did God REALLY say not to eat the fruit?”
She justified…and ate…then Adam justified…and ate.
The story of David leaving behind his kingly duties so he could watch Bathsheba bathe naked.
He already have wives (plural) and concubines at his disposal…but he still justified…and slept with her while her husband was at war, fighting for David’s kingdom.
The temptation of Jesus in the wilderness. The Devil takes him to the highest point of the temple and invites him to jump to see what would happen.
The call of the void.
Jesus laughs it off with the simplicity of, “Don’t tempt God.”
Just a few paragraphs later, Jesus rocks the entire ancient cultural boat with what we now call, “The Sermon on the Mount.” Jesus sits atop a small hillside, surrounded by multitudes hanging on his every word, and for three chapters in the gospel of Matthew, he blows their minds with teachings like: hate is the same as murder…don’t seek revenge…love your enemies.
And, of course, the ever-famous “If you look at a woman with lustful intent, you’ve already committed adultery with her in your heart.”
I’ve used this passage as a weapon countless times, and have had it used on me as well. Notice he doesn’t blame a woman’s clothing style here…it’s purely about the mind of a man. But then Jesus takes it up a notch by saying we might as well rip out whichever eye we undress a woman with.
I’m sure at that point, all the people in the crowd blinked. Every man gasped.
I was doing well to only sleep with my own wives, they must have thought, …but now I can’t even THINK about another woman?
Impossible!
Exactly. (Because if they/we could handle it…there’d be no reason to follow Jesus around.)
Our minds are the safe haven, right? No one has to know what goes on there.
Just like we’d never tell anyone we’re curious about what it would feel like to leap from the top of a building, we’d never be completely honest about what happens in our land of thoughts.
Everything we do begins in the mind.
But, notice Jesus doesn’t say he’s going to parade our thoughts around for all to see. He simply gives a subtle hint to the reality that he knows.
You’ll also notice Jesus doesn’t give an invitation at the end of the sermon for all the men with bad thoughts to come forward and pluck out their eyes so they won’t lust anymore…he simply invited everyone to make sure the life they were built was perched on solid ground. (Of course, he was referring to himself.)
We knew a woman who discovered her husband was quite dissatisfied with their sex life, and decided watching other people having sex was better (porn). One time she quipped, “I can’t believe a Christian man would ever want to watch that…”
What?
Why?
King David (the ONLY one in the Bible named a “man after God’s own heart”) watches a woman he’s not married to bathe naked, has sex with her, gets her pregnant, then has her husband killed so he can keep her for himself, and YOU can’t believe YOUR husband watched porn?!
The challenge for followers of Jesus is one of honesty. The majority of Church communities (at least in the West) aren’t places where people can be genuinely honest…about doubt…fear…anger…questions…struggle…much less sex. Someone very close to me was even kicked out of a church at fifteen for being a little too honest about her sexual issues.
If we can’t be completely honest about small things, we’ll never be honest about big ones.
It took me nearly eight years of marriage to get over my fear of being completely honest with my wife. Because I didn’t want her to think I was a mental disaster. Much to my surprise, we now have amazing conversations about faith, sex, life, struggle…everything.
I think instead of continuing to look for things and people to blame for temptation (i.e., all the beautiful women around us…), let’s look back to Jesus…stop cowering in our thoughts…step back from the ledge…laugh it off and shout back to temptation: “Don’t tempt me…because I don’t hide anymore.”
The call of the void will always be there…but I much prefer the call of real life.
—–
Do you have people in your life you can be completely honest with?
If not, why are you afraid of being honest?
Dad…I’d rather be naked
Our two-year-old son, Marceau, is always excited about getting dressed in the morning.
But…if we leave him alone for even just a couple of minutes, he channels Mowgli from The Jungle Book, and magically his clothes (diaper and all…or nappy for all my UK friends) flee his body for the dark corners of the room.
In fact, it happens so often, when I see him running around like a reveler from Burning Man, I’m not even surprised anymore.
What does surprise me is how young we learn to pretend.
By the time we reach adulthood, it’s pretty much a culturally accepted art form.
And I’m not talking about the kind of pretending where you dress up and play house or act out battle scenes in the woods.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not expecting to have any sort of meaningful heart to heart with my toddler son about just being honest with me about his affinity for nudity.
Reality is, he’s never going to sit me down and say, “Dad, I really appreciate your commitment to helping me stay well-clothed…but…I’d just rather be naked.”
It won’t happen. He’s two.
However, when I walk back in the room to find him in the middle of an intense train session with Thomas the Tank Engine while in the buff, the look on his face tells me he knows he’s caught. That, and he’ll start asking, “Uh-oh, where’d my pants go?” As if they were raptured instead of him.
Reality is…cute, chubby, naked toddler is fine for now. Nakedness isn’t the point. The potential for making a huge mess while naked is the point.
And the same goes for us.
As Henry Nouwen challenges: “People who read your ideas tend to think that your writings reflect your life.” (This translates into pretty much every area of who we are).
Telling your spouse everything is fine, when it’s really not.
Going along with the boss on something you know might win some points for promotion, but really isn’t a wise decision.
The extra long too-close-for-comfort conversation with an attractive person you’re not married to.
Putting off your kids because you’ve convinced yourself you’ve got more important things to do.
Delaying forgiveness to someone who has hurt you.
Neglecting to make things right with someone you know you’ve hurt.
The list could stretch on for miles.
All of us have a list. None of us are exempt.
At the core of everything, our call as followers of Jesus is to help lead people to the light, not teach them to live more comfortably in the darkness.
But we’re experts at justification. “It’s just one drink with them…” … “I’ll make things right when I’m ready…” … “I’ll tell them how I really feel another time…”
Remember: the actual act of pretending won’t necessarily bring down the house; the fallout always comes later. And the recovery process could take years.
I write these words because I’m also a pretender at times. It’s such a simple solution in the moment.
This morning, as my wife, Jordana, and I cleaned up yet another smelly disaster off the floor, I just couldn’t shake the thought that we never know ahead of time what mess our pretending might leave for someone else to deal with.
I have left plenty in my wake.
And the message is simple: stop pretending, or else the real work won’t ever get done.
“Don’t think you are better than you really are. Be honest in your evaluation of yourselves…Don’t just pretend to love others. Really love them. Hate what is wrong. Hold tightly to what is good. Love each other with genuine affection…” // Romans 12:3, 9-10
Editing the script of my life…
Sometimes I get stuck in a rut.
You know, the one where in your mind God makes you go through all the hard stuff while all your friends go skipping by you eating angelic bon-bons on their Heavenly journey paved with rose pedals?
In fact, there have been moments in my life where I have actually prayed: “God, what if you had someone ELSE go through the really hard stuff for a change and let me be friends with them?”
I prayed that after my son, Jude, was diagnosed with a disorder that caused severe developmental delay and seizures 24/7.
I prayed that after we found out my wife was expecting twins, nearly died and was on bed rest for four months right as we were beginning to raise support to work in missions.
Seriously, why couldn’t I grow by watching someone else go through something difficult?
For a little while in college I was a musical theater major (clearly I was most interested in a degree path with a high level of job security). Every day we memorized scripts, wrote scripts and edited scripts. I got to where I thought I could do a pretty darn good job at figuring out exactly how a story should unfold. But, it didn’t stop when I left the theater department; I’ve even attempted to use my fantastic editing skills when it comes to particular areas of my life.
In Hebrews 12:2, the writer calls us to “Fix our eyes on Jesus, the Author and perfecter of our faith…”
You see, I love the part about fixing my eyes on Jesus. I’ve sung songs about it, and said it in front of other people to get a response (it’s a huge crowd pleaser). What I struggle with is the author/perfecter part.
So often I’ve tried to take my script from the hands of God, pull out my trusty red pen and go to work.
I’ll say things like, “You know, God, I see you have me going through a pretty difficult scene on page 396, and I’d like to see if we can tone that down a little. I think you could make this section a lot easier for me and still teach me all the lessons I’m supposed to learn.”
But every time I try that, the response from God is always the same: “Yes, it would be easier for you if we toned that down a bit, and yes, you are a decent writer (I designed you that way)…but I’m the perfecter.”
Conversation over. He wins.
No matter how well I may be able to write the script of my faith, He is the only One who can perfect it.
We don’t fix our eyes on Jesus to become better renditions of ourselves.
In my version of the script, I just end up looking more like me (albeit a cooler, sleeker version – like Tony Stark in Iron Man 2). But in God’s narrative…I end up looking like Jesus.
Having a son like Jude or a sick wife doesn’t limit God…He uses even the most hopeless situations to change the world every day.
In the movie “True Grit”, a young girl seeks justice for her father’s murder. No one thinks she’s old enough or capable of handling the challenges ahead, to which she calmly replies: “I’m in the hands of the Author of all things, and I’ve got a fine horse.”
If God is the author, let Him write the story. As He writes, He also perfects. You can trust Him with the script of your life.
Have you ever tried to edit the script, or wished certain scenes of your life were written differently?
