Listening and the Laws of Love

I realised this morning that the story of me and how I could have possibly arrived at the conclusions I do is a long story. It’s like a Newtonian equation, it starts with obvious truth and by convoluted means, each conclusion leading to another, eventually what was unbelievable is now believed. Science and discovery, life, loss, love all work and shape the enquiring mind.

My uniqueness derives from my journey, which seems to me now as like the making of a tea pot. I have watched as the potter carefully shaped what appeared to be a most beautiful vase, then, to my great concern he took his line and cut most away, leaving just a tiny bit. But a teapot could not exist without the tiny bit which becomes the snout. I watched as I was separated from the main lump, pulled and dragged where I did not want to go, to the edge of insanity, yet with courage I managed to stretch and my new lengthened form now stands as a very sexy handle. The big belly of my form is solid and deep and round, but the potter has pierced it. But these wounds will allow the lovely warm tea to flow out to all. I see now that he intends for my wounds to be covered by what remains of the vase. This is the snout by which the love is poured out. So, I’m a little tea pot short and stout…a vessel that welcomes hot water and the herbs that flavour my particular brew.

But what does all this have to do with listening? Well, I’ve lost several friends lately. My closest friends are very conservative in their moral views, and I feel like I live in the presence of flat earthers, who run in horror when I try and tell them of my exploration of ideas of roundness and my current conclusions on life, love and sex seem too threatening to consider. I’m now off the menu. Unpalatable. Of course this is difficult. I had hoped their respect for me would enable them to listen long enough to understand how I got here and why it makes sense to me. No one likes to be labeled, discounted and discarded. No one likes to feel unworthy of the ones you love because they disapprove of how you are managing your sexual needs. I had hoped for far more from these friendships, but realistically, telling them my truth openly was more than they could bear. How could sex work ever be a sensible or holy choice? It is too rediculous! Preposterous! And then they block their ears, and instead of hearing, now see me as their imagination fuels it and they never heard my story or sought to understand how a good, beloved daughter could choose this and be reluctant to discard it. Personally, I cannot understand how they could discard me, but that’s what makes me unique. I can see and love the ugliest in mankind. That is my special superpower.

Does that mean I should retreat?  No. Rather let me expound further in writing and leave such things to be discovered by those who are seeking and prepared to listen and then contribute. The church has got to quell its hysterical position and move rationally and sensibly through the sexual revolution if its going to have any chance to reach this generation. We can’t just not talk about it and we need a new model by which we can love those in our midst which are not living in the married man and woman sex bubble. In 2000 years of church history we have avoided taking this on, preferring to sweep it under the carpet or excommunicate and ignore. Is this really the best we can do? Are we not so terrified of the power of our sexuality that it confuses and undoes us? We try celibacy, masturbation; creep in a bit of porn when the burn gets too strong. When you finally get married, its easier to toe the party line, but divorced or separated Christians, complex sexuality Christians  We live in a world that allows for any sexual whim to be delighted, and an average teenager ha


Esther’s Fast and it’s promise today

I have a special connection to the book of Esther. It runs through my brain regularly, and last night I stumbled upon Esther’s fast, the purpose of which is a gem, a glorious hope for truth seekers world wide. Not coincidentally, today is the day for her instituted fast and I have decided to join faithful Jews and perhaps other strange Gentiles who, like me, get it. It was Esther herself that called for Jews everywhere to remember the story of Purim and enter in to its celebration and message.

There are arguments over the timeline regarding the book of Esther. But no matter where we place her in history, Esther was a prophetess, as was her uncle Mordecai, and together they called forth and requested the story be added to scripture and a celebration be instituted for all Jews. The fast was to be performed on the 13 the of Adar from dawn to dusk. Then the celebration part of Purim begins, accompanied by gift giving and feasting and dressing up.

So today I’m joining in the fast. I was interested to see that 13 Adar was a fast for warriors preparing for battle.

Be that as it may, it’s not the main message.

Rather, the message of Esther’s fast is one of hope; that in perilous times God, will hear and move, and provide a strategy, which by gifts and favour with man will prevail to preserve truth. That our very supernatural God works to do wonders in our complicated, natural lives. That is a very big promise and lively hope for many of us, but under the weight of the realities of our life we can become overcome, drowning in a sea of difficulties before us. Remembering Purim inspires us to remember to hope.

My fast before Esther today is a time where I meditate on our great salvation, that extends not only to our spirit, but also our life here in earth, where it’s messy and hard. My fast is one of preparation to war, calling out for supernatural enabling for the days ahead. God can and will make a way for us to continue. Join me in remembering the message that Esther’s story illustrates, and if but for a moment, reflect and suck something nourishing out of her story with its very great, albeit hidden insights, remembering the God who prevails supernaturally in our very natural lives.