Caedmon loves his puddle.

Submission, Authority and the Tumble to Glory

Submit. It is a word nobody seems to like, even conservative Christians who feel that Christian wives ought to. It occurred to me today that there is another helpful way of viewing this concept in marriage. Everything that the Bible requires of us in response to our salvation, every virtue, must be found in our Lord Jesus.  Jesus displayed perfect submission to his Father, when in the garden of Gethsemene, he said, "Nevertheless not what I will but what thou wilt."  Never was there a greater act of submission, no one has had to go farther than Jesus Christ. There is also no greater glorification than that of Jesus Christ: "Wherefore God also hath highly exalted him, and given him a name which is above every name: that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of things in heaven, and things in earth, and things under the earth: and that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father." Phil. 2:9-11. So, we see that with the obedience  of submission to those whom God has ordained authorities (and no others) comes glorification and honor.  Another virtue that Jesus Christ embodies is that of sacrificial authority. God the Son, incarnate and laying down his life for his people-this is how Christian husbands are to live with their wives, and again, because of the sacrifice of Jesus Christ he has been exalted to the highest place. 

So we see that husband and wife are both called to imitate Christ in their relationship in a particular way. Both are submit to the word in doing so. This results in glorification, the one of the other.  This is beauty; this is Christ and his bride in a miniature. For as a wife submits her will, and as the husband sacrifices his body both in small ways, they are imitating Christ, and as they imitate Christ in the specific ways particularly assigned, they are a more truthful picure of Christ and the church, and lest we devalue the church aspect of this image, we see that Paul prays for the Ephesians that "the eyes of your understanding being enlightened: that ye may know what is the hope of his calling and what the riches of the glory of his inheritance in the saints"  Eph.1:18. This leads us to the astounding conclusion that Jesus' inheritance in the saints i.e. the Church, is a rich one. Again in Ephesians we see a glorious picture of the culmination of all things in Christ: "That in the dispensation of the fullness of times he might gather together in one all things in Christ, both which are in heaven, and which are on earth; even in him" (Eph. 1:10). The glorious unity of Christ and his spotless bride is here, but not only that, this unity of Christ and his Church catches the church up into the glorious unity and indwelling of the eternal Trinity, Father, Son and Holy Spirit world without end. Amen.

Therefore husbands and wives have the immense privilege to picture in a tiny way the beauty of the good news, embodied in a particular way in their relationship with one another, and the more you think about that tiny picture of the gospel the more you are swept away into the greater mysteries of the glorious story.  Paul was (Eph. 5:32).


Post Scriptum: I am musing about marriage, and it sometime happens that someone stumbles upon a post like this and is offended because they are single, but I am not talking about the individual Christian life here. This is not a devaluing of other stages of life or other situations that God has put you in. In all things and everywhere imitate Christ.

Homemaking: A Calling or a Hobby?

Why do I find homemaking so fulfilling? Why is it that I have no doubts or worries, that I am not wondering about my identity or looking for something meaningful to do?  I ask myself this because it does appear to puzzle people.  I have people suggest to me that I am happy at home because I am the homemaking type, or that I just enjoy that sort of thing, which seems to imply that my favorite hobbies are baking cakes and sewing cushions to adorn my sofa.  This amuses me and has struck me as profoundly inaccurate.  It is indeed true to say that I enjoy making a cake or sewing a cushion, but not for their own sake.  In fact, my personality and gifts are probably less in the domestic arts than many women who feel they are losing their identity by staying at home.  As a girl and a student I tended towards being a bookworm and climbing every tree in range.  This of climbing trees and also reading in them did not diminish in college.  I found history, and literature, ancient mythology and old languages fascinating and deeply stirring. I only occasionally cooked, and I sewed even less.  Knitting and cross stitch still fail to captivate my mind. Cleaning the bathroom captivates me even less.  Adventure and academics sounded pretty darn good to me.  Either I have indeed lost my identity as so many women seem to fear for themselves or something else is going on.

I always knew even as a little girl that I wanted to be married and a mother who stayed at home.  I had my single missionary moment at twelve, considered rock climbing at the age of eight, but deep down, I knew what I really wanted.  This was because the most godly fruitful women in my life had no career and were not seeking the high places and yet their influence was and is profound, and the fruit of their labours in the small things was impressive.  Before I even had words to frame it I could smell the aroma of a wonderful God-given  calling.  Of course I grew in my understanding of this calling and found it in the scriptures.  I began to see how all of my knowledge and gifts could be offered up in this place.  I knew that when I left my parents’ roof my home would be my talent which I could either bury in the ground or  work and multiply it in order to offer it back to God.  

One of the scriptures that clearly emphasizes the calling of women to their homes is Titus 2:4-5.  It tells us what the older women are to teach the young women.   This means that it is a command from God and it is specific to women.  It says nothing about what women may not do, but it does delegate profound responsibilities to women:  “To be discreet chaste, keepers at home, obedient to their own husband, that the word of God be not blasphemed.”  Many would say that this was culture specific, but there is nothing in the context to suggest this--nothing but our modern desire for it to be true.  The desire to shirk these responsibilities is caused by a belief that they are not gifts, that they are not in fact good things, that it is burdensome and limiting to keep the home not to mention the obey your own husbands bit.  The human heart always wants to decide what is in fact good, noble and important instead of letting God.  We suspect God of tricking us out of a good thing, and like the serpent suggested in the garden,  keeping us from being like him, making us into servants.  This comes from a profoundly wrong view of God.  If we are his children, then he desires good things for us. How much more will our Father in heaven give us than the world will? We must stop fearing servanthood. Being a servant is good. It is what our Savior did.  He did not do this because servanthood was the goal, but because servanthood is the way to exaltation.  Homemakers are indeed serving in their homes, but the more they serve the more they are exalted

So why do I find my what I do fulfilling? Because it is not a hobby but a calling from God. If God has given me a gift, then it must be good; if God has given me a job to do than it must be meaningful.  It is that belief that gives me peace and joy in my calling, not an innate love of cake-baking, and sewing.  The many small jobs that are included in homemaking are meaningful only if they are making tangible the love that I have received from God and communicating it in the realm that I have complete dominion over. 

Creation

The narrow streets with cracks and patches of neglect tunnel between the grey dull dwellings, cold craftsmanship curtained and quiet, peering into another morning.

Then the autumn breeze breathes life as the Creator breathed on Adam’s clay. It comes with sun-gold riding on its back, brushing brick with painter’s care.

The poor works of mortal men are taken up into God’s tapestry, woven into a web. Bone’s of brick that leap to life, and then blaze bright on a blue canvass.

Just Remember

What a comfort it is to remember. Of course, being obedient is always a comfort and we are commanded to remember God’s commandments, and his works and deliverances. A part of that is remembering what our story is. After all He has written it. I find it difficult at times being uprooted in a land that is not my own. A bit like being a tulip bulb that was transplanted in the wrong season, trying to put down roots and getting a bit dehydrated. I am bewildered by a culture that is not my own. I don't have any of the survival instincts here. It is like walking into room while someone is in the middle of long story and having to guess what the beginning of the story was. Imagine that story was an unabridged Dostoyevsky novel. The guessing soon turns to utter confusion and mental collapse, and a desire to leave the room. I am beginning to realize that my problem is trying to guess the beginning of the centuries long novel of culture, war, chaos, church compromise, revival, and self misdiagnosed idiosyncratic class sensitivities, not that it hurts to try to learn a bit of history. The best solution is to remember my own story, and that walking into the middle of the Dostoyevsky novel is part of it. While wandering an English Street wondering why in the world everybody here is behaving the way they are, a sudden memory of say. . . my Grandfather’s chuckle, Presbyterians in the south, tracking turtles at midnight, jumping in a leaf pile in a homemade jumper, listening to blues in a hoodie, and eating corn dogs at a fair, not to mention psalm singing around bonfires in Idaho, crazy dancing to CCR during kitchen cleanup with my siblings, and singing medieval Latin songs at night with college buddies, hits me like a bucket of ice water over the head. Every bit of it is who I am and it is for some unknown reason, the back story to my current situation, and if you think of the lead up, the story ought to be pretty entertaining. After all, a good author never puts things in a story for no reason. Somehow, this has all lead up to me, the up-a-tree-bookworm of erstwhile, who did eventually learn how to navigate a doorway without hitting one side of it, in training to be a vicar’s wife in the church of England. The funny thing about it is that everybody currently entering stage right doesn’t know my story either. So, I am the only one in on the ironic moments. Since the scope of my story is much smaller than the one I seem to be joining, it is much easier for me to lose hold of it in the tangle of plots. Sometimes the only remedy is listening to bluegrass in my kitchen with the volume turned up.