So he spoke, and stirred the anger in the breast of Aeneas.

He went against Idomeneus, strongly eager for battle,

Yet no fear gripped Idomeneus as if he were a stripling,

but he stood his ground like a mountain wild boar who in the confidence

of his strength stands up to a great rabble of men advancing

upon him in some deserted place, and bristles his back up,

and both his eyes are shining with fire; he grinds his teeth

in his fury to fight off the dogs and men.  So

Idomeneus held his ground.

-Book XIII, The Iliad of Homer, Richard Lattimore

As we have moved into this study on Christian sexuality I have found my prevalent reaction to be one of fear.  This is not an unfamiliar feeling to me, nor (oddly enough) am I even uncomfortable with it.  In the crass utility of my inner reasoning I have found feelings to be very good sources of motivation, and since fear of failure is historically one of the most effective of all, I have made much use of it in times past to goad myself on to the purchase of whatever goal seemed most desirable to me.  It is an unfortunate tendency.  There is a reason why Christ told us to love our neighbors as we love ourselves and to do to them as we would have them do to us, not the other way around; if he had told us to love our neighbors as we imagine being loved and to do to them as we actually do to ourselves, he would have had a royal mess on his hands.  We are truly a people laden with iniquity, and it is a burden we have taken on ourselves.

Notwithstanding my issues with emotional self-manipulation, it was interesting that that was my first reaction.  I do not have anywhere near as good a reason as some do to be afraid of sex (because of abuse or dissipation), yet the feeling is still real and must be dealt with.  It is necessary to come to a place where I can acknowledge the validity of the emotion and still deal with it well, the first step of which is to stop ignoring it.  To that place, as the unfailing locus of the truth in any other emotional or physical struggle, we are brought in Scripture.

It is actually reported that there is sexual immorality among you, and of a kind that is not tolerated even among pagans, for a man has his father’s wife.

These words strike fear into my heart.  They are words of outrage, words of censure, words that fling open the door of my heart and come striding in on my subtle adultery, and stand aghast at it.    They are words that rise up in a terrible tower of righteous indignation that no sane human would ever take umbrage with, leaving me shamefacedly on the outside of the circle.  And I know not whether the greater wrong is the depth of my treachery or the poison of my cowardice.  I sin boldly in my heart, where I think nobody knows, but I quail at the thought of actually following through with my ungodly desires.  The least one could do would be to sin courageously and bring the house down on his head, but when you do not even have the guts to do that, God himself gets disgusted with you.  When he says “Choose you this day whom you will serve” he is perfectly serious.  He means to go ahead and cast your lot with the devil if that’s what you really want, because the battle is about to begin.  And if you’re still pondering your decision when the artillery starts up, you have already chosen your side.

It is evident that the fear is not unfounded.  Like Rick I will keep my confession simple, for there are details that are not beneficial to the body of Christ outside the boundaries of my accountability relationships, yet it is sufficient to know that I fall far short of the marks that have been set for me by others, by myself, and most of all by God.  I am afraid, and there is good reason for it.

But just because there is good reason to take a course of action does not compel us to follow it.  There are good reasons to give Beth back to her birth family, yet I will not – because both from a covenant and from a legal perspective she has a right to enjoy the benefits of being part of our family.  There are good reasons why my wife could be an organist at some big swanky church making enough to support my extravagant lifestyle (hmm, maybe I should rethink that one…  J), yet she does not – because a little congregation that meets in a gym and raises up the Holy Cross as its standard is as magnificent in the sight of God as any cathedral.  And although there are good reasons why I should live in fear of my sin and shame, yet I will not – because the message of the Gospel does not end in words of condemnation.

For the message of the Gospel is not one of shrinking back and being destroyed, but of believing and being saved.  In its winsome call it is a message for the faint of heart, and as such it is alone among the religions of the world; but he cannot long remain fainthearted who follows Jesus.  This is a desperate struggle we are called to.  But I think it would not be so sore a contest if it were only with principalities and powers that we had to wage our war.  This battle is carried all the way into our inmost being.  It is with our own flesh that we are pitted, locked in a mortal combat between good and evil.  Scripture confirms this for us: For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.  Now that I have grown to love God and his people, and so to love those around me whom I want to see brought into the Kingdom, I find my own self resisting that bond and inciting my very will to rebellion.  If it were merely me against the world and the devil, I think I could perhaps play the man fairly well; but when I have met the enemy and it is me, my courage crumbles.  Increased resolve is by its very definition self-annulling, and strategy is pointless.  The sky darkens above the battleground, and the adversary advances upon me like the shadows of the evening, and my destruction looms near.  Spurgeon once said that fear is the father of the fact, and I find dread quickly begetting despair in my heart.

The right answer to the question of fear is not a glib encouragement to squeeze your knuckles tighter and figure it out.  It is, instead, a shift of focus.  It was when Peter lost sight of the Master of wind and wave, that he made like an anchor.  It was when David put down his harp and let his psalm of praise trail off into a murmur of lust, that he jettisoned his sanctification and brought destruction to his family and his people.  It was when Eve turned aside from the world God had made her to rule over and let her imagination conceive of another one, in which she was the principal figure instead of God, that the former became death and the latter dissolved before her eyes.  And it is this same focus, fixing my eyes only upon Christ, that I need to lay hold of when the taunt of the Legion is hurled at me.  I hear “You are guilty” and I answer “I am baptized”, and I know that the punishment for my evil has been poured out on another.  I hear “You will fall again” and I answer “He will pick me up again”, and I know that seventy times seven is a technicality that Jesus rejoices to dispense with.  I hear “You are one of the sexually immoral who will not inherit the kingdom” and I answer “That is not who I am; a child of God is who I am”, and I remember that Jesus’ banner over me is love: how will he not also graciously give me all things?  And I stand up again, and I pick up my sword, and a grim delight in the violence of the fray comes over me, and I fight in all the power of the very Spirit of God.

There is a righteous fury that is permitted to the Christian at times like these.  It is a fey mood that cares nothing for the subtle attacks of the enemy, but moves forward into the melee of the mind, dealing out death with each stroke to every argument and lofty opinion that is raised against the knowledge of God.  It plants its feet in the field of lentils and defies all comers with the gleeful brashness of a holy Nil bastardi carborundum.  And it stands firm to the end, and it triumphs! and how can it not, for the one who is resting in the finished work of Christ has overcome already.  For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

The words that made me fear are true, but they were spoken by Jesus.  And he did not speak them to condemn me, but rather gave them as firmly fixed nails –by one Shepherd, to lead me to himself.  For we did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but we have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, “Abba!  Father!”  Come and stand with me in that truth.

Author: Jeremy Vogan

My name is Jeremy Vogan. I live in Staunton, VA with my wife and four kids. I love to write, and seek to honestly explore the intellectual and emotional implications of following Jesus as a deeply broken person in a twisted, cruel world that is full of veiled beauty and meaning. Writing is part of how I faithfully look for Jesus Christ to someday make all things new. I'd enjoy hearing your feedback! JV