Gary Chapman is coming to Moody this week.
A week of inventories that tell me I do not like being touched, but I love being complimented.
A week of thinking about love and dating, and everything else intrinsically romantic.
A week to to think about relationship.
It couldn't come at a better time in my life. After finishing a philosophy project about relational personhood and after spending two weeks contemplating Martin Buber's I and Thou, I am ready to think about relationship.
But before you start placing me in the "Ring by Spring" category, let me tell you what I've really been thinking about: intimacy.
From uninterrupted eye contact with a friendly and attractive acquaintance to a long walk home from church with an old friend, this week has reminded me what it means to be vulnerable, to experience intimacy the way God intended.
And its horrifying. In a meeting on Wednesday, I was asked to gaze deeply into the eyes of a fellow RA and say nothing for 3 minutes. I was uncomfortable with the idea, and if I would have been given enough time, I probably could have come up with a philosophical reason why I was against it, but in the moment, I sat with my legs crossed on the floor, like a kindergardener, and stared into the eyes of man I hardly know. I laughed at first, but as the nervousness began to show in my eyes, I knew he could read my uneasiness. The clock ticked slowly and with each penetrating stare, I felt like he was reading the secrets of my soul, as if my eyes were a teleprompter, scrolling through every thought, every desire, every weakness within me. Worse yet, I felt as if I was a trespasser into his soul; I was walking where I had not been invited.
When the speaker's timer went off, Joe wanted to chat about it and I gave blank statements about what I was feeling then promptly ran away, feeling violated for what he knew of me now in our silence, yet feeling like a creeper for reading his eyes for every trace of his soul and feeling like I might have found it.
They say eyes are the window to the soul, and there might be validity in that statement, but I would rather be invited in the front door than gaze in someone's window.
4 days later, in a rebellious moment, Emma and I skipped Sunday School and walked home from church. We had little to say and spent most of our walk discussing graffiti and tagging, wondering what really changes graffiti into 'street art.' Yet, walking side by side with one of my best friend, never looking into her eyes, I remembered just what it means to care about another person as a whole being.
If I wanted to, I could probably write you a list of reasons why Emma is a worthwhile human being. I could scribble down attributes that I find admirable and definitions of what makes us friends. Yet, I assure you, if numerical value could be given to each quality she possesses, the sum of my list, no matter comprehensive, could never equal my value for her. Likewise, if I went on a trip around world, casting for the role of a new Emma in my life, I assure you, even applicants that outshine her in every attribute that I appreciate, would be no replacement for her. I value Emma, as a whole being.
I may not have gazed deeply into her eyes, but there is something to be said about the intimacy of the relationship I have with her. We were made to value people as whole beings. We are designed to love others, to care for them not for the sum of their uses, but for their essential being.
I'll stop before I get into a theological treatise about personhood and otherness, or worse, script out the secrets of one of my three essays on the matter.
Instead, I'll end on this:
Matthew 26:36–46: When Jesus most needed his disciples to be with him, they fall asleep and disappoint him. When Christ rebukes them, he does not focus on his need, but on theirs.
Romans 15:2–3a: "Let each of us please his neighbor for his good, to build him up. For Christ did not please himself."
Thank you Jesus for not being disappointed when I fell asleep. And thank you Larissa, for loving me, for knowing me and loving me. I love the whole you, too.
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