Andrew Nagy

This isn’t my attempt at a profound explanation of how I was right all along. In a lot of ways I was very wrong. When I started this discussion, I may have had a slight desire to be recognized for my profundity and deepness of theological grasp. I understood then what I was doing. I could say that I “discovered” my motivations were askew, but that would be a lie since I knew from the beginning. There’s a fine line between recognizing and admitting, and it makes all the difference.

It’s been a while, and I haven’t really contributed much to the whole discussion anyway. But during the time I’ve been not posting, I’ve had lots of time to think about leadership and the husband’s role in marriage. I’ve been through a gauntlet in my mind, experiencing things I was only hypothesizing about. And after failures and pain, I’m sticking with my answer. Honestly, it’s probably not fair to say that there’s any one thing that is the most vital in a marriage. As Galadriel tells the Fellowship, “Your quest stands on the edge of a knife. Stray but a little and you will fall, to the ruin of us all.” I believe this is true in marriage, to a degree. There are many, many vital components that marriage depends upon. Remaining above reproach is one. Having a clear vision of the goal is another. Consistency, trustworthiness, humility. These are all vital. So why sacrifice? Why single it out so?

For a couple of reasons. First of all, because the text almost screams it. Ephesians. Enough said. That’s where I started, with theoretical knowledge. But recent events have left me knowing the significance of sacrifice in a much deeper way. No, nothing “big” has happened. Just a man looking into himself, one might say. I started out as a child playing with precious jewels. He knows them only as pretty, like common tin foil. But as he grows, he begins to gain a fuller understanding of the beauty of the thing. It’s not just that it’s shiny, but that all the facets fit together perfectly and create subtle plays of pure and perfect light.

People aren’t perfect. Everyone knows it. Everyone says it. Everyone still expects everyone else to be perfect. We’re Christians, so we know better. And we still expect other people to be perfect. We’re so unforgiving. We’re so defensive. We’re so self-loving. How many songs have you heard with a lyric to the effect of, “No one understands me”? We’re all so upset that no one has taken the time to “understand us” (whatever that means) that we never take the time to love people and help them. We further the cycle out of injured pride. But I digress.

Because people aren’t perfect, we have a hard time loving them. Because loving them means doing things for them. It means taking time out of our scheduled fun to do something for them. It means standing there, absorbing an argument, and not responding in anger. It means never giving up. It means saying you’re sorry when you know they won’t. It means never expecting to be vindicated in their eyes. It means being wronged and still doing the dishes. It means never acting out of revenge. It means giving up fun activities to prove you’re not addicted to them, even if you’re not. It means being willing to give up any joy, bear any abuse, and outperform anyone else in good deeds of love. It means sacrifice.

Behind sacrifice, behind humility, behind vision, behind consistency, integrity and everything else there is love. And it does not originate with us. When you try to use your own corrupted love to achieve a task of divine proportions such as marriage, you’ll fail miserably. The reason it’s hard to love people who aren’t perfect is because it’s not really love. What you’re really doing is seeking your own. You only serve so that person will think better of you or give you some reward. You only give in so they won’t be mad, not because you think they’re right. You become bitter. You begin to become unhappy, and to take pleasure in unhappiness. You fester your real and imagined hurts into a swelling ball that absorbs you. When you started out, you both had faults, you just wished the other would apologize as well as you did. Then, as time progressed, you saw less and less of it being your fault until you start creating your own pain just so you blame someone else. It consumes you and you love it. And hate it. You hate yourself and your mate for all the pain you created but you wouldn’t let go no matter how perfect the other became. And there’s no imagined psychological condition you can blame. It isn’t because your parents didn’t show love right. It isn’t because you didn’t have friends as a child. It’s because your corrupted love only allows you to love one thing. Yourself. And that imperfectly.

But if we truly are children of God, loving because we were first loved, we can avoid such pitfalls. We can escape the horror of self-love. We can find true happiness in marriage through hardship and pain. We can apologize in sincerity, without expectation of the same. We can perform the most menial, undignified tasks that bring no joy except to know the other didn’t have to do it. We can find happiness in toil. We can find the truth in harsh words and thank the giver for them. We can react in kindness to unjust words. We can love. Truly love. Love that allows true self-sacrifice. It allowed Paul to say that he wanted to be accursed so that his countrymen could be in paradise. Paul’s countrymen stoned him. They rejected the Good News he loved so dearly and they beat him for speaking it. They hated Paul. And he loved them. He would give his life and eternal joy to see them have something they rejected in hardness of heart. He would rather them have joy then him.

Paul received his example from Christ. Christ who died for those who spit at Him. For those who saw His open arms and chose decay and rottenness instead. For those who rejected His beauty. Owing so much, having been given so much, should we not do the same? How can we not?

At the end of last week, my new niece was born.

Last Saturday, Eric and Rebecca became one flesh.

Last night, my Great Grandmother died at 93.

My earliest memories of her are of Christmas when we’d go over to her assisted living apartment. She was elderly, no doubt, but vibrant. I played under her tree with a train set. She always smiled and was soft and tender. I took a half day yesterday to see her for what I knew would be the last time. She was in a coma of sorts, and they couldn’t give her water. She would choke if it was administered orally, and her system couldn’t process it through her blood. I saw a shell of a human being, at the very end.

“The very end.” I can expound all day about how I don’t believe that. But, in all frankness, death still scares me. It comes naturally to live here, plant roots in this life. It is comfortable to put trust in what I see and feel. It makes sense to make for myself a life of stability and joy here. And yet, try as I might, I will never be further from that ideal than at the end, after all my strength has shriveled up. My bones will be weak, my muscles tired, and my mind frail. In a strain for autonomy I will have only accomplished my own total dependence. It’s like something Alanis Morissette would have written about if she had looked up the definition of the word “ironic” in the dictionary before she wrote her song. There’s a song called, “When in Rome” and the last stanza goes like this…

Where can a dead man go
The question with an answer only dead men know
But I’m gonna bet they never really feel at home
If they spent a lifetime learning
How to live in Rome

There’s some truth in this. If we spend our efforts learning how to fit in here, how to live and grow and be safe and happy in this world, it seems obvious that death will be terrifying. But Christ calls us to do something we don’t think of intuitively. We are to put our hearts in a place we’ve never been to. We’re to trust in a Being we’ve never seen. No wonder the gospel seems foolishness. And yet, considering the finality of death, anything in this life seems futile. If there is no after-death, this life is futility. If there is an after-death to put our trust to, we haven’t seen it or know anything of it. And so each man finds himself in between a rock and a chasm… and the ground he’s on is quickly crumbling. It is to this context that the gospel comes.

To abandon this life is to live.

American entertainment is an enemy of the gospel. Don’t believe me? Turn on the TV. On second thought, just take my word for it. TV is one of those subtle “gray areas” about which modern day Christians can loudly proclaim, “You can’t tell me not to! The Bible doesn’t say not to!”

Philippians 4:8
8 Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.

True, many shows on television aren’t really that bad. Maybe they only contain some suggestive dialogue, not any actual “scenes.” Maybe the language really isn’t that bad when you compare it to a lot of other stuff out there. So answer me a question… when did our standards conform to the world? When did we decide that something is only considered “bad” relative to how close it comes to whatever is “really really bad” around it? If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a hundred times… we’re so worried about what we can get away with we’ve forgotten what gives God glory. Christian living is not merely a matter of negation. What do I mean by that? We don’t live this life saying, “I don’t do that, I can’t do this, I won’t do that….” That line of thinking had landed us right where we are. Instead, we must realize that this life is a matter of positive and negative. “I can’t do this but I must do that.”

1 Corinthians 10:31
So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God.

Notice, it does not say, “Whatever you do, make sure it doesn’t offend God that much.” It says, do all to the glory of God. All. Without exception. No time off, no sabatical, no breaks. Every thought, every action, every motive, every single second of every single day you are to do all your best to give Him glory. If you’re vegging on TV, video games, movies, music, the internet, or one of the many things this culture of entertainment dangles in your eyes, you are making yourself dull. You are not glorifying God.

How dare I make such assertments? How dare I? I dare to do nothing but proclaim God’s Word. I earnestly desire for us (especially we who are young) to not give ourselves to these distractions. I know there isn’t anything explicitly bad in that, but is there anything good? Does it cause you to give glory to God? Do you love Christ more because of it? If the answer is no, you had better examine your heart well before you continue in that activity.

This run, this race, this whole-hearted faith is not a hobby. Hear me. It is not your latest fad, it is not your mission. This faith is YOUR LIFE. If it does not consume you, you have either become dull or you never understood it in the first place.

Hebrews 12
1 Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, 2 looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God. 3 Consider him who endured from sinners such hostility against himself, so that you may not grow weary or fainthearted.

Notice the author does not simply say, “lay aside every sin,” but also “every weight.” Please, listen to him. We must lay aside all things that do not aid the race. We’ve all heard the sermons a million times, in a million different ways. Listen to it. We must not become dull, we must press on.

I have allowed my senses to be entangled for far too long. I have become a victim of all I have just described. Nay, not a victim, a culprit. May God give me grace to correct these evil attitudes in my heart. Amen.

But first, a couple thoughts of introduction. First off, I know I ripped the beginning of the title off of some song or something, but I just can’t remember what, so if you know it, give me a shout out and let me know.

Second, the rebuke offered after my last post was at first met with hostility and for that I’m thankful. Not that I was hostile, but that I have good, godly friends (the greatest of whom is my loving wife) who are willing to put forth honest (though at times slightly sarcastic) advice. ;) It is true, I have played this game too much and it has interfered with my life. Shame on me and all those who suffer similar distractions (I am praying for you). Not that I think there is anything inherently wrong with the use of video games, but the overuse that poses the problem. Alas, that is for another post. In any case, thank you once again. I have gotten off my butt, I am thinking again.

Which brings me to my third point of introduction. Tonight, I attended my first class of my last semester: Theology of Christian Ministry, taught by my pastor, Dr. John Greever. After sitting for around three hours in a cramped chair learning about things most people would doze off during, I realized… I love this. I love thinking, I love theology, I love God. It has been too long since I’ve made an attempt at sharpening my mind and tonight felt like a spring breeze. It was wonderful. So that’s why I’m writing this post, because a couple nights ago my wife posed a question to me. We were in the car and I was listening to my usual playlist of mello depressing tunes and singing right along. She was disturbed, however. She said, “How can you listen to these things and not become depressed? How do you not let this affect you?” Honestly, I couldn’t think of an answer. Perhaps I was just calloused? Dead to emotions I longed to feel and express? However, I thought not so, but could not explain why. So tonight, after thinking for three hours, I decided to think some more. I decided to try and figure out an answer. Here is what I came up with.

I don’t listen to all sad music. There is what I believe is called “emo punk rock” that I don’t much appreciate (and that’s a general statement; I do like some very small portion of it. Why I do is following…). Though they obviously dwell on sadness and hurt, I don’t seem to find myself entranced the same way I do with the sad music I have come to love and cling to. Here is why I think that is. There is so much ingenuous sadness in our culture. When the saddest things people can sing about are two week breakups and bad hangovers I feel I am about to vomit. There is genuine beauty in what the artists I listen to are singing about. Not only is there genuine sadness, but there is adept articulation. There is depth in their sadness, and they express it with depth. Not that all depth is a good thing. Deep evil or wrong is still wrong. What I mean is this: They have felt deep, genuine sadness and express it in deep, meaningful ways. There is beauty in that. There is beauty in frailty, there is beauty in authentic humility. Though most of the artists I listen to probably don’t intend to convey that humility, they do through their expressed emotions. They realize they are fragile, breakable human beings, and lest it gets old from me saying it… There is beauty in that.

That’s why I love the music I do. That’s why it doesn’t depress me but instead fill me with a sense of awe at how frail we are and how deeply hurt we can be, and how great our God is. So, if you would like to take up the discussion and point out any flaws I might (and probably do) have in my arguments, you are welcome. But please do be gentle. This is something I take great joy in, and do not believe to be harmful or detrimental to my spiritual well-being (though it might be for others, my wife admittedly included).