Paige Benton Brown is an RUF Staff person at
the University of Virginia. She previously served with RUF at
Vanderbilt University.
Had I any vague premonition of my
present plight when I was six, I would have demanded that Stephen
Herbison (incontestably the catch of the second grade) put his marriage
proposal into writing and have it notarized. I do want this piece to be
practical, so to all you first-graders: carpe diem.
Over the
past several years I have perfected the artistry of escape regarding
any singles functions--cookouts, conferences, Sunday school classes,
and my personal favorite, putt-putt. My avoidance mechanism is
triggered not so much by a lack of patience with such activities as it
is by a lack of stomach for the pervasive attitudes. Thoreau insists
that most men lead lives of quiet desperation; I insist that many
singles lead lives of loud aggravation. Being immersed in singles can
be like finding yourself in the midst of "The Whiners" of 1980s
Saturday Night Live-- it gives a whole new meaning to "pity party."
Much
has been written in Christian circles about singleness. The objective
is usually either to chide the married population for their
misunderstanding and segregationism or to empathize with the unmarried
population as they bear the cross of "Plan B" for the Christian life,
bolstered only by the consolation prizes of innumerable sermons on 1
Corinthians 7 and the fact that you can cut your toenails in bed. Yet
singles, like all believers, need scriptural critique and instruction
seasoned by sober grace, not condolences and putt-putt accompanied with
pious platitudes.
John Calvin's secret to sanctification is the
interaction of the knowledge of God and knowledge of self. Singles,
like all other sinners, typically dismiss the first element of the
formula, and therein lies the root of all identity crises. It is not
that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, but that life has no
tragedy like our God ignored. Every problem is a theological problem,
and the habitual discontent of us singles is no exception.
Can
God be any less good to me on the average Tuesday morning than he was
on that monumental Friday afternoon when he hung on a cross in my
place? The answer is a resounding no. God will not be less good to me
tomorrow either, because God cannot be less good to me. His goodness is
not the effect of his disposition but the essence of his person--not an
attitude but an attribute.
I long to be married. My younger
sister got married two months ago. She now has an adoring husband, a
beautiful home, a whirlpool bathtub, and all-new Corningware. Is God
being any less good to me than he is to her? The answer is a resounding
no. God will not be less good to me because God cannot be less good to
me. It is a cosmic impossibility for God to shortchange any of his
children. God can no more live in me apart from the perfect fullness of
his goodness and grace than I can live in Nashville and not be white.
If he fluctuated one quark in his goodness he would cease to be God.
Warped theology is at the heart of attempts to "explain" singleness: *
"As soon as you're satisfied with God alone, he'll bring someone
special into your life"--as though God's blessings are ever earned by
our contentment. * "You're too picky"--as though God is frustrated by our fickle whims and needs broader parameters in which to work. *
"As a single you can commit yourself wholeheartedly to the Lord's
work"--as though God requires emotional martyrs to do his work, of
which marriage must be no part. * "Before you can marry someone
wonderful the Lord has to make you someone wonderful"--as though God
grants marriage as a second blessing to the satisfactorily sanctified.
Accepting
singleness, whether temporary or permanent, does not hinge on
speculation about answers God has not given to our list of whys, but
rather on celebration of the life he has given. I am not single because
I am too spiritually unstable to possibly deserve a husband, nor
because I am too spiritually mature to possibly need one. I am single
because God is so abundantly good to me, because this is his best for
me. It is a cosmic impossibility that anything could be better for me
right now than being single. The psalmists confirm that I should not
want, I shall not want, because no good thing will God withhold from me. Such
knowledge of God must transform subsequent knowledge of
self--theological readjustment is always the catalyst for renewed
self-awareness. This keeps identity right-side-up with nouns and
modifiers in their correct place. Am I a Christian single or am I a
single Christian? The discrepancy in grammatical construction may be
somewhat subtle, but the difference in mindset is profound. Which word
is determinative and which is descriptive? You see, we singles are
chronic amnesiacs--we forget who we are, we forget whose we are. I am a
single Christian. My identity is not found in my marital status but in
my redemptive status. I am one of the "haves," not one of the
"have-nots."
Have you ever wondered at what age one is
officially single? Perhaps a sliding scale is in order: 38 for a Wall
Street tycoon; 21 for a Mississippi sorority girl; 14 for a Zulu
princess; and five years older than I am for me. It is a relevant
question because at some point we see ourselves as "single," and that
point is a place of greater danger than despair. Singleness can be a
mere euphemism for self-absorption--now is the "you time." No wife to
support? No husband to pamper? Well, then, by all means join three
different golf courses, get a weekly pedicure, raise emus, subscribe to
People. Singleness is never carte blanche for selfishness. A spouse
is not a sufficient countermeasure for self. The gospel is the only
antidote for egocentricity. Christ did not come simply to save us from
our sins, he came to save us from our selves. And he most often rescues
us from us through relationships, all kinds of relationships.
"Are you seeing anyone special?" a young matron in my home church asked patronizingly.
"Sure," I smiled. "I see you and you're special."
OK, my sentiment was a little less than kind, but the message is true.
To
be single is not to be alone. If someone asks if you are in a
relationship right now, your immediate response should be that you are
in dozens. Our range of relational options are not limited to getting
married or to living in the sound-proof, isolated booth of Miss America
pageants. Christian growth mandates relational richness. The only
time folks talk about human covenants is in premarital counseling. How
anemic. If our God is a covenantal God then all of our relationships
are covenantal. The gospel is not about how much I love God (I
typically love him very little); it is about how much God loves me. My
relationships are not about how much friends should love me, they are
about how much I get to love them. No single should ever expect
relational impoverishment by virtue of being single. We should covenant
to love people--to initiate, to serve, to commit.
Many of my
Vanderbilt girls have been reading Lady in Waiting, a popular book for
Christian women struggling with singleness. That's all fine and dandy,
but what about a subtitle: And Meanwhile, Lady, Get Working. It is a
cosmic impossibility for God to require less of me in my relationships
than he does of the mother of four whose office is next door. Obedience
knows no ages or stages.
Let's face it: singleness is not an
inherently inferior state of affairs. If it were, heaven would be
inferior to this world for the majority of Christians (Mom is
reconciled to being unmarried in glory as long as she can be Daddy's
roommate). But I want to be married. I pray to that end every day. I
may meet someone and walk down the aisle in the next couple of years
because God is so good to me. I may never have another date and die an
old maid at 93 because God is so good to me. Not my will but his be
done. Until then I am claiming as my theme verse, "If any man would
come after me, let him . . . "
