DOUG EICHER
NOTEBOOK
Cheap Perfume7/14/2019 Sailors of the ancient Greek world used to tell stories of a darkness that was said to lurk on the islands off the coast of Italy. Beautiful creatures, known as "sirens", often taking the form of birds mixed with the bodies of beautiful women, were said to inhabit these islands. They were best known for their music, which they would employ to lure passing sailors to shipwreck on their rocky shores. While the men sat dazed by the beauty of their melodies, they would take them off their caves where they would dismember them and devour their bodies. They were considered to be highly dangerous creatures, mostly because they didn't employ force to capture their prey, but were able to lure them, willingly, to their deaths.
As followers of Christ, we sometimes have a bad habit of being deeply dishonest, especially when it comes to stuff like sexual addiction. We either don't talk about it, or else we simply refer to things like "every man's battle" or "sexual struggles" or the Christian catch-all: "lust". We shake our heads at what the world does in bedrooms and brothels, and we recoil in disgust at the way they mutilate their bodies to try to "find themselves". And yet, if we're honest, we're often guilty of the same kinds of perversions to which we hold them accountable. We love to pass judgments, but we find our pointing fingers are strangely weak when they begin to swing around in our direction. We condemn the dead for decaying, while we, the living, sip the sweet poison that killed them. We have books and seminars and workshops about everything from marriage to credit cards, and, yet, we're often strangely silent when it comes to sexuality. This begs the question: why? Why are we so afraid to talk about sexual sin, especially when we claim to personally know the Truth? I think it might be because we don't really know what to do with it. Marriages can be restored, debts can be paid off, and families can be reconciled, but we're not quite sure how to fit sexual addiction into a life that's supposed to be resurrected. When we look into Scripture, however, it's interesting to note that God does not share our silence. In the book of Proverbs, the author describes the seduction of a young man passing by the house of a married woman. She flatters him by describing how she has prepared herself for him and has made her bed with beautiful sheets from Egypt and scented it with spices. "Come," she invites him. "Let's drink deeply of love till morning; let's enjoy ourselves with love." She appeals to his vanity by making him feel special and reassures him that no one will find out. "My husband is not at home; he has gone on a long journey." She slowly and carefully breaks down his defenses, and eventually he accepts her invitation. The account ends with these sobering words: "All at once he followed her like an ox going to the slaughter, like a deer stepping into a noose till an arrow pierces his liver, like a bird darting into a snare, little knowing it will cost him his life." I have to admit that these words are mostly written to me. You see, I've been this young man so many times. I've listened to the voice of those sweet lies and I'm ashamed to say I've believed them more times than I would like to admit. I've convinced myself that it would be okay; that no one would find out, and, worst of all, that I deserved it. I've tried desperately to soothe my cracked and dry lips with cheap wine, only for it to turn to sand as it slips over my tongue. I've vowed to God and myself that I would never pour a drink from that bottle again, only to find my lips stained with its deadly sweetness soon after. The funny thing is, though, that I used to think I was the only one. I used to envision everyone else, living in their perceived spotless purity, while I silently tried to claw my way out of the gutter, muted by the thought of what people would say if they knew who I really was. But, when I finally did start to be honest with others about where I was, to my surprise, I found that their hands bore the same cuts and bruises of desperation I had tried so hard to hide. I found in them the same brokenness and shame I thought was exclusive to me. I suppose this is the part where I'm supposed to share with you the story of how I reached a point of desperation, and how I finally read the one book, or heard the one message, or joined the one men's group that brought me to overwhelming victory. In fact, I would love to share that story with you, but I can't. The truth is that I still find myself lured in by the siren's song. I still look for satisfaction in wells that at first sip seem so sweet, yet turn so bitter after the cup is empty. So what is the answer? I'm not sure that I know, but I can tell you what I've learned. For me, the victory that I have found has come only through honesty; both with God and with others. Because, you see, if there's anything that God hates more than the sickening sweetness of the siren's cheap perfume on my skin, it's the putrid stench of my excuses and my pathetic attempts at self-righteousness. So many times, I try to assuage my shame by passing responsibility, or clutching my perceived goodness like a dirty, tattered beach towel around my naked soul. But though I may be able to fool others, there is One who knows who I truly am, and He alone is able to heal me. And that is where I have found freedom and healing; not in my own willpower or my performance, but in coming to Him and acknowledging my desperate need of His grace and His power in my life. Because, you see, the power of the Gospel can only begin to heal us when we acknowledge that we need it; when we recognize that the fulfillment we so desperately seek can only be found in Jesus. But this won't happen in isolation. Just as shame and addiction are born and fed in darkness, so they are poisoned in the presence of honest community. Only in the company of fellow Jesus-seekers can we find the intimacy and the authenticity we need to begin to live the way we were always meant to live. But it can only happen if we're honest; not in self-aggrandizing generalities that tell people just enough to preserve a few shreds of our filthy self-righteousness, but in the brutal honesty through which the Gospel first came to us. Apart from that, we are left to suffer in silence in the siren's cave as she casts her spell, slowly tearing us apart, one muscle and sinew at a time, while all the while we beg her for just one more song. There's one more thing I want to leave with you; something I have been finding to be more true in my life with each passing day. As potent and deadly as the siren's poison may be, there is an antidote. The blood of Jesus, poured out for dirty, broken sinners like us, has the power to make us new. It alone can heal the scars left by the siren's fangs. It alone is our hope; our righteousness. Because, you see, even when I do fail, and I feel filthy and unworthy, I can recognize that this is really who I've been all along, and yet, not who God sees when He looks at me. We are all twisted and broken; we are all filthy and depraved before God, and yet the blood of Jesus is able to cleanse us and, best of all, to make us new. The Gospel is good news, not just because it accepts us as we are, but because it cannot leave us that way. The Gospel was never intended to be a Band-Aid; it was intended to be a transplant. When Jesus took that first breath in the tomb on Easter morning, not only was the power of sin and death destroyed; it was thrown into reverse. The very brokenness that was intended to destroy has become the door through which God's life can come into the world. If you or someone you know struggles with sexual addiction, take heart; there is hope. As the Apostle Paul so triumphantly put it, "We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life." It may take time; maybe even years, but, just as He promised, He will finish the work He started in you if you let Him. And that, my friend; that is good news. "This is all my hope and peace: nothing but the blood of Jesus. This is all my righteousness: nothing but the blood of Jesus."
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