Denouement

During the emotionally difficult times of my separation and divorce, music was an important part of how I managed my grief. I found several songs that resonated with my grief and even seemed to carry the weight of that grief for me.

One song with that sort of sustaining effect was Josh Garrels' Ulysses.

I’m holding on to hope that one day this could be made right
Cause I’ve been shipwrecked and left for dead and I've seen the darkest sights

Those lines captured my confused state perfectly. Sadly – I think tragically – H and I still hurt each other far beyond what either of us wish. It is still a devastating shipwreck. But I have also held an almost naive hope that redemption was still possible.

Although much of the rest of the lyrics do not reflect my situation, the anguished tone does. He notes that there are false hopes to be resisted, like the deadly sirens in Homer's The Odyssey:

Sirens call my name, they say they’ll ease my pain, then break me on the stones

But after six years, I bring good news. A month ago I remarried!

I will say straight away that we cannot expect that will always be the outcome. Some of you guys will continue alone. Some will embrace and enjoy that singleness and for others it will be frustrating, lonely and like being half a person.

Nevertheless, for me, this is a very exciting new adventure. Also scary. The risk of marriage seems so much greater to those of us who know how badly it can go wrong.

A few months before our wedding I was reminded of one of my favourite songs from the 70's – Steely Dan's Home at Last, which also draws on the imagery of Ulysses, tied to the mast of his ship to avoid the lure of the sirens.

Well the danger on the rocks is surely past
Still I remain tied to the mast

After the brokenness and self-doubt, I appreciated that thought. Perhaps the danger was past and I could relax again.

Could it be that I have found my home at last?
Home at last.

I'm beginning to think I am.



... and so they all lived happily ever after.

I hope.


--Nat.

You shall have no other gods before me

This post is way out of time sequence: it’s based on stuff I thought about months ago, but seems more relevant now in the light of my complaints against God. I claimed to have given God my complete allegiance, but to be honest, I have allowed H to displace God. That’s a type of idolatry and has damaging consequences for both her and myself.

When there has been a conflict (perceived or real) between what H wants of me and what God wants of me, I have often chosen H. I have set aside what I took to be a clear call from God to peacemaking in xxx. I set aside my commitment to live simply. I gave God less of my time and money. I stopped putting into practice my understanding of ecclesiology.

In part, I was conscious of the conflict and believed that I was doing the right thing by making our marriage a #1 priority. Over time I just fell into a habit of putting H first. Had I made the opposite decisions, as though my relationship with H was not itself a godly pursuit, would things have turned out any better? How is that balancing act supposed to work? Would God call someone into marriage and then call them towards something incompatible with that marriage? I thought not, and chose to comply with H. Now H is seeing a similar incompatibility and choosing God. Perhaps she is making the more holy choice. But if that is the case, then God is a mean bastard.

My idolatry is shown not only in those compromises, but also, perhaps more significantly, in my expectation that I would find satisfaction/joy/happiness in H rather than God. I have treasured her above all else – and believed that I was doing the right thing. Sadly, rather than making H feel good, those attitudes of mine have made her feel smothered and inadequate.

Sin always has its consequences, and the wages demanded in this case seem to be the death of my marriage.

A friend suggested that the issue may be my elevation of the concept of marriage rather than my elevation of H. That was the case for Sheldon Vanauken, who describes the idealisation of romantic love in his auto-biographical “A Severe Mercy”. He and his wife had the “perfect” marriage that was cut short by her untimely death to cancer. In a letter to Vanauken, C. S. Lewis described the death as a severe mercy, suggesting that if the idol of their marriage had been left unchallenged, the spiritual consequences for both husband and wife might have been something worse. I don’t think that applies to my view on marriage, though certainly may apply to my attitude to H.

I can see how making an idol of H has made me less happy. I have become naïve in the sense that Robert Bly uses in “Iron John” (that’s such an accurate description of me I shall leave the details until the next post). This idolatry has also made me lose track of what I enjoy. I have held as a principle “Glorify God and do what you want”, but the second phrase only works in the light of the first. Having displaced God, I have undermined the ability to seek what I want.

There have been consequences for H as well. To the extent that I thought my happiness depended on her and treated her as an object of worship, I have created an image that she could never live up to. I don’t mean that I have idealised her and then felt let down by the reality of her faults; I mean that placing her at the centre of my life has imposed an unholy burden of responsibility on her. She has felt unworthy in that position but unable (until now) to escape the burden. She says she felt smothered by my affection and judged by my goodness.

One thing that is clear to me is that I must make sure not to fill the hole left by H with anything other than God. I am purposefully keeping myself busy so that I don’t cycle into depression or isolation. But what I must avoid is seeking meaning or happiness in those things, or worse, in other people.

—Nat

Sexual frustration and the role of marriage

[This post has taken me a long time to write and perhaps it is too long, too raw and too personal. But I write honestly, in the hope that it also reflects others’ experience and that by me writing it down publically, others may feel some vicarious release.]

Sex has never delivered to me the promise it seems to offer.

In my youth I chose to be a follower of Jesus and inherited from the Christian tradition a commitment to sexual abstinence before marriage and absolute fidelity in marriage. The two go hand-in-hand: abstinence before marriage is really just one aspect of fidelity to a future partner. Monogamy – I mean lifelong monogamy, not what’s become known as “serial monogamy” – is not only unpopular these days, but for many it is a perplexing option. Indeed it is fast becoming unimaginable to many people.

Sex was once reserved as an expression of long-term commitment. Although that wasn’t always the reality, it was the ideal. It seems to me that two changes have happened to that ideal in my lifetime. In the 1960’s and 70’s the view took hold that sex was an expression of love rather than of commitment. If you were in love with someone, why would you not want to have sex with them, and why should it not be legitimate to do so? More recently, sex has become something exploratory prior to any declaration of love. I recall the stars of Sex in the City debating how many times one should have sex with a new “partner” before expecting one or other to say “I love you.”

Those two changes seem to me to constitute a radical reconceptualisation of both sex and marriage, and certainly show that I am way behind the times. I have always thought that the frustration inherent in the “constraint” of monogamy was worthwhile because it would lead to a deeper joy, though it is fair to say that I am disillusioned with that principle at the moment.

BC – Before Consummation :^)
In teenage years, with no useful role model, I simply repressed my growing sexual desires, thinking that they were somehow wrong. But I found that denying them is both impossible and self-destructive.

During my twenty’s I understood a lot more about sublimating sexuality by rechanneling the energy towards other endeavours. That was an extremely productive and rewarding period. Not only was I involved in (what I took to be) meaningful projects, but the self-training in restraint, the commitment to treat women as real subjects rather than objects, and the discipline of delaying gratification were all important in making me a man, and I think, preparing me for marriage. I think I did that in a healthy manner, though it did mean a lot of conscious turning away from “temptation” and unconsciously presenting an image to girls that said “I’m not available or interested.”

Although I didn’t actively seek marriage, or sex, I yearned deeply to find someone to whom I could give my self fully and without reserve. In marriage I sought someone with whom I could form a true partnership. A relationship in which both of us could feel not only the warmth of love but also the total security of lifelong commitment and the freedom to be ourselves without fear of rejection. And I hoped we would discover and explore the pleasures of sex together.

During Marriage 
When I found the woman of my dreams and we were married, I mistakenly thought that the time to enjoy my sexuality had come. As I wrote previously, it seemed to me that my penis was at last doing what it was designed for. I experienced a sigh of contentment, a belief that my sexuality was at last able to be expressed in a wholesome giving to another. A sense that a longstanding longing had found it's true resting place. That my half had become a whole. That my sexuality could be the missing jigsaw piece in another's puzzle. That I could offer to H the ideal gift: one that comes from my heart (all good gifts are an offering of one's self) to nourish the joy in her heart.

But those feelings didn’t progress.

I remember an older friend saying that the problem with short-term sexual relationships was that there was not enough time to learn how to enjoy sex. He claimed that sex only became really satisfying after 15 years with the same person. Well that didn’t work for us! Sex didn’t provide any deep satisfaction – to either of us – at any point in our 19 years together. My yearning for intimacy banged up against the invisible wall of H’s passivity and self-protection. In sexuality, probably more than any in other area of our relationship, I have felt rejected to the core.

As is stereotypical of guys, I wished for more frequent sex that H did, and often felt the pain of my advances being rebuffed. She was the gatekeeper with total control over when we had sex. But that’s commonplace. In many cases she would wait until I was clearly desperate before throwing me a bone out of pity. I remember once, after three months with no sex, crying and begging H to understand what she was doing to me. There was no joint journey of discovery and our sexual repertoire was limited to two positions under the covers with the lights off.

But more important to me than the frequency or blandness of sex was her lack of any real interest in my sexuality. Rarely any discussion of sex. No response to my requests. There was no encouragement from H if I was doing anything right, or suggestions from her about what I could do better. There were very few times in the whole 19 years together when H would initiate either sex or even a romantic event. She never tried to seduce me and never even undressed for me. In short, I had H’s permission to have sex from time to time, but rarely her real assent or engagement.

One of the lies that marketers of sex propose is that good sex depends on physical beauty. That’s why we men all irrationally think that the glamorous models we see in the media would be the most satisfying sex partners. Through my relationship with H, I’ve come to believe that it is not good looks, but real desire that makes for the best sex. I enjoyed sex most when my wife seemed to actually want it. The converse, having sex with someone who doesn’t seem to want it, is disappointing and demoralising. Sex that is not mutually desired is empty. (I find the idea of rape not only obnoxious but very perplexing. How can there possibly be pleasure in forced sex? That is absolutely foreign to me. It would be like rubbing one’s penis against a brick.)

All of that is not to discount the pleasure I, and occasionally we, enjoyed. Sex with H has been the most pleasurable experience of my life. Nothing else comes close. It is the activity more than any other that I would wish to repeat.

My biggest frustration is that throughout our marriage there seems to have been the potential for so much more fun and deep joy, if only H had sought it. I lived with the hope of unlocking that potential for maybe 14 years before coming to the understanding that this was all H had to offer me; that she was not able to engage in any deeper intimacy.

AD (After Divorce) 
But then H started to be more honest about her experience of our whole history together, and admitted that she had never wanted to marry me and had lived with the shame of doing so from day 1. She felt trapped and smothered. The lifelong commitment I took to be my most valuable gift to her, she saw as a chain. Instead of seeing the complete giving of myself as a blessing, she experienced it as an oppressive constraint that imposed on her an obligation she could not meet.

It is horrendous for me to hear from H that in the latter part of our marriage she would frequently want to cry after sex. I think something like that pain actually goes back a long time for her. When we used to have sex, the show would be over as soon as the first one of us climaxed. I was never told “Wow that was nice, let’s do some more”. She would turn her back to me and go to sleep. That was always disappointing to me, but now it sits like an accusation against me, and a judgement on my manhood, questioning the validity of the pleasures I once felt.

She has also spoken of how she too longs for a more intimate and sexually expression relationship. But I am not the man with whom she wants it.

H clearly enjoyed sex on some occasions, but for some reason I don’t understand, it was not the sort of pleasure she sought to repeat. I am angry that she didn’t perceive the potential joy that I so clearly see in sex, and angry that she has not understood my desire, my craving for it. And now as our marriage dies, I am angry that she has removed that pleasure from my reach.

It is true that I could probably find someone willing to have sex with me for pleasure or money, perhaps eventually even someone who wishes it out of love. But for now I continue the commitment to monogamy I have held for 35 years, a wasted fidelity to H that started well before we met. I grieve the fact that I cannot give myself to another in the way I gave myself to H. That is not just psychologically difficult, it is literally impossible. I cannot become a virgin again. I cannot say to another lover that I have saved myself for her. I cannot say that she is the only one.

Despite that, I still maintain a voluntary commitment to the constraint of monogamy and would recommend the same to my kids. The problem is that I can no longer justify that commitment by the belief that short-term restraint is made worthwhile by deeper future joy. The promise of that deeper joy is a fraud.

Since we stopped having sex, moved to separate bedrooms and then formally separated, my sexual options have become more limited, and the frustration has increased. After a few months of masturbation and porn at least daily, I hated the way that desire could control me. It is unrelenting, corrosive and demeaning.

So now I am trying to put my sexual desire aside. Sublimating that desire now, however, is a more difficult struggle than before I was married. That struggle takes two forms. One form relates to changing the way I respond to beautiful women. When I was married, I could transfer the desire created by that person over to my wife. But that strategy can no longer work. In time, I will re-enter the so-called “dating scene” and start building relationships with women that may lead to new intimacy and sex. I’m not there yet, but that doesn’t mean the natural appetite is dormant. In the meantime, is there a healthy and respectful outlet for such desire? (Perhaps “respectful” is not the best word, but I use it here as the opposite of “lustful”. Lust treats a woman as an object whose sole value is to satisfy – in reality or in our dreams – one’s desire. Lust demeans the woman and as a consequence demeans one’s self.)

The struggle to put sexual desire aside also takes a more purely physical form in the need for orgasm. I do not think it is possible for me to not have orgasms. But nor do I want to allow that inevitability to turn into an addiction, and I know that to be a real risk.

The trouble is that suspending the natural and God-given desire for sex means I am killing part of myself. I can turn the energy into other pursuits but when I’m not busy I am lost. I miss the touch of lips, the feel of the skin between her legs, the softness of her breasts. I ask God to fill the gap that H has left in my life but what could possibly replace that physical touch?

Is there no middle ground between killing this desire and letting it control me? Yes, of course there is – releasing the insistence of sexual energy is one of the primary purposes of marriage! A monogamous life-long marriage is precisely the societally beneficial and God-planned context in which the natural seed of sexual desire can blossom.

I am so freaking angry that the opportunity has been lost.

—Nat

Another N.W.Clerk on marriage vows

I can't believe that there's another N.W.Clerk writing a blog! Well, he was for a short time back in 2007 anyway. What he wrote on marriage vows is quite insightful, and since his blog has faded out and these words may be lost forever, I quote them here (mis-spellings and all) ...

When I promised myself to my wife, I merely articulated reality, that I was hers. I don't think it would have been possible to be otherwise. I be ready to make a vow of marriage, is to be already married, is to already have given yourself to that person. That commitment is always already present. Thus, I haven't yet kept my marriage vow, they've been descriptive rather than prescriptive.

One cay i may find myself in a place where my vows aren't descriptive, where I dont long to/want to be hers. At that point, and only at that point, does my marriage become living and active. Neverthelss not my will, but my word be done.

I was talking to my brother about a friend who has walked out on his wife. "You can live with a girl and no one cares, but if you're gonna marry her then you're in for the long hall" he said. Precisely. When men walk out on their wives (and vice versa) because they "don't feel in love" or "don't love her like I did" they have missed that magical moment where a farce can become a vow. Where a description can become a promise, where easy words become hard promises. Men who walk out when it becomes hard, when it requires sacrifice, or forgiveness, or change have only proved that they were never really married, that they spoke too soon, that they were tested and found wanting.

Marriage is an uncessecary promise made for when it will become necessary. It creates a void that will be filled with suffering rather than desertion, but that suffereing will produce hope and perfect faith.

No wonder the apostle Paul couldn't talk about marriage without talking about Christ and the church.
No wonder James told people suffering for Christ to rejoice.

One day when the gloss has worn off my marriage and life offers me a shinier, prettier, new, exciting other way and I turn aside and say "I can't I'm married" a little bit of me will rejoice, because for the first time I will know for certain I am.