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

The reason for sexual purity

A good friend has suggested that I think more about the nature of my commitment to sexual purity. Was it a commitment to my wife, for the pragmatic reason that relationships works out better on that basis? Or was it a commitment to God, for some higher, more principled reason?

Seems to me, as is clear in this other post, that I have held to the former idea. And consequently, now that my marriage has failed, the commitment to sexual purity seems pointless. But my friend’s question deserves further thought and prayer. How does my allegiance to Christ inform the expression of my natural sexual desires? What’s the spiritual purpose of abstinence?

I do not believe that God’s instructions to us on holy living are arbitrary or designed to frustrate us. And yet I don’t know if I can continue to cope without sex. My attempts to kerb my physical sexual urges have not been successful over the last year and I do not see how it is possible to continue for another year. It brings no joy and seems meaningless. How can this be God’s intent? And where is the "way of escape" promised in 1 Corinthians 10:13?

For several weeks I have been seriously investigating the option of turning to an “escort” and imagining how it would play out. What would it achieve? At what risk? Several people have advised me that this is a time when I should be looking after my own interests and caring for myself: I think they’d be surprised to know the direction of my thinking in that regard!

Today, that option seems less attractive than it was. Although it seems like fun, it does not yet seem right. So that plan is on hold -- for now. But something must change. Abstinence is killing me.

Hate is not a normal part of my vocabulary, but I absolutely hate this situation I am in. And I am angry that H has forced me into a position where I am considering such as option. I hate the waste of time and energy I am spending to mutilate a part of me that should have been a source of joy and blessing.


In this and other matters I am really lost. I don’t know where I am or where I am heading, and I have lost track of where North is. I am carried along by the momentum of my past discipline, but without my past confidence or peace.

—Nat

God gave me a stone

In Carrion Comfort, Hopkins alludes to a Biblical passage in which Jacob wrestles overnight with a stranger. Neither can get the upper hand, but Jacob is left with a limp. Hopkins interprets Jacob’s struggle as a metaphor for his own, and in the morning after the struggle, both Jacob and Hopkins understand that at its core their struggle was with God.

It will be clear to readers of this blog that I approach my failed marriage from a Christian perspective, and yet that presents more of a challenge than a comfort. I hope that my story is relevant to all men whose wives have left them, and that my Christian faith does not obstruct a feeling of solidarity about such loss. But each of our stories is unique and it is inevitable that mine is infused with God.

On the surface, the breakdown of a marriage is a struggle between husband and wife, and as I have written before, I have been intensely hurt by H and angry with her mis-use of me. But like Jacob and Hopkins, I recognise that beyond (beneath?) my grief is a struggle with God who also seems to have mis-used me. It seems to me that God has led me into this mess and my anger about the whole situation is directed at God perhaps as much as at H.

Jesus once said “Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for fish, will give him a snake? If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him?” I prayed earnestly for years during my 20’s that God would help me become a good man, fit for the right wife. I was willing to never marry if God saw that to be best for me. When H and I were considering marriage I fasted for 4 (or was it 5?) days because I knew it was such an important decision. But if God guided me at all through that time it was to lead me into a commitment that has ended in this debacle. The marriage God seemed to have given me has been a cold, hard stone that has provided no nourishment.

Jesus also said “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness for they will be satisfied.” I may be arrogant in the extreme, but I claim the same standing as Job who, especially in Chapter 31, claims he is blameless. I have sought after righteousness since early teens. But I am nowhere near satisfied.

I am *not* claiming that since I have been so good (ha!), God owes me something in return. Whether I deserve better or not has no bearing at all. My complaint is that I have not found God’s self-portrayal to be accurate. I have believed in a God who cares for me personally; who has my (and your!) best interests at heart; the good shepherd; the ideal parent. I have entrusted that God with my complete allegiance.

What’s more, I have, at numerous times in my life, given that God permission to do whatever God pleases with me. I have prayed John Wesley’s radical Covenant Prayer and put myself at God’s disposal in many other ways. So perhaps I have only myself to blame.

But why didn’t God warn us before we were married? Why, when H and I had the very best of intentions, did God not mediate between us to fulfil the apparent intention of marriage? Why does it seem that God is now leading H away from me? How can any of that be good for me?

I no longer believe that God looks out for my personal interests. It seems more likely that although God cares for all people, the complexity of reality makes it impossible to bring about everyone’s best interests and in this case I have become the fall guy carrying the consequences of H’s best interest. Of course I write from the limited perspective of someone in the middle of the shit. God can yet bring some good out of it for me, but that’s evidence of God’s ability to redeem even the worst situation, not evidence that this miserable agony is in any way good. God has not delivered what Jesus promised.

—Nat

Carrion Comfort (part 2)

Back in my post about CarrionComfort, I only got as far as commenting on the first four lines. So let me pick up that theme again.

Here’s Hopkins' complete poem (virtually guaranteed to confuse and perhaps bore any but the English majors among you) and my very poor attempt at a paraphrase (virtually guaranteed to annoy the English majors).

Make sure you read the first verse loudly, with anger. It voices the defiance of every human against the burden of existence and against the God who causes, or at least allows, our suffering.

Gerard Manly Hopkins

Nat Whilk Clerk

NOT, I’ll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee; Not untwist—slack they may be—these last strands of man In me ór, most weary, cry I can no more. I can; Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be. But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me Thy wring-world right foot rock? lay a lionlimb against me? scan With darksome devouring eyes my bruisèd bones? and fan, O in turns of tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to avoid thee and flee? Why? That my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear. Nay in all that toil, that coil, since (seems) I kissed the rod, Hand rather, my heart lo! lapped strength, stole joy, would laugh, chéer. Cheer whom though? the hero whose heaven-handling flung me, fóot tród Me? or me that fought him? O which one? is it each one? That night, that year Of now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with (my God!) my God.

To give in to despair is an empty comfort, like feasting on a rotting corpse. I will not accept that option. Even though I am hanging on to whatever it means to be human by no more than an unravelling thread, I WILL NOT let go. I will not say “I can’t go on”. I can go on. I can at least take one more step forward. I can last the night and hope for a better day ahead. I will not give up. But what the fuck’s going on here? What sadist is playing this game with me? What’s the point of kicking the world out of orbit and sending lions to attack me? Why stare at my brokenness as though feeding on it, why mock me lying here like a pile of shit when all I want to do is run away and hide? [The next day?] Ok, so I can see that suffering builds character. I’ve come to accept that principle and although it has been hard going, I have nevertheless been given strength and joy and even laughter. But who should I cheer now that I’ve come out the other side of such suffering? Do I praise the one in heaven who mistreated me? Or do I give myself a cheer for persevering through such mistreatment? Maybe it’s a bit of each. I survived a godforsaken night that seemed like a year, fighting an unknown assailant for no apparent … Oh shit! That was God!

I won’t attempt any more detailed exposition, except to note the important allusions to Genesis 32:22-30, Matthew 27:46 and Psalm 22. What I do want to comment on is how I feel mistreated by God through my marriage and its ending, and the impact that is having on my faith. But that’s for the next posting.

—Nat.