The Naked Jesus

Post from a few months ago.

ethan renoe

crucifixion-1943 copy

A couple years ago at my college, a student group put on an event to educate students about pornography and the sex industry. I paced through it, thinking I had already seen all this before. The exhibit opened with scientific facts about the chemical effects of pornography on the brain, showing how it rewires our mental pathways to crave porn.

Heard them before.

Then there was a room of testimonies, people shared how porn had damaged their lives and relationships. As sincere and moving as these stories were, I had heard them before too. I mean, these addiction stories were basically my own.

But then we moved to the last room.

On the wall was a painting. Eye level. About 4×3 feet. At first glance, it seemed like a typical crucifix painting. There hung Jesus on the cross, bleeding and ashamed.

But then you looked a little lower.

And then…

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Why I’m No Longer Waiting Till Marriage


I remember being in 6th grade and watching some cheesy family movie where the princess fell in love with some peasant shlub and they lived happily ever after. I remember the film stirring up longings within me for that same kind of whimsical romance. I wanted a beautiful and innocent mademoiselle to fall helplessly into my arms after I had heroically come to her rescue, whatever form that took.

Over the years, Hollywood continued to program my desires. I remember movies (tacky as they were) like Fever Pitch, Serendipity, and literally hundreds more which taught me that all my problems would be solved once I met the right girl, fell head over heels in love, hit a rough patch where we didn’t talk for a minute, then came rushing back together to live indefinitely in a state of heavenly bliss.

Yes, once that happened I would be good.

So I eagerly waited. I knew in the depths of my being that one glorious day, God would orchestrate a meet cute, and I only wondered when and where. Would she walk in the door of a coffee shop with an adorable lost expression on her face, or would she happen to sit next to me on the airplane? The options were endless.

But the troubles this presented me were manifold.

For starters, the romance film industry programmed me to believe there is one perfect woman out there for me, and all I have to do is meet her. According to the criterion plot line, we have everything in common and enjoy the same hobbies. (Of course, there are the cute discrepancies which cause cute little arguments, but those can be overlooked.)

But there are no perfect women. And I am as far from a perfect man as you can get before you start getting into the “Murderous Dictator & Collegiate Rapist” categories.

I also failed to account for insecurities arising, both in myself and in others. I overlooked more base factors such as farts, B.O., and faint moustache hairs. I didn’t think about how the timing is usually bad, and she’s going home for the summer. I didn’t think about arguments and disagreements, and how my anger can boil over.

All that is to say, my ideas of marriage, and life in general, were programmed into me by the media. The media did not simply influence my thinking about these things; it literally reprogrammed me.

I’m going to repeat that once more just to be clear: The things we allow into our minds rearrange our desires, and even create new ones that were not there before.

I’ve been reading a book lately called You Are What You Love by James K.A. Smith, and it is reshaping the way I think. It is mind-boggling. Buy it. Smith explores our desires, and what shapes them, and I have been able to identify certain desires in my life that have been programmed into me, with an idyllic image of marriage being at the top of the list.

Marriage became something I looked forward to, to the degree that I couldn’t be happy until there was a woman in my life.

And apparently, I was not the only one to buy into this. Look at the number of people on Tinder, eHarmony and the like. The dating industry rakes in over $1.4 billion a year. A lot of us seem to feel lonely, and think a relationship (even a one-night relationship) will fill in the gaps.

There is no place in the Bible that points to marriage as the source of our satisfaction and fulfillment, yet we Christians are terribly guilty of elevating marriage to a source of satisfaction.

A friend once told me, “If you’re not happy as a single person, you won’t be happy as a married person.” Marriage was not invented as a means of solving all your personal issues. If anything, it will likely bring to light more issues that lie dormant beneath the surface.

Marriage is a reflection of the gospel; of God’s relationship to His people. It is a covenant. It is living in a perpetual state of forgiveness. It is not a happily-ever-after utopia where all your problems are vanquished.

Recently, however, I decided that I don’t want to wait until marriage…(long pause)…to be happy.

I can enjoy the friends I have right now rather than wish I had someone more than a friend. I can buy a house by myself. I can pursue hobbies like painting, dancing or snake charming on my own. (Insert cheesy inspirational line about how doing the things you love will lead you to ‘The One’ you’re supposed to be with. Then stop and think about how even that sentiment reflects how deeply you have been programmed to see marriage as the ultimate destination.)

I’m attempting to undo years of programming and enjoy the present moment, single as I am. I go on runs and stop to talk to people. I bike really fast and simply enjoy the adrenaline rush, rather than trying to impress anyone. I got off social media so as to not stalk countless women to determine if they are The One (My friend runs it all for me now, for those of you who were wondering).

More so, I am working on enjoying God, and my times of quietness with Him. My prayers are no longer a begging-session of me complaining about my celibacy (I’ve reduced that to about 50% of my prayers now), But I can zoom out and focus on others. What does the world need? Who does God’s heart hurt for?

Since deciding not to wait until marriage, life is more enjoyable. It’s almost like experiencing freedom from a big weight that always loomed overhead. The pressure is off. And if it happens, it will happen in God’s time, so I can relax.

I hope the rest of you single people experience this same degree of freedom.

Don’t look to romance to fill the voids within you.

Don’t wait till marriage.


I bet you thought this was about sex, didn’t you? Sickos.

I Prefer a Theology


I prefer a theology whose hair you can run your fingers through while stars shoot overhead.

I prefer a theology that sits on the sidewalk with a McDonald’s cup in its hand, waiting for you to reach into your pocket and find a crinkled bill.

The one that gives blind people colors and deaf people song.

Because there are too many theologies that enjoy distance and ask you for some space. Or others that merely sit in rooms and talk about economics. And memorize things.

But I prefer the theology whose makeup runs when she cries over yet another orphan.

The one that pulls your hair behind your ears when you’re drunk (again), or holds you after looking at porn (again) because it loves you as you are, not as you should be.

A theology that sells everything (including the car and phone) so that God doesn’t seem as far away. A theology that’s dependent.

I don’t really like a theology that lives in the past. The one that tells me ‘God could have done this or that…’ A theology of scales and balances and measures.

I prefer a living theology over a dead one.

So I guess I prefer Jesus over theology.




The “M-Word”




Literally everyone hates this word. Whoever made it up should be removed from society because it’s so gross. Maybe its just the meaning behind it, but still.


After releasing several blogs on porn, I received several messages asking if I think masturbation is wrong, “if I do it without lusting…” (Good luck with that!).  I have spent months thinking about the answer to the question, and have come to a conclusion. I think the answer is found by examining the two elements involved: God’s purpose for the human body, and God’s purpose for sex.

I’ve talked to many friends who justify their use of masturbation in numerous ways. “I only think of my wife when I do it…”, “It doesn’t hurt anyone, so what’s the problem?” (Ah yes, the postmodern anthem) or the physiological approach, “I need to drain naturally every now and then or else it’ll get clogged up.”

As for the last excuse, I know a small number of people who have never masturbated, or at least, haven’t done it for years, and somehow they manage to survive.

I was talking with my friend Dalton recently, and at one point I asked him what he has been learning the past several months. Like a great friend, I forget most of what he said, save for one line:

I have been learning that my body is for use by the Lord Jesus Christ, and for others.

What an uncommon sentence in our culture! How antithetical to our modern views of sexuality and the human body! The words sounded weird upon my ears, but I realized that what he was saying was absolutely biblical. 1 Corinthians 6 talks about how our bodies are no longer our own, but belong to Jesus. If this is the case, it heavily affects how we use them and think of them.

In thinking of masturbation in this light, you have to ask yourself, does masturbation serve others, or the Lord? No. It serves only yourself. The act is utterly selfish and me-centric.

I know a lot of people would push back that, despite the selfish nature of masturbation, it doesn’t hurt anyone else. I would push back by pointing out that every action we commit programs us. For instance, if I regularly please myself, I would condition my brain to think that I am the ultimate source of my own satisfaction. Not only that, but I would come to think that my pleasure is the highest priority, and that the purpose of my body is for myself.

Over time, this will translate to other areas in my life. I deserve to go first in line. I should not have to wait for others to be served before me. I deserve a nicer car with good air conditioning. I deserve the best food and who cares about the millions of people going to bed hungry tonight.

As Christians, this action has the potential to program us to live in a way opposed to the gospel (In one sense, our “Personal Relationship Jesus” culture has already done that, but that’s for another time). The gospel should re-form our lives to put others first in a self-sacrificial way. Paul goes so far as to say we should offer our bodies as living sacrifices.

Yet somehow, our American Christian culture has allowed a gnostic dichotomy to arise in which our spirituality is severed from our physical bodies.

The sexual element of our bodies, intrinsic to our human nature, is that our bodies are meant to be giving entities. Sex is meant to be a giving exchange between two people. When a husband makes love to his wife, his goal should be to serve her and vice-versa.

Masturbation is the opposite of that. It reinforces a body that gives only to itself. It is self-medicating. Sure, it feels good, but so does eating a lot of doughnuts, or doing a lot of drugs. Just because something feels good doesn’t make it healthy or even ethical. This is aside from the fact that masturbation is most often an escape from loneliness, a lack of intimacy, insecurity, et cetera. When unhealthy roots in our lives drive us to unhealthy solutions, the outcome cannot be good.

When one masturbates, they are not using their bodies to serve others. They are serving themselves, reinforcing habits of pride and selfishness.

So, to answer all who asked me: no, I do not think masturbation is good or healthy. Of course there is grace when we screw up, and God knows we will. But I think masturbation is a habit to turn from because of its destructive nature.




May, 2009. Colorado. I walk across the stage at my high school and shake the principal’s hand. Put my diploma in a drawer and now I have no idea which drawer it was.

March, 2010. I’m in Haiti after the earth quake. I see the miles of blue tarps stretched out over the recently homeless families as I pass by the pop-up village, but the thing that strikes me the most is the crunch of gravel beneath my sneakers. And how it sounds the same as a crunch of gravel in America. I’m still figuring out compassion.

Tonight at around 1:24am, my friend asked why I was going to Starbucks to write. I’ve got a word in my head, I told him. Gradient.

October, 2010. I’m on a plane from Thailand to India. Writing some emotional poem in my spiral bound about the Brazilian girl I met in Australia whom I think I’m in love with because I had a dream about her when I lived on Cape Cod.

My story is a dizzying one. Maybe one day I’ll write it all down and fill in some of these gaps. But not tonight. Tonight I’ve got a word on my mind. Gradient.

You see, my parents’ generation was one of blacks and whites. Of light switch moments, where all at once, everything was illuminated and your future was determined. There was no YouTubing instructions, there was merely mastery or, Honey hand me the phone book so I can call the guy.

I think it’s July, 2011. I’m on a ferry in Brazil as we made our way from Sao Paulo to Rio. I’m playing worship songs with some kids on the ship. Their parents would give us dinner and a warm bed that night, even though only one of us knew Portuguese.

The next day. I had my first drink ever: Vodka and lime at the Gecko Hostel, Paraty. The fat Australian guy named John told us Thailand is a party. Then I ran 5 miles barefoot, this time thinking about a Brazilian girl I met in Brazil.

Two days later in Rio. We’re being held up at gunpoint and the guy is asking for all our valuables. Well, I thought, If Thailand is a party, Brazil is a poem.

My father knew he wanted to be a pastor before he graduated high school. And older man at his church told him one day that he saw in him the skills to be a great pastor. So he became one of the best freaking preachers I’ve ever heard. And I’ve heard a lot of preachers.

I graduated high school a long time ago and I still have no idea what singular calling beckons my name. Perhaps it’s because no one spoke it into my life the way the old man did to my father. Perhaps it’s because the options are endless these days. Perhaps technology is to blame for presenting so wide a platter of options. Perhaps it’s okay to live in a gradient.

February, 2012. I’m on the phone with my mom from a hostel in Boston. I’m telling her I’ll be going to Nigeria in April because a friend and I are starting an organization. She sounds calm and makes a joke about Nigeria being nervous about me coming.

August, 2012. I’m homeless again. Living on the beach and teaching paddleboard lessons. I don’t know how hard the transition will be when I move to Chicago and begin my third college. This time, it’s for real. This is no community college. This is the number one Bible school in America. And maybe by the time I finish, I’ll know where I’m going and what I’m doing and who I am.

My transition into adulthood has not been a light switch. There was no moment of epiphany to suddenly illuminate the path I am to take. Some people are fortunate enough to have that. However, for me and most people my age, the abundance of information and opportunities have made the decision to ‘iron out our future’ nearly impossible. If not impossible, at least a more time-consuming one.

January, 2014. I’m at Starbucks with a favorite author of mine. He gave me a hundred bucks and explained how to have intimate relationships with others. Including myself. I’m learning that travel experiences make you look cool, but wherever you go, there you are and blah blah blah.

Whenever I see a sunset, I always try to pinpoint the place in the sky where the pink stops and the blue takes over. What I’ve come to find is that you can’t. There is no single point. God was the inventor of the gradient. He was the first one to say, Okay, you fade into this color here. But make it wide. Make it vast. Make it so the lines blur and the beauty in this hue carries into the next. Make it so this color gives way to this one, but not too soon.

Not all at once.

August-December 2015. I’m driving to and from the house where I work, nannying two little boys. I listen to a punk rock song about never growing up, dropping out, and sleeping on a twin size mattress your whole life. I feel it so hard every time.

My transition into the world of suit jackets, briefcases, and grown-up conversations has been a slow one. It’s been a gradient. It’s been a slow fade. A slow clap. Perhaps soon the uproarious applause will break out into full-blown adulthood. Full-blown responsibility. You can’t slow clap forever.

December, 2015. It’s raining in Chicago, so I lace up my kicks and go for a run. I see some newscasters on the deserted beach and get curious.

One month later. I move to Los Angeles and learn how to see through media. I learn that the demigods of television and the legendary descendants of Zeus known as pop stars are not that far off from the Wizard of Oz. There’s a big curtain called the imagination and they’re all huddled behind it hoping no one sees.

I’m in a Starbucks at 3am in Chicago and I’m still wearing a damp swimsuit from jumping in the lake earlier. This Starbucks in particular still reminds me of a girl who broke my heart in college. She and I would come here often and study into the thin hours of the morning.

When I was 18, I was positive I’d be married by the time I was 22.

I think my life so far has been a gradient. It’s been a slow fade into adulthood.

And I think that’s okay.

I feel pressure to feel guilty about being halfway through my twenties and not know where I’ll be next year. Next month. Or who I’ll be, what I’ll be doing, et al. And I think this pressure is unnecessary. I think God is okay with slow fades.

I’m not writing this post as an excuse for laziness and slacking off. I’m not about those things. But I am for bravery. I am for courage and trying new things. And I’m for patience. Sometimes God doesn’t turn on a light switch, but He’ll at least give you a candle so you can see where your foot should fall.

Sometimes you bump into a few walls.

I’m okay with living in a gradient, in a transition period. Sometimes one season fades into the next and you can’t quite see why or how, or even where you’re going. Sometimes you end up in Paris with two people who work for you in this Nigerian organization. Sometimes you’re driving across Utah in the middle of the night to see about a Brazilian girl you met online. But the fact that there’s a gradient means change is coming. It means soon the moon will be up and everything will be peaceful. And after the night is a sunrise; a fading into day. A transition into the next season.

Many of us will have a slow fade into adulthood and that’s alright.

Be at peace and enjoy the gradient.


Pour Out Your Guts


“I want someone to worship me,” said Allen. “I want her to be so in love with me, the way I was with Tricia, that she almost worships me…Right below God,” he quickly padded his language. “She should worship God and then me right below Him.”

Deep down, I realized the truth in Allen’s words. He does not want to be second seat to an invisible entity who has not yet managed to satiate his soul’s hunger to be appreciated, yet he doesn’t want to cross the boundary of Christian-safe language. Better butter up the Big Guy and not say what you mean.

That’s the catch.

Say what you mean and step on some divine toes, or lie for the sake of Christian politeness.


“I want to be on stage and hear thousands of people cheering my name,” another friend told me some years ago. “…but as they’re giving me glory, I’ll be giving God glory.”

I looked at him with that emoji face that has eyes but no mouth.

There were no words to describe my confusion. Of course I understood my friend’s sentiments. Who doesn’t want the screaming applause and acclaim from thousands of cheering fans? But more than that, his thinly veiled attempt to mask his his true desires was nonsensical and contrived. Why even add that bit at the end? Why not just say what you really desire?

I’ve spent much of my life punching my way out of so-called Christian bubbles (which, by the way, are sewn together by little more than pious American mannerisms, cultural guilt, and some marketing geniuses who carved out their own little niche in everything from music to movies to clothes), and have spent little time entering into people’s lives. From the shallows of small talk and into the mire of who they are and the pain in which they daily wade.

I’ve spent too little time investing myself into others, opening up my ribs so my guts spill out.

And this is why the Psalms are so great: The word in the Bible which we read as “heart” in Hebrew means “guts.” It’s the deepest parts of who you are. It’s the thing that rises when you fall off a bridge, or in love. You may tell God what’s on your mind. You may even share with Him some emotions you are weathering. But you haven’t poured out your guts.

Even Jesus seemed unafraid of being judged for His words before God.

Jesus wasn’t scared of pouring His guts out to God.

In likely the most intense moment of His life, Jesus is in the Garden of Gethsemane, wailing before His Father, sweating blood and begging for God to spare His life.

Take this cup from me,

He cried.

Jesus literally told God that He doesn’t want to do what God told Him to do.

There’s a professor at my college who always says, “Saints! You shouldn’t swear. But if you’re going to swear, swear when you pray. I cuss all the time before the Lord!”

If any of you are like me, there is a cognitive block somewhere in your soul that tells you, “these words are okay, but these over here…are not.” There’s something that tells me that too much honesty is sinful.

I am trying to undo this.

I feel that this barrier of politically polite language has actually built a wall between the Lord and I rather than enhanced our relationship. It’s like I’ve been trying to paint a sunset without any red paint. You’ll get the general idea, but the force of the fiery clouds will lose their vigor.

Language is important because it is the means through which we perceive, interpret, and communicate reality. Communicate life. So in a sense, limiting your language before God limits the extent to which you can live before Him.

Earlier today I was trying to explain what Systematic Theology is to a friend, and as the words exited my mouth, they felt so small and limp. I was explaining that it’s about creating a system in which the aspects of our faith—salvation, Christology, end times, heaven, et cetera—all work together to form a unified, functioning machine. It’s about creating a simple, well-oiled system that makes sense to us and is easily digestible.

What I’m realizing now is that God is not a system.

He does not come gift wrapped in a cute little box with blue and red ribbons.

The moment you’ve got Him pegged as a pillar of fire, He reappears somewhere else as a whisper. You start thinking He is a lamb and suddenly He rips out some organs as a hungry lion.

“Safe?” C.S. Lewis once wrote about the Lord. “Who said anything about safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But He’s good.”

I fear that my conception of God has become far too small.

Let us pour out our guts before Him.

Let us demolish the walls in which we have placed Him.



The New Lonely


Last night I was at a restaurant with a dear friend of mine. We were on the patio having a great conversation when a married couple sat down at the table next to ours. We were bewildered as the husband took out his smart phone, began playing electronic music out loud, and set it on the table for the remainder of the meal.

We are a people terrified of silence.

I often bemoan to my friends and family about how lonely I am. The irony being that I am complaining TO my friends and family. I think our culture has twisted up this word, loneliness. We can each name half a dozen songs about being alone in a crowded room, or maybe while sitting next to a lover, but is that really loneliness?

Tom Hanks was lonely in Castaway.

Will Forte, in Last Man on Earth, is lonely.

My guess is, you are not lonely.

I think what we confuse for loneliness today is actually some modern unrest inside of us. We have this lack of peace within ourselves that calls for constant noise and distraction. And when no one can hang out on a Friday night, we call ourselves ‘lonely’ because that void inside of us is about to act up. We’re about to have to face ourselves.

Praise God for Netflix.

I watched a movie recently where this Middle Eastern Christian monk is talking about silence. He says Sure, you can go to a quiet place like a forest or a desert and it will be quiet for a while. But, he says, There is another kind of silence that is much harder to attain. And that is the silence within yourself. A stillness in your soul.

My guess is we’re not lonely, we have a lack of peace within.

So I came up with a term for this, and to be honest, I guess it’s not that original. I was thinking about how this feeling we associate with loneliness really comes from somewhere else, perhaps an overload instead of a lack. We are always connected digitally, and therefore, more disconnected personally.

We have noise coming into our bodies constantly, so why would we expect there to be silence in our soul?

It’s the New Loneliness.

We are the New Lonely.

I think the more we try to fill our heads with music, podcasts, Netflix/Amazon Prime (you Primers aren’t getting off the hook either), social media, sports, news, or whatever your drug of choice is, the less we will be at peace with ourselves. And therefore, the more ‘lonely’ we will feel.

Our loneliness is not one induced by too few friends, but by too much noise.

Too many flashing lights and screaming sirens.

When was the last time you sat in silence and thought? A favorite writer of mine named Muyskens once said that We live in a culture that esteems accumulation, but the Christian life is one of subtraction rather than addition.

I live in Chicago, where I am always seeing a lot of people. And most of these people are distracting themselves. They have their earbuds in, their head sunk onto their chest, gazing into their device. Or maybe they’re tourists, snapping a steady stream of photos and selfies just so they can look back on that time they went to Chicago and took a crapload of pictures. (this is another blog post altogether…)

Why are we so discontent to not be where we are? With the people we are with?

What are you so scared of missing online that is not present where you are?

That was a tangent, but I’m tired of the angst social media has created in my life along with most of my contemporaries. We are more distant from ourselves, more reserved from those around us, more polished online than in person, and we are very very lonely. Social media creates and plants within us desires we didn’t previously have. It’s a cruel loop.

Perhaps the way to escape the New Loneliness is to trim down the input we take. Turn your phone off and go for a walk.

Don’t take a picture of it.


Talk to yourself.


Talk to a friend.

Don’t take a picture of them.

Have any of my Christian friends actually obeyed Psalm 46:10, or have you just posted it to Instagram?

Be still and know that I am God.”



How to Be Attracted to Someone


There’s something I think a lot of Christians struggle with talking about. And it’s not because it’s necessarily shameful like pornography or eggshell-sensitive like homosexuality. It’s just simply confusing and perhaps a little awkward.

And that is, attraction.

In my quest to find that one person that will satiate my endless romantic antics and abate my lonely groanings, I hear a lot of advice. I’ve been single far more than I’ve been in any kind of romantic relationship, so the maxims and pop-dictums on how to find “the one” have flooded my ears for years.

The most common topic deals with a certain dichotomy that supposedly exists in all of us, especially Christians.

Look at her soul, not her body….

Ethan, How can you be so shallow as to like her personality and not be attracted to her INSIDES??

Her personality is what REALLY matters.

Essentially, I have realized that many Americans are functioning Gnostics.

The Gnostics were a first-century group of heretics that believed in a firm division between the physical body and the immaterial soul. Their theology allowed them to believe that God only cares about the soul, therefore, you can do whatever you want with your body. This thinking had taken hold of the Corinthians, and Paul addresses this issue in 1 Corinthians 6:

“Food for the stomach and the stomach for food, and God will destroy them both.” The body, however, is not meant for sexual immorality but for the Lord, and the Lord for the body. By his power God raised the Lord from the dead, and he will raise us also. Do you not know that your bodies are members of Christ himself?

The Corinthians had that saying about the stomach and food, which implied the same was true of sexual arousal. When you’re hungry you eat; when you’re turnt on, you hook up…

Paul points out that no, the body is NOT meant for pure pleasure and disposal, but it is meant to honor God. Human bodies ARE in fact important, because Jesus Himself, the very Son of God, entered into one. Therefore, what we do with our bodies matters.

Now, that was a slight rabbit trail, but now we’re getting back on track.

As a single Christian man, I have been critiqued by many of my friends for often just looking at ‘a girl’s outside,’ rather than some unseen quality that we often refer to as one’s heart, soul, personality, etc.

And yes, if you were to marry someone simply because they’re a fox, you would be a fool. There is definitely the trap of putting too much emphasis on the physical body, but that’s for a different post.

But how equally foolish to only look at someone’s invisible qualities as if their body did not exist!

Our bodies are our God-given vessels through which we experience, act, and take part in our life. They are meant to be healthy, serve others and honor God. And they reveal a lot about our internal lives as well.

For instance, who wants to eat food from a skinny chef? Would you get a tattoo from someone with clear skin or be personally trained by someone whose shirt cannot contain their belly? Often I’ll see a man who is too fit, which often speaks to some kind of quiet insecurity. Our bodies matter and they say things about us.

I think that to divide an individual up into little parts is, in essence, to do violence to them as a whole human being. We are not effervescent spirits floating in some abstract realm, having conversations and thinking together. We have tangible bodies that can hug, spit, slap, poop, pinch, and break. We feel pain when our skin is sliced, and we indulge in the tenderness of a lover’s kiss.

Yes, we humans have bodies, souls, and spirits (unless you’re a dichotomist, which is another theological/anthropological conversation entirely), but they are also one. We are not divided entities, but are united into one person. I believe the membrane that divides the three is far thinner than some of us have been supposing, and from this has come some breezes of Gnostic theology. We are scared to embrace our physical bodies. We are scared to be attracted to another human.

If and when I ever end up falling in love with a woman, it will be because she has a splendid heart and a love for other people.


it will also be because my eyes and my hands find her attractive and are drawn to her. Her body will draw my now to it, and hopefully she will feel the same. We will not be divided persons, but will be holistic humans, loving each other emotionally and physically. No one loves another person using their unseen attributes.

That’s just ridiculous.

I want to be attracted to an entire person. Organs and all.

I do not think good looks are just ‘the cherry on top.’ They’re certainly not everything, but I think as Christians, we have undervalued physical attraction.

You have permission to be physically attracted to someone.


P.S., I’ll be talking more about this topic on an upcoming episode of my new podcast! Check it out here and stay tuned for plenty more episodes coming at you soon!

Why I Got a Spongebob Tattoo

I read The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis for the first time a month ago and decided it was my favorite book ever. I had also had a hankerin’ to get a new tattoo, as I hadn’t gotten one in over two years, so I decided the two should be connected.

I wish I could sit across from you in a coffee shop, stroking my lengthy sophisticated beard and explaining to you the deep meaning behind my hip new tattoo, and how its geometric angles and minimalistic simplicity reflect the nature of the Triune God, but that’s not the case.

I do have a number of deep meanings behind the tattoo, but when I tell you what it is, you’ll just laugh.

The first meaning is friendship. The tattoo wasn’t even my idea, but was the result of a lot of brainstorming between my friends Rachael, Robb, and I, who all got the tattoo together. (Technically it was Rachael’s idea first…) The three of us have a special connection now that we will have the rest of our lives, or until one of us caves and gets it lasered off (my money is on Robb). It’s not so much about what it is, but the special fact that three of us in the world have this on our calfs, and always will.

The second meaning is even deeper.

In The Great Divorce, Lewis paints a picture of heaven and hell and the difference between them. People in heaven are real. They are solid and have weight. They are presented as people who let go of their earthly desires and embraced what they couldn’t see from earth.

Meanwhile, the people from hell are more like phantoms. They have no weight. They walk atop the grass without even pushing the blades down. They are all angry and stuck in their old selves, wrapped up in grudges, pride, and complaints. They are restless and bitter. They don’t really matter because they clung to what was not really important.

They are people who were made for another dimension, but wandered astray.

So, in order to represent this, my friends and I got a tattoo of a character from Spongebob Squarepants. Doodlebob.

We got Doodlebob.


In this one episode, a magic pencil falls from the top of the ocean into Bikini Bottom. Spongebob picks it up and soon discovers that whatever he draws comes to life. So naturally, he draws himself and it comes to life. The problem is, this 2-dimensional version of himself is evil and starts destroying the city.

At the end of the episode, Spongebob entraps Doodlebob by throwing paper at him, and the 2-dimensional doodle is captured where he belongs: on paper. Once he is back in his 2-D world, he is happy and content.

When he returns to the world for which he was originally designed, he is at peace.

Saint Augustine said, “My soul is restless till it rests in thee,” which, coincidentally, I’m thinking of adding to the tattoo because it wouldn’t look confusing at all.

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Just as Doodlebob was not at peace until he found rest in the 2-D world he was designed for, we are wanderers in a dimension not our own. This tattoo is summed up by another C.S. Lewis quote (which would be too long to add to the tattoo):

If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.

This tattoo, facetious as it appears, reflects the angst in all of us that longs for the next world. Or as described in The Great Divorce, we’re all looking for that high country.

“Hell is a state of mind – ye never said a truer word. And every state of mind, left to itself, every shutting up of the creature within the dungeon of its own mind – is, in the end, Hell. But Heaven is not a state of mind. Heaven is reality itself. All that is fully real is Heavenly. For all that can be shaken will be shaken and only the unshakeable remains.”
-C.S. Lewis, The Great Divorce

I get shivers every time I read that last sentence.


Good to be Naked



He sat me down and said
it’s not as much about what she looks like on the outside,
my grandfather told me,
although that is nice,
it’s not as much about her suntanned body
as it is
the sunshine that shoots from her eyes
even when she’s sixty-six,

he said,
sure sex is great
and a good body is exciting at first,
but eventually,
it’s just good to be naked,
it’s nice to be naked with the same old person,
my grandpa said,

and some people
think their parents are still chaste
and never do it,
but I’m glad my grandparents
are still magnets growing old,
as I hope to be old with someone