Fantasy & Reality

Americans love fantasy. We daydream about spectacular vacations. We wonder what we would do if we were holding the winning Lotto ticket. We transport our children to Disney World, where Cinderella’s castle dominates the landscape. Millions of us pretend to be NFL owners and draft our own fantasy football teams. Entire industries have been created to do little more than indulge our occasional escapes from reality.

But fantasy can also be relationally catastrophic. Gifted marketers are committed to luring us into the gray area of wondering if we aren’t missing out on life, simply because of the apparent tragedy of being stuck with the wrong life partner.

“Don’t you want to know who’s looking for you right now?” So beckons the Internet ad. Click on this space and you can be connected with a new best friend or a fantasy lover. What sells new products and experiences in our culture? The answer is dissatisfaction. Disappointment with my current job, or hairstyle, or car, or spouse, or religion is reason enough to go prowling for alternatives.

Hollywood has reinforced the notion that living out fantasy relationships is, well, fantastic. Media observers report that more than nine out of ten sexual encounters as portrayed in American cinema and television are between unmarried partners. Somebody else out there is always having the great sex. In the hopes of sharing that fantasy, some of us ultimately cross the line.

And then we get a taste of reality.

Senator John Edwards has become a wrenching object lesson in the cost of relational boundary-crossing. So have countless other politicians, entertainers, sports stars, business people, and religious leaders, including the pastor who helped introduce me to Christ. Fantasy can look so fantastic. But sooner or later it morphs into reality.

Author John Ortberg recalls hearing some compelling advice from a speaker: “Sit down and make a list of all the things that will happen to you if you mishandle your sexuality.” Ortberg did that. He wrote, “If I step away from God’s intentions in this area of life, I will stand to lose my marriage; the trust of my children; my capacity for experiencing intimacy; and my ability to worship. I will undoubtedly end up facing guilt and fear; the temptation to become a hidden person; loss of character; crushing damage to my reputation and ministry; weakness the next time I feel temptation; and the deep sadness that I would be passing on a legacy that would compromise my children’s ability to trust God.”

Ortberg keeps that paragraph close at hand. He reviews it regularly. It has become a safeguard in a culture that thumbs its nose at the ideal of personal purity.

All of this invites an important question: Why is relational fidelity such an ongoing struggle for virtually every generation?

I heard a few years back that the space shuttle burns something like 96% of its fuel in the first few minutes after launch. That massive burst of energy is required for the shuttle to escape the Earth’s powerful gravitational pull. The little fuel that remains is all that is necessary for orbital maneuvers. In the same way, God seems to have hardwired human love relationships with a “blast-off” phase. The forces of attraction that we initially feel, powered by hormonal surges, can feel like a real rocket ride. A good many songs are devoted to the excitement of the relational launching pad – although it must be admitted that at least half of the Country-Western songs are about coming back to Earth with a thud.

When it comes to relationships, Americans are addicted to rocket rides. Why not pursue serial launches? If you can’t blast me off (at least, the way you always used to) I’ll go and find somebody who can.

There is a world of evidence, however, that the “orbital” phase of a love relationship – the so-called straight life toward which every friendship and marriage is ultimately pointed – is the goal that God always intended for men and women. It is the context in which God’s gifts of kindness, love, and grace are best given and received. The absence of that launching pad “hot burn” is hardly a sign that a relationship has fizzled; rather, in the setting of healthy commitment, it is more likely an evidence of growing maturity – and the promise of deeper joys to come.

King David, who more than any other Old Testament character embodied the hopes and yearnings of ancient Israel, learned from experience the difference between fantasy and reality. His illicit relationship with Bathsheba nearly brought down his reign. But something crucial happened in David’s heart: He found his way back to God. His personal spiritual recollections of that event are recorded in Psalm 51:

“Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me… Restore to me the joy of your salvation and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me.” The good news is that no matter what our experiences have been, God will hear us when we call. And that is the reality on which we can ultimately count.