Thursday, October 17, 2013

On Propriety

Within the bit of the world familiar to me, there seems to be much conversation about moral propriety. People disagree about its relevance, how its defined, how, if at all, context affects it. To every point made there is always a counterpoint.

I suspect a big reason I hear so much of this kind of discussion is that the overwhelming number of persons I interact with are church people, who, collectively, all around the world, are supposed to be people who know God in a way others don't. God, in most common conceptions, is a representation of perfection, so it would naturally follow that God knows all about moral propriety, and the people supposed to know him best share in that knowledge and conviction. And it does seem, indeed, that many church people believe this with every bit of passion they can muster, as if every word they speak on this subject came straight from the Lord himself.

There are always a few taboo subjects that seem to dominate these exchanges (a fairly wise man once said "there is nothing new under the sun" and many generations and empires later, it's still true), and no matter how much they're talked about, even insisted upon on pain of eternal damnation, resolution is never found. I can't tell you the number of times I've been a part of the "Are swear words really wrong?" discussion, or "Is drinking a sin?" debates. There are always those who think they have it figured out, and that it's their mission to guide everyone into right thinking.

I've known enough Christians, and been one long enough myself, to notice a behavioral pattern that frequently emerges when church people meet each other. There are often initial warm feelings at having found another person who claims to share the same, deeply intimate beliefs that you do, but then a little reservation comes. Maybe you've seen this happen, or been a knee-jerk participant yourself: not all church people fall on the same side of the moral divide, so members of a burgeoning relationship have to assess where each other stands. Will the new person they just met be a fundamentalist type? Or will they be open-minded enough to get away with showing a few rough edges? Or perhaps they'll be one of those liberal Christians who smoke weed and use four-letter words and welcome complete transparency, even beyond rough edges straight to skeletons hiding in the closet (which for a hyper-Christian, is supposed to be the place you pray, right? So scandalous.). So a few casual comments about morality are dropped (You know, when I'm upset, I sometimes use some words I shouldn't.), a few pointed questions asked if you're feeling bold (Do you ever drink? (By the way, am I the only one mildly irritated that the verb "drink" has become synonymous with "drink alcohol?" Maybe I'm too enamored with distinction.)), responses to the tone and subject matter of the conversation are assessed, then it's clear where all the players stand, and the relationship is now free to bloom within its newly found definition (or stagnate, if these particular church people find themselves irreconcilably at opposing ends of the moral divide).

Here I'm going to spoil a bit of a point I'm going to make later. However, if you're reading this, chances are you know me well enough for this to not be a spoiler; our relationship has already spoiled it. The spoiler is this: although I may appear to be one on the surface, I'm not a "fundamentalist," lest it be in a very loose sense of the definition. I've had these kinds of exploratory conversations many times over, and every time I find myself talking to someone who doesn't get a ruffle in their feathers whenever the subject of tattoos (or any other controversy) is brought up, I feel a small thrill on the inside. When too many feathers are ruffled, I tend to receive vibes of uptight-ness, and it's a drag to spend time with someone who's uptight. (Trust me, I know how terrible it is. I'm a recovering curmudgeon, and by the grace of the Almighty, will one day have shed all vestiges of uptight-ness.) But even while I'm happily chatting with my non-uptight church friends, whenever the conversation is morality-colored, there's still an underlying sense that the act of discussing the subject matter at hand carries a certain inappropriateness, even while simply telling stories of things that actually happened, and not in any way endorsing behavior that's something other than ideal.

I think we're missing something.

Life is life, people are people, and stuff happens. The wordsmith in me wants to say that in a more imaginative way, but nothing I craft communicates my point as clearly and effectively. What wrong is there in talking about the facts of life (both those facts of life, and the truth of what happens in the world moment by moment)? Beyond that, when has darting around the point, or hiding imperfections (or sin) ever helped anyone live a better life? Or be more righteous? If you know of a time, please tell me. I'm always open to new ideas about how the world operates, but I'm certain enough about my current point, that I will plunge forward at the risk of being contradicted.

Perhaps I'm biased. At the least, I know I've come by this point of view easily. My mom started giving me the talk (yes, that talk) when I was a toddler, and I've lived every minute of my life since then in the same open atmosphere that fostered such candid discussion with a person who lacked the mental capacity to comprehend what was being said. If ever there is a good excuse for veiled conversation, it's when you're talking to a child so immature that 90% of what you say will go over their sweet little head. But my mother was fearless. Nothing has ever been blacklisted in my house, to the point that I, the resident introvert, have sometimes speculated fondly what pleasantries might accompany living with people who are too uncomfortable to speak with abandon. I could be quiet and alone most of the time, and no one would ever challenge me to open up when I'm not in the mood. How truly nice that sounds. After getting past the surface idealism, though, I realize how insufferable a person being left alone would make me ('socially awkward' is what I am now, but if left alone, 'socially incapable' would be more appropriate), and I cringe to think how miserable it would be to be unable to say anything with no fear of offense. As tired as I can get of interacting with other humans, my own selfish comfort is not worth the sacrifice of candidness.

As vital and influencing as a transparent environment was to my most formative years, more important was the accompanying atmosphere of respect. I watched my parents kindly and humbly treating everyone they interacted with outside our home, but more impacting still, I watched them kindly and humbly treat me and my brothers. I've witnessed many sad incidences in the world of children disrespecting their parents, but much of the time, my sadness is increased when I find that the disrespect they're extending is proportionately equal to the disrespect they've received. Don't misunderstand my meaning, parents have a hard job, and children cannot be catered to in all their whims. But discipline and respect are not mutually exclusive. In fact, they're closely tied. My childhood never lacked discipline, and I was never unclear about the authority my parents had in our relationship, yet, at the same time, I never felt that they saw me as anything but a whole person. Living confidently as a whole person goes a long way in cultivating one's ability to respect the personhood of everyone else.

I think this, respect, is central to the whole debate over propriety. Maybe getting a tattoo is not the best idea. (I'm picking on tattoos, but you could substitute a number of other things.) Maybe it's even wrong. But how respectful is it to condemn someone for having one? Doing that, when you have, as Jesus said, an even bigger plank in your own eye, is disrespectful. It's inappropriate. If I may even be so bold (because I've just confessed to you how much I value candidness, so to be anything but would defeat the point I'm making), it's sinful.

And that, my friends, is what I think this really boils down to: sin. The way I see it, sin is all that's truly inappropriate. And to even begin to get a handle on what that means, I think we have to define what's really important when we interact with others. Respect is what's important. Thus condemning someone is inappropriate. Gossiping about someone is inappropriate. Degrading someone to another is inappropriate. Slandering someone is inappropriate. Shaming someone is inappropriate. Taking advantage of someone, whether it be sexually or any other way, to fulfill your own desires and please yourself, is inappropriate. Getting back to that hypothetical tattoo, maybe getting it wasn't ideal. But I'm much more interested in how much respect you extend in your relationships, and less how much ink has been added to your dermis.

Lest my motivations behind contending for this point of view be misconstrued, let me make a few things clear (just in case you don't already know these things about me). I have no body art, not even an ear pierced. I don't drink alcohol. I've never smoked or done drugs. I even avoid caffeine (despite living in a gourmet coffee-occupied society)! In keeping with the rules of probability, you will likely never hear a curse word come out of my mouth, and I'm as chaste today as when I was born. I look like one of the most upright people alive. Redefining the bounds of propriety is in no way an attempt to excuse any of my behavior, because frankly, according to traditional ideas, there isn't anything to excuse. If anything, holding to these ideas makes me more honest, and leaves me with fewer excuses for my behavior. I may not ever have trouble with substance abuse, but loving the way I should is always a challenge. Where it counts, I am still at the mercy of grace and not my own abilities to keep it together.

I would be delighted to see the world, particularly the church, particularly myself, become less uptight about things that are beside the point, more diligent in contending for the importance of love and respect, and more honest in both speech and action. So don't be surprised if you hear me talk about sex in church. But if you catch me disrespecting someone, remind me that you respect me enough to tell me when I'm being worse than a cotton-headed ninnymuggins.