Would You Want Someone Sleeping with Your Wife?

I could have entitled this with "husband" rather than "wife". I wrote the title as I did though because I can relate to it more directly. Though I've never been crushed by the pain of infidelity, I do adore my wife and imagining how a betrayal on her part could hurt sharpens the point of this post for me.

My reflections on infidelity began after I read a piece in USA Today. Columnist Tom Krattenmaker wrote about the impulse among college students for a deep engagement with religion. He writes:

Students open to a conversation about Christianity, even on a campus with an ultrasecular reputation? Such is the state of affairs at the nation's colleges and universities, where religion is experiencing something of a renaissance, although not necessarily in the shapes and forms older generations are used to seeing.

I believe him, in part because I've spent some time recently with college students, and they all exhibit what Tom observes: a keen interest in spirituality, including that of the Christian tradition. They seem attracted to the ethical and philosophical aspects of Christianity as embodied in Jesus Christ. But Jesus' claims of exclusivity are a barrier. I understand that. They know non-Christians who are attractive, noble, winsome, and lovable. It seems inconceivable that a good and loving God would reject them simply for not believing certain rational proposition about Jesus—and that he is the only way to God.

This struggle isn't limited to those outside the faith. I've spoken to a number of younger evangelicals for whom this is also a troubling issue. The question is why?

I think it comes from an impoverished view of belief. When Jesus claims that we must believe in him to be saved and that he is the only way, we tend to put the idea of belief in a category that indicates intellectual agreement with verifiable fact. For example, I believe the water freezes at zero degrees centigrade at sea level. That's an easily verifiable fact. I can go somewhere that is cold, monitor the temperature, and watch water freeze. But that view of belief doesn't exhaust the Christian Scripture's understanding of the term when they speak of believing in Jesus.

The Scriptural view doesn't exclude verifiable fact, nor does it discount intellectual apprehension. Rather, it sets forth the kind of belief that is best understood as a trusting, relational confidence in the trustworthiness of the one in whom we believe. Let's reconsider our freezing water example. If I was to see a photograph of frozen water and a thermometer showing an appropriate temperature, I'd probably accept it as genuine, barring any evidence of Photoshop trickery. If, however, I was shown a picture of my wife committing adultery, I'd judge it a forgery. Why? Because I'm in denial? Maybe, but I like to think it's because I know her, and I am known to her. There is a bond of love between us bathed in mutual trust.

Thirty-plus years of marriage can produce that resilient bond of trust. I know her well enough to discount something that, while apparently irrefutable, stands in such stark contrast to the character of the woman I know and love. The intimate nature of my trust in her is part and parcel of our relationship. And so it is with a Christian belief.

Christians are invited into a relational communion of trust that is compared in the Bible to marriage. That sheds a different light on the idea of exclusivity. It's less about who is left out and more about why they would be left out. People may disagree over the issue of fidelity in marriage. But they would likely agree that a unilateral violation of the relationship is wrong. They could see how a sacred covenant should be honored by those who enter into it—and modified, if at all, only by mutual agreement. That kind of exclusivity feels right to most. The covenant my wife and I share excludes us from sexual intimacy with others. It doesn't impoverish us. It sweetens the intimacy.

So exclusivity within certain relational parameters is not necessarily a bad thing. If that is true of human relationships, then certainly it must be true of those we share with God. A relational view of belief casts a very different light on the exclusivity claimed by Jesus.

The "why?" of exclusivity then isn't, "Oh, I didn't know that." It is instead the more personal rejection of, "I don't trust him. I am skeptical of his character and motives, and I have no desire to enter into a relationship based on mutual trust." That kind of rejection carries with it an assumed knowledge of the one rejected. It says, "I know enough about you not to trust you. No thanks. Not interested." But, I believe there's another, deeper motivation to the rejection. Here again, our marriage analogy will be helpful.

Even though cognition is involved, it's not only the cognitive process that fuels rejection. It's the desire for something else. It's like the rejection of a marriage proposal. However that rejection may be couched, it boils down to only a couple of things. The rejector feels like there may be better options available to them, or they just don't love the proposer.

The Bible speaks of those who love and trust Jesus as a body (an organic whole) and a bride (that God the Father wants for his Son, Jesus).  Those metaphors shed light on the nature of God's initiative, his "proposal" if you will, his motive, and the inherent exclusivity of the offer God extends. He invites all to join with his Son. All are invited to the wedding feast, but some simply find it less attractive than other options.

So unbelief, the rejection of a radically inclusive offer by an exclusive God, reflects categories like the refusal of a marriage proposal or even adultery. It's so much more than, "I didn't know."