Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her, that he might sanctify her, having cleansed her by the washing of water with the word, so that he might present the church to himself in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, that she might be holy and without blemish.

In the same way husbands should love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. For no one ever hated his own flesh, but nourishes and cherishes it, just as Christ does the church, because we are members of his body.

“Therefore a man shall leave his father and mother and hold fast to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.” This mystery is profound, and I am saying that it refers to Christ and the church. Eph 5:25-32

Jack, I haven’t had as much time to get to know you as I often have other young men we bless in this way. So I created a survey and sent it to every student on the Hillsdale College campus.

Well, actually I asked two people who know you and they both said the same thing. The truth, we know, is established in the mouth of two or three witnesses. They said you were dependable, steadfast, thoughtful and prayerful. They said you were the kind of guy men would follow.

There are wonderful things for someone to say about you as a young man. And they suggest you may already understand what I am about to say. But I’m going to say it anyway. I need to hear it, and so does every man here.

And what I want to say is that marriage is a covenant.

It is not a contract. It is not merely a commitment. Both of these are limited. The one focuses on your rights and the other usually only last as long as your rights are respected. But a covenant does not secure our rights. It surrenders them.

Consider David. He was sometimes a carnal man. But God honors his covenant with David. Abraham was sometimes fearful and even dishonest man. God’s covenants with them were based on what He would do. He swore by himself because He could swear by non one greater.

Covenants, including the new one that secures our salvation, were signified by sacrifice made, promises given, meals shared, witnesses sworn; many of these elements pointed to in a wedding ceremony today. That’s because marriage is about the kind of unconditional covenants God makes. This is the mystery referred to in Ephesians 5.

So know this.

It is a mystery that God uses flawed men like ourselves to picture his own sanctifying love for the church.

It is a mystery that a godly young woman would give herself to us in the first place.

It is a mystery that relationships that require such constant forgiveness and forbearance become stronger rather than strained.

It is a mystery that such covenant keeping relationships teach us more about fidelity and faithfulness than any sermon we will ever hear.

It is a mystery that Caroline will know you better than anyone else and yet love your more.

It is a mystery that God trusts us with children and unites us as one flesh with His own daughters.

It is a mystery that through your relationship with Caroline God will teach your children and your neighbors about His own sanctifying, covenant-keeping love.

It is a mystery because you can’t understand the grace that gives it and could never have anticipated the growth that accompanies it.

So cherish this woman. She is for you, all fair, more lovely than you know, stronger than you expect, more forgiving than you deserve. Nurture her, protect her, lavish her with gentle deeds and daily kindness.

She will thus blossom and flourish, more radiant than ever, reflecting the glory of her God. Love this woman in such a way that you both will understand more completely and gratefully how Christ loves his church.

This is now your great calling and will be your great joy.

We traveled to Chicago twice to meet him, but he didn’t come until the day after we left the second time.

The first time was just wishful thinking. We had a long weekend near his due date. And we like Chicago. So we spent Easter weekend at the Whitehall Inn on the Gold Coast, living the life of the idle rich. And spending time each day with our son Michael and his family. (Just for the record, we are neither rich nor idle.)

But we didn’t really expect the baby to arrive. We just wished he would.

Last Wednesday morning, however, we did expect him to arrive. Past his due date, the midwives decided they should try to induce labor early Wednesday, so we left work at noon and drove to the hospital in driving rain, stayed around a few hours and then drove home again, about 4 hours each way.

Between working, driving and waiting it was about a 20 hour day. But I’m not complaining. Karina was in labor longer than that.

They had decided to discontinue the pitosin drip about 8:30 p.m. and let Karina rest—starting again the next morning. And our eighth grandchild, Elias, made his appearance about 1:30 that afternoon, Thursday.

So Katie and I haven’t met him yet, although we made a valiant effort. And our next window is next weekend. He will probably be walking and talking by then.

This is not unusual, given the far-flung empire of our clan. My last two grandsons were born in Tallahassee and Seattle, and it took months to finally meet them. But I came close enough to welcoming Elias to make a few observations about his arrival.

And this is what I have to say to him about that.

First, young sir, you have a lot to be thankful for and a lot to look forward to. You are blessed to be wanted, loved, waited for and celebrated, by your parents, your sister, your grandparents and a host of aunts, uncles, cousins and friends.

But as I watched your mom in labor last weekend I was especially struck by her inner strength. Yes, I know moms have babies all the time, but few as quietly and confidently as yours did.

We could see the contractions on the monitor—but barely on her face. She drew on deep reserves, anticipating, as with your sister, a long and painful process. This was more than stoicism. It was more than a tolerance for pain. It was a resolute contemplation of joy to come.

You will, I expect, draw often on this reserve. Her love will steady you and her spirit will encourage you and her faith will sustain you. Some young men have mothers who drain them, even scare them. Some men have moms who are fragile and clingy and explosive. You are not one of those men.

And I’ll tell you this too. Your dad, my son, knows how to love your mom. Watch him closely and you will learn how to love her too. And to love your own wife someday, in a sanctifying, covenant-keeping way. As a dad I was proud of the way your father supported her and cherished her in that delivery room this week. Watch him closely and learn from him.

And listen to them both: Forsake not your father’s instruction and forsake not your mother’s teaching, for they are a graceful garland for your head and pendants for your neck (Proverbs 1:9):

Bind [their teachings] on your heart always,
tie them around your neck.
When you walk they will lead you;
When you lie down they will watch over you;
And when you awake they will talk to you.
For the commandment is a lamp
and the teaching a light (Proverbs 6:21-23)

So welcome, Elias Daniel Metts.

To a life already greatly blessed.

_________________________

If you are on Facebook, here is a link to Michael’s album and post for his new son.

Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her, that he might sanctify her, having cleansed her by the washing of water with the word, so that he might present the church to himself in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, that she might be holy and without blemish. In the same way husbands should love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. For no one ever hated his own flesh, but nourishes and cherishes it, just as Christ does the church, because we are members of his body. “Therefore a man shall leave his father and mother and hold fast to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.” This mystery is profound, and I am saying that it refers to Christ and the church. (Ephesians 5:25-32 ESV)

Kwame, you come to us as a stranger. And we trust you will leave tonight as a friend. This is the great gift of Christian hospitality.

But you are more than a friend. You are a brother. And you intend to marry one of our daughters in the faith. So you come also as a son.

So we commend you in the Lord to discharge faithfully the office of a husband, caring for Kim as Christ cares for his church. The Ephesians text, however, requires much more than care. You already care for Kim. It is our prayer than you will learn to love her as Christ loves the church.

Photo by Jennifer Buehrer

It is good to love our wives in this way. In fact it is good to spoil them when we can, to lavish them in the same way the grace of God pours over us, overwhelming us with undeserved mercy and irrepressible joy.

But the reason Christ loves the church in this way is to sanctify his bride, and present her to himself in splendor. So we give ourselves, frequently and freely, and we do this as Christ does it—to help our wives become radiant, holy, and beloved. We can’t help sanctify our wives, however, if we give up the principles that guide us and define us as sons of God.

This is the essential challenge—to protect and sanctify our wives, so that they flourish as daughters of God and find themselves more secure in our love. Biblical leadership does this, as we guide them toward biblical faithfulness. Such leadership is neither coercive or oppressive, but liberating and and patient.

This means you have a responsibility to create boundaries and expectations that lead your wife graciously toward godly maturity. And it means you must commit yourself to study and prayer, so you know what to do and how to explain it.

This is how we love them them as we love ourselves, and trust me, we do love ourselves. We cherish and nurture our own body—yet in marriage we become one flesh. We take care of ourselves. We look out for ourselves. And in marriage we learn better than we learn anywhere else to love someone else, to look after her interests, to be thoughtful and careful and kind.

I can tell you Kim is a strong willed woman. But it is the will of God you seek, and toward which you must point her and point yourself. Do not fail in this—to protect her, not just physically but spiritually, and not just when she agrees but when God tells you what He requires.

It is not enough to be well-educated, as you both are. It is wisdom you seek—the wisdom that begins with the fear of the Lord. You are being given a gift—a smart, beautiful, witty woman. But more than this you are being given a responsibility—to love her sacrificially, to guide her spiritually, and to worship God only.

This mystery is profound, and I am reminding you that it refers to Christ and the church. The way you do this will say more to your family than the words you speak. There are words that need to be said, certainly. But over time your testimony to your family and even your friends will be increased or diminished by how you manage this responsibility.

You will learn so much in marriage about when to speak and how to forgive. You will learn better how to bear the image of Christ in the world. By God’s grace those who know you will be drawn to your God as you are yourself transformed into the image of his Son.

Marriage helps transform us, more than any other human bond. You will find you must pray more and give more and love more. You will wait more and listen more and desire more.

We will pray, as friends and fathers and brothers, that you will find yourself rooted in the church of the living God, surrounded and strengthened by others who shoulder the Cross of Christ.

We will pray also for your life together, and for the children the Lord may give you.

And we will pray for you personally, that you will be strong in the faith, gracious in your leadership, and Christ like in your love for Kim.

This we pray, for the glory of God.

I’ve been writing about food lately, thinking through a food ethic that makes sense from my perspective as a Christian.

Certainly the questions are challenging. Would Jesus begrudge the global poor a little genetically modified grain? Would he drink coffee that was not fair trade? Would he drink coffee at all?

I’ve argued He would eat Jello if it was offered in the right spirit. After all, He says it’s not what goes into a man, but what comes out of a man that defiles him.

And in the context of the new covenant, New Testament writers largely take dietary laws off the table. Peter, a Jewish believer, is told in a vision to eat things his heritage forbids. Absolutely not, he says. But he is told “”What God has cleansed, no longer consider unholy.” In other texts certain kinds of food practices—insisting on fasting, for example— are condemned as legalism.

Clearly food is not a path to God, even if it does remind us to be grateful or brings us together around a table. But there was a food issue in the early church—food sacrificed to idols. Does this early debate help us understand how we might navigate the moral issues behind the production, distribution and consumption of food today?

ask no questions

To some degree, yes. Paul says, “Eat whatever is sold in the meat market without raising any question on the ground of conscience. For ‘the earth is the Lord’s, and the fullness thereof.’”

This seems like a good rule. It’s the original “don’t ask, don’t tell.” But he places it only in the context of not asking your host where the food came from. If someone has me over for dinner, I’m not likely to ask if the coffee is fair trade.

I’m unlikely to ask this question under any circumstances, although I am likely to buy coffee on this basis if it’s available. Unfortunately this rule oversimplifies what was a complex issue for believers in the first century.

No thoughtful reading of his instructions to the Corinthians could conclude that Paul wanted or encouraged his readers to eat food sacrificed to idols, although they had the freedom to do so. He is mostly concerned about the idols, not the food. He is concerned about how our freedom affects those who had worshiped idols but no longer did. He is concerned about how it affected those who worshiped idols but knew you did not. If it would offend a brother, Paul says, he would eat no meat at all.

offend no brother

Does that mean I shouldn’t eat anything that offends anyone? Of course not. Given the complexities of our modern food ecosystem I wouldn’t get to eat at all. Does it mean I should not eat meat because I have friends who are vegetarian? I don’t think so.

Because the issue here is idolatry, not food.

Is modern agribusiness with its abuses of labor, animals, and health a form of idolatry? Perhaps. Not only is the industry driven by avarice, you can crave a Big Mac more than you crave God.

But pride in our food sources or esthetic can be idolatry too. This ranges from the most obsessive foodies to the most healthy zealots. It has to do with those who think we can save the world to those who think we can save ourselves. Gluttony can be a kind of worship, but so can knowledge for the sake of knowledge. It’s the awe of God that leads to wisdom.

Paul begins his instruction saying, “knowledge puffs up, but love edifies.” So here is the basic of my food ethic: The choice that most cares for the most people, beginning with the ones across the table—that seems like the right choice.

Eating healthy, organic, or local can be the best choice if you have means and opportunity. But motives matter. Pride is a form of self-worship, the easiest idolatry of all. Considering broader social implications can also reflect creation care—but what if it means poor people go without jobs or food at all?

There is no biblical warrant I can imagine that justifies spiritual pride because we can afford organic food, or because we avoid food with a carbon footprint.

Or because we can’t or don’t, either.

[Next installment—the ones across the table.]

I find myself, sometimes, wanting to rush through a mealtime prayer, especially if my eggs are getting cold.

But God, we know, takes food seriously. He starts us out in a garden, then promises His people a land flowing with milk and honey, and finally holds before his children the promised Marriage Supper of the Lamb.

Even now this promise is represented at the Lord’s Table—sharing bread and wine to remember the sacrifice of His Son and to anticipate His return, one of the most ubiquitous and meaningful experiences of our life together as believers.

Food is more than imagery, of course. It is not just a metaphor, but a real, tangible, and necessary thing. We pray, as Christ taught, for our daily bread. And for millenniums we have worked for and prayed for it in ways that are easy to forget, given the distance between our tables and our fields.

The most helpful aspect of the slow, organic, local food movement perhaps is the call to see the connection between the food we eat and the land that sustains us. “Eating is an agricultural act,” as Wendell Berry puts it.

But that’s not quite far enough, as Berry acknowledges in his essay on “The Pleasures of Eating.” The real connection is between the food we eat and the God who gives it to us. That strikes me as the connection He always intended.

Our thanksgiving, unfortunately, is either ritual or rare. Perhaps both. For evangelicals especially, nothing comes as close as quickly to the vain repetitions of which Christ warned. A cursory nod, perhaps, to the cook, and maybe to the strength we might gain. But even the devout often give thanks with no consideration to the rain, the soil, the farmer, the harvest, or even the taste.

There is no awe of the miracle, especially if it comes in a box. This is a great loss. To the degree the “real food” movement helps us celebrate the textures, and odors, and tastes of our food, we move in the right direction. But this can easily turn to pride instead of gratitude, as we congratulate ourselves on our ability to buy it, cook it, or even recognize it.

Arugula anyone?

You don’t have to be a hipster or a foodie for this to happen, however. You can buy your food at a discount grocer in a box or grow it outside your backdoor and still forget the connection to your Provider. You can be as proud of your thrift as you are of your good taste.

In contrast the ancient Hebrews gave thanks before they ate, offered prayer over each specific food as it was served, and then offered a benediction at the end. These blessings for food continue today. And the Apostle Paul reminds us foods were created by God “to be received with thanksgiving by those who believe and know the truth.”

“For everything created by God is good,” he continues, “and nothing is to be rejected if it is received with thanksgiving, for it is made holy by the word of God and prayer.”

It’s no great feat to see better food as good. I commend those who remind us it tastes better and is better for us.

But to see food as holy?

Well, that’s a miracle too.

[The second in a series on faithful eating.]

It’s becoming a trope among Christian food writers to wonder what Jesus would eat at a church potluck.

Would He eat the raspberries, flown from somewhere in Central America and picked by underpaid laborers? What about chicken injected with hormones? A meal like this is filled with ethical and nutritional landmines.

And Jello? Really? Would the creator of the original garden, and every garden since, eat something that doesn’t even resemble food as He imagined it, in color, texture, taste or benefit?

Would He worry if the green beans were local? Fret about the conditions they were harvested under? Think about the way the animals were treated? Would He count calories or fat grams or carbs?

And what about great-aunt Susie’s chicken, deep fried in trans-fats? She made it especially for Him, or for his Bride the church. Would He encourage her or scold her? Is this her widow’s mite, a humble, generous offering?

What about you, with your organic salad made from obscure designer lettuce and served with chemical-free home-made dressing? Does He praise your food or excoriate your pride? How far would He have to dig in your refrigerator to reveal your hypocrisies?

Personally, I think Aunt Susie wins here. He takes fried chicken with a little Jello on the side. Maybe some of your salad, just so you won’t feel slighted. He is rich in mercy. And maybe you did bring it as a gracious offering to the Lord.

This is the Man who ate with publicans and sinners. And He called the Pharisees out over and over again for their pretension and their pride. He wouldn’t see a potluck, where his people come together to be with each other, as a place for teaching about nutrition or social justice. He came to be with sinners, after all.

I’m not saying he wouldn’t be bothered by the ethical concerns that reflect our abuse of his creation, including our bodies. I just don’t think he would see the potluck as the right venue to address it. And frankly I think he would be more concerned with our heart than our diet. In fact he said so.

But food is a new legalism, one of many. And I doubt He would have much patience with it. The dietary laws of the Old Testament had become a stumbling block by the time he arrived. And the New Testament pretty much turns its restrictions on their heads (more in the next post).

Today’s dietary laws are no different. They’ve become an endless source of vanity, judgment and self-righteousness.

You know who you are.

Seriously.

Have some raspberries.

_________________________________________________________

[This begins a series on the ethics of food: how to pray over it, think about it and choose it, all without judging your neighbor or violating your conscience. Comment early and often.]

It’s my birthday today. I’m sixty years old. The big 6-O!

There was a winter storm last night, so we didn’t go out for dinner as we planned. I broiled some shrimp and scallops and was content to spend a quiet evening at home. I find myself content with silence more and more.

A colleague and his wife, my co-assistant pastor and my pastor of over 25 years and his wife joined Katie and me for lunch at the university. And they asked me what I’ve learned.

I’ve learned, and am learning, how to rest in the mercies of God. I’ve thought about grace a lot over the last two decades. I’ve thought quite a bit about the glory of God in the last ten years.

The relationship between the grace of God and the glory of God has occupied most of my theological reflection. We are dependent on His grace and He gets the glory. His grace alone sustains us, saves us, changes us.

But one thing I’m beginning to understand better is the mercy of God.

You see His mercies better looking back than looking forward. Any thoughtful reflection leads to the recognition of His sovereign care. His direction, His provision, His protection— we are humbled that He would use us at all, grateful that He would chose us as an object of His love.

At 60 you can rest and think about that. Perhaps you can even start to understand it.

I sometimes joke that by the end we are all Calvinist. But I don’t really mean this in any theological sense, only in the sense that the older we get the more clearly we see His hand, even in our greatest sorrows or failures.

I’ve had my share of losses. I was estranged from my daughter, and in some ways still am—at least in matter of the faith. I have a son whose choices sometimes keep me up at night. I have had reverses in my career and health. No reason or no way to list them all here.

But blessings too, too many to count: faithful friends, adorable grandchildren, a healthy church, a godly wife.

So we can have a cup of tea in the morning, resting completely in the mercies of God. So many things I can’t change, so many things I can’t do over, and yet He is Himself a quiet habitation, a sure foundation, a shelter in any storm.

In Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening today he writes about the children of Israel and their wanderings in Exodus:

They were never long in one place. Even wells and palm trees could not detain them. Yet they had an abiding home in their God, his pillar was their rooftree and its flame by night their household fire.

And later:

Let prospects be blighted, let hopes be blasted, let joy be withered, let mildew destroy everything; I have lost nothing of what I have in God, my strong habitation whereunto I continually resort.

Katie and I both wept. That’s it, really. In sixty years we are finally learning to rest in His mercy.

An abiding home is our God.

And it’s not the one on Cochran Rd.

Harken diligently unto me, and eat ye that which is good, and let your soul delight itself in fatness. Isaiah 55:2 (KJV)

My grandfather had started drinking before he came home from the war to find a wife who no longer wanted him and a country that no longer needed him.

He was a broken man long before I knew him, an itinerant carpenter and sometimes fisherman. He lived with several women, whom my parents euphemistically called his wives. Mostly he lived alone.

When he wasn’t drinking my parents would let me visit him.

I’m 12, standing by a canal in Naples, Florida, with Pop, fishing with a cast net. It’s cool, late afternoon. Maybe morning. We have a washtub, a large one, and we are filling it with fish.

Literally filling it, 30 or more good-sized mullet, 10 to 12 inches long. They run in schools along the sea wall, especially in cooler weather, and we haul them in with every cast, five or six at a time. In just a few minutes we have more fish than we can clean and store in his small freezer.

We walk back to his home, wherever that is. He is always moving. He carries three or four of the mullet into the kitchen, leaving the tub outside to take care of after dinner.

Or after breakfast. It doesn’t matter, really. The meals are indistinguishable. The same every time, except a fried egg or two in the morning.

We’ve only been gone half an hour. Grits are on the stove. Coffee too, thicker than mud. He has stirred an egg into the coffee pot, to separate the grounds that settle to the bottom.

Pop has filleted hundreds of mullet, and works quickly as the grease heats up. The gills are deep red, the eyes clear, the flesh translucent. He cuts off the section near the tail, a special, boneless treat, and runs his knife along the backbone of each side. He rolls the fish in flour and cornmeal and drops the fillet into the hot oil as it crackles and spatters on the stove.

As the fish are frying he beats cornmeal, onion, and milk together, and after setting the fish on a paper towel drops spoons full of batter into the hot grease. I clean up some dirty dishes from the sink and we sit down to eat. There is not a vegetable in the house. Not a green one, anyway.

The meal is perfect.

Somewhere my future wife is growing up in the Midwest, eating sweet corn a few minutes from the stalk. My corn is dried and coarsely ground, smothered with butter and salt.

But even today, almost fifty years removed from living by the gulf, I crave that fresh saltwater fish a few minutes from the bay—hot, juicy and oily, served with hush puppies. I think that’s what Jesus served his disciples on the shore of the Galilee, after the resurrection.

The disciples came ashore, with a tub full of fish, and John tells us: “When they landed, they saw a fire of burning coals there with fish on it, and some bread.”

“Come and have breakfast,” Jesus said.

It proved he was alive.

“Sit down and eat,” Pop said.

We marvel at the bounty of our feast. He says grace. We talk about the tides, about the catch, about the sea, as the oil runs down my chin.

And in that moment my grandfather was most alive to me, as broken as he was. There was not a moment when I loved him more, understood him better, or forgave him as much.

It is always so, at a common table, sharing a common grace. Food brings us together and points us to God, the giver of fish and bread.

And Christ, as perfect as He is, will be most alive to us when we feast with him at the Marriage Supper of the Lamb.

There will be fish.

_______________________________________________________
See also okra for lunch, just enough is plenty, what’s for lunch and simple summer suppers.
For more about my grandfather: In memoriam
_______________________________________________________

Fried Florida Mullet

• 1 large egg
• 1 teaspoon water
• 1/2 cup all-purpose flour
• 1/2 cup cornmeal
• 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 teaspoon pepper
• 4 mullet fillets
• oil for frying

Heat oil to 375 degrees F in deep saucepan. Whisk together egg and water in a shallow dish. Combine flour, cornmeal, cayenne, salt and pepper; mix well. Dip fillets into egg wash, then into flour mixture to coat. Deep fry fish in hot oil for 4-5 minutes until fish is golden brown. Drain on a paper towel.

Hushpuppies

• 2 cups corn meal
• 2 teaspoons baking powder
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1 1/2 cups sweet milk
• 1/2 cup water
• 1 large onion, chopped fine

Mix the dry ingredients together and add the milk and water. Stir in the chopped onion. Add more meal or milk as may be necessary to form a soft but workable dough. Drop by the spoonful in deep hot oil used to fry fish until well browned.

A few summers ago I decided to learn how to grill a better steak. And I succeeded. My sons say they wish I had learned before they left home. I read several articles on the kind of cuts, the process of air-drying, the temperature of the pan.

It turned out that the reduction of heat after the steak is seared is critical. And the quality of the steak, as well. Frankly I buy cuts of meat I couldn’t afford when I had four kids at home. But now I can grill a steak better, more consistently. And this year I’m going to learn to do omelets right. I’ve fixed omelets three times in the last week.

You have to have good ingredients, or course. We buy farm fresh eggs and I’ve been thinking more about the quality of the cheese and the freshness of the chives, things like that. For now I’m working with a recipe from the American Test Kitchen for French omelets.

This involves preheating and reheating the pan, grating frozen butter, stirring with chopsticks instead of a fork. It’s fun, and a lot faster than it sounds. But I can’t turn it out in a perfect roll. Yet. And mine is not as fluffy or moist as the ideal I’m trying to achieve.

In other words, it doesn’t look like the picture.

I think every recipe is like that.

And I don’t mean just the ones that involve food. We have a picture in our head, someone tells us the exact steps to take, and the result isn’t quite what we imagined. We turned down the heat too soon, or we stirred the eggs too long.

Practice helps. I’ve not turned out as many omelets as the bistro chef at the Twisted Olive. But I’ve not raised enough kids to get that exactly right, either— despite all the recipes my mother and my well-meaning friends had for my success.

Omelets will be easier.

So it’s the year of the omelet. Offer suggestions. Invite yourself over if you are comfortable with imperfection. I’m still trying to understand the difference between gruyere and gouda.

I have so much to learn, although fluffy and moist seem within my reach.

“He wants stark simplicity. She dreams of sumptuous plenty. Increase the odds of achieving conflict resolution with the spare but sensual look of luxe minimalism”

A couple of weeks ago, I almost quit subscribing to the Wall Street Journal.

Regular readers know I love the Journal, and quote or refer to it often. It’s one of my guilty pleasures, to come home after work and sit in the easy chair under the stairs by the window. After I’ve fixed dinner and washed the dishes, of course. Ok, maybe that’s a stretch.

But I do enjoy relaxing with the political insights of Peggy Noonan, the technology coverage by Walt Mossberg, and movie reviews by Joe Morgenstern. And quite frankly, I enjoy the feel of the paper itself—the tactile interaction with paper and ink that encourages reflection and even action.

I’m a journalist at heart. I was just quoted in an article about the role of Christian journalists in our culture. And in our newsrooms. And while I get most of my news on the internet, the WSJ serves a different role for me—a source of informed commentary on things that interest me, long form writing that creates more context than a 200 word brief or a 140 character tweet.

But a couple of weeks ago, January 26 to be exact, the entire front page of the Off Duty section was given over to a lavishly illustrated and mostly meaningless article entitled “Can Décor Save a Marriage?”

Well, no.

But apparently “luxurious minimalism” that blends “Puritan plainness and cozy sensuality” will help you live happily ever after. Leave aside for a moment the Puritan sensuality thing. Actually, don’t leave it aside. Perhaps my Puritan heritage recoiled at the idea. However, a marriage that could be saved by redecorating is a marriage that was already lost.

In the article romance novelist Jackie Collins tells how she lives alone because her two ex-husbands couldn’t deal with her numerous sculptures of leopards and other predatory animals. I would think being married to a romance novelist would have more serious challenges.

Marriage is a covenant after all, not a compromise between drapes and blinds, or white walls and eggplant colored throws. It is not about the art; it’s about the heart. When I read the article I felt like a stranger in a foreign land, and that may be the biggest benefit of all.

I didn’t cancel my subscription in the end. But I was awakened to a stranger world than I know. This world is not my home. Really.

So I didn’t give much thought to the collection of $4000 purses on the cover of the Off Duty section a couple of weeks later, but I did keep the omelet recipe on page 3.

I’m pretty sure it won’t save my marriage, though.

Thank God.