I’m preaching on Ezekiel 4-24 this week. And I’ve been reading it through. I can’t help wondering, in light of Ezekiel 16 and 23, what the modern equivalent might be. Perhaps it would go something like this:
Thus says the Lord God: “Son of man, sit here with me and share a drink. Let me give you an insight you might like to share with my people:”
My wife is hot. Totally hot. Perhaps too hot. Blessedly hot. Not that she’s always been like that. We knew each other as teenagers, and nobody could see it then except for me: I saw her potential. I helped her to shop. I paid for the perfume, the jewellery, the new clothes. Because of me, she blossomed. She came out of her shell. I taught her to smile, and her smile lit up the room. Her honey brown skin attracted the bees. Her breasts were almost surgically formed, though no knife had touched her skin. She was the envy of all. And I knew then that we should marry. And so I took her and we promised each other—forever.
I should have seen it coming. She liked to party; she enjoyed the attention. In time, she began to long for what others could give her—things she didn’t believe I could give her anymore. She found ‘other’ interests, and she dressed more and more to be noticed—baring her skin, inviting them in. She would walk in and kiss my friends on the lips—passionately, lingering, in full view of all. She made them squirm. They wanted to be with her, and she with them.
I guess it began in secret; I’ll never really know, for she kept it hidden from me. But what begins in the dark ends up in broad daylight. Now I arrive home and find her fully engaged in breathless, clothes-less delight on the lounge room floor. Between the groans, she politely enquires about my day as I reheat my dinner and sit down to watch television (I love the creativity of So You Think You Can Dance?). I usually turn up the sound.
At first, I felt jealous. Then angry. We fought a few times. But I woke up yesterday and realized that I’ve been learning—changing. My wife has taught me. Adultery doesn’t make you a bad person; everybody does it. There are so many nice things about her still, and I love how she’s taught me to share. Of course you can be good at your job while sleeping around. What was I thinking?
She’s helped me to mature. I think I’m finally growing up. It’s so easy to be jealous and angry, but peace cannot come without tolerance. You can’t gain shalom without a conversation and mutual understanding. What I once called (and I’m a little embarrassed about this) idolatry, I now appreciate as spiritual exploration. What I once called whoring, I now know as freedom.
If only my people could be more like me.
