My wife is the only naked woman that I have ever beheld.  To be very clear, this means that I have never been exposed to pornography in any fashion.  I escaped my adolescent years unscathed by the menace, having never been subjected to the stuff through abuse, as many of my friends were.  In adulthood, I have never had reason to seek it out.  My motivation for telling you this is to establish a case for the kind of imagination we are meant to inherit as the Children of Light.

 

Weeks ago, my wife told me a story regarding the behavior of our firstborn son, Sage.  While waiting in line at the grocery store checkout, Sage took brief notice of the scantily clad ladies of the newsstand display and, unprompted, immediately acted in valor.  He took it upon himself to stand in front of the ludicrous magazine covers, ostensibly to protect his younger siblings, acting as a barricade against their line of sight.  We have never trained that reflex.  That virtue was simply in him, waiting to come out, without thought or pretense.  Oh, by the way, Sage is eleven. He’s a stud.

 

What I am going to posit may sound like sanctimonious hokum, but this theory of a generational trajectory of sex only continues to become more entrenched and reinforced within me.  I believe that our children inherit our habits, at least in part, and our character.  All that we do and become, for good or ill, is the primary formative ground of their little beings.

 

You see, my grandfathers and my father passed on to me the memories of lives rife with fidelity and the highest of regards for femininity, purity and godly potency.  I, in turn, have continued in this Way.  My sons, it would seem, walk the same path before we have even engaged the curriculum of these things.

 

Virtually all of the men that I have heard lamenting their struggles with pornography seem to convey the notion that this must be a lifelong struggle, that they are always going to be some manner of disease-ridden nymphomaniac.  The best case scenario, as their stories go, is that the cancer may go into remission, but that the cancer will always, always remain in some fashion, tucked away in the deep, waiting to creep out again and strangle the life of his very soul, suffocate his entire family in its invisible violence.

 

A man’s addiction to pornography takes on the domineering presence of a Sith Lord, force-choking his enemies. This man, once committed to living the victorious Christian life, has become a sleepwalker. He is controlled by the will of another. 

 

I say, most emphatically, No!  This just cannot be and will not do whatsoever.  Because the Church cannot become a place in which we merely acquiesce our sons into a culture of assumed pornographic cravings.  We should be identified by lives of such scandalous chastity that the world would peer in with wonder at our restraint. Then they should ache for that bewildering fulfillment that we have in Him, which, of course, we also enjoy in either our exquisite wives or our exotic celibacy.

 

The industry of pornography has achieved the high ground, to be sure, at least for the time being.  But the gates of hell shall not prevail against us, right?  This is why I assert that your personal purity is not lofty enough a goal.  Our thoughts should run like water to the legacy of our progeny a thousand years from now.

 

It is high and holy time to establish the beachhead in this battle, Proven Men.  If we do not first rally together and form an impenetrable shield wall, our sons will not have a line to hold themselves, and they most certainly will not have received any marching orders from us.  We are that bulwark if we would but cling to the hilt of His sword, if our only wish were the bidding of the God-Emperor…

 

What say you?  Are you willing to be my sword-brother?

Let’s go shake the earth.

 

 

 

 

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