IVP - Strangely Dim

The Social Construction of Sexy

by David A. Zimmerman

Brad Pitt, Richard Gere, George Clooney and Benjamin Bratt should, by all rights, be dead.

I do not draw this conclusion because my wife nearly loses consciousness when the camera settles on their faces. I’m not so petty. Nevertheless, they should be dead. After all, they were each (at least once) voted “sexiest man alive” by People magazine. And since being voted “sexiest man alive,” each has been tossed to the curb to make way for another “sexy” man’s ascendancy. And with the possible exception of Brad Pitt, these guys don’t look much different now from how they looked the day before the “sexiest ballots alive” were cast.

Maybe I don’t have an eye for that sort of thing, but I still find it alarming that the world is, apparently, swarming with superlatively sexy men—one of which I, sadly, am not. These men don’t look much like one another, nor do they look much like the sexy interlopers who have taken their place—Sean Connery, for example, or Johnny Depp. What is sexy in America is a moving target, and no sooner have you received guidance on the “sexiest haircut alive” or the “sexiest use of chest hair alive” than some sexy-come-lately turns the national head, and you have to start over again.

No, sexiness is linked to newness in America; it’s difficult to be familiar and sexy at the same time. And our ability to come to widespread agreement about what is temporarily sexy on a consistent basis is testimony to the social construction of sexiness. It’s not so much that we become aware of, say, Ben Affleck’s sexiness; it’s more so that we agree to think of Ben Affleck and not, say, Ben Franklin as sexy.

Issues can be as sexy as humans, which is to say that our infatuation with issues can be as fickle and fleeting as our infatuation with Pierce Brosnan’s rock-hard abs. This poses a problem for book publishers, even magazine publishers, even increasingly Internet publishers, since the time it takes to fully address an issue from every angle often exceeds the time it takes to get distracted by some other, more flashy topic. It’s the same kind of group decision making as the knowing glances between women when, say, Freddie Prinze Jr. walks into a room, followed shortly thereafter by, say, Denzel Washington.

But maybe it’s good that our answer to the question “What is sexy?” is so fleeting and temporary. After all, it’s hardly all that important. My relationship with George Clooney didn’t change all that much once he was voted “sexiest man alive,” nor did it change when his reign as “sexiest man alive” ended just 365 sexy days later. If once a year we can settle the “Who is the sexiest man of all?” question, I will waste less time asking it of my magic mirror and get back to work making the world a better place for everyone, sexy or not.

Accidental Friendships

by David A. Zimmerman

I boarded a bus to Florida with the youth group I was working with. My seat partner was a sophomore whose parents had decided she needed “church friends.” Being ordered to spend a week on the beach would usually be OK, but a larger issue clouded this trip: she had been told who her friends should (and would) be.

Such relational tyranny offends the ears of a “free society”: our ancestors fought wars for the freedom of association, among other things. But even if we can pick our friends, does a pure freedom of association really exist? We are stuck in this time and place, and we have to make do with the people here with us—I can’t make friends with Moses, for example. The Internet doesn’t eliminate these boundaries; I can’t form a virtual friendship with someone who doesn’t have Internet access any more conveniently than I can be pen pals with someone who can’t read.

So there are people I can never, for all practical purposes, be friends with. On the flip side, there are people I can be friends with without any real effort. I didn’t meet every neighbor before moving into my neighborhood; I didn’t interview every coworker before taking my job; I selected my church without much thought about who sits in the congregation. And yet my neighborhood, my job and my church (among other social networks) all place me in these “accidental” relationships.

The Bible tells us it’s not good for us to be alone, and so we aren’t alone. God made a number of us: first one (Adam) and then the other (Eve). They had to cultivate a climate of friendship, which involved both hospitality (Adam’s welcoming of Eve) and incarnation (Eve’s entering the reality of Adam). Whether we are outside looking in or inside looking out, neither one is an easy task. Either way we find ourselves suddenly grafted to the same tree.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer understood the fragile nature of “life together”:

“The serious Christian . . . is likely to bring . . . a very definite idea of what Christian life together should be and to try to realize it. But God’s grace speedily shatters such dreams. Just as surely as God desires to lead us to a knowledge of genuine Christian fellowship, so surely must we be overwhelmed by a great disillusionment with others, with Christians in general, and, if we are fortunate, with ourselves.” (Life Together)

It’s a foregone conclusion that we’ll be hurt by others, and we’ll hurt others. But moving from coexistence to friendship requires the willingness to enter into this give and take in full awareness of both our failings and the failings of our accidental friends.

My seat partner and I finished that trip to Florida as friends, more aware that friendships are hard to come by and hard to maintain. The emphasis lies first on the climate we set: whether we are willing to risk rejection as we place ourselves into the reality of others, and whether we are willing to make room in our reality for the sudden entrance of others. Either way it’s hard, but either way it’s worth the effort.

***

“Accidental Friendships” first appeared in Student Leadership Journal, a publication of InterVarsity Christian Fellowship.

Don’t Knock-Knock the Catechism

by David A. Zimmerman
Why is everyone so afraid of theology? Maybe one reason is that it's so darn wordy. For example, the Roman Catholic catechism runs 756 pages (plus an index) in a 1994 mass market edition. (Get it? “Mass market!” Ha!) Protestants don’t get it any easier—their systematic theologies run several volumes at a pop, and the really good ones are in German.

But is there really any reason to let theology get so complicated? I’ve written my own systematic theology, in fact, as a series of knock-knock jokes. They’re not only formative—they’re hilarious!

The Doctrine of Creation
Knock-knock.
Who’s there?
Nothing and Nobody.
Nothing and Nobody who?
Nothing and Nobody till I say so.
Who said that?

The Doctrine of God
Behold, I stand at the door and knock-knock.
Who’s there?
I AM WHO I AM.
What? Who?
I WILL BE WHO I WILL BE.
Come again?
OK, OK, Father, Son, Holy Spirit.

The Doctrine of Humanity
Knock-knock.
Who’s there?
Made.
"Maid"? As in “Let’s hire a maid to clean up this mess"?
No, “Made,” as in “Made in the image of God.”
Oh, right, gotcha.

The Doctrine of Sin
Knock-knock.
Who’s there?
ssssssssssssss . . .
Who’s there?
sssssssssssss . . .
Really, who’s there?
Ssssssin is crouching at your door.
Ssssssin is crouching at your door who?
Oh, for the love of God . . .

The Doctrine of Salvation
Knock-knock.
Who’s there?
The Light of the World.
The Light of the World who? I don’t understand.
Right, like I didn’t see that coming.

The Doctrine of the Holy Spirit
Knock-knock.
Who’s there?
Wooooooosh!
Wooooooosh who?
This is the way; walk in it.
What?

The Doctrine of the Church
Knock-knock.
Who’s there?
We are.
We are who?
We are the body of Christ.
What? Who are the body of Christ?
The now and not yet.
All right, I'll bite: The now and not yet who?
The now and not yet kingdom of God.

The Doctrine of Last Things
Knock-knock.
Who’s there?
Jesus.
Finally! Come in!

OK, so it’s not as straightforward as I might have hoped. And perhaps “hilarious” was a little strong. But maybe it’s worth a few laughs. And at least it’s got a good punch line.