Waiting At the Window

Brett and me

“Hope deferred makes the heart sick…” Proverbs 13:12

From a very young age, my second-born son, Brett, was positively delightful.  He had a contagious smile that could light up a room, bright, dancing eyes and a playful, charming, sensitive disposition.  That is the image of Brett I prefer to remember.

But as the years passed, and my marriage began to crumble under the weight of abuse, neglect and drug and alcohol abuse, I saw my happy, fun-loving Brett begin to withdraw.  The slow progression over time transformed Brett from his lively, fun-loving self into a young boy who was sullen and introverted.  Brett struggled in school, spent long hours alone in his room, comforted himself with junk food, or escaped the tension of our home life by immersing himself in movies and video games.

I have to shamefully admit that I was too preoccupied with survival – believing that my prayers and faithfulness would ultimately restore our family – to see what was happening all around me.  My life swirled around a hostile and unpredictable husband while I kept on doing what I had been told to do.  I continually prayed for the father of our children and believed that I could single-handedly cobble together a sense of normalcy in our household in spite of my husband’s endless demands and frightening outbursts.  I convinced myself that I could shield our children from what was really going on in our home.

How very wrong I was.  Our family’s rapid descent into chaos began when Brett was about 6 years old.  And in the years that followed, my sweet-natured Brett lived in a silent, separate world, cruelly held captive in a personal prison defined by loneliness and fear.  He mostly kept to himself, trying to live under the radar, trusting no one for fear of being ridiculed for his feelings, and hiding from the risk of further rejection.

After our separation when Brett was 9, Brett saw his father suddenly take on a new role – that of the Disneyland dad – the grown-up weekend playmate.  And Brett believed that he could now have the relationship with his dad he always dreamed possible.  Although Brett’s father would drop just about anything to spend time with Brett’s older brother Kyle (the certain favorite among the four siblings), when it was Brett’s turn to have a day or a weekend with his dad, his father’s punctuality and interest seemed to falter.

On days when his father was scheduled to pick him up, Brett would sit stoically at the front room window, eager to see his father’s car pulling into the driveway.  But quite often his father either arrived late or failed to show altogether.  The minutes would tick slowly by, and sometimes an hour or more would pass after the arranged time before the phone would ring.  On some occasions, Brett’s father would call and say he was going to be late, and Brett would graciously agree to wait.  But then his dad might call again long after the newly scheduled time and say he wouldn’t make it after all.  I would watch Brett’s countenance fall at the news, and I wanted to pick up the phone and let that man have it.

Sometimes his dad didn’t show or call.  And, yet, with each new opportunity to have time with his father, Brett would return to the window once again – anxiously waiting, hoping, believing.  I would see him there, and as the minutes or hours passed, I knew I was witnessing his very heart breaking – and mine broke along with his.

“Brett, you don’t have to do this,” I would tell him.  “How about if I call your dad and tell him you have made other plans?  You and I can go out together,” I would offer.  But Brett’s hope was unbending.  “No, Mom,” he would say, “He’s coming.  I know he’s coming.”

Yet time after time, his father didn’t come.  In the course of cleaning, doing laundry and cooking, I would pass by to see Brett in his solitary place – wholly committed to the possibility of some meaningful father-and-son time.  And my soul vacillated between two consuming emotions – overwhelming sadness and a burning anger toward the man who would keep his young son waiting at the window, the son who was starving for the smallest measure of his attention and affection only to be left gazing out on our lonely street time and time again.

On those occasions when his father did come, Brett would leap from his place at the window and charge for the door, a hopeful light in his eyes.  I knew he believed that maybe this would be the day his dad would reach out to him.  Maybe this day they would connect and laugh and talk and be close.  Their time together would be everything it was meant to be, everything he ever wanted.  Their time would be special, it would be memorable, it would be perfect.

That day never came.

Even when they did spend time together, Brett’s father did not look for ways to connect with him or ask him about his life or his interests.  And often Brett would return home, and the look he wore was almost always one of dejection or disappointment.

One particular day, I went into my upstairs bedroom to find Brett seated on his drum stool in front of the sliding glass door that overlooked our street, waiting as he had done so many times before.  As I entered, the agonizing look on his face stopped me in my tracks.  It was a look that defied words:  the look of utter despair in the eyes of an 11-year-old boy – the look of a father’s son who had lost all hope, had finally given up.  “What’s wrong, Honey?” I asked him.  His hazel eyes met mine from across the room, and as the tears began to course down his cheeks, the words were spoken so softly and matter-of-factly, I felt sick.

“Dad doesn’t love me,” he almost whispered.  And with that most heart-rending utterance, I quickly moved to him and held his little body against mine. Brett clung to me and wept and poured out all the anguish that he had been carrying all alone, while my heart broke for my little boy who should have never known such pain.  All of the patience and hope and forgiveness he had offered, the confident certainty that he would one day find all of the love and acceptance he longed to receive from his father collapsed under the weight of years of unimaginable rejection.

Not long after Brett’s father stopped inviting him to spend time with him altogether.

Even these ten years later, Brett’s wounds remain.  A couple of years ago, during an open discussion with his brother and sisters about their collective history, Brett revealed to his brother and sisters that his heart still aches for the love and acceptance he never received from his father.  They recalled to him how patiently he used to wait at the window, and he responded how he felt like, even all these years later, he is still waiting there, waiting at the window, wondering if his father will ever truly miss him, come for him.

This mother’s heart breaks for her son, and I carry a huge burden of guilt for his pain.  I was encouraged to do whatever was necessary to keep my family “whole.”  But, we weren’t whole.  We were broken and battered and living in a home bursting at the seams with daily turmoil and fear.  My once happy, outgoing son suffered for it and is still recovering from my foolish lack of understanding.  So yes, I blame myself.

I know God can heal Brett, and I pray that God uses even those very dark memories in his life – and mine – to reach others, to give him a heart of compassion for those in similarly lonely and painful situations.  And I pray that Brett will become the kind of father he always wished he had.

But I can tell you that, knowing what I know now and seeing the collective magnitude of pain that my kids endured, if I had it to do over again, I would have left that toxic, abusive environment long before I did to give Brett – and Kyle and Charla and Amberly – something it is now much too late to give them – a happy childhood.  But I can never repay that debt; I can never make it right.

There are those who say us that children are resilient, that they possess some unique ability to overcome that kind of pain.  I believe that is a sentiment intended to free us from the burden of acknowledging how deeply they have truly been hurt.   I also believe that if I knew then what I know now, I would have left with my children long before I did.  I would have worked overtime to empower them to acknowledge what is right and true, to instill in them a sense of their own value from a young age, and I would have strived to make sure their home was a place where they would expect to find the greatest measure of stability and safety and acceptance I could possibly offer them.

Everyone told me that, as long as he wasn’t hitting me, I had to stay.

They were wrong.

Don’t listen to those people.  If you are in an abusive environment, you don’t have to stay.  And you shouldn’t.

Brett and me twenty years later

I wouldn’t wish this depth of regret on anyone.

Cindy Burrell

Copyright 2013

All Rights Reserved

Seven Long Years

“Time, whose tooth gnaws away at everything else, is powerless against truth.” – Thomas Huxley

The above quote has become one of my favorites because I am certain that, in the end, the truth will be revealed.  I also know that some lies are served up so consistently and convincingly that it can be difficult to see what is true through the thick fog of deception, and there is no way of knowing how much time may pass before the truth is clearly visible.  It was for seven long years that such a fog succeeded in alienating my son from me.

My story is not uncommon.  I know many parents who have either lost – or fear losing – their children to a lie, and it is for this reason I have chosen to share this story.

After separating from my abusive husband, it was not long before he went on the offensive.  He began to offer up a fictitious history about our marriage, to plant seeds of doubt about my character, my commitment and my faith in the minds of those willing to listen.  He also used the time he spent with our four children to attempt to undermine my credibility in their young eyes. Though he urged secrecy from them, they would sometimes hesitantly pose questions to me about damning falsehoods about me their father had shared.

The woman he described to our kids was someone I did not know, and there were occasions when I was put in the awkward position of having to correct our kids’ understanding.  It was heartbreaking to know that our kids had been put into a position where they had to choose whom or what to believe.  For the most part, I felt confident that the significant contrast between our former home life and the new life we had come to appreciate was evidence enough.

Our second-born eldest son, Kyle, had always been his father’s favorite.  Kyle never sought the title of “the chosen one,” nor was his status a secret among the children.  It was never discussed; it just was.  So, it was no surprise that, after the divorce was final, when Kyle was about 13, their father began to spend most of his free time with him.  And even though the essential battles were over, another insidious battle continued to rage.  Kyle’s father used their time together to confer upon our young son how many ways I had failed him and what a poor wife I had been, to win Kyle over and to pit him against me.

Almost every time he spent a day or two with his father, Kyle often returned home hostile and battle-ready.  At times I would try to assuage his obvious stress, but rather than talk, he preferred to argue.  Knowing what was going on behind the scenes, I chose to acknowledge the hardships of the divorce and reminded him that he didn’t have to choose one parent over the other; he could have both.  My efforts to reach him didn’t make much of a difference, but at least he knew how I felt about the situation.

I also recognized that his dad was probably more fun.  Their time together was spent watching football and their favorite movies over pizza and soda.  They might spend an afternoon shopping for CDs or listening to music or attending an occasional concert.  When Kyle returned home, it was my job to make sure he did his homework and his chores and brushed his teeth before heading to bed.  The contrast didn’t bother me; I knew the kids needed both of us, and I accepted my role as the un-fun one.  And, let’s face it; the harsh reality of Monday through Friday is generally going to be a tougher gig than the simple pleasures of eating junk food and sleeping in.  We still had our own family movie nights and birthday parties and took day trips and mini-vacations, but Kyle often chose to excuse himself from outings and events with any of us his father sarcastically referred to as “those people.”

Over time, the hostility Kyle exhibited toward me increased.  He was not only ready for a fight, but he seemed to relish any opportunity to argue, put me down, or throw his weight around.  It was as though Kyle had assumed the role of his abusive father, and while I sought to maintain discipline and provide a healthy contrast, of utmost concern was that Kyle might become just like his dad.

At times, Kyle’s anger would erupt and he would point a finger of condemnation at me for divorcing his dad.  “You had no cause to divorce him.  If it wasn’t for you we’d still be a family!  Why did you do it?” he demanded to know.  Everything in me wanted to spill the truth – the emotional beatings I had taken, his father’s heartbreaking lapses of integrity, and all I had endured in an effort to keep our family whole.  But the sordid truth was more than any young man needed to know.  I held my tongue and told Kyle he just needed to trust that I did what I believed was best for our family.  But that was not good enough for Kyle, and his resentment toward me continued to simmer.

After I remarried, Kyle tried to maintain his position as the new man of the house, but it wasn’t long before my husband was compelled by Kyle’s abusive tendencies to put Kyle in his place.  Kyle saved his outbursts for times when Doug wasn’t home, but now we all had backing when we needed it.

One fall evening, Kyle decided he was being treated unfairly after he had a bad day, and I had the audacity to remind him to empty the dishwasher.  A couple of hours later he was gone – to live with his dad.  There was no yelling or slamming of doors.  No note, no warning, no explanation.  Crushed by his decision, I pondered at that moment whether I had lost him forever.  I could only pray it wasn’t so.  I had to let Kyle go and pray that he would discover the truth on his own – that he would not choose to follow in his father’s footsteps.

I didn’t hear from Kyle for weeks.  He invited me to coffee one evening, and we talked only of ordinary things, daily routines and school and work and his siblings.  A part of me wanted to implore him to come home, but I held my head high and did not cry or plead or ask why.  When we parted I hugged him and confirmed my love – just thankful that he hadn’t shut me out completely.

As the months passed we got together from time to time.  During our conversations, Kyle never complained about his father, never shared anything significant about their life together, and I didn’t ask.  Then, at one of our meetings, Kyle told me he was ready to come home.  But, the reality was that the rest of us had come to enjoy our home without him living there.  We now had a home where there was no drama, no hostility, no ongoing angry outbursts.  The rest of us had come to relish the peace we now enjoyed.  So, I told Kyle that we weren’t ready for him to come home.  He was clearly shocked at my response.  I’m sure he assumed that I would eagerly welcome him home like nothing had happened and we’d pick up where we left off.   But no.

When we parted that day, he was more somber than I had seen him in the past and probably a little hurt.  But I needed to make sure he understood what coming home meant not just to him, but to the whole family; that as much as he clung to his perception of being right, he had still been wrong.  I needed to know that he fully understood that his behaviors needed to change.  What I did not know was that the fog had been lifting in Kyle’s life, even if he wasn’t yet prepared to admit it.

Late one night a few days later the phone rang.  When I answered, Kyle was on the other end of the line crying and hysterical.  He said that he had to leave his dad’s house, that his dad had been raging and cursing at him, calling him names and had kept him from leaving – and that it wasn’t the first time.  He begged me to come and get him and said that if I didn’t he would run away.  I knew I couldn’t leave him in an abusive situation, so I asked him where his dad was, and Kyle told me that he was asleep.  I conferred with Doug and we agreed that we would meet with the other kids in the morning, discuss the situation, and then I would call him and let him know what would be done.  He begged and told me ‘no,’ that I had to go pick him up right then or he was going to run away.  In spite of the stress of the situation, I calmly said, “Kyle, this is your moment.  You need to decide right now whether you are going to trust me or not.  All I need you to say right now is, ‘Okay, Mom.’”  Many long seconds passed while I prayed with all my heart that he would make the right decision, until he finally said the words I needed to hear: “Okay, Mom.”

The following morning, we all quickly agreed that Kyle needed to come home, with the understanding that his behavior toward the entire family had to be grounded in respect.  I made the call to Kyle, he agreed to our terms, and all five of us immediately piled into our van to go get Kyle and bring him and his things home.

After moving back home Kyle continued to try to have a relationship with his father, who still worked to fill Kyle’s head with half-truths and untruths.  But little by little Kyle began to see the inconsistencies for himself.  He witnessed the self-centered lifestyle his father had chosen, overheard him boasting of his salacious activities while he and I were married, and ultimately became the target of his father’s abuse.

It wasn’t until Kyle was 20 when, on a hot summer afternoon, I returned from work to find him seated on the ground outside the front door of our home, his back against the wall, conversing with Doug.  Kyle was obviously distraught, and my heart fought against fear of what might have happened to him.  As I approached, my husband told me that Kyle needed to talk to me and went inside.  I took Doug’s place and timidly asked him what was going on.  Kyle finally looked up at me and spoke.

“I’m so sorry, Mom,” he said through his tears.

“Why,” I asked.  “What happened?”

“I was wrong, Mom.  I know that it wasn’t your fault.  For seven years I was mean to you and the rest of the family.  And all this time I was wrong.”

We both rose to our feet, and I held the son I thought I had lost so many years before.  I told him that I loved him and that everything was going to be okay.  Kyle wrapped his arms around me and cried the tears of a painful truth finally realized, tears of a guilt borne of ignorance, tears of humility and sorrow for all that had been lost – honest tears that melted away the cruel wall of deception that had separated us…

for seven

long

years.

Cindy Burrell

Copyright 2013 All Rights Reserved

Cindy On The Radio Again, Discussing Marriage,Divorce and Abuse

Actually we were both on the radio yesterday.  Well sort of.  We recorded two hours of discussion on marriage and divorce.  Cindy and I are both christian and on our second marriage.  In a lot of church circles this is not just a taboo subject to speak of but also a taboo thing to do.

Getting married a second time is just something that is not talked about in the church. Well during this radio show we discuss our personal stories of marriage and divorce.  We also touch on the subject of abuse in the church, which is our main focus in our ministry.

We sure had a lot of fun! Two hours was over in a flash.

I will post links as they are made available. In the meantime if you want to hear other recordings of Cindy discussing abuse, visit our website at  Hurtbylove.com

Sorry I had some computer issues and had to delete and re-post this article

Maybe I Was Married to An Abuser

I am basically the same woman I was ten years ago – when I finally divorced my abusive husband.  I think my kids and family and friends would agree that my demeanor, priorities and personality are not so different now from what they were then.  So I wonder at times why the man to whom I am married now does not make it a habit to condemn or criticize me, or refuse to help me with household responsibilities, or find it convenient to list all of the ways I have fallen short.  This man is so pleasingly different from my former husband; he doesn’t spend money we don’t have, or tell me that there is something seriously wrong with me or shake his head in disgust while telling me that his life would be so much better if I wasn’t such a lousy wife.

My husband does not leave for hours at a time without telling me where he has been; nor has he stolen thousands of dollars from our bank account, or hidden stashes of pornography in strange places around the house.  He doesn’t abuse prescription drugs and alcohol or try to get me to do things in our bedroom that make me feel cheap and dirty.  He doesn’t glare at me with hatred in his eyes or lock me out of our bedroom as punishment.  My husband doesn’t terrify the kids, and he doesn’t shake a finger in my face and demand that I submit to him when I am morally uncomfortable with his choices.

Remarkably, the man to whom I am married cares if I am hurting and does everything he can to make sure I am content and feel safe.  This is a man who, when I am sick, goes to the store to get medicine and returns with not only cough drops, but also a box of my favorite cookies and a magazine to read while I am camped out on the sofa with a blanket, a box of tissue, the remote control, and a tall glass of orange juice.

My husband never verbally runs over me until I am so emotionally exhausted that I defer to his unreasonable demands.  He has never sarcastically rolled his eyes while asserting that I just need to forgive him and get over it; or that if I truly loved God I wouldn’t be so bitter.  The man who shares his life with me today listens to my stories and doesn’t make me feel stupid when I tell them.  My husband believes that I have something to offer, wants me to be fulfilled and isn’t the least threatened by my successes; in fact, he affirms me and even boasts of our relationship to his friends.  He opens the car door for me, holds my hand when we are out together, and for some strange reason he still thinks I am beautiful when I am wearing my grungy painting clothes and no make-up.

I have to believe that I am not much different from the woman I was ten or so years ago.  Yet there are those who, when they discover that I have been divorced, cast a sideways glance my way, and a flicker of judgment crosses their faces.  Surely, they must suppose, I must have done something to trigger the abuse; I must have incited my former husband’s rage.  I’m sure they feel certain that I was probably not kind or helpful or understanding enough.  I must have been overly demanding or probably had unrealistic expectations of him.  Perhaps I misunderstood his needs.  Or maybe they are right.  Maybe, as my former husband told me, I was just incredibly selfish, insensitive and prone to overreact in the face of such trivial marital matters.

If those things are so, then why haven’t I failed miserably in this new marriage?  Why does my husband see me as the most precious person in his life?  If I am so difficult to live with, why does my husband appreciate me and enjoy my company?  If the cruelty to which I was subjected was so obviously deserved, then how come the man I share my life with now doesn’t blame me for his unhappiness or yell at me for the slightest misstep?  Surely, he must see how messed up, self-absorbed and unforgiving I really am.

And why is it that I am no longer compelled to tears on a regular basis?  Why do I no longer carry a burden of ongoing physical and emotional distress, depression and anxiety?  What gives me the right to now enjoy my leisure time at home, and why doesn’t a surge of panic still well up in me when I hear my husband’s car pull up in the driveway?

Seeing the overwhelming contrast in my marriages, I have to suppose that maybe, just maybe, my first marriage failed because I was married to an abuser.  It must be plausible that I was living with a man with a design to dominate, control and demean me.  It sure seemed as though his behavior was a calculated attempt to maintain his superiority, get his way, and make sure I was kept in my proper place.  I can’t think of any other reason why my former husband would intentionally look for ways to isolate me from my friends and family or keep me off-balance, confused and doubting my worth, except to make sure I was constantly preoccupied with him.  Or was it really my fault that I was reduced to living in a constant state of fear?

I only know that I am pretty much the same woman now that I was then, but with one major difference.  Now I am married to a man who wants me to know that I am loved, cherished and appreciated.  I know that my love will go to any lengths to make sure I am safe and happy.  I had wondered whether it was possible, had almost ceased imagining that I might be worthy of such love.

But I guess I am.

So, to those who doubt my character and the effort I put forth to contribute to a healthy marriage the first time around, I have to say that you won’t the first, and you won’t be the last to arrive at the conclusion.  But maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t my fault that the marriage failed.  If it was I who compelled my former husband to treat me so badly, how is it that the man I am married to now treats me so well?

In truth, there is no “maybe.”  It wasn’t my fault.  I was married to an abuser.

If you are living in a similar situation, then you need to know that perhaps, in spite of all the things he may have told you, it’s not your fault.  It may be that no matter how hard you try or how badly you want a happy marriage, you may never be able to fix it.  Maybe, just maybe, you are married to an abuser.

 

Copyright 2013

All Rights Reserved

Cindy on the radio again. Topic is Christian Divorce!

Learn about divorce from the experience of a christian abuse victim and survivor.

Christian Divorce Part One

 

Christian Divorce Part Two

A Redemptive Look at Three of the Most Commonly Misappropriated Scriptures on the Subject of Divorce (Part III)

Part ll

We have looked at two of the three areas where the Scriptures are often misinterpreted and subsequently misused to the detriment of those who suffer in abusive, neglectful and destructive marriages.  The case has been made that God does not hate divorce or those who are compelled to divorce with cause, nor was it Jesus’ intent to convey that those who legitimately divorce are categorically hard-hearted.

The third most commonly misappropriated Scripture seemingly finds our Lord identifying adultery as the only biblical cause for divorce.  This is perhaps the most common assertion in Christian circles – that divorce is only permitted in instances where adultery has been committed.

Jesus’ comment, from which this doctrine is taken, is found in three separate places in the gospels.  The statement is found in Matthew Chapters 5 and 19 and Luke Chapter 16.  Matthew’s account will serve as our reference, and it reads as follows:

It was said, ‘Whoever sends his wife away, let him give her a certificate of divorce’; but I say to you that everyone who divorces his wife, except for the reason of unchastity, makes her commit adultery; and whoever marries a divorced woman commits adultery.  Matthew 5:31-32  (NASB)

In this account, our Lord’s statement referencing “divorce” and adultery follows comments He made that touch on what seem to be a loosely connected selection of subjects.  But the subjects are, in fact, connected by an important, common thread.  Jesus is contrasting common assumptions associated with law-keeping against a deeper spiritual reality – the condition of the heart.

His comments to the people began with what we have come to know as the Beatitudes:

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.

Blessed are the gentle…blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness…the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers, those who have been persecuted…

Jesus’ message to a hurting people is, essentially, “You may think God doesn’t see your troubles, your struggles; that He is unaware.  But, He sees your faithfulness.  He sees it all.  Don’t doubt; you will be rewarded.  Jesus’ emphasis:  God knows your heart.

He then clarifies that standing on the law alone does not equate to righteousness.

You have heard that the ancients were told, ‘You shall not commit murder’ and ‘Whoever commits murder shall be liable to the court.  But I say to you that everyone who is angry with his brother shall be guilty before the court; and whoever says to his brother, ‘You good-for-nothing,’ shall be guilty before the supreme court; and whoever says, ‘You fool,’ shall be guilty enough to go into the fiery hell.  Matthew 5:21-22

Here it is stressed that while murder is a sin in the eyes of the law, hatred is a sin of the heart, even if the law is technically kept.   Jesus’ emphasis:  God knows your heart.

This theme is driven home with a powerful declaration:

For I say to you that unless your righteousness surpasses that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven.  Matthew 5:27

 

Jesus contrasts sincere faith with the religious arrogance of the Pharisees, who represented themselves as morally superior keepers of the law.  Though perhaps keeping the law in a technical sense – ticking off all the boxes of religiosity required under the law – Jesus knew the perversions that reigned in their hearts.  They were all fluff and no stuff, and Jesus consistently assailed them for their hypocrisy.

Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!  For you are like whitewashed tombs which on the outside appear beautiful, but inside they are full of dead men’s bones and all uncleanness.  So you, too, outwardly appear righteous to men, but inwardly you are full of hypocrisy and lawlessness.  Matthew 23:27-28

Jesus was and is unimpressed with superficial manifestations of faith.  It is in the heart that our true nature and character are revealed.  So, with this understanding in mind, we return to Matthew 5.

You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall not commit adultery’; but I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lust for her has already committed adultery with her in his heart.  If your right eye makes you stumble, tear it out and throw it from you; for it is better for you to lose one of the parts of your body, than for your whole body to be thrown into hell.  If your right hand makes you stumble, cut it off and throw it from you; for it is better for you to lose one of the parts of your body, than for your whole body to go into hell.  Matthew 5: 21-30

Jesus is not saying that we should literally pluck out our eyes or cut off our hands when they partner with us in sin.  No, He is saying that we may keep the letter of the law while defiling it in our hearts – where it matters most.  Putting on a good show while sinning in secret is pure self-deception and a lifeless lie.  Jesus is exhorting us to check our hearts and our motives with the full knowledge that nothing escapes God’s notice.

Of course, if we stand with the legalists on this subject, we could say that, since we are all guilty of adultery with a single lustful thought, then technically each of us could divorce our partner and be lawfully justified!  You’ll never hear that angle preached from any pulpit – nor would I claim that is what Jesus is teaching here.  Once again, the point of Jesus’ dispensation was that what God sees is not what the world sees, for He is the judge, not only of our conduct, but of every thought and motive.

Then He says:

It was said, ‘Whoever sends his wife away, let him give her a certificate of divorce’; but I say to you that everyone who divorces his wife, except for the reason of unchastity, makes her commit adultery; and whoever marries a divorced woman commits adultery. 

 

As can be seen from previous analyses, there is a profound distinction between the biblical writ of divorce, and the act of “putting away” a spouse, which is often poorly translated “divorce.”  Young’s Literal Translation reads more accurately:

And it was said, that whoever may put away his wife, let him give to her a writing of divorce; but I – I say to you, that whoever may put away his wife, save for the matter of whoredom, doth make her to commit adultery; and whoever may marry her who hath been put away doth commit adultery.

 

Under the Mosaic law, a lawful divorce required a man to give a wife who had found no favor in his eyes a writ of divorcement, a document which released both of them to remarry.  Divorce was never to be an issue taken lightly, nor exercised for selfish reasons, but was recognized as recourse and protection when there was legitimate cause.  The Mosaic law therefore permitted divorcing a wife for “cause;” however, over time this had been interpreted to permit release for “any cause at all,” a heartless violation of the intent of the Mosaic law.  Not only that, but men had become accustomed to releasing their wives without granting them a writ of divorce, presumably so that they could take other wives.  Lacking a writ, “put away” wives could not legally remarry.  The Pharisees (who were testing Jesus) wanted to see if Jesus would approve of their “any cause” logic.  He didn’t.

Throughout His message Jesus says, “It has been said…but I say…”  He is not clarifying the law with another law, He is going beyond it, emphasizing this ultimate truth:  Just because something may be rationalized as lawful does not make it right if your heart is wrong.   Jesus’ emphasis once again:  God knows your heart.

He then clarifies that the only appropriate cause for sending a wife away without a writ was the serious offense of unchastity.  If you recall, Jesus’ earthly father, Joseph, sought to put Mary away [send her away secretly] rather than have her stoned as would be required under the law had he accused her.  Sending away a wife for any lesser offense was unduly harsh and left many women with several unappealing options:  prostitution, begging, or living with a man in adultery.  Nevertheless, the heartless practice of putting away a wife, presumably to take another wife, had become culturally acceptable, where men would send away their wives for the slightest of offenses.  This is the matter to which our Lord strongly objects.

To paraphrase:  You who are sending away your wives without a writ of divorce without cause are wrongfully abandoning them, forcing them to commit adultery, because they need someone to take care of them, and you have not given them a lawful release that allows them to remarry.  Further, the man who marries a put away woman, in living with her unlawfully, is also committing adultery, for she is still another man’s wife.

The sin here is not that the woman is divorced; the issue is that she is not divorced!  Here we see our Lord confronting impure motives and standing in defense of the unprotected, which is entirely consistent with what is seen in Malachi 2.

It must be emphasized that nowhere in the gospels did our Lord condemn the use of the Mosaic writ of divorce for legitimate cause.  It is also vital to note that only when our Lord mentions the actual Mosaic writ of divorce is He referencing the act of biblical divorce.  The remaining references are to the offensive act of “putting away” as evidenced in more literal translations such as Young’s Literal Translation.

Read the entire fifth chapter of Matthew and see Jesus’ desire, that our hearts would be transparent before Him, knowing that although we may be able to rationalize our actions, our true intentions do not escape the Father’s notice.

Who may ascend into the hill of the Lord? And who may stand in His holy place?  He who has clean hands and a pure heart, who has not lifted up his soul to falsehood and has not sworn deceitfully.  He shall receive a blessing from the Lord and righteousness from the God of his salvation.  Psalm 24:3-5

The emphasis:  God knows your heart.

Cindy Burrell

Copyright 2012

All Rights Reserved

Podcast Links from Radio Show Cindy was on Discussing Abuse

Here are the links to the podcasts for the radio show I was on…

 

Cindy on the radio, part 1

Cindy on the radio, part 2