California Heartache – California Quarantine

I find myself faced with yet another reason to be writing my next novel, “Burlesque.” Miss California, Carrie Prejean? That Miss USA finalist? That Christian who took a stand for God’s ideal of marriage only to have a moment of indiscretion shoved in her face?

In part, I’m enraged at the hypocrisy of it all. Seriously, folks. Who among us haven’t done something stupid in our youth? Those judges and pageant representatives condemning her? Don’t bother trying to tell me they’re pure-as-snow virgins. Don’t condone an industry that pays for contestant’s implants so they can parade the beauties across the stage wearing bikinis and sultry evening gowns, only to later condemn a contestant for succumbing to the pressures of being physically beautiful. That’s like a cop selling sports cars so he can later nail his customers for speeding. I wonder how the critics would hold up to the scrutiny if they were put under the microscope.

In part, I’m disappointed. This beauty, raised by a Christian family—or so I would presume from the news clips—who drops her top for a camera… I’m not pointing the finger here. I’ve just heard of so many Christians who fell into sexual sin and each time it breaks my heart. If I am to assign blame, I would point the finger at a church culture that doesn’t promote the freedom for people to struggle openly with their besetting sins. Were she allowed to talk about the temptations she faced at the age of seventeen, would there be any photos circulating on the internet now?

In part, I’m hopeful that the family movement Carrie Prejean’s become a spokesman for won’t drop her. The church is supposed to be a carnival of lost souls found, and if we toss out all the imperfect people then the pews would be empty. The Bible teaches a doctrine of grace on this matter. The world, however, teaches a doctrine of quarantine. It is my hope that the church and other religious organizations will hold to their guns—that is, the doctrine of grace—and stand by a fellow solder who held to hers.

Far too often, we follow the world’s example in this.

In the old west, we quarantined the soiled doves, passing laws that kept them from mingling with ‘respectable folk.’ Never mind that several of the lawmakers were customers.

Not to long ago, the city of Centennial had a female mayor who turned out to be a former stripper. She’s been quarantined out of office.

Porn stars are often quarantined from regular acting jobs and kept in their particular, sordid industry. Yet, are they so different from the countless actresses who’ve bared their breasts for a passionate love scene? An actress appears topless in a very public, major motion picture, and she gets an Oscar. A future beauty contestant let’s her boyfriend snap a few personal photos—a boyfriend who behaves himself like a knave by releasing said photos with no personal repercussions—and she’s put in quarantine.

How can we as a country support a pageant that passes judgement on how well a woman wears a bikini and heals, yet also passes judgement on the same women for having her picture taken in her underwear?

More importantly, if we encourage beautiful women to have high moral standards, but then ridicule her for bravely taking a controversial stand on those standards, what message are we sending to the beautiful women of tomorrow?

In my mind’s eye, I see a city of anthropomorphic pigs. They wear nice clothes, they debate politics, they eat in manageable bites. Yet, at the center of the city is a much cherished mud bath. Those who choose to abstain from the mud and seek other ways to cool themselves are mocked for not being true pigs. Those who work to maintain the mud, so beloved by the city, are placed in quarantine for fear they might contaminate the rest of society with their filth. Even those who leave a life in the mud for a life of cool towels and regular baths are still considered unclean by the unwashed masses.

In this city, pigs must wallow in the mud, but not dwell in it. They must indulge in the mud to be considered normal and acceptable. But they must also shun the mud in proper society for fear of contamination. Failure to abide by these rules, results in the pigs turning on the offending member.

Tolerate the mud; that is the choice, the only choice. Tolerate the mud that enslaves its denizens. Tolerate the mud, but uphold the quarantine. Tolerate the mud, or suffer the intolerance of those who tolerate the mud. After all, that is the only choice the pigs are given.

I, for one, do not support tolerance because I believe it doesn’t work. First, it is intolerant of any doctrine other than itself, which by definition, makes tolerance hypocritical. Second, it supports one group of people forcing their beliefs on another group, while denying the other group to so much as present their beliefs to the first. In other words, a homosexual can tell me to be tolerant of his lifestyle, but if I so much as mention the Bible verses that list homosexual behavior as a sin, I’m being an intolerant jerk. (even though tolerance isn’t my doctrine, it’s the doctrine of the person shoving his beliefs down my throat)

Third, it constitutes hate speech. Tolerance is like a missile designed to seek out moral absolutes and destroy them. God’s Word is based on moral absolutes, which means tolerance is a polite way of telling the church to roll over and play dead.

If we did that to any other group on the planet, we’d be on our way to court.

I do not tolerate the mud.

I support sex between a married couple as God intended. But I do not support seeing it exploited in movies or popular culture or fashion or pageants. Kill the double standard. Lift the quarantine. Acknowledge that we’re all pigs in need of a bath.

My heart goes out to Miss California. Despite the pictures, I’m proud of her. I may not support every decision she’s made, but I support her willingness to stand for the truth. And in that, I’ll stand by her.

After all, if Jesus didn’t condemn the woman caught in adultery, then who are we to start throwing stones?