Tough Love
I remember a teacher of mine in some class I took one time, talking about how the Eskimos had about a jillion words for “snow” and/or “ice.” Those different words conveyed different things about the subject, like a word for the kind of ice that would support a man to walk across a frozen lake to perhaps do a little fishing. It seems that the nuances of the word had a direct link to the kind of information about the subject needed in that environment for survival.
Sunday school teachers and preachers of mine along the way have referred to the different words the Greeks had for our word “love.” It seems they in their language distinguished between brotherly love or sexual love or love for God; at least that’s what the preachers preached about. However, in our culture we know from the Beatles that “All You Need Is Love” and from the Church that “God is Love,” but we don’t get very much sophistication about what “love” means. It’s the same word on the graffiti in the bathroom, the “come on” in pornography, the images in our art and the aspirations of our Bible.
And here I am looking for a nuance that will tell me if my “love” will, for example, support a man in walking through the valleys and the shadows of death.
My spiritual mentor, Rick Diamond, tells me he is writing a book about “love.” He is afraid to send it to the publisher. I am hoping he can find the courage because I can hardly wait. In that, I do not think I am alone.
I know I have been “in love” several times with varying responses or results; I have “loved my fellow man” just as I have betrayed him; I have “loved” many noble causes and ideals, and behaved similarly to others that were not so noble or idyllic. It is hard to come to any generalization about “love” from those experiences – either the good or the bad. And so, right now, sitting here believing that God is, indeed, “Love,” it is difficult to believe that I know anything at all about Him or what to expect from Him.
Even if I try to put different words, like the Greeks, or different concepts, like separate formulas, or even try to apply the different stories, like the phases of my life, I cannot reach a comfort level with “love,” to rely on the word with any degree of faith or confidence.
Someone else tells me that the problem is that “love” is a verb, not a noun. That seems to make matters worse. I cannot hope to do that which I cannot fathom. And so it seems that my actions and aspirations are limited by my failure to know “love.” I might be absolutely committed to doing everything and anything for “love,” and not have the vaguest notion about what I am actually doing.
Today I’m confronting the notion of “tough love.” That seems to be a nuance of “love” (or “tough” too for that matter) that has some applicability or relevance at this time.
My comprehension and feelings about “tough” do not seem nearly as shaky and undependable as those regarding “love.” Yet, I confess an almost tangible anxiety about whether “tough love” is an oxymoron, perhaps a cruel one. Whether I should dismiss the Old Testament, the rules, the parents, and all the other authorities as merely barbaric; I realize that I am angry and jealous and violent and rebellious and a parent myself… .
The idea that education has to be painful seems to be a primary tenet of “tough love.” I must be a harsh, almost cruel taskmaster to be an effective teacher, mentor, parent, leader – I know you get the point. While the caricature of the nun at Catholic school, the coach on the sports field, the general at war, all evoke some degree of derision and disapproval, it seems that there is some basic belief, down inside most of us, to the effect of “that is what it takes.” Inevitably in these circumstances there is the parable of the Indian mother who does not participate in the ritual of putting her baby’s hand into the campfire; the baby thus doesn’t learn the danger of fire and is afterward extinguished in some horrific episode of combustion in one form or another, because he/she didn’t learn that fire is dangerous.
It doesn’t take much reflection to expose this parable as a load of crap. If the baby, as a baby, is exposed to the danger of fire, there is some obvious failure of adult supervision; doubtful that any degree of education to the baby equips that baby to protect him/her self. If the baby makes it to any degree of maturity and doesn’t, on his/her recognizance, learn about flames, heat, pain, injury, then fire is probably the least of their worries. It turns out that the ritual, with the parents all around the campfire collectively engaging in child abuse, is about some cultural programming that does not have anything to do with the specific danger of fire at all. How we cannot be trusted to find out things for ourselves. How we must learn about stuff, like fire, according to the rituals and rules that have been laid down by the caretakers. How we cannot take care of ourselves, but rather, must rely on the caretakers and the rules and the rituals to protect us. How pain is part of the punishment to be administered by our caretakers for our failures and frailties.
Often we apply the same methodology of the Indian fire ritual to language, math, maturity, manhood, culture, social clubs, religion, Jesus and God. Maybe there is even some strain of this mentality in the story of Jesus’ death on the cross – even Jesus, and maybe even God, have to learn the hard way. Tough love?
I confess that my negative feelings about “tough love” are likely because most of the time that concept has been brought up to me, it has been a negative assessment; in fact, as I think about it, most of the time I have brought it up to others it has also been as a negative assessment. “Tough love,” or more accurately the lack of it, is how we have screwed up our children, our grandchildren or our families, or is the change that is needed to competently deal with family crises. “Tough love” is the reason you have to tell your buddy that his zipper is down, or that he is drinking too much; why you have to tell your wife that her butt is too saggy for that pair of pants. “Tough love” is making clear the mistake so he/she can properly learn from it; withholding what he/she wants “for their own good.” Just thinking about it, clearly there is a fine line between being a “tough lover,” and being a judgmental asshole.
There is an unmistakable trend in the evidence that the best I want for others corresponds with my perception of (1) what is best for me, and/or (2) my own value judgments about what is “best.” It also occurs to me that while there is the “tough love” in a lot of these situations, too often the “love” is for him/her and the “tough” inures to my benefit one way or the other; maybe to pay the loved one back for the inconvenient consequences imposed on me. Too many times the “tough” is tougher than the “love” is loving.
I wonder if there is “tough love,” are there other kinds or variations of love that we need to consider – “soft love,” “crazy love,” “dumb love,” “foolish love,” “pointless love…” ? More fundamentally, I wonder if “love” needs any kind of modifier at all? In the lives of us all, pain and pleasure, joy and sorrow, peace and turmoil all certainly come into play. The question is, “Do we need different rationales for these things that happen to us, or that we bring to the lives of others around us – different kinds of love – to make sense and, more importantly, to keep our concept of love intact? It seems this may be just another articulation of the problem of evil – it is easy enough to believe in God’s love and the love given to us by others in the good times, but what about the other stuff that happens? It seems easy enough to love God and love others when things are going the way we want, but how do we react in the other times?
“Tough love” tells me/you that, “what doesn’t kill me/you makes us stronger.” What is the point of being strongly miserable? Is that the best I can do? Is that the best God can do?
So, we come to the nub of it, Eric Clapton a/k/a Derek and the Dominoes wails “Why does love have to be so sad?”
I could say it is because I don’t understand – don’t see the whole picture.
I could say it is because I only focus on myself.
I could say it is because I’m not trying to see the glass half-full.
I could say it is because my character is bad, or at least flawed in some fundamental way.
I could say it is because my third grade teacher blamed me for something I didn’t do.
I could say it is because my mother quit breast-feeding me too soon – or too late.
I could say it is because my dad moved us around too much.
I have said all of that stuff. I think maybe you have said most of that stuff too. Look at it. I wonder when it is that I started wanting sympathy instead of love? I wonder, is that desire for sympathy instead of love the reason for the attraction of “tough love?”
I heard a local blues musician, W.C. Clark, talking to a bunch of kids about his music.
“Some people ask my why the blues is such sad music,” he said.
Then he laughed with a twinkle in his eye, “I don’t know how they can say that when you see that you can’t listen without tapping your foot or clapping your hands.”
I think it’s hard for me to remember sometimes why I’m tapping my foot – that feeling of rebellion and defiance against the “tough” that is unmistakably and undeniably joy itself. I think it hard for me to remember sometimes that the joy is inside me and all around me, built into me and everybody and everything, no matter what I try to do to cover it up, to change it up, or to screw it up.
I think it important for a believer to remember the gift of God’s love. When we sing that sad song, we will all clap our hands together.
I remember a teacher of mine in some class I took one time, talking about how the Eskimos had about a jillion words for “snow” and/or “ice.” Those different words conveyed different things about the subject, like a word for the kind of ice that would support a man to walk across a frozen lake to perhaps do a little fishing. It seems that the nuances of the word had a direct link to the kind of information about the subject needed in that environment for survival.
Sunday school teachers and preachers of mine along the way have referred to the different words the Greeks had for our word “love.” It seems they in their language distinguished between brotherly love or sexual love or love for God; at least that’s what the preachers preached about. However, in our culture we know from the Beatles that “All You Need Is Love” and from the Church that “God is Love,” but we don’t get very much sophistication about what “love” means. It’s the same word on the graffiti in the bathroom, the “come on” in pornography, the images in our art and the aspirations of our Bible.
And here I am looking for a nuance that will tell me if my “love” will, for example, support a man in walking through the valleys and the shadows of death.
My spiritual mentor, Rick Diamond, tells me he is writing a book about “love.” He is afraid to send it to the publisher. I am hoping he can find the courage because I can hardly wait. In that, I do not think I am alone.
I know I have been “in love” several times with varying responses or results; I have “loved my fellow man” just as I have betrayed him; I have “loved” many noble causes and ideals, and behaved similarly to others that were not so noble or idyllic. It is hard to come to any generalization about “love” from those experiences – either the good or the bad. And so, right now, sitting here believing that God is, indeed, “Love,” it is difficult to believe that I know anything at all about Him or what to expect from Him.
Even if I try to put different words, like the Greeks, or different concepts, like separate formulas, or even try to apply the different stories, like the phases of my life, I cannot reach a comfort level with “love,” to rely on the word with any degree of faith or confidence.
Someone else tells me that the problem is that “love” is a verb, not a noun. That seems to make matters worse. I cannot hope to do that which I cannot fathom. And so it seems that my actions and aspirations are limited by my failure to know “love.” I might be absolutely committed to doing everything and anything for “love,” and not have the vaguest notion about what I am actually doing.
Today I’m confronting the notion of “tough love.” That seems to be a nuance of “love” (or “tough” too for that matter) that has some applicability or relevance at this time.
My comprehension and feelings about “tough” do not seem nearly as shaky and undependable as those regarding “love.” Yet, I confess an almost tangible anxiety about whether “tough love” is an oxymoron, perhaps a cruel one. Whether I should dismiss the Old Testament, the rules, the parents, and all the other authorities as merely barbaric; I realize that I am angry and jealous and violent and rebellious and a parent myself… .
The idea that education has to be painful seems to be a primary tenet of “tough love.” I must be a harsh, almost cruel taskmaster to be an effective teacher, mentor, parent, leader – I know you get the point. While the caricature of the nun at Catholic school, the coach on the sports field, the general at war, all evoke some degree of derision and disapproval, it seems that there is some basic belief, down inside most of us, to the effect of “that is what it takes.” Inevitably in these circumstances there is the parable of the Indian mother who does not participate in the ritual of putting her baby’s hand into the campfire; the baby thus doesn’t learn the danger of fire and is afterward extinguished in some horrific episode of combustion in one form or another, because he/she didn’t learn that fire is dangerous.
It doesn’t take much reflection to expose this parable as a load of crap. If the baby, as a baby, is exposed to the danger of fire, there is some obvious failure of adult supervision; doubtful that any degree of education to the baby equips that baby to protect him/her self. If the baby makes it to any degree of maturity and doesn’t, on his/her recognizance, learn about flames, heat, pain, injury, then fire is probably the least of their worries. It turns out that the ritual, with the parents all around the campfire collectively engaging in child abuse, is about some cultural programming that does not have anything to do with the specific danger of fire at all. How we cannot be trusted to find out things for ourselves. How we must learn about stuff, like fire, according to the rituals and rules that have been laid down by the caretakers. How we cannot take care of ourselves, but rather, must rely on the caretakers and the rules and the rituals to protect us. How pain is part of the punishment to be administered by our caretakers for our failures and frailties.
Often we apply the same methodology of the Indian fire ritual to language, math, maturity, manhood, culture, social clubs, religion, Jesus and God. Maybe there is even some strain of this mentality in the story of Jesus’ death on the cross – even Jesus, and maybe even God, have to learn the hard way. Tough love?
I confess that my negative feelings about “tough love” are likely because most of the time that concept has been brought up to me, it has been a negative assessment; in fact, as I think about it, most of the time I have brought it up to others it has also been as a negative assessment. “Tough love,” or more accurately the lack of it, is how we have screwed up our children, our grandchildren or our families, or is the change that is needed to competently deal with family crises. “Tough love” is the reason you have to tell your buddy that his zipper is down, or that he is drinking too much; why you have to tell your wife that her butt is too saggy for that pair of pants. “Tough love” is making clear the mistake so he/she can properly learn from it; withholding what he/she wants “for their own good.” Just thinking about it, clearly there is a fine line between being a “tough lover,” and being a judgmental asshole.
There is an unmistakable trend in the evidence that the best I want for others corresponds with my perception of (1) what is best for me, and/or (2) my own value judgments about what is “best.” It also occurs to me that while there is the “tough love” in a lot of these situations, too often the “love” is for him/her and the “tough” inures to my benefit one way or the other; maybe to pay the loved one back for the inconvenient consequences imposed on me. Too many times the “tough” is tougher than the “love” is loving.
I wonder if there is “tough love,” are there other kinds or variations of love that we need to consider – “soft love,” “crazy love,” “dumb love,” “foolish love,” “pointless love…” ? More fundamentally, I wonder if “love” needs any kind of modifier at all? In the lives of us all, pain and pleasure, joy and sorrow, peace and turmoil all certainly come into play. The question is, “Do we need different rationales for these things that happen to us, or that we bring to the lives of others around us – different kinds of love – to make sense and, more importantly, to keep our concept of love intact? It seems this may be just another articulation of the problem of evil – it is easy enough to believe in God’s love and the love given to us by others in the good times, but what about the other stuff that happens? It seems easy enough to love God and love others when things are going the way we want, but how do we react in the other times?
“Tough love” tells me/you that, “what doesn’t kill me/you makes us stronger.” What is the point of being strongly miserable? Is that the best I can do? Is that the best God can do?
So, we come to the nub of it, Eric Clapton a/k/a Derek and the Dominoes wails “Why does love have to be so sad?”
I could say it is because I don’t understand – don’t see the whole picture.
I could say it is because I only focus on myself.
I could say it is because I’m not trying to see the glass half-full.
I could say it is because my character is bad, or at least flawed in some fundamental way.
I could say it is because my third grade teacher blamed me for something I didn’t do.
I could say it is because my mother quit breast-feeding me too soon – or too late.
I could say it is because my dad moved us around too much.
I have said all of that stuff. I think maybe you have said most of that stuff too. Look at it. I wonder when it is that I started wanting sympathy instead of love? I wonder, is that desire for sympathy instead of love the reason for the attraction of “tough love?”
I heard a local blues musician, W.C. Clark, talking to a bunch of kids about his music.
“Some people ask my why the blues is such sad music,” he said.
Then he laughed with a twinkle in his eye, “I don’t know how they can say that when you see that you can’t listen without tapping your foot or clapping your hands.”
I think it’s hard for me to remember sometimes why I’m tapping my foot – that feeling of rebellion and defiance against the “tough” that is unmistakably and undeniably joy itself. I think it hard for me to remember sometimes that the joy is inside me and all around me, built into me and everybody and everything, no matter what I try to do to cover it up, to change it up, or to screw it up.
I think it important for a believer to remember the gift of God’s love. When we sing that sad song, we will all clap our hands together.
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