Sewing our fig leaves- Men and cosmetic surgery

I recently read an article in The Daily Mail, a paper disributed in the UK, which shows a trend among citified men who are spending their bonuses to get cosmetic surgery.

Living in Southern California as I have for the last 16 years (8 in LA and 8 in San Diego), it is certainly no surprise that men are just as interested in the ole nip tuck as the ladies. Truth be told, I’m not even writing this as a dig to those who have been under the knife. My thoughts to this article were more sober than humorous.

If you are a Christian and know a bit of redemptive history, you realize that our rebellion and treason against the High King brought sin, curse, and death to our humanity. We were created to bear the image of our Creator God, and our desire for death, decay, and the effects of the curse to be lifted are cries from our soul to return to Eden as creatures with untainted dignity instead of the effects of depravity, defilement, and shame which mars our being. We are earth bound, heading toward the dust, sensing our own downward trajectory, and something within us screams that it shouldn’t be this way.

We wake up and see the affects of our own personal sin upon our face, and the sin of collective humanity weighing us down under the pressure and struggle to maintain appearances. Though many may not understand or articulate the problem or cause to all of this, we all see the affects. It is right that we do not want to be shamed before one another. It is right that we no longer want to be shackled by the chains of acting the part to be accepted by one another. We are screaming for release from the guilt and shame which causes us to hide from one another in relationships.

The fracture in creation because of our shame before God, our shame before man, and our shame before ourselves, has sent us running to cover our nakedness. Yet the moment we cover ourselves we realize the distance between us. So we long to be naked before one another and without shame. As silly as this sounds, it is a great and profound desire. To stand before God without shame and guilt, freed from pretense and façade. To stand before others emotionally and relationally naked without turning away and hiding ourselves, drives us to do and think and say and desire a fix to make it so. Man has such beauty and such horror. Such dignity and such defilement. We are all calling for Eden on a line severed by our own hands. We sit and watch each other trying to make the long journey to a far off land that chimes its bells and bids us home. Perhaps we’re hoping one will make it and we will all be able to follow. We are like lemmings thrusting ourselves willingly into the sea of despair. Too afraid to stop, too afraid to swim. We think if we hide our wrinkles, cover our imperfections, and play the role of the freedman, we will gain our prize and come to the shore of our homeland.

The true sadness is that we are not only fallen, we are fools. We sew together our fig leaves to hide our shame, only to find that the more we hide our imperfections the more of a sham this life becomes. We are walking in a house of mirrors trying to find the flattering one which will distort our image to the one we desire. When will we be sick and tired of being sick and tired? When will we see our feeble efforts to patch the holes is nothing more than prolonging the sinking of a great ship?

We need more than unblemished skin. We need the unblemished life of the untainted Christ who was tempted in all ways and yet without the defilement and stain of a bad record. We need more than a bleached smile to impress others. We need the smile of God warming our hearts as He is impressed and pleased with the beauty and splendor of His perfect Son. We need more than fig leaves to hide our shame. We need the expulsive power of the gospel to show us though we are filthy and marred, we are considered washed and without blemish. The person and work of Christ must be our only hope for our beauty. If we seek any other idol to give us a sense of glory and acceptance, we are digging our grave already filled with dead men’s bones. Come on up to the mountain of mercy, to the crimson perpetual tide. Kneel down on the shore, be thirsty no more, come under and be purified. Then we will find our beauty. Then we will find our dignity. Then we will echo the pleasure of the Garden as we stand before one another, naked and without shame.