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Contents © 1999
by Jim Holman.
All rights reserved.

My Wife Is My Best Lesson In The Pain Of Sin

by Broderick Barker

A tough little morsel that stuck in my craw: a conversation with a friend of mine who is not lazy, who is a passionate student, consuming and digesting vast quantities of information. In this conversation, he expressed disappointment over the Church's decision to include the unitive aspect of marriage alongside the procreative when considering the end -- the purpose -- of the sacrament. As far as he could tell, while friendship in marriage was desirable, it was not desirable for its own sake, but for the sake of creating a beneficial environment for the raising of children.

I was not able to make a counterargument on the spot, though my sensibilities were offended. Still, I disagreed with him and said there was an argument to be made to the contrary. He poked fun at my response, lightly accusing me of working with smoke and mirrors, hinting at some grand argument to be unveiled later. I burned, certain that my reaction to his claim was not mere sentiment, frustrated at my inability to find a reason to back up my certainty. I thought of my response later.

One might wonder why I was so eager to make an argument at all. The culture of self that we swim in scorns the notion that procreation is even one end of marriage. The temptation is to regard children as a burden, so that you end up sounding like the woman who sighed to a friend of mine, "After I had my child, it was seven years before I had a life." As if the tending to children wasn't "a life," wasn't personally fulfilling enough. As if career, or society, or education were more important than raising good kids. And here was my friend, taking a firm stand against said culture, championing the family over selfish desires. Why fight it?

I fight it because I think my relationship with my wife is the best chance I will ever have to love my neighbor as myself. My success or failure as a lover will show most clearly with her. Our friendship is not just for the sake of the children, but for the sake of mutual perfection.

I do not like the gradual devolution of the priest's closing message: "Let us go forth to love and serve the Lord," to "Let us go forth to love and serve the Lord and our neighbors," to "Let us go forth to love and serve the Lord through our neighbors." Loving God is first, and distinct from loving His creatures. Still, most of what I've learned about love has come through my experience with other people, especially my wife.

She is my best occasion for self-sacrifice, the bloodless martyrdom of daily life. With my children, their helplessness inspires a kind of effortless sacrifice. Even when my son is at his worst, I do not wish he would discipline himself. I do wish that my wife would do some of the things she asks of me herself; I like to sit and read and be left alone. Overcoming that wish to the point of doing things cheerfully, or even without being asked, is a small but constant opportunity for charity.

She is my best lesson in the pain of sin. The relative innocence of children may make them ideal candidates as earthly stand-ins for God. But she loves me as no other, and I her. When I sin against her, and see the pain in her face, the ingratitude of it hits home -- to wound one who loves me so well. Also the incongruity: I love her so much in my better moments, the good she does is the source of so much of my happiness; how can I hurt her so? (My kids make me happy, but there is less perfection of will on their part -- they do not so explicitly mean to do so.)

There is perhaps an element of imperfection to charity shown to my wife, since I may hope for some return. (She is, after all, my greatest earthly joy.) Better, maybe, to have daily encounters with a truly difficult person -- to weather them with Christ's love would be more impressive. But in some way, also easier -- no one can infuriate me, frustrate me, upset me like my wife, because I am so tied up with her. I have an intimacy with her that I have with no one else, and so the wounds she inflicts on me cut deeper and require more effort to forgive. (Likewise, the wounds I inflict.)

There are many different sorts of marriages, and I do not stand in judgement over them. But I think that in my own marriage, the unitive end rightfully stands beside the procreative, distinct and worthy in its own right.

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