The Sin of Beauty

Beauty crises abound. From without, we are bombarded with falsified images of perfection, ads for cosmetic surgery on religious radio stations, and young girls who struggle with a fleet of issues from eating disorders to depression. From within, we have young Christian girls ping-ponging between what they see externally, and the standard of love and beauty somewhat disjointedly presented to them through kitsch devotions for girls and self-help books about belovedness, dust-jacketed with women flitting airily in the breeze.

I have struggled with self-image for as long as I can remember. I was always tall for my age, certainly, and if not overweight than simply solid. There was that horrible time of perms and bangs, and I did not discover what a hair dryer was until late high school. My idea of fashion was a t-shirt, worn jeans, and my trusty pair of Birkenstocks. From a physical perspective, my foibles made sense, but I also came from a loving and close-knit family, with an amazing father who supported and upheld and encouraged me. For all those who, rightly, point the finger to missing fathers (be they absent or abdicating), my case does not fit. To make sense of me, we could certainly riffle around a bit in my psychological past, but that is about as profitable as sifting through a garbage dump. Sure, you might find something, but it's only a rotten bit of apple core.

I was discussing this topic with a friend the other day and chuckling about how illogical it all is. I had a father who constantly told me of my worth. If I had been aware, I would have realized that people did like me through high school, though I never dated anyone. If I had not been blinded by my own sin, I could have chuckled along with my college roommates about the ridiculous stories involving men from Home Depot. Thankfully, God redeemed even those stories by writing one amazing man into them.

And, buried back in that paragraph, is the point. It was sin, and it made me stupid. It wasn't poor self-esteem, body-image, or never being desired. It wasn't even a lack of grasping the facts about God and His creation (though more to come on that). A few years back, our youth pastor at the time preached a retreat on repentance. There, he defined it as a turning from the sin to the good.The first step, then, for those who struggle with this – or have been blessed with daughters who will surely do so at some point – is to recognize 'poor self-esteem' as a sin. In terms of specifics, you can label it any number of ways. Idolatry is a good place to begin. It is setting up a false image of beauty in place of God's definition and revelation, and seeking to find satisfaction in that idolatrous image of worldly smut. It is allowing those magazine racks to define you and your terms, and not the Word Himself. You could add some more sins onto this, but suffice to say, the moment I realized this was sin that needed confessing, things began to change.

But you have to complete the turn. Confessing it was the first half – turning to the thing of Beauty itself was the second. How could I understand beauty if I was only staring at myself, and then turning my gaze to false images? I spent the whole time thinking of how I was beloved, I was created beautifully, I was a princess. Too many personal pronouns in those thoughts. As I started to round the turn, I realized how little I was enamored with Christ. What did I know of His beauty, holiness, belovedness as the second member of the Trinity? What did I know of the beauty of the Trinity – its delight in itself – its creativity and relationship and solidarity and fellowship (and the list goes on to eternity). The more I focused on God and His revealed beauty through creation and Scripture and relationships and the cross and the empty grave and the Church, the more my old struggles faded. And, the more my beloved husband both encouraged and accepted me – giving much grace, the easier it has become.

Ultimately, it is all rooted in Christ's grace and power and sanctifying work. Those old lies are still there. It is a different fight now – one of realizing my body is made to be worn-out and used into the truest of beauties, like a well-worn baseball glove or one of those tables made of old barn siding that everyone likes on Pinterest. It is recognizing stretch marks and wrinkles are Kingdom work. I am not meant to preserve external beauty here, but instead, have those same wrinkles swallowed up in a glorious, radiant internal and external beauty that will dwarf the sun itself.