Dirty Stuff

I spent the last semester of my life in Europe. Yes, I am awesome. Thank you. In that continent, I went to many strange places, and one of those places is known as Amsterdam. Yep, I said it. The mere mention of that name makes the average person snicker and mumble something about marijuana. That is sad because Amsterdam is so much more than a hazy land of prostitution, but the "Red Light District" does exist.

Nights in Europe just seem more exciting to me. Being out late in independence while soaking in a foreign culture is thrilling. The air seems thick with some special quality of exuberance, and every second of my time there, I literally felt like I was in some fairy tale, as if I might sprout wings and fly at any second. Well, it was on one of these nights that I found myself in the heart of the Amsterdam Red Light District, flanked by three of my closest friends. Please do not think I am a terrible person. For a barefoot boy from West Tennessee, this was absolute culture shock. Prostitutes literally line the streets. They stand in windows, exhibiting their "wares," just waiting for someone to approach them for "business."

I walked along the cobblestone roads in this beautiful town with my eyes constantly glued to the few feet of sidewalk ahead of me to avoid a peep into one of the less than modest windows. Elaine, my fiance, commented that she thought that these ladies of the night had sad eyes. As I rounded one particular corner, I found myself gazing eye to eye with a woman in a window. I was startled to say the least, but as I later thought about those eyes, my first impression was not of sadness but of normalcy. I think Elaine saw sadness because that is what she wanted to see. She wanted these women to have hollow hearts and an overall lifeless existence, and I think deep down we all do. We are so comfortable, as a people, with the concept of an evil that is "out there." It is hard to believe that normal people, people with family and with all the typical hopes and dreams could get so far off the beaten path that one day they are in a window in Amsterdam, completely exposed. Maybe they could have been any one of us?

As I look at the redemption of man, one of the most prolific thoughts comes from the pen of Paul. As he said, "God made him who had no sin to be sin for us." How is it that someone can become sin? Think of the story of the crucifixion. Becoming sin, Jesus was exalted on a cross and murdered for sins that he never committed. He bore the shame and pain of my sin with openness in complete humiliation. Each of us has our own window that we hope no one ever sees, and while it is probably not one of prostitution, it is of equal shame. I completely deserve to be stuck in my window in absolute humiliation, but Jesus took that spot of complete openness. Stripped, Jesus stood physically and spiritually naked in my place. He became exposed for us, giving us a chance to beat the evil inside ourselves.

I know the story, and you know the story. Still, it is only when we see that our sin, our windows, made this story a reality that we can appreciate it. The problem is not that I sin. It is that I am a sinner. I am fallen, flawed, and worthless, but Jesus, the child of God, has become the sinner. I, the sinner, have become the child of God. That is grace. My shame, my pain, and my fate are all in his hands. He became sin, but more importantly, he became my sin. He stands in my window.

So, are her eyes sad? I don' t know. Maybe they are, or maybe they're just a little too normal for our comfort.