I am not your ordinary type of porn addict. It’s not as though I need a frequent or even a daily fix. In fact, I can go months without the slightest desire or inclination to surf the internet in the quest for that one illusive and supremely titillating image. The time between binges can be so lengthy that I have often—and clearly mistakenly—claimed the victory over what I know to be a soul-destroying evil.
And then I find myself alone at home or in a hotel room.
My name would be recognised by many Adventists in this part of the world—and indeed beyond. The profession in which I work has bestowed on me influence, and places me in high esteem in the eyes of those in my local church and community. Although I have written many articles for Adventist Record, this is the first for which I am compelled to use a pseudonym.
And then there is my father. Also instant name recognition throughout this Division, having worked for decades as a much-beloved pastor and departmental leader. Following his death, I discovered something about him that was almost as tragic as his early and unexpected demise.
I stepped into the bedroom where he’d spent some uncomfortable moments in his last few months—and indeed the last few minutes—of his life. I gazed around the room in an almost reverential way. Memories and emotions swirled uncontrollably through my entire being.
Noticing an iPad bedside his bed, I wondered if I should now assume ownership of it. After a few failed attempts at guessing the password, I was in.
The moment that followed stands still in time, etched on the neuronal pathways of my brain as long as this life will last. Tab after tab of the website browser was filled with hardcore pornographic sites. I didn’t look at the images. It would be repugnant to enjoy what he found arousing. So I quickly closed each tab and “cleaned” its electronic neurons.
The emotions I experienced in that instant ranged from shock to anger, disgust to absolute bewilderment. And those mixed emotions were not only stimulated as a result of this discovery of my father’s secret vice, but also of my own long-standing failure that was identical to his. Whoever came up with the saying that “the apple does not fall far from the tree“ was annoyingly accurate in this instance.
How dare we share this addiction! We both had succeeded, so it seemed, in hiding this very socially and spiritually taboo habit. Unfortunately I was now saddled with his furtive addiction. I still think highly of him, and I have no plans to deflate others’ esteemed views of this elder statesman of the Church. I pray he found deliverance, cleansing and forgiveness before he took his final breath. And I trust the same for myself. Following this encounter, I was determined to make a fresh start and learn from his failures.
I left the iPad where I found it.
I often wonder if a discussion of issues such as these at the Seventh-day Adventist high school I attended, might have provided me with the tools to make better choices?
I may never know. What I do know is that after school one day, a friend suggested we head down to the local newsagency. He had something amazing to show me. He took me to the back of the store and began flicking through some car magazines. I was waiting with a curious anticipation. What car did he have in mind? Then we edged a little further along the rack to the truck magazines. Nothing out of the ordinary so far.
Then he motioned to me. The shop manager at the front of the store was no longer looking in our direction as he was now serving a customer. My friend made his move. He deftly pulled a magazine from the rack and surreptitiously inserted it into a truck magazine then stepped aside to the automotive section again.
When he opened the pages of that “girly” magazine, he also opened my eyes, feelings and imagination in ways that I did not know existed. My 14-year-old naivety was smashed. Neither he nor I could have predicted the lasting impact of that brief affair. Decades later, I am yet to close what are now the electronic pages of that same magazine and place it back in the rack.
That is where it all began for me. That “first drink” is all it took. The seeds of experiencing the sensual and the prohibited were sown in my fertile and increasingly hormone-saturated mind. Unlike the more openly practiced and accepted addictions of smoking, alcohol, overeating or overwork, I knew that I would have to keep this out of sight. And for the most part, I have been successful in covering and camouflaging it.
It took some effort to keep it from my parents, then from my employers and also from my wife. Talking about my wife—would my relationship be jeopardised if I was to reveal all? I know she would feel betrayed beyond measure. I suspect we would survive it, though she would never see me in the same way again. Would our relationship be stronger as a result of sharing this dirty part of my soul? Possibly and probably. Could she help me and hold me accountable if I did? I believe so.
Then why don’t I open up to my wife? I don’t have a good answer for that. I guess I’m hoping that God will give me the victory and spare me from the humility of such a confession. Is God able to deliver me? Of course. Does He work through others to achieve that deliverance? Of course. Then why don’t I? I think it may have something to do with unbelief and pride.
I have read a number of books by various Christian authors on this subject. All helpful and informative in their own way. What I learned is that there are very few Christian men out there who have not been tainted with this evil and insidious habit.
One story in particular impacted me. A pastor who was struggling with this very issue sought help from a more senior pastor whose role was that of being a pastor for pastors. In our denomination, I think we would refer to this person as a ministerial secretary. After the pastor shared his innermost secrets, he implored the senior pastor for help. Upon hearing his confession, the senior pastor broke down and wept uncontrollably. Assuming his revelation had caused hurt and disappointment, the junior pastor apologised for sharing what he did.
“No, no, don’t apologise. I am not upset because of what you have done. I am weeping because I too am caught up in the same habit and I therefore have nothing to offer you. I too need help.”
Most recently I read through Blaine Bartel’s personal experience: Death by a Thousand Lies: My cover-up, my crash and my resurrection from sexual addiction. He rose from obscurity to pastoring a large church in the USA. Blaine was also involved in a far-reaching media ministry on TV, radio and print. He was an in-demand youth pastor. He had a devoted and loving family. But he was living a double life. When pornography failed to meet his needs, he took it to the next level.
Consistent with the nature of sin, he craved for more. So he transitioned from 2D to 3D sexual experiences. But after a while, he wanted something more meaningful than these casual encounters with prostitutes. He concocted further lies and convinced a lady at one of his travel destinations that he was single. And thus he established a more lasting and meaningful sexual relationship with his new lady friend. Until she saw him on TV. The house of cards that he had so carefully constructed for many years quickly fell, destroying his family, friends, confidants and ministry.
I cannot come up with one good thing to write about pornography. Not one. Yet on the other hand, studying the litany of objectionable features and damaging sequelae of sexual sins is unlikely to provide the impetus (and certainly not the power) to overcome.
I have chosen to seek recovery with help from an old friend. It is called Steps to Christ, that wonderful classic by Ellen White.
In that life-impacting book, I learned that “even one wrong trait of character, one sinful desire, persistently cherished, will eventually neutralise all the power of the gospel” (p34).
But I am also learning about the antidote to that one sinful desire that is persistently cherished. And of course it relates to every single sin including pornography. This statement so powerfully encapsulates my predicament, and the pathway to genuine and lasting victory.
“Many are inquiring, ‘How am I to make the surrender of myself to God?’ You desire to give yourself to Him, but you are weak in moral power, in slavery to doubt, and controlled by the habits of your life of sin. Your promises and resolutions are like ropes of sand. You cannot control your thoughts, your impulses, your affections. The knowledge of your broken promises and forfeited pledges weakens your confidence in your own sincerity, and causes you to feel that God cannot accept you; but you need not despair. What you need to understand is the true force of the will. This is the governing power in the nature of man, the power of decision, or of choice. Everything depends on the right action of the will. The power of choice God has given to men; it is theirs to exercise. You cannot change your heart, you cannot of yourself give to God its affections; but you can choose to serve Him. You can give Him your will; He will then work in you to will and to do according to His good pleasure. Thus your whole nature will be brought under the control of the Spirit of Christ; your affections will be centred upon Him, your thoughts will be in harmony with Him” (p47).
So here I am again. Home alone. Who will I choose? Who will you choose?
Vic Toree, pseudonym.
