I have to start by saying that this post contains material that may be unsuitable for the under 18 crowd.  So kids, check with your parents before reading further, ok?

It is everywhere.  The Shades of Grey erotic trilogy is everywhere.  With it’s innocuous looking cover and bestseller status printed above the title, it sits on the shelves at Costco and Target and Walgreens and begs women to pick up this book that everyone is reading.  And we women, we’re so weak when it comes to doing what everyone else is doing.  So we put it in our carts next to our children, who are opening bags of cheezits and begging for a new toy and we tell ourselves we’re just staying current.  Just keeping up with our friends.  And yet.
Ladies, let’s don’t lie to each other.  We’re too good a friends for that, aren’t we?  This series of books is pornography, plain and simple, and if you are telling yourself otherwise then consider that you might just be looking for a way to have it on your nightstand next to your Bible and not hate yourself for it.  Take it from me, who cut her literary teeth on Kathleen Woodiwiss and Jude Devereaux, who had a dear friend (you know who you are) call her on the carpet for it, that just because there’s no bunny on the cover doesn’t mean it isn’t pornography or that it won’t put images in our heads that will, I promise you, lead to fantasies that have absolutely nothing to do with your husband.  
I should preface by saying that I haven’t read them, won’t read them.  So everything I know about the Shades of Grey trilogy is heresay picked up from the internet and friends who were gutsy enough to talk to me about it.  Let me also say that I, who happen to have an active imagination and no lack of words, could never have imagined the horror of millions of readers being taken in by this drivel.  It’s filth masquerading as a New York Times Bestseller.  And if the tables were turned, if my husband walked in the door tonight with the latest issue of Playboy, I’d stand up, you can be sure.  I’d open my mouth.  But women are reading this in bed next to their husbands, are drinking it up like it’s water to a dying soul and it’s only different from Playboy in that it lacks pictures and has an epilogue.  So, thank you E.L. James for the introduction of streamlined, socially acceptable pornography you can read on the city bus and no one will blink an eye.  You are one savvy woman, marketing pornography as a novel, as a way to spice up your marriage. 
Ladies, this is the devil’s Kool-Aid.  Do not drink of it.  You are playing right into his hands.  Don’t tell me sex with your husband has never been better.  Don’t tell me he encourages you to read it-duh. Don’t tell me that it’s harmless fun, because the images we pour into ourselves will stay there and they will wreak havoc on our hearts and when we can’t stand them anymore, want to sweep them out, Jesus will be standing at the ready, but it’ll be so hard still.  The fun you are sowing now will give birth to a harvest of yuck that you will have to weed out.  And the more we allow ourselves to be desensitized to the evils of this world, the harder it is to see the place where our citizenship is, and pretty soon we can’t see the forest for the trees.  And we are lost.
Let me think of an example.  Ok, if you give your kid candy cigarettes, teach him how to hold them between his first two fingers, inhale, blow invisible smoke rings, there is, one could argue, a desensitizing going on toward real cigarettes.  If, on the other hand, you told your kids that they were not allowed to have candy cigarettes because the real thing is so deadly, so completely gross that we don’t even want to pretend, well, now you’re shutting the door on the gray area and drawing a line in the sand.  And I think maybe that is a big part of what it means to be a follower of Jesus, this constant drawing of lines in the sand.  This standing on one side and saying that we choose not to cross it.  Praying for the courage to stay on our side, knowing that to follow Jesus is to be set apart from the world.  In it, but not of it.  
Girls, this book is of the world.  It offers nothing of value.  If we were in a book club with Jesus, not only would be pee ourselves trying to figure out what to make for dessert, we would never suggest this book for next month’s read.   Never.  Discussing this book with Jesus would be as uncomfortable as watching The Reader with your dad.  Now, spit the vomit out of your mouth and decide which side of the line you’re going to be on.  And be loud about it, would you?  Because the Kingdom of God is not built on the thoughts of it’s citizens, but on the loud acts of immediate obedience that flow upstream and away from culture.  Be one of those people.  Please.  Be one who asks herself a hundred times a day if she’d be reading this, saying this, buying this, watching this if Jesus was sitting on her stained red couch in her family room.  And if you’ve already drunk the Kool-aid, spit it out.  Spit it out and then ask for the cleansing water of Jesus to soothe your throat and your soul.
And please, please sisters, don’t think I’m coming from a place of condemnation.  I’ve got my own yuck, but I’m trying to blow the whistle on the lullabye satan plays to get our morals to sleep.  Will you blow it with me?  Let’s start a conversation…
This is me being real.  

6 Replies to “grey.”

  1. I too have heard about this book, and the many comments women and men have made about how their personal lives have changed since reading. I've also read comments on how this isn't pornography because there is no visuals. And that is supposedly going to make it right? I have to admit that at one time I was interested in reading, but then came to my senses and acknowledged that material like this will not help my marriage, nor will it enhance my life!

    So I'm with you!!!! I will not subject myself to something that has no true and meaningful purpose!


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