Happy Val… Wednesday, everyone!
To quote Headie One, Valentine’s Day is a sticky one, still.
I think it’s fair to say that there is very little neutrality when it comes to Valentine’s Day. I’ve met very few people who are indifferent about it. It’s rare for someone to say “Valentine’s Day? It’s cute, I suppose.”
Oh no, my experience is that people live in two distinct camps. There are those who indulge in the romance and headiness of it all, saying things like “I just love the idea of love!” Single or taken, they revel in the excitement of a swoon worthy meet-cute just around the corner.
Then there are those who are simply chomping at the bit for any opportunity to remind anyone who will listen that Valentine’s Day is a commercialised gimmick giving licence to bars and restaurants to charge triple the amount for the same menu, only this time with a heart shaped mint to accompany your dessert wine.
It was fair to say that for a long time, I was very much in the second camp. Here’s why.
In 2005, I decided it would be a good idea to buy a Valentine’s gift for a boy in my science class.
I had no prior experience in buying Valentine’s gifts for and receiving them from anyone other than my parents (even they have stopped buying me a gift now - thanks guys 🥲). However, it seemed necessary for this boy - let’s call him Quentin, because why not? - to know exactly how I felt about him.
I went with a friend - let’s call her Stacey, because her name was Stacey and I don’t think I need to anonymise her - to the shopping centre after school in search of the perfect token of love. After daring each other to go into Ann Summers ‘just to have a look’ (don’t judge me, okay? We were all a bit too curious at that age), we eventually stopped in Clinton’s.
After much perusal, I settled on a small, red box containing an even smaller heart shaped key - the key to my heart, the description read. Perfect.
The next day, before Quentin arrived, I placed the red box on his desk and scurried over to my own before anyone else saw me. I watched in anticipation as Quentin sat down, picked up the red box and opened it to reveal its contents. His brows furrowed in confusion for a moment, before he hurriedly pushed the box aside to make room for his biology textbook.
I sighed despondently across the room. Not really the reaction I was hoping for, to be honest. Little did I know that things were about to get worse.
Whilst I chatted away with my friends in the playground afterwards, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see Quentin’s best friend, Jonah (again, fake name). Jonah held up his right hand, which was holding the red box. The box containing the key to my heart. I gulped.
“Quentin says you can have this back,” he barked, before stuffing the box into one of my hands and running off.
That was the first and last time I ever bought a Valentine’s gift for someone I was interested in (keyword being interested - if you’re a bro and you got a novelty gift from me, you’re still a bro, sorry).
That was almost twenty years ago, but I would be lying if I said the feelings of embarrassment and rejection at that time do not still bother me from time to time. And when Valentine’s Day comes around each year, I have to decide how to feel about it whilst being single yet again. I have to decide which camp I want to pitch my tent in.
However, this year there might actually be a third option. Valentine’s Day happens to also be Ash Wednesday, traditionally marked in the Christian calendar as the start of Jesus’ 40 day fast in the wilderness, where he was tempted by Satan. At first glance, this day is not particularly romantic. Plus, who wants to turn up to a date with a cross of ash on their head?
But at the centre of this story is the call for us to surrender our hearts to Jesus and follow him on the journey to the cross, his ultimate act of love and devotion to us. You see, in this story, Jesus undeniably gets the key to my heart every time. He doesn’t push it across the table, nor does he get someone else to bluntly let me know it’s not wanted. Instead, he demonstrates his unconditional love for me by giving every part of himself in death, only to be glorified in his resurrection.
The story isn’t romantic or swoon worthy; there’s pain, loss, grief, and suffering, but it’s followed by hope, a living hope that remains unblemished for me.
So as Haddaway echoes his question “What Is Love?” again this year, may this be our response:
”This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him. This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins.“
1 John 4:9-10 NIV
