I
have been reading a book entitled Reading Lolita in Tehran by Azar
Nafisi. It is the story of nine women who are seeking freedom, a space in which
to breathe and to come into themselves in the midst of post-Revolutionary Iran.
These women have found this space in the midst of studying forbidden
literature. They dare to remove their veils, to dive into classic literature,
and to think for themselves for two hours each week.
As
I am reading, I am taken back to the streets of Iran. I see the beautiful
gardens and the ornate mosques. I smell the Persian foods and the Turkish
coffee. I see the faces of the women. I see them walking with almost
expressionless grins, covered in draping black material. You can sense that
they are accustomed to fading into the background. However, some are fighting
back in their own ways: their hijabs have the outline of flowers embossed in
the black fabric, you catch a glimpse of their bleached blonde hair peeking out
from behind the dark material, eye shadow and bright lipstick call attention to
their faces, and the click, click, click of their high heels demand that they be noticed as
they walk by. These are women fighting to be seen; they are not content to fade
into the background. I even remember myself looking for small spaces of freedom
within the restrictions of the country: praying and worshipping Christ within
the confines of our hotel room, laughing on the ferris wheel, listening to
music while driving, or eating cheeseburgers and milkshakes as a quiet
celebration of American Independence Day.
I
was discussing Reading Lolita in Tehran with a recent acquaintance and
he asked, “Do you think it is better to taste that freedom, if you can’t have
it in all aspects of your life, or not to taste it at all?” That question
forced me to think about the nature and importance of freedom. I have concluded
that it’s really not a choice. We will always carve out small spaces of freedom
for ourselves, even in the most oppressive of situations. We were created for
freedom and, whether or not we have tasted it, our heart feels its lack.
Nafisi
says, in comparing herself and her students,
“These like the rest of their generation were different from
mine in one fundamental aspect. My generation complained of a loss, the void in
our lives that was created when our past was stolen from us, making us exiles
in our own country. Yet we had a past to compare with the present; we had
memories of what had been taken away. But my girls constantly spoke of stolen
kisses, films they had never seen and the wind they had never felt of their
skin. It was this sense of lack, their longing for the ordinary, taken for
granted aspects of life.” (p. 76)
We were created for the freedom of life with Christ.
Longings for relationship and abundant life with Christ were placed deep in
every heart. We will search for Him, even when we don’t yet know what we are
searching for. We will always carve out small spaces of freedom because we were
made to live free. Our hearts know it; they feel its lack.
*Stay tuned
for part 2 of this freedom series later this week.
