Samurai Swords and Sporks

The other day the spork came to mind. You know—the part-spoon, part-fork eating utensil that’s been around for a surprisingly long time, but really gained popularity with the military in the 40s.

The coming together of two designs to form one. Kind of like marriage. But the spork doesn’t get much respect, and if you’ve ever used one, you know why. The fork portion is too short to grab food effectively, and if you try using it for soup, watch the liquid dribble.

My friend Linda says of the spork: Partial characteristics of both utensils, rendering it virtually useless for any desirable activity. My friend Kerry says: It’s never all the way useful, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Not exactly the way I want to think of my marriage to Sam.

That led to me recalling a conversation with our friend Brian at church a couple of weeks ago. He was talking about the Samurai sword, and how it’s the melding of two kinds of steel, both of the utmost quality. The outer part is made of high carbon steel, providing strength. The core is made of low-carbon steel, providing flexibility and preventing the outer portion from becoming too rigid and breaking.

Now that’s a better illustration of marriage.

The Internet yielded more details. The making of the Samurai sword (technically called the Katara), is a lengthy, complex, and mysterious process. It isn’t finished at its initial forming (as the spork is). After the metals are assembled, they are repeatedly heated to intense, precise, and varied temperatures, then cooled in the same manner. This cycle repeats itself, fusing the metals by removing the air pockets and the impurities.

Close to fifty percent of the swords break from the process itself—never becoming what they were meant to be: something of strength, beauty, effectiveness, durability, and something which brings glory to the master craftsmen who made it.

About the same percentage of marriages crumble. My guess is that most of us want solid Samurai sword marriages, but too many of us give up.

Or maybe we’re part of a spork marriage. We came together because we liked external properties like her beauty or his money—the concave shape of the spoon, the tines of the fork. We weren’t looking at the internal properties like faith and character—the carbon numbers in steel.

Perhaps our relationship started off all right, but has become utilitarian in nature—a division of labor so to speak. It’s so easy for that to happen especially in certain seasons of life. You take care of the car, lawn, and garbage, Sam; I’ll take care of the kids, chores, and errands. And it wouldn’t make a difference if we divided it out less traditionally, the point is, it’s easy to believe that a well-oiled machine—each doing its part—makes a good marriage.

But I don’t think so. When I ponder “two shall become one,” I envision the Samurai sword. Where the properties of each element have been brought together with a single purpose, where it’s impossible to see where one ends and the other begins.

The individual labors of each spouse are still present and may be tackled separately, but those labors are secondary. They don’t define the marriage. The distinction can seem subtle, just like the Samurai sword and the spork. On the one hand, both were created from the coming together of two elements; and yet, they are vastly different from one another. One is cheap, disposable, and, in the end, not very effective.

That’s not what I hope for in marriage with Sam. I’d like for our union to be something of unsurpassed strength, beauty, effectiveness, and durability. Something forever treasured. Something to help me grow closer to the image of Jesus. Something which brings glory to the Master Craftsman who ordained it.

Though I wouldn’t mind if Sam continued to take care of the cars and the lawn.

This Valentine’s Day, may you find time to dwell on His gift of love.

May there be unity in all marriages. May we allow the hardships of this world to bind us more tightly together, instead of tearing us asunder.

May we be a reflection of the strength and beauty of the Samurai sword.

“Therefore a man shall leave his father and mother and hold fast to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.” This mystery is profound, and I am saying that it refers to Christ and the church. However, let each one of you love his wife as himself, and let the wife see that she respects her husband. (Ephesians 5: 32, 33)