Facing Slavery

I watch in horror as the images splay across the big screen.  The kidnappers not caring about the man and family they were destroying.  The sadistic slaveholder forcing Solomon to whip Patsy, a fellow slave, until her back is ravaged beyond repair.  The slaver with, seemingly, some semblance of a heart admitting to Solomon that he doesn't want to know the truth because simply knowing would cost too much.

I could go on and explain just how deeply the movie 12 Years a Slave affected me.  It's one of those movies that was so incredibly painful to watch that, although I will never regret seeing it, I doubt I'll ever watch it again.  It makes me question humanity and God and everything I know and love about the world, about humanity, about myself.

It's easy for me to attempt to relieve myself, my culture, the only world that I have ever lived in, of the guilt of these horrible historical wrongs.  And as much as the scourge of slavery and racism and hate have seeped into and stained this country for eternity, it is easy to try and separate ourselves from it.

So very easy.

It's easy to say that this doesn't happen now, not here.  That we're somehow better than them.  More evolved.  More compassionate.  More willing to see the image of God in every person, no matter our demographic differences.

But there are more slaves in the world today than ever existed throughout the history of the "legal" slave trade.

And again, it's easy to imagine and believe that the modern slave trade is a "third world" problem.  I follow and love and support organizations like IJM and the A21 campaign whose entire mission is to rescue people from the international slave trade.

It's so easy to just donate money to organizations such as these, and still remain blissfully and willfully ignorant.

Here's the truth: the slave trade is alive and well in America.

Here's an even harder truth: the slave trade exists in America because there is a demand for it, here and now.

Every year in every city that hosts the Superbowl or any other major sporting event, the rates of sex trafficking skyrockets in the days before and after the event.  There are always women and children being trafficked blocks from the White House and the Capital, especially during national events such as the a Presidential Inauguration.  Florida has some of the highest rates of child sex slavery due, at least in part, to the perpetual interstate tourist demand.  Demand is especially high during Spring Break season.

 This is the stinging indictment that a former child prostitute laid at the feet of Georgetown Law School:

"With conviction and irreverence, Frundt tells the story her staff told her she shouldn’t — one she agreed not to tell — about the time she was walking the streets at night near D.C. She was approached by two johns who mistook her for a prostitute. Frundt told the men they had the wrong idea. She asked where they were from. 'They said Georgetown Law,' Frundt says. 'Yeah, they go to Georgetown Law.' She doesn’t let it sink in. She jams it in. 'That’s right. They’re right next to you.'  In the crowd, there is a look these speakers know well. It’s not fear, nor compassion, nor grief.  It is shame."

So, no, those who keep up the demand for the slave trade in America are not some faceless monsters.  Sex slavery isn't perpetrated by clusters of evil people in far away places devoid of human connections and emotions.  It's an economy trafficked in by our friends, our acquaintances, our classmates, our neighbours.  It's us.

It's the good looking guy not much older than me in a downtown Naperville bar.  The one with the flash of recognition and the gall to say "hello." A nonchalant greeting from a "client" she wished was long forgotten.

I have lived in Naperville, IL nearly my entire life.  It's known as a great place to raise kids, as the home of a fantastic library, and as a bustling, friendly, and fun downtown.

It's also the home to that john who said "hello" like he was bumping into an old high school classmate.  And it's the home to former and current slaves.  I don't know how many.  So often, it's easier for me to just not think about them at all.  To pretend that Naperville is just this privileged, elite home to so many things about the capitalist society that I hate.

It's also easy for my feelings to flash towards revulsion when I see a prostitute crossing the street in the shitty part of Chicago that I drove through, not realizing that this more "direct" route to the airport would bring me face-to-face with my own privileged assumptions I thought I had long rejected.

As much as I know that I'm going to spend the rest of my life actively fighting the horrors of sex crimes, I have no clue how I will survive.  I don't know how I'll muster the courage to not break down and lash out, not just against the men I will try to convict, but against the society that, with blissful, conceited, and too often willful ignorance, allows the demand for sex slaves to continue.

How am I supposed to live in a world where the horrors depicted so brutally in 12 Years a Slave have not ended?  How do I keep my faith in the beauty of humanity when humanity is so damn good at justifying and perpetuating and, perhaps more heartwrenchingly, ignoring its own brutality.

How will I face this brutality day in and day out for the rest of my life and still keep my faith?

Living Through The Violence

"What I’m trying to tell you is that violence against girls and women is in every move we make, whether it is big violence or small, explicit or hidden behind the word father. Priest. Lover. Teacher. Coach. Friend. I’m trying to explain how you can be a girl and a woman and travel through male violence like it’s part of what living a life means. Getting into or out of a car. A plane. Going through a door to your own home. A church. School. Pool. It can seem normal. It can seem like just the way things are."

I don't know how to write this.

I've been reading a lot of first person stories recently of women, powerful, warrior women, who have survived and thrived through horrible experiences of trauma and assault and brutal violence. So much violence.  And I've read about how women live their entire lives perpetually facing explicit violence.  Violence perpetrated by the hands, feet, mouths and bodies of other humans and violence in the form of the constant triggers the victims, the survivors, the warriors face every goddamn day of their lives.

Violence in the form of the invasion of women's bodies by States that perpetually refuse to recognize and acknowledge women's privacy, women's humanity, women's agency.  I know so many people who have lived through so many of these things and more.  I've devoted my life over and over again to fighting against this pervasive and explicit sexual violence.

Yet I've never personally felt that it was right to call myself a "victim," a "survivor," or a "warrior."  I've never faced the type of violence that threatens and injures and maims my physical body.

So I don't know how to write about the type of violence that I've faced my entire life.  I'm not sure how to claim my place in this worldwide narrative of women warriors when I don't have a quintessential "survivor" story.  And I don't know how to write about any of this without in some way diminishing the many heart wrenching, brutally painful, and exquisitely beautiful narratives of these warriors.  I refuse to do that, and if I hear even a single comment that I am, in fact, diminishing those narratives, or claiming a place in this narrative of violence against women that I cannot or should not claim, this post will come down.  In a heartbeat.  These survivors and warriors and victims have faced enough minimization and dismissal and excuses.  I won't perpetuate that.  So please, call me out if this whole thing is out of line.

So how do I explain facing a lifetime of violence that never once invaded my physical body?

I could try and write about how certain States subject me to the potential for violence if I ever chose to even consider an abortion or even go on certain forms of birth control.  I could talk about how my rights to control my own body depend entirely upon my zip code and financial status.  I could write about the constant, pervasive, and seemingly amorphous threat of sexual violence that every woman faces her entire life.  Or I could talk about how, as a member of the female community, I am injured every time one of my warrior sisters is triggered in any way.

And all of these things are true to a certain extent.

I could talk about how much women's lives and narratives and art and abilities and talents are erased because they are placed in a little box.  I could explain that those issues stereotypically labelled "women's issues" aren't special interests at all. They are human rights, not women's rights.  And every time these rights are denied, an act of violence is committed against every woman.  Against me, against you, against your mother, your sister, your professor, your friend, your lover.

I could ask how to move forward in a world where over fifty percent of the population are prized far more for their subjective levels of physical attractiveness than for what they have to offer to this world.

I could ask how a Christian can believe that all human beings are made in God's image and still view one class of people as somehow "better than," or in any way innately superior to another entire class of people.  I could talk about how we're fed this language, these beliefs, that man is to be the "head" of women just as Christ is the head of the Church.  Men are justified in requiring submission from the women in their lives by this religious cover, and that attitude spreads throughout so much of society.  I could discuss how much I hate that so many amazing women throughout history and presently have had their stories, talents, and entire lives stolen from them under this same religious cover.  I think about the amazingly talented and gifted women that I know who have devoted their entire lives to standing behind the men in their lives, feeling that it is their duty as women to be perpetually hidden, only existing to pray for and serve their husbands.  How do we not see this as the injustice and the travesty that it is?  I could dig into and explain why we should view this erasure of women as the genocide that it is.

I could talk about the violence I feel every time I'm harassed on the street or even on the internet.  I could explain how I feel stripped bare and objectified and victimized every time a stranger rakes his eyes across my body and leers and tells me he wants me.

But how do I explain the intimate violence felt every time a professor, classmate, or even friend or family member fails to even grasp the existence (never mind the extent) of the oppression that I (and every other woman) face every day of my life?  How do I talk about the feeling of having part of myself cut from me every time I hear myself or other women talked about as less than complete humans, but instead referred to as receptacles, incubators, or sexual objects?  How do I talk about the violence I feel every time my agency is denied?  I'm not even sure how to adequately explain the concept of agency...

I've lived with this feeling, with this knowledge, that, because I am woman, I am "less than" my entire life.  I've talked about that before, but the violence that I feel, the pain that cuts me open on a daily basis is so much deeper than just the abstract concept of women as somehow lesser because of their sex.  How do you explain wounds and scars and pain that no one ever sees?  Because we've been taught that this is simply life.  That we have to live with this violence, because "boys will be boys."  Or, worse, we're told that it's our fault.

I've spend so much of my life basing my own value and worth on the external: on my body, and, more than that, on the ability of my body to be sexualized, objectified, and desired by the men around me.  As much as I've learned about and studied and, yes, experienced sexual harassment on the street, there is always this dualistic reaction that I have and that I hear about from other women.  When I am harassed, yes, I feel disgusted and ashamed and embarrassed and naked and so many other emotions.  But I also have always felt a certain amount of vindication.  Because I wasn't just harassed: I was also seen as worthy.  More explicitly, my ability as a woman to sexually arouse men has been vindicated.

It has taken every one of my nearly 23 years on this earth to in any way convince myself that my worth is not based upon my ability to attract and arouse men.  As much as I may have verbally claimed that truth all of my life, I still struggle against it to this very day.  This is the violence that I face most often: the inward voice placed there by this world telling me that I am only worthy insofar as a man deems me sexually appealing.  In the past, this belief ripped me open and exposed me and terrorized me in ways that I can't even admit out loud, never mind on this public blog.  I feel shame and disgust and filth because of what this violence reduced me to.  In so many ways, this world convinced me that I was the one inflicting this violence, because I was perpetuating and enabling it.  And I will likely always feel compelled to seek that same type of violent vindication of my value and worth.

These wounds run so deep, but they are so very hidden and are only beginning to be exposed.  So, again, I ask, how am I supposed to heal from a life of violence that can hardly be explained, never mind seen or heard?  How am I supposed to do something so seemingly simple as sit in a class when the professor nonchalantly claims that women are no longer discriminated against because...Diane Feinstein, Nancy Pelosi, and Hillary Clinton...

I don't even know how to sit here and listen to this, never mind try and explain to him the violent oppression that women still face every single day.  It's not always in the form of a fist or a gun.  It can be triggered by something so seemingly simple as a text message or a song or look.  And we have to live with and through this violence and oppression every goddamn minute of every goddamn day.

I could (and have and do) rant against the "patriarchy" or the ignorance or the blatant inaccuracies in this professor's claim.  Or I could spend hours trying to calmly explain every tangible way that statements such as these obscure real economic and political disparities.  But how do I explain to someone who has never felt it the violence that women face every day?  Especially when the violence has become so fucking "normal" that half the time it's hard to even recognize each time that it happens.  But we feel it.  Every day.  And every day we have to live through it.

So maybe I don't know exactly how to write about this.  Maybe none of what I've just said makes much sense.  But I will keep writing and keep fighting and keep ranting and keep exposing the violence women, myself included, face every day.   Women's silence and acquiescence has been our prison, the violent and hidden cage placed on us throughout history.  So even if I don't know how to write this, I won't be silent anymore.

Deeper Faith or Sacrilege?

For my whole life, I was taught and (to a certain extent) believed that fostering a growing, dynamic Christian faith had to look a certain way.  I'm not talking about the way you are supposed to live your outward (to use the "Christian-ese" term) horizontal faith -- i.e. how  you express your faith through words and actions.  I'm talking about the more introspective, inward, "vertical" aspects of faith.  No matter where I stood with God or my changing belief system or calling, I have always thought that, to be a truly mature, growing Christian, I had to have at least a certain minimum of (relatively) structured prayer and Bible reading time and I absolutely had to be involved in a Church community (though the latter didn't need to be anything near traditional).  And there have been times in my life when each of these components have been crucial, not just to my spiritual well-being, but my mental and emotional well-being too.  When I struggled most heavily with depression, suicide, and cutting, I can honestly say that being able to cry out to God in prayer, no matter the dark or angry content of my thoughts, helped keep me alive.  When I was struggling with figuring out who God is, who I am, and/or how to reconcile the two, reading the Bible and being a part of a relatively traditional faith community were essential to that process.  I know that without having spent long hours digging into the Bible to figure out who God is, I would not have the stable foundation on which to build the rest of my life and beliefs.

But here's the thing: when I was in those times of digging into the Word to figure out who God is to help build that foundation, I, without fail, always felt so challenged by what I read.  I would dig into traditional expository commentaries and look online for historical contexts for passages and read dozens of both conservative and liberal interpretations of passages.  I never ceased to be challenged.

 A month or so ago, I figured I should really try to get back into that habit.  I love feeling challenged and stretched  and pushed to grow in my understanding of who God is, of the way I look at the world.  I love seeing, for the first time, a new and beautiful aspect of broken humanity that makes me love it all the more.  And yet, when I tried to dig into a passage the past several attempts, I never felt any of those things.

Now this isn't me bitching and complaining about a spiritual dry spell.  That's not it all.  Because recently I've been reading so many different things and engaging in an amazing community and feeling so very challenged in my understanding of the world and of people and, yes, of my faith.

But because of the way I was raised and this belief system that I've always had about what a growing internal faith life is "supposed" to look like, it honestly never even dawned on my that the things I have been reading are challenging and growing my faith.

Because I've always looked at faith as this two-dimensional foundation upon which I am supposed to view every other belief that I hold or thing that I learn.  Mostly, I've always viewed my faith as something just relating to religious beliefs.

But my faith is so much bigger than a set of beliefs regarding who or what deity I believe in and then coming to an understanding of the finite ways that that set of beliefs regarding that deity is supposed to affect the way I think and live.

At its core, my faith is a belief that God called me to love my fellow humans and serve them and fight for justice for them.  But that calling, that faith, is so much bigger than just religious beliefs. 

It's who I am.

Yes, my specifically "religious" beliefs explain why I believe certain things and even act or think certain ways.  But my religion falls far short of being able to explain my whole belief system and every thing that I think about the world, about humanity, and about my place as an agent of change in each.  Yeah, my religious beliefs, those things that I've learned from my more "traditional" faith-related activities, definitely inform many parts of my belief system and my desired role in the world's conversation and economy.  But those things I learned in Christian schools and in church and even in traditional Biblical study fail miserably to adequately explain so many crucial parts of who I am and of what I believe.

I've said for years that I believe that God gave us rational minds to help us figure out the world.  I've also frequently said that God gave us the ability to create art in so many diverse forms, and far be it from us to arbitrarily name certain pieces or aspects of art and culture as sufficiently "Christian" to be able to teach us faith-related lessons.  I've never believed that God recorded every aspect of truth and insight necessary to navigate the world exclusively in the Bible.  To me, it's simply a ludicrous thought to believe that a book written by human hands thousands of years ago (no matter your belief about the extent or degree of its Divine origin)  could help a 21st century adult navigate something as (seemingly) benign as social media.  I believe that in so many different aspects of life, God wants us to become well-rounded, well informed, rational people who live by the beliefs that come from that well-rounded and informed rational thought.  There are so many issues and problems we face today that a human Jesus simply could not have grasped and, as much as Jesus being God may have granted this extra knowledge and understanding, the vocabulary and culture Jesus was confined to couldn't have allowed the adequate expression of so many things that are crucial to understanding and living in this world today.

But as much as I believed all of these things, when it dawned on me recently that my faith is being challenged and stretched and grown the most recently by the things I'm reading in queer and feminist media, literature, and law journals, and by engaging in these same communities, I felt like this was somehow sacrilegious.  Like this couldn't possibly be what God wants my faith life to consist of, can it?

Like, if the Bible contained an entire book on recognizing your own privilege, another on having compassion for others who are (for possibly the first time) forced to confront their privilege, and still another on the best way to form coalitions around intersectional systems of oppression and privilege, that's where I'd be digging in my teeth in an intense Bible study right now.  Because my capacity to understand the world and humanity and to learn to love more deeply are so being stretched right now by digging into these issues.  And I honestly can't think of a more faith-related exercise than learning to better love and serve and seek justice for my fellow humans.  So how could expanding my understanding and ability in these areas be sacrilegious?

I know that the reason why I struggle with the thought that calling these activities "faith" is sacrilege, though, isn't just because studying feminist and queer issues doesn't "look" like religion.  It's also because I'm realizing that, for me, what I describe as my "faith" is something so much bigger than just religion.  It's about my entire outlook on life, on the world, and on myself.  Yes, there is certainly a traditionally religious aspect to it.  But it's so much more than that, too.  When I say "faith," I know for certain that I'm no longer referring to the strictly Webster's (or AWANA club's, for that matter) definition about believing in something without fully understanding it.  It's not about taking a "leap of faith."  I think what I mean when I use the term "faith" is something more akin to the terms "worldview" and "calling" put together.  So, yeah, perhaps I should think of a better word for it, but the fact is that the reason why I consider these things to be part of my faith is because they are all inextricably linked to what I believe about God, about the world, about people, and about my place  within and among all of these things.

So I'm going to continue to open my eyes and mind to the beautiful and challenging insights around me.  I'm not trying to say that I'm completely forsaking the Bible.  I'm still a Christian, and as much as I'm re-thinking what I believe an active and growing internal faith life looks like, I'm not saying that I'm turning in my Bible in exchange for Autostraddle.com (although the latter is my browser homepage).

Part of growing up, if you were raised in a traditional Christian home, is about re-examining every aspect of your beliefs, faith system, and worldview.  So many of these things have changed so drastically for me over the past decade of my life; I doubt I would even recognize the pre-teen girl blasting Rebecca St. James in her room 24/7, dreaming of joining the Aussie singer and abstinence-only activist on tour.

I have learned so many amazingly complex and beautiful things since then about God, about the world, about myself, and about humanity.  I've learned to love and see so much beauty in all of the brokenness; I've cried for the suffering and pain and felt paralyzed by the guilt of my own privilege and the depth of my own compassion; I've become a feminist activist and I've come out as queer.  I've perpetually been drawn to stories and lives of brokenness, suffering, and beauty.  I've felt and given myself over to an inescapable calling to spend my life seeking and fighting for justice and equality.

I could sit here and try to list every single way that my faith has influenced me through each of these times of change and trial and pain and growth and beauty and love.  But that list could never be any where near completion, because, as I said, my faith is who I am.  Who I believe God to be, the Jesus that I have fallen in love with, has governed each of these phases of my life, has been the deciding factor in every one of my belief systems.

So when I feel close to God after reading a call to feminist action, when I feel challenged to lookdeeper at my own privilege, when I read a post that pleads compassion for those who cannot see the injustice in their beliefs, when I research and write a paper formulating a plan of action to end a pandemic of violence against an entire class of people, even when I begin to grasp both the depth of the beautyand the scope of the problems in the media that I consume, how could these things not be pushing my faith deeper?  How could I not have a better understanding of God and of humanity?  How could the preparation for and pursuit of the calling that God has laid before me be anything other than an action of my faith?  How could calling any of these things part of my faith be sacrilege?

The Queer Choice

"We want sexuality to be biological because then it's more about instincts and nature pulling people together.  Choice isn't very romantic.  Love is about surrender -- the absence of choice -- the irresistable pull of another body.  We don't have faith in the rest of it because we doubt the permanence of anything we are capable of changing with our minds."

I just read these word by Riese, the founder of one of my favourite websites, AutoStraddle.  I've always loved her writing about pretty much any topic.  But when I read those words, they hit me so hard I couldn't breath for a couple seconds.  It was written by her in a journal many years ago when she was still struggling with coming to terms with a label, any label, be it bisexual or lesbian or queer or anything else.

When I read those words, I flashed back to those months that I spent silently struggling with the fact that I had finally allowed myself to admit my sexual attraction to women.  I vividly recalled when I "came out" to my brother; I told him "I'm bisexual."  Because even though I had allowed myself to admit my same-sex attraction and had even (for the most part) reconciled my faith with that pull that I felt, I was still struggling with labels.

Oh, labels...

It's so easy to just slap one on the moment you feel you've "figure it out."  When I first admitted my same-sex attraction I (somewhat reluctantly) labelled myself "bisexual."

Then I came to realize that being able to find men attractive doesn't mean that I could ever actually have a romantic relationship with a man.

Everyone, male or female, gay or straight, intersex, trans*, bisexual or simply queer, is capable of (and likely does) see beauty and attraction in every gender variety and presentation.

That doesn't mean that everyone is pansexual.  It simply means we all have eyes and hearts and minds.  We all have the simple ability to see beauty.

Once I realized this, I knew that the label I had ostensibly embraced didn't fit.  And then because I was still struggling with how to reconcile my faith with my sexuality, and then trying to figure out how to come out to my family, I kind of gave up the question of labels for a while.

And yet...

When I came out to my family and then to the world on this very blog, I still felt uncomfortable embracing a certain label.  I called myself "gay," because I felt weird, queer even, embracing the term "lesbian."  I couldn't (and still can't to my sufficient liking) articulate why that label made me uncomfortable.  I know that it has something to do with the stereotypes that surround that term.  But I couldn't fully explain why it made me so uncomfortable when the term "gay" did not.

As I've more fully embraced the queer community and my place in it, I've come to see that the problem wasn't the label of "lesbian."  The problem was the fact that it was a label.  I saw "gay" as a broad category, not a constricting label.  "Lesbian" was (and is) something very specific.  And I'm not saying that I don't/can't fit the category of "lesbian," whatever that might entail.  I do and I can fit.  I am exclusively drawn to romantic/sexual relationships with women.  It's as simple as that.

And yet...

There's nothing simple about attraction.  And here's where I come back to Riese's words.  When my parents and I were first talking about my sexuality, we kept coming back to the age-old (not really age old, but I digress) argument about whether or not my orientation, my same-sex attraction is a so-called "choice."  We argued about whether it is something biological or produced through circumstances or, very simply, a distinct human choice with not much else playing into it.

And it makes the whole thing easy, simple, cut-and-dry if I simply claim that my orientation, my "label," is biologically-ingrained.  It makes the argument simple.

But it'll never resolve anything.  Peope can (and likely -- though I hope not -- will) alway argue about "choice" until the end of time.

But what does "choice" matter?  If someone chooses (assuming there are no consent, coercion, or violence issues at play) to be in a romantic or sexual relationship with someone of the same gender, can anyone really argue that they have zero attraction to that person, that they are not in some way drawn to each other?  Very few (if any) people choose, when deciding whether to pursue any form of romantic or sexual relationship (whether long-term or fleeting), to engage in that relationship with someone whom they feel no attraction to.  That attraction may be physical, intellectual, emotional, or under any other category that draws them to each other.  Because, for whatever reason, good or bad, we all engage in relationships with people whom we are drawn to.  That "pull," as I'll call it, is the basis for most meaningful human interaction (by "meaningful" I simply mean those interactions that aren't purely task-oriented, i.e. any customer service interactions likely aren't very "meaningful," so there's likely no "pull").

I felt that "pull" to become close friends with several people who are still my best friends to this day long before I was ever willing to acknowledge my "pull" to them and others was more than just platonic.

I choose to embrace who I am; I choose to embrace this pull.  But I think I've also come to a place where I'm not entirely comfortable with slapping a confining label on who I am.  I think the only "label" that I could embrace is "queer."  Because "queer," as it's been embraced and redefined by the LGBT community, is anything but confining.  It's empowering and freeing and unfettered.

This isn't some very round-about way of saying that I'm really bisexual.  That's not it at all.  What I am saying is that I don't really care about the boxes that the typical label of "lesbian" would put me in to the extent that it forces me to accept the idea that who I am is immutable, biological, or based on anything other than my surrender to the pull.

I'm not sure I'm explaining this well.  In fact, I know that I'm not.

But what I want to say, the gist of what I realized when I read Riese's words, is that accepting who I am, embracing the truth regarding the people whom I am attracted to and desire to spend my life with, was, to one degree or another, a choice.  But it wasn't a choice about who I am going to be with.  It was a choice to have faith.  To surrender to that "pull," that desire, that beauty and joy and life that I feel both in embracing who I am and in acknowleding to whom I am attracted.

I believe that we, as humans, are meant to spend our lives in community with one another.  I believe that we are meant to find people to spend our lives with.  I believe most of us are supposed to find a person who complements who we are, who challenges us and pushes us forward, and excites us and draws us in and makes us whole.

And how could I ever be whole if I choose to spend my life with someone who will never do all those things?  Who will never complete me or challenge me or draw me in?  How could I plan on spending my life with someone for whom I know I will never burn with passion?

I'm still not sure how to articulate why it is that I'll never feel that pull towards a man.  Maybe that's part of why Riese's words hit me so hard: because it forced me to recognize that it is a choice to have faith, to surrender to that pull, even though I can't articulate why.  I may never be able to articulate why a man would never be able to make me whole in the same way that a woman can.  But I know it.  And I've accepted it.  And I choose to surrender to it.

Advancing the Dream

Note: This post is long overdue.  I wrote it a few weeks ago, but just kept forgetting to finishing editing it and then post it.

As I watched a re-airing of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I Have A Dream" speech in commemoration of its 50th anniversary, I wrote the following Facebook status update: "Watching the indescribably breathtaking 'I Have A Dream' speech being re-aired in its entirety on MSNBC right now with tears in my eyes and so many emotions in my heart.  How far we've come.  How far we must still go."

Over the past couple months, the reality of the latter statement became explicitly clear to me.  Watching the George Zimmerman acquittal, I came to realize that the biggest problem with the verdict wasn't the fact that Zimmerman "got away with it" (because, truthfully, the prosecution's case wasn't that strong, so I really don't fault the jury for reaching that verdict).  Instead, I struggled so strongly accepting the reality of the legal precedent that it sets: if someone with racial animus in their heart sees someone in their neighbourhood that (in their opinion) doesn't "belong there," s/he can follow that individual, say or do something to instigate a fight (even if it's just making the person feel intimidated by being followed), and then pull out a gun and shoot that person.

I was particularly struck in the aftermath of the acquittal by one viral tweet: "How cool would it be to live in a world where George Zimmerman offered Trayvon Martin a ride home to get him out of the rain that night" (Tom Crabtree @itscrab).

A few weeks ago, I watched Fruitvale Station, the movie chronicling the final day in Oscar Grant's life.  This was a young African American man (my same age, 22 years old, at the time of his death) who wasn't perfect, but he was a good man.  And yet, after getting in an altercation with someone on an Oakland train, was pulled off the train, had his head smashed into the ground repeatedly, and then shot in the back by an Oakland cop (who claimed to have mistaken his gun for his tazer).

And then you have the spotlight being put, in recent weeks, upon the "Stop & Frisk" program in New York City which, even the law's proponents admit, highly unequally targets young African American males than any other demographic group.  And I hear stories of young men, my own age, who, since they were as young as ten years old, have been frisked by the police up to a dozen times.  And how, after so many times, you just stop trusting the police.  You stop looking to them for help, because you assume that they'll immediately look on you with suspicion simply by virtue of your skin colour.  One young man said that he didn't even call the police when he was robbed for this very reason.  And I highly doubt that his story is an anamoly.

Sure, you can make arguments and justifications and excuses for all of these things.

But is that really the type of country that we want?

Why are we still settling for excuses and justifications behind unequal treatment based upon race?

Yes, things have absolutely gotten better since Dr. King shared his dream with us 50 years ago.  You'd be hard-pressed to find a single person who would disagree with that.  There are no more weekly lynchings or images in the media of elementary school kids being sprayed with fire houses.

Yes, the world has changed.

We have an African-American president, dozens of African-American members of Congress, and an African-American attorney general.  And those are just the most high-profile figures nationally.  There are hundreds of African-Americans in positions of power in dozens of fields across America, without such a stark contrast anymore between the northern and southern states.

But we still have a long ways to go.  Changes still have to be made before we can say that we have finally fulfilled the dream which Dr. King prophecied over America 50 years ago.

Dr. King's dream is about more than just having most people be "judged by the content of their character" instead of their skin colour.  It's about economic equality.  It's not just about universal voting rights, but about having something worthwhile to vote for.

I'm not going to pretend to understand every length to which this nation must still go before we reach Dr. King's dream.  Because I think there's more to it than the specific examples that Dr. King proclaimed.  It's about living in a world where no one goes hungry, no one is denied rights due to some demographic category, no one is without the highest quality education, no one is left behind.

And Dr. King's dream doesn't stop at the edges of this nation.  It extends far and wide to every nation on earth.  It's ambitious, and will likely never be fully reached.  But that's not to say we should stop trying, stop reaching, stop changing, stop advancing the dream.

It's been 50 years, but so much of King's speech is just as relevant today as it was 50 years ago.  And his dream will never become irrelevant.

Embracing the Discontent: Problematizing Privilege and Examining Intersectionality

I've considered myself a feminist for probably around eight years now.  And I thought I knew what that meant the first time I embraced the term.  I joyfully celebrated the idea that everyone is equal and deserves the full manifestation of that equality, regardless of gender.  I still embrace that ideal.  I still embrace feminism.  But I had no clue, when I first proudly proclaimed the label, how much the feminist discourse would change my whole outlook on life.

I used to argue that feminists who constantly complain about problems in the world, those feminists that get labelled "angry" or "radical," are not representative of the feminist movement as a whole, that they are the fringe who give the whole group a bad reputation.

I used to view feminism so simply, so freely.

I had zero clue.  None.

If you had asked me back in high school to explain the terms "privilege" or "intersectionality," I would've just stared blankly at you.

I just didn't have a clue.

I didn't get that I would come to this point where I view everything around me, even those things and people that I love and idolize the most, so problematically and critically.  And I definitely never thought that I would embrace that discontent.  I certainly never thought that I would seek it out.

I recently had a conversation with a new friend about musical interests, and when she mentioned that she loves Lady Gaga, I started explaining the many problems I have with the way she has presented herself in the last couple years.  And as I explained my reasons, as I expounded upon the idea that, alongside her incredible privilege necessarily comes a profound responsibility to realize how she talks and acts impacts the world and speaks on behalf of a larger community, I found myself feeling like I  needed to justify my discontent.  I found myself explaining that I do hugely respect Gaga's heart and talent.  But that I just couldn't embrace her utter lack of understanding of how painful, insensitive, and even offensive her cultural misappropriation is, how much more harm than good her attempts at representing the larger LGBT community have done.  But even as I explained all of these things, I felt this pressure to backpeddle and put so much more emphasis on my respect for her talent and good intentions than on my (vitally important) critiques of her message.

But I've come to realize that it wasn't me that wanted to backpeddle.  I had no actual desire to try and explain, rationalize, or downsize my discontent, my critiques, my comments on her privilege.  I realized that I was cowing to the desires of society around me that sends this message that we have to be either completely satisfied and content with something or someone or completely dissatisfied and discontent.  There is this pressure in the world today to refuse to view people and things, especially those that we respect and think are largely good, problematically.  You're either supposed to be completely for an entity or completely opposed to it.  And if you find yourself wanting to embrace the good in that entity, you aren't supposed to shine a light on its flaws.  You're not supposed to wish that it did better.

But I refuse to stand by and think or act that way.  I refuse to believe that the good things in this world must be accepted as stagnant and unable to improve, incapable of being challenged or questioned as capable of change.

There are so many things in this world that have an incredible amount of value in them but can and always will be capable of being better.  For instance, I think the new Netflix hit, Orange is the New Black, is one of the greatest single pieces of television ever created.  It's ability to both embrace and challenge privileges and shine a glaring light on intersectional issues of discrimination are so profound, I am continuously amazed that it even exists.

And yet.

It could do so very much better.  It still pigeonholes so many groups of people, in such very problematic ways.  And while, in a lot of different ways, the show does an amazing job of pointing out the errors in our own initial judgments as well as in society's treatment of individual people and groups as a whole, the show still falls short in some very predictable and painful ways.  The show perpetuates the stereotype that, no matter where they are, latin@ women will constantly find a way to get themselves knocked up (and I am very purposely wording that statement so crassly).  It shines zero problematic light on seemingly "consensual" sexual relations between a prison guard and an inmate.  It goes so far as to push its audience to cheer for the seeming "adorableness" of this couple.  It doesn't question the inherently unconsensual power dynamic or the very real propensity to violence in this type of relationship.  It has us cheering for the demise of an extremely stereotyped lower class white woman; it makes Pensatucky the villain of the show with little if any humanity allowed to shine through the poignant character.

I could go on.  I could give so many other examples.  And yet even within the most liberal, feminist discourse regarding the show, those who raise these (and many other more incisive and poignant) critiques inevitable find themselves defending their love for the show, as if they have to justify their very ability to simply wish for this amazing show to simply do better.  Even now, I feel compelled to reassure everyone that I truly do adore this show.

I'm not sure how to adequately explain my desire to perpetually be involved in a discourse that challenges my own privileges, that examines intersectionality, that makes me uncomfortable.  What I do know is that the first time I engaged in an in-depth exercise of examining and challenging my own privileges, my life changed forever.

It's easy for us to simply accept the world around us, accept the privileges handed to us by society without questioning the justice of these offerings.  But should we allow ourselves to rest comfortably on our haunches, never questioning not just the injustice around us but our own role in it?  If we constantly profess that the ambiguous "other" is the only one responsible for the injustices of the world, we disabuse ourselves of any responsibility.  And because every person with any degree of privilege is equally capable of engaging in this disabuse, no one takes responsibility and nothing can ever change.  This world will constantly remain in an us-versus-them mentality wherein we blame this ambiguous "other" for all of the world's problems, but no one person or group of people ever embraces this role of the problematic "other" for themselves.  Therefore, no one ever takes responsibility for the injustices of the world, but instead we, as a society, play a perpetual game of passing-the-buck.

We have to take responsibility for society.  We have to realize that, every single day, each one of us plays a role in perpetuating the discrimination and injustice of the world, no matter our good intentions.  Because only through this realization can we begin to take responsibility, and only though embracing this discontent can we ever hope to make this world a more just and equitable place.

I will choose to take responsible.  I commit to examine my own privileges, my own perpetuation of discrimination and inequality.  And I won't be content with simply "good enough."  Because I know we are capable of so much better than this.  I won't be cowed by condemnations that I am "overly-critical," "hypersensitive," or even "angry."

Instead, I will embrace the discontent.

Changing Marriage

I've written before about the major "clobber" passages in the Bible which are consistently used in modern times to say that homosexuality is a sin.  And I still believe that that is an important conversation to have, an important debate to delve into.  But something is missing from that debate.

Nowhere in that conversation is there a discussion of sexual politics and the cultural use of sexual relations at the time in which the different passages were written.  Because here's the thing: the concepts and ideas of sex and marriage which are so prevalent today were nowhere to be seen in Biblical times.  Marriage during the pre-Christian eras, during the Greco-Roman empire in which Christ lived and the whole New Testament was written was not about love or commitment, or a life-long bond between partners.

In the Greco-Roman world, sex was political.  It was about power and control.  It was a display of the dichotomy between dominance and submission.  Under Roman law, a Roman citizen had sexual rights to every person who was not their equal.  This meant that a Roman citizen, by nature an adult male with political rights and power, could legally have sex, forcefully or otherwise, with any person who was not a Roman citizen.  So he had sexual rights to every woman (no matter her ethnic or social class), every slave (male or female), every child (yes, child!), and every other person who did not hold the political station of a Roman citizen.

There was no such thing as consent.

So when Paul, in his epistles of Corinthians and Timothy, was talking about sex, he was wrestling with how to assimilate the newly converted Gentiles with their practices of sexual dominance, power, and politics into the Jewish-turned-Christian way of life.  But he didn't address those issues which we, today, would see as the biggest moral or ethical problem with Greco-Roman sexual practices: the absence of the concept of consent!

Paul addressed alot of different things, many of them quite vaguely.  And there can be arguments and debates about what he really meant or how it should apply to our lives.  But we cannot ignore the fact that the society in which he lived, the mindset which he had about sex and marriage has very little in common with our modern conceptions of sex and marriage.

How can we have a conversation about sexual ethics or the correct "definition" or marriage based nearly entirely upon such outdated notions as those prescribed in the Bible?

I'm not saying that we should ignore everything in the Bible related to sex, love, and marriage.  Absolutely not.  But we have got to read it with a grain of salt, understanding the world in which it was originally written, and even the world in which the Bible was canonized and interpreted throughout the centuries.

In fact, it wasn't until the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries that homosexuality became a broadly condemned practice across Christendom.  And this was an age of broad social intolerance which saw a dramatic rise in the condemnation of Jews, "heretics," and many other social minorities.  Before that time, there are examples throughout the early church, the Renaissance, and the Middle Age from the literate classes (oftentimes nobility and especially monks) including explicit gay poetry with little to any condemnation of the practice .  Much of it was widely accepted as some of the most beautiful and high class literature of its time.

It was during these periods following the fall of the Roman empire that the concepts of sex and marriage transformed from an expression of political dominance and power into an expression of human love and pleasure.  It wasn't perfect, just as our sexual ethics today aren't perfect across the board.  But the ideas of love and marriage during these times were changing rapidly towards a more modern understanding wherein sex and marriage were viewed as expressions of love and consent.

In light of our modern view of marriage and erotic expression as an outpouring of intimate love, we must view much of the Bible differently.  And not just in relation to the aforementioned "clobber" passages that can be used to address homosexuality.  Today, we can see the loving, intimate relationships of Jonathon and David, as well as Naomi and Ruth as intimate same-sex relations (regardless of whether or not they were sexually intimate).  Because today we view marriages as much more than a means of exerting political power and ensuring reproductive legitimacy.  Instead, we view marriage as an expression of commitment, love, intimacy.  In fact, the vow which Naomi gives to Ruth ("But Ruth said, 'Do not urge me to leave you or turn back from following you; for where you go, I will go, and where you lodge, I will lodge.  Your people shall be my people, and your God, my God.  Where you die, I will die, and there I will be buried.  Thus may the Lord do to me, and worse, if anything but death parts you and me.'") is often used as a proclamation of commitment at many heterosexual Christian weddings.

No one can question that both couples were, on some level, intimate.  I'm not trying to make an argument absolutely that either of them were sexually involved.  Because that's not the point.  Just as the point of marriages today is not exclusively about sexual intimacy.  Today, in the Western world, most people get married because of love, commitment, and respect.  And even among those who don't marry for those reason, most all of them would at least acknowledge these principles as the components of an ideal marriage.  Can anyone argue that Naomi and Ruth weren't loving, committed, or respectful of each other?  The same with Jonathon and David?

Some may argue that this is a spurious argument, and it may well be.  But whether or not you see these two relationships as intimate on an equivalent level with modern marriages, discussing them still brings up this crucial point: we don't have any Biblical examples, gay or straight, of a marriage (that is explicitly labelled as such) that is equivalent to a modern ideal for marriage.  We can see glimpses of such a concept though the two same-sex relationships described above, as well as in the erotic poetry of Song of Songs.  But there is no directly equivalent example of a Biblical marriage which mirrors a modern marriage.  Because the culture in which the different books of the Bible were written had no such concept of marriage.  There was no consent.  Love was by no means required, or even encouraged, throughout most Biblical examples.

I think the one major thing that we can take away from Paul's teachings on marriage is the concept that, ideally, marriages should be based upon love and respect, not upon an exertion of political power, dominance, and control.  Paul was pushing his readers in the direction of a modern-day concept of marriage.  But he wasn't there yet.  The whole society had to change.  And when it started to, these Pauline passages weren't used to impose a ban and homosexuality, or even on gay marriage.  They were used to encourage the movement towards marriage as an expression of love, commitment, and respect.

I guess my point through all of this is simply to say, once again, that we have got to recognize the prisms through which we view Biblical concepts.  Moreover, we have to figure out and acknowledge the culture and norms of the time when the Bible was written, the era in which it was canonized, as well as the ways in which it has been interpreted throughout the centuries.

Sources:
John Boswell. Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality: Gay People in Western Europe from the Beginning of the Christian Era to the Fourteenth Century.  Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980.

Blind Faith Is No Faith At All

At my church this morning, they were talking about Father's Day and giving advice on how to be a good father, etc.  All around, I think it was a good and valuable sermon.  But one thing that one of the pastors said in the middle of it really disturbed me.  He was talking about a local church that asks as one of its fundamental questions, "What about God the Mother (as opposed to God the Father)?"  And this pastor said that even asking that question is offensive because it somehow implies that fatherhood is an insufficient role for God to be put into.  Now, beyond the substantive problems with that statement (i.e. All of humanity was made in God's image, both male and female, so of course the question "What about God the Mother?" is not only valid but vital), the statement that "even asking the question is offensive" places the entirety of faith and religion inside of a tight little box, never to be shaken loose, pondered, or questioned.

But I have to ask, how can you have true faith without doubt?  What is the point of trying to live for Christ if the way you live and the beliefs you cling to reject so many of those whom Christ reached out to the most?

The central passage of today's sermon was found in Deuteronomy 6 which urges the Israelite nation to follow God with their whole heart, soul, mind, and strength.  But what does it look like to love God with all that you are?  We talk about parents being consistent and involved in their kids' lives, but what kind of message does it send to your children when the religion you cling to, the faith you base your life and belief system upon is immovable?

Your faith shouldn't be immovable.  It should be ever-changing, ever evolving.  God is not stagnant, so why should we allow our faith, our belief systems to sit still, growing stale from lack of challenges, questioning, or doubting?

The sermon focused explicitly upon how parents should raise their children.  And you can be the best, most loving and godly parent in the world, work yourself ragged to instill what you believe to be the appropriate Christian values into your children, but if you teach a rigid, immovable faith that has no room to breath, what is the point of it all?  Can there be such a thing as true faith without being willing to doubt and question?  How can a child learn to grow without these crucial aspects of having faith?  And how can your children have anything close to true faith without being taught that it's okay to ask the tough questions, to not know all the answers, and even to buck tradition if you feel God leading you in that direction?

I don't believe that faith exists absent questioning and doubting.

Faith shouldn't be blind.  It should live and evolve and grow and be challenged and break and change and, most importantly, be filled with love and grace.

I have always been taught that the Word of God is infallible.  But what does that tenant say about our faith?  This rigid clinging to Scriptures, blindly accepting everything it says (or everything we are taught that it is supposed to mean) as incapable of corruption or misinterpretation or mistranslation?

I believe that clinging to this notion with such a tight grip denies so much of the expressive work of God in our lives.  If the Spirit of God leads us to a conviction or even just a thought that seemingly challenges a verse or passage of the Bible, shouldn't we have enough faith to be willing to question, to doubt, to wonder, to challenge?

God is more powerful than our belief systems, than our rigid clinging to the Bible.  Yahweh wrote this Book, it's true.  But He also entrusted into the hands, words, and voices of fallible man.  So if we cling so tightly to this human-entrusted work, we are making the Bible our idol instead of worshiping the Creator of both man and the Word.  Jesus is the Word, so it is Him we must follow more so than the human-entrusted Scriptures.

"One way to guard against [making the Bible an idol] is to realize that while the Bible may be at the centre of matters of faith, it must also be in 'conversation' with tradition, experience, and reason" (Rev. Mona West).  We must realize that the Bible was written at a particular time, within the traditions, contexts and mindsets of its many authors.  We must also realize that when we, as humans, read the Bible, we read it from the prisms and mindsets of our modern lives.  And just as within the past couple centuries specific Scripture passages were used to justify the institution of slavery because of the context (time, place, and mindset) in which it was being interpreted, so we, today, read and interpret the Scriptures in the context of the world in which we live.

We no longer view slavery as a Biblically acceptable institution.  So, knowing that the Bible has been used throughout history to rationalize injustices that were viewed as socially acceptable at that time, so the Bible, today, can and will be used to rationalize philosophies and beliefs that history, and even the church, will look back upon as unjust.  We are fallible people, reading and trying to interpret the Bible through the prisms of our own lives and experiences.

We must recognize this simple fact: we are fallible.  We must therefore hold our interpretations of Scriptures loosely, realizing that we may and will be wrong about some of our views.  We cannot rely entirely upon the teachings of the modern church about how individual Scripture passages should be or have been interpreted.  Because the church has been and will be wrong about some of these interpretations.  That's the nature of having a human-led church.

So let's stop making the Bible our idol.  Let's stop holding so tightly to our beliefs, rationalizing the idea that our traditional beliefs are, by the very nature that they are traditional, correct and infallible.  Instead, let us use our ability to reason and philosophize and question and doubt and wonder.  Let's not forget that we can and will be wrong.  And that's ok.  But let's pay attention to the leading of the Spirit in our own lives, instead of just the guidance of tradition and church history and interpretation as the sole authority for our lives.  When Jesus left this earth, He told us that He was sending us a Counselor to help us navigate this world.  So let's stop idolozing the Scriptures and instead listen to the Spirit and be willing to ask the tough questions, not afraid to go against tradition, but instead check everything we believe against that voice of the Spirit inside each of us.

This Is What I Know

I still don't have all the answers.  I don't think I ever will.  But here's what I do know: my God is bigger than all of this.  His wisdom and guidance and patience and love and peace and mercy are all eternal.  There are so many people, from my immediate family to random acquaintances, that feel like I'm making a horrible "choice" by being gay.  And Jesus predicted that this would happen.  That Christians would turn on one another.

So I can't argue or explain their condemnations away.  Yeah, I can answer questions about the theology.  I'm pretty sure I can explain the ways in which every Scripture passage which has continually been used to condemn homosexuality is really just taken out of context, misunderstood, or blatantly mistranslated to achieve a specific agenda.  So I can have those conversations.  But I know that those conversations won't help.  They won't change anything, because words alone will never be enough to change anyone's minds on this issue.

But, again, here's what I know: I have never felt more connected with God, never felt the presence of the Holy Spirit more strongly than since I've come out.  I also know that it was that same Spirit that confirmed in my heart that these feelings I've always had aren't something to be ashamed or afraid of.  That I am His.  That He is love.  That I am made in His image, held in His hand.

I remember so vividly praying for hours, for days, for weeks and months, for an answer to this question that has plagued me practically my whole life: "Am I gay? And, if so, is it ok?"  And the answer that I got from my God (once I was finally willing to actually listen for an answer), the thing that He whispered to me over and over and over again was "You are Mine.  I am love and not condemnation.  You are made in My image and, as such, you are good.  There is nothing wrong with the way you feel, the way you've always felt.  You are Mine. I am love."

I realized recently that I need to seek God's mercy and forgiveness.  But not for what so many people might think.  I need His mercy because I've spent so much of my life hiding, afraid, and ashamed of ever even asking Him the questions.  Afraid of confronting what I've always known to be true.

And God's mercy is new every morning, so I know that I am free of that sin of hiding.  But it kind of shocked me in that moment when I felt God telling me that I needed forgiveness for not coming out.  It was always something that I pushed aside and shoved away because I didn't have enough faith to believe that God would answer me and, more than that, that He would confirm His answer in magnificent and miraculous ways.  I was also always scared of hearing His answer, no matter what that answer was.  I just didn't have enough faith.

While this whole process has been so very hard and stressful for my family, I am still feeling so much peace.  I feel freedom and even joy for the first time, I think, in my entire life.  And as I've said before, I long for my family to feel that same thing.  But, again, I can't argue anyone into agreeing or believing or understanding.  But I do know that, no matter what, we are a family.  We are all God's children.  And, as such, the disunity we are feeling right now isn't of God (Philippians 2:1-5).  The Spirit of God is of fellowship, love, and unity.  And that's what God longs for His church to have (1 Corinthians 1:10-13).  That's another thing that I know.

Even though I feel so much peace, I still feel Satan crouching at the edges of my family, trying desperately to breed a lack of love and acceptance and wisdom.  Satan has used this very issue for so long to break people, families, communities, even nations apart.  He's forced homosexuality to become this "central" issue to the Christian faith even though there are only about a half a dozen verses in the Bible that seemingly address the topic.

I completely believe that the disunity and hatred and condemnation that engulfs this issue is not from God.  When Jesus was on this earth, He didn't spend His time badgering people with His own moral views, condemning everyone He came across.  Instead, He spent his entire life ministering to the poor, the needy, the sinners, the least.  So because I know that Satan is behind this disunity, I just keep praying and rebuking and repeating over and over again that Satan has no place in my family.  Because we are God's and so Satan has no power over us.

These disagreements that we have, no matter how "huge" they may seem in our finite world, during this finite time, won't even matter in eternity.  But even still, I feel called by God to speak out against this spirit of disunity and hatred and condemnation and lack of love and acceptance and tolerance that has clung to the church at large for so very long.

I'm not claiming to be some definitive authority on the topic of homosexuality for all of Christianity.  All I know is the views I feel God has led me to.  I also know that, to Him, no matter our live's paths and curves and twists and bends, we are still His.  And nothing else matters.

Even if...I'm wrong about this, I am still His.
Even if...it's a sin for me to be gay, He still loves me and always will.
Even if...this is a "choice" that Satan has tricked me into believing and feeling, Jesus still died for me.

Even if...we've all gotten it wrong on nearly every moral belief on which we stand, we are still saved.  We are still His.  And nothing we do or say on this earth can change that.

I'm not saying that moral questions or choices don't matter.  It's important that we Christians live our lives as acts of worship to God.  And that's exactly why I'm writing these things down, journaling my own story of being a gay devout Christian.  Because I feel called to this: to be a voice speaking out into the darkness surrounding this belief that is held so strongly by most of Christendom.  To live a life, faltering and failing but always trying to serve God with all that I have, with everything that I am.

So, no, I can't argue or cajole anyone into changing their minds.  But I can live for Him.  And serve others for Him.  Fight injustice for Him.  Love for Him.

I won't win everyone over.  I don't even know if I'll win anyone over.  But I know who I am in Christ, so I will not be defeated.  Jesus has overcome, so Satan has no power over me.

My life as an act of worship to God might not look the way so many people think that it should.  But neither did Jesus' life when he spent his time with the least, the worst of the worst in His culture.  He was condemned and crucified for speaking a truth He knew to be true and for starting a social upheaval focused on seeking out the lost, serving the least, ministering to the outcasts, and loving...everyone.  No matter what.

Once again, I believe revolution is coming in the church.  I'm not arrogant enough to think that my voice is going to somehow spark a giant movement.  But if enough lone voices reach out to their relatively small audiences, through their words and their lives, revolution will come.  I wholeheartedly believe that.

But even if I never get to see it, even if I live my entire life as a relative outcast from the larger church community, that's ok. Yeah, it'll be hard and painful at times.  But I rest in the knowledge that I am His.  I am still living in the peace and freedom that He has blessed me with.

And, once again, I know that my God is bigger than all of this.

Coming Out

(Written Thursday, April 11th, 2013)

I feel like I should be afraid, ashamed, freaking out, depressed, frustrated, and so many other emotions...  I feel like I should apologize and try to make it better for them, for us, for everything.  But I can't.  I won't.  And, the funny thing is, I don't even want to.

I came out to my family.

And I feel like I should be flying off the handle, freaking out, crying, screaming, running.  I feel like there are so many stereotypical things that I should be doing.  I can't tell if I think that I should be doing all these things because it would make it better for them or just because that's how I always thought I'd act when I told them.

I can't explain it.  I don't understand any of it.  All I know is that for the first time in my life, the very first time, I feel it.  This thing I've been begging God for for as long as I can remember: the respite from the insanity, the passion, the depression, the fear.  This thing that I thought I'd never have.  And now I have it.  And I feel like I should feel bad for having it because my whole family feels like they're spinning out of control.  And yet there it is.  Washing over me, showering me, engulfing me.  I have it now, and I'm afraid to let go of it, that it'll somehow go away, that all of these things that I "should" be feeling or doing will come in and crash it all down.

But somehow I know that it won't.  And somehow I know that this feeling, this thing that I have that I've always wanted will stay with me.  It's washed me clean and made me whole.  For the first time in my life I feel clean of this sickening depression that has clung to me like a plague since high school.  And I don't want that sickening feeling to ever come back.  But most of all, I just don't want to lose this.  Because I have it.  Finally.

I'm at peace.  And I'm free.

Free of the running and the hiding and the fear and the stupid fucking demons in my head telling me that everything would crash down if I ever told my parents the truth.  Free of the inner voice telling me that I should stay hiding, ashamed, afraid of anyone and everyone knowing.

I just feel so free and so at peace, but that doesn't mean I'm not worried.  That part of me still isn't freaking out, trying to find the right words, the right answers to make them understand.  Trying to learn how to act to show them that I'm still me.  Trying to express through the way I act and talk that they need to re-examine their beliefs.  And I don't know if that'll ever happen.  And I'm afraid that if I fail to act in such a way to show them that I truly am still following God not just despite but because and through me being gay, they'll never come around, they'll never accept, and we'll never, as a family, have the same peace and freedom that I'm feeling.

And I want them so badly to have this too.  But for now, I'll just let it wash me over.  And I'll finally be able to do the one thing that I've been wanting to do since I first felt the sickening grip of depression: "Be still and know that I am God."

For once in my life, I'm still.  And I'm at peace.

She Said, He's Dead

When Sandy Hook happened this past December, it broke the nation's heart, it kick started a movement to actually get something of significance done on gun safety for the first time in over a decade, and it also brought out all of the fervent gun rights advocates, those with legitimate rights and concerns as well as the crazies who are just convinced that a gun will solve every problem and/or Obama is imminently planning on personally busting down their doors to take their arsenals.

I'm not even going to try and touch on the latter group of crazies, because, as was so eloquently pointed out on MSNBC the other day, it's just inane circular logic wherein these people feel the need to amass huge amounts of guns to stop Obama or the liberals or whoever from taking their guns and they think those people will take away their guns because they have these huge arsenals to protect themselves from the liberal takeover and so they buy lots of guns to stop said takeover...and on and on the crazy merri-go-round spins.

But I've been wanting to write a blog post to/about that other group of crazies, the ones who think a gun will solve every problem, for a long time now.  See, a few months back, I idiotically got into this Twitter argument with a bunch of trolls who were convinced that if every woman just owned and constantly carried a gun, rapes and sexual assaults would somehow cease to exist.  In their mind, every situation of attempted and completed rape, assault, or abuse is cut and dry, the woman can totally see it coming, and will have the time and wherewithal to get to her gun and take out her attacker.

And, sure, in some situations, that could probably work.  The stereotypical story of the creepy trench coat dude jumping out of the bushes in front of the woman could maybe be halted by a well-armed and well-trained woman.  But even in that situation (which is actually fairly rare as most sexual assaults are perpetrated by acquaintances), if the woman successfully takes out the guy, the cops would show up, and what would they find?  A woman with a concealed-carry weapon, evidence that she's just fired it, the bullet having killed her attacker.  Depending on how early in the attack she fired, the woman may not even have the slightest scratch on her.  So instead of the oh-so-common 'he said, she said' situation, all the cops will see is 'she said, he's dead.'  And while, in some cases, the cops might believe the woman or she might be able to successfully be acquitted because the jury believes she acted in self-defense, in all likelihood, there would be far too many cases where the woman would end up in jail.  It's hard enough for women to convince a cop, a judge, or a jury that she was attacked when the guy is alive and well and there is at least some evidence that an assault occurred.  But when all that you have is a woman, alive and well, and a dead body, chances are that the woman would end up in jail more often than not.

And that's just the fairly unrealistic, cut-and-dry, relatively uncommon stranger rape situation.  What about the far too frequent situations where the woman knows her attacker?  Whether it's a current or former paramour, a father, a grandfather, a pimp, or a 'john.'

And I personally know someone who has been in every one of the situations that I've just listed.

And I can promise you, a gun would not have helped.  In fact, it would've made it far, far worse.

One of my family members was in a domestic violence relationship for years.  And the statistics are clear: you put a firearm in the middle of a domestic violence situation and the mortality rate of the woman (not the man) skyrockets.  But even putting that aside, say my family member had just had enough one day, obtained a gun somehow, and put an end to the whole thing.  In this situation, up until the very end, there was no documentation to back up the violent nature of the relationship.  No hospital records, no police reports.  The only thing that is on this guy's record even today, multiple years after my family member got out of the situation, is a record of verbal and emotional abuse.  So, no, a gun would not have helped.  Sure, if my family member had been able to obtain and use a gun on this guy, the situation would have ended.  But, more than likely she would have just ended up in jail.

Another family member was abused for years by her adopted father.  After years of bouncing back and forth between bad foster homes and an even worse home with her birth mom, she had finally found safety and security in a adopted family.  Or so she thought.  Her adopted father started abusing her when she was just 11 years old.  And she knew where his gun was.  But all she felt was shame and disgust and worthlessness.  Not towards him.  Towards herself.  So if she had ever gotten and used that gun, it wouldn't have been on him.  It would have been on herself.  And I'm not just guessing here.  Those are her words, not mine.

Another friend was raped by her ex-boyfriend.  She cared for him.  But then he got drunk.  And he got violent.  What girl takes a gun to a party with an ex (who was still her friend at this point)?   How on earth could a gun have helped?  Very few people can use a gun on someone that they know and care about, no matter the self-defense justifications.

And then there's my friend who went on a trip with her grandfather to visit an aunt on the west coast.  He was her grandfather.  And he assaulted her.  Again, very few, if any people would be able to pull a gun on their own grandfather, especially if, up to that point, they had a decent relationship.  Never mind the logistics of this friend actually feeling the need to have a gun with her while on a family vacation!  So, again, I ask, how could a gun have helped?

And what about the friend who was forced into the sex trade and had a gun shoved in her mouth by one of her 'johns'?  Would her having her own gun have helped her?  No.  It wouldn't.  She would've just killed herself.  Again, her words, not mine.

I'm not saying all of these things to try and argue that no woman can or should own or carry a gun.  Or even that no woman should use a gun against an attacker should the situation arise in such a way that it's even possible.  Women have every right to own a gun to feel safer and even to use it to defend themselves.

But the truth of the matter is that, in most situations, you mix a gun in with an attempted or completed sexual assault and either the girl will end up dead, whether by her own hands or her abuser's, or the guy will end up dead and she'll end up in jail.

So, no, guns don't answer the problem of sexual assault.

And there's a broader problem at issue here: the notion that women should have to carry weapons to stop sexual assaults once again puts the onus completely on women to stop the assault.  I'm just so sick and tired of people thinking that if women just carried a gun, screamed, whistled, peed on themselves during an assault (yes, that's a real suggestion often given), didn't wear skimpy clothing, didn't walk alone at night, didn't drink, didn't have sex (like, ever), didn't go anywhere alone with male friends, didn't go to parties, didn't do this, didn't do that...didn't...exist.

Rape culture is everywhere.  And it's sickening to me, but beyond that, it forces us to continually fight and argue our way through and out of these idiotic 'rules' that are thrown at us before we can ever get to the actual issue, the actual problem, the true cause of sexual assaults.

Do you want to know how to stop rapes? It's actually pretty simple: get rapists to STOP RAPING PEOPLE!!!

Ok, so getting that to actually happen isn't simple.  I know that.  But my point remains: we have got to stop putting all of the onus on women to magically get men to stop raping them and instead place the blame, the shame, and the rules on the rapists!

Rapes don't happen because women walk home alone, drink too much, have sexual histories, don't carry or use guns, don't pee themselves during an assault, or any of the other idiotic things that are shouted at us on a nearly daily basis to get rapes to stop happening.

Rapes happen because rapists rape.  And rapes happen because this culture says it's ok.

No, people don't come right out and say it, but every time one of those idiotic rules is repeated, whether it's by teachers, parents, friends, the media, police officers or anyone else at all, it tells rapists and potential rapists that it's not their fault.  If they see a woman doing any of those things that she's not "supposed" to do, it's ok.  Go ahead.  It's not your fault.  You can rape her.  We won't shame or blame you.  We'll shame and blame her.

Yeah, I know, culture still puts blame on rapists.  But that's usually only once they're actually accused and convicted.  And only a relatively small portion of accused rapists are actually convicted.  And only a tiny fraction of rapists are even accused.

And part of that is because the judicial system in this country is rigorous, has numerous road blocks and hurdles, and I get that.  Hell, I'm insanely grateful for it, even though I know it'll make my life hell as a sex crimes prosecutor.

But that's not why so few rapists are ever brought to justice.  It's because we, as a culture, place the onus on women to stop rapes from happening and puts the majority of the shame and blame on survivors once the rape has happened.

And that brings me back to why the notion of all women carrying guns to stop rapes is so freaking idiotic: if the culture already places so much shame and blame and rules on women, why would that same culture ever believe that a woman who's in a car, a hotel room, a house, or even in a dark alley next to a scary bush when she says that she had to kill the guy because he was going to rape her.

She said.

He's dead.

My Apology for Homosexuality

Note: I know this post is way longer than I would normally write, but please bear with me.  This is a hugely important issue and I am getting there. 

I've said it before, and I'm sure I'll say it again, but one of my greatest heroes in life is the 20th century suffragist, Alice Paul.  She was willing to be jailed, go on a hunger strike, and be force fed, all in the name of taking the first of many steps on the road to female equality: the ballot.  And I often think that I would be willing to go those same length to fight for my convictions.

But here's the thing: it's not the United States government that I worry about disagreeing with my beliefs.  I don't worry that, by standing up for myself and my convictions, the government will choose to find an excuse to lock me in a cell and throw away the key.  

But there is another institution that I worry about rejecting me and people that I know will not accept the things that I have to say.  That institution is the Christian church and those people are many of my closest family and friends.  But I can't let that stop me.  I just can't anymore.

Throughout my years in high school and college, I remember pastors and youth leaders calling for "revolution."  But they were never very clear about what that revolution was supposed to mean or do.  Yeah, they made vague references to influencing the world towards "Christian" ways or somehow re-shaping our culture, but there was no specific call to action.  I think part of that was because they simply had no clue what a revolution truly is.See, the Christian church has gone through revolutions before, although it is more commonly called a "reformation."  Yes, I am talking about the "Great Reformation," sparked by that quintessential moment when Martin Luther nailed his 95-Theses to the door of the Catholic church in Wittenburg, Germany.  And while, for years, I've known about this unilateral act by Martin Luther, I don't think I ever really considered what that must have meant for him.  Specifically, I never contemplated how very much courage it must have taken not only Martin Luther, but every single one of his followers to actually be willing to turn away from the Catholic church, risking (according to the Catholic church) their very souls.

Going against the established church back in the 15th century was, or course, far more courageous than any push against the established church today because, for Martin Luther and his contemporaries, there was only one church.  Today, the organized church is not one whole unit; it is splintered into dozens or even hundreds of different denominations, some with only minute disagreements among themselves, others with near catastrophic differences.  So I'm not claiming to even come close to comprehending the amount of courage that it took for Martin Luther to nail that document to that church door.  I just don't know.  But I do know something about fearing rejection by the established church, even with a definition of such a thing as the "established" church being murky at best.

But nonetheless, I do believe that the church today, however it may be defined, does desperately need revolution.  And although it is a different scale, it does still take courage to stand up and call for it.  And it is a lack of courage that has kept me from speaking out and calling for change for a long time now.  But it has kept me from even coming to my own personal conclusions, despite my own convictions, for even longer.

One of the things that Martin Luther fought for was the ability of everyday man to have access to the very pages of Scripture that the Catholic church was abusing.  Since that day, people, through reading the Bible themselves, have had the power to figure out for themselves what to believe about specific passages and the ways that those passages should impact their lives.

Over the last several decades, though, something else has changed: the church has decided that, on a vast many topics, only one interpretation is considered valid.  Now, people are supposed to just accept the English interpretations of some, at times, very obscure texts written hundreds of years ago in ancient Greek, Hebrew, and Aramaic.  These interpretations can range from only slightly subjective to extremely biased.  And yet we, as Christians, are simply supposed to blindly subject our belief systems and actions to the choices that these translators have made.  And for a lot of issues, that wouldn't bother me.  But there is one issue, in particular, that I can't just blindly accept anymore.  In fact, I haven't been able to blindly accept it for a long time.  

The issue I'm talking about is one that is, in so many Christian circles, seen as the "worst of the worst."  It's used to hate and bash and blame and yell and diminish and hurt.  Oh, so much hurt.

Some of you may already have figured it out, but just to be explicitly clear: the issue that I'm talking about is homosexuality.  And, to be clear, when I say in the title that I'm making an "apology" for homosexuality, I'm not saying that I'm somehow trying to make amends.  Quite the opposite, in fact.  I'm using the term "apology" in the context of a theologically based argument.

So I've studied the issue, looked at the original Greek or Hebrew words, examined context and culture, all to try and make the most informed decision I can about what an accurate interpretation of these passages should be.  Now, I don't claim to have any training in original language interpretation.  So all I can do is read as much as I can and then go with my convictions (and that, by the way, is all that I can ask of anyone else).

There is, and probably always will be, more to say on this topic, so I'm not going to even attempt to make a comprehensive apology for homosexuality not being against the Word of God.  Also, for anyone reading this who doesn't believe that the Bible is God's Word or should be used as applicable to our lives: you are not the people that I'm writing this to.  Because, for you, it just doesn't matter.  But for me and for my family and many of my friends and my church, this issue is crucial.   And, far more importantly, it is crucial to anyone who is not a heterosexual, no matter what label they carry, who has been hurt or rejected or shamed by the church. So, because I started by talking about Martin Luther, I too am going to break down what I have to say into a number of different points.  Although I don't have 95.  I don't think I'd ever finish...

1. First and arguably most importantly, we need to be constantly aware about the context in which we are speaking, specifically about the impact that what we have to say has on people's lives.  No one lives in a vacuum, so simply making a proclamation such as "homosexuality is wrong" or any variation similar to that touches people's lives.  It is a statement about someone's very identity.  Even if you hold the belief that people can "choose" whether or not to be gay, you still need to be aware that the majority, if not all non-heterosexual people feel that their sexual orientation is a part of who they are as a person.  So making the aforementioned proclamation attacks a person's very identity.  It can lead others to a lack of understanding, fear, and hatred.  These things, in turn, can and do lead to violence.  We need to be aware of this context before going any further.
2. We need to be open to learning new truths from the Bible, even if that means changing long-, strongly-, and traditionally-held beliefs.  The apostle Paul had to be struck blind by God to turn from traditional Judaism and the apostle Peter saw a sheet lowered from Heaven in a dream in order to change his beliefs about Biblical teachings.  Martin Luther sparked the Protestant Reformation.  Churches across this country for years believed and taught that slavery was Scripture-sanctioned, interracial marriage was wrong, and women should hold no leadership roles.  Yes, we believe that the Bible and God are both infallible, but that says nothing of you or me.  We, as humans, are far from infallible.  We are prone to errors, mistranslations, and misinterpretations.  And it's prideful to think otherwise. 
3. Now, I think another important thing to be aware of when digging into this issue on a Biblical level is realizing that every book, chapter, and verse of the Bible fits together to tell a single story, all revolving around God's radical love for mankind manifested most fully and most poignantly in the personhood of Jesus Christ.  So, when examining a specific and, at times, seemingly obscure passage that seems to address homosexuality, it is primarily important to put that passage into context.  It's important to ask how this passage furthers God's message of love and salvation.  So, when looking at specific passages for an answer to questions about sexuality or sex, it's crucial to remember that the Bible is not a book written about sex or orientation or identity.  It's a book about God and by God about who He is and His love for us.
4. Furthermore, there was no definitive word in the Biblical languages that is equivalent to a modern understanding of monogamous, committed homosexual relationships.  There just wasn't.  I'll get into what the words sometimes translated as "homosexual" are talking about in a bit, but for now it's important to be aware of this simple fact.
5. Now, moving on to those specific passages used by people to try to condemn homosexuality.  First, and most notably, there is the infamous story of Sodom and Gomorrah (Genesis 18:16-19:14).  This story is the origin of the degrading term "sodomy" and its derivatives.  We likely all know the tale: two angels who came in the form of men, go to Sodom to retrieve Abraham's nephew, Lot, in advance of the city's predicted destruction.  Now this is an important point: the city was already doomed even before the angels entered the city.  Now, the saga that occurs once those angels enter the city have nothing to do with homosexual relations as we know them today.  It is a story of a complete lack of hospitality and, yes, of savagery.  But that savagery is in relation to an attempted gang rape.  Yes, the intended perpetrators were men and, yes, their intended victims were men.  But rape has NOTHING to do with sex, and EVERYTHING to do with exerting power and control.  We don't have any clue what the sexual orientation of those offenders was!  But you don't have to take my word for it.  The prophet Ezekiel makes clear that the sin of Sodom and Gomorrah that doomed them to destruction was that they were rich and prosperous but did not care for the poor and needy among them (Ezekiel 16:48-49 - "This is the sin of Sodom; she and her suburbs had pride, excess food, and prosperous ease, but did not help or encourage the poor and needy.  They were arrogant and this was abominable in God's eyes.").  Likewise, in Matthew 10 and Luke 10, Jesus refers to the sin of Sodom as the sin of inhospitality.  So the point that God is making in this story is heard clearly in Micah: "do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God" (Micah 6:8).
6. The second most oft quoted passage used to condemn homosexuality is Leviticus 18:22; 20:13.  These are the verses that declare that, if a man lies with another man, it is an abomination and they should be executed.  But let's put these verses into context: just around these verses are "condemnations" of a man sleeping with a women while she is on her period.  It declares that this is an abomination and that both the man and the woman should be executed!  Leviticus also seemingly condemns tattoos (oops!!), wearing clothing of mixed fabrics (no cotton/poly blends for you!), eating pork or even playing with its skin (so, sorry Ravens, no Superbowl title for you. It's an abomination!)  My point being, the Levitical code needs to be taken with a grain of salt and understood in context.  It's a book written by Moses primarily to the Levitical priesthood about how the priests should conduct their lives.  Some of it is addressed to the Hebrew nation as a whole, but the entire point of it was to call Israel to a higher, nay an impossibly high standard so that Israel would be a nation set-apart, completely distinct from every surrounding culture.  Furthermore, the word "abomination" that is used throughout this Holiness code has a very different meaning from the way it is commonly understood.  The Hebrew word was "TO'EBAH" and it is in reference to behaviours that people in a particular place and time find tasteless and offensive.  Ergo, which acts are "TO'EBAH" will change depending upon your circumstances.  When Paul declared that it is ok for Christians to eat pork, he was talking about the requirements listed in this Levitical holiness code, and he said that it does not pertain to Christians!  Likewise, the Levitacal holiness code said not to work on the Sabbath, yet Jesus openly declared that to be not applicable.  So why, according to this Levitical code, was it "TO'EBAH" for a man to sleep with another man?  It's the same reason why Genesis 38:9-10 condemns a man "spilling his seed on the ground" (this has been used to condemn masturbation or even "pulling out" as an act of birth control).  It was because they believed that man's seed contained the entire essence of life (and woman was just the incubator for that seed) and the Israelites were trying to expand their nation in order to fulfill God's command and promise that they reproduce and fill the earth.  So, in today's context, there are and probably should be a certain standard of sexual conduct expected for Christ followers, but it doesn't find its root in the Levitical code.  Furthermore, we now understand the biological process of reproduction exponentially better than the Israelites ever did, and most Christians agree that we are no longer under the strict command to "fill the earth" (i.e. reproduce endlessly without birth control).
7. Next, I want to talk about two passages together: the creation story in Genesis 1-2 and the passage in Romans 1 used to condemn both gay and lesbian relations.  So in the Genesis story, you see God displaying awesome power in his creation of the entire world, from the sky above to the earth below, to the plants and the animals, and finally, to man and woman.  Throughout the entire creation process, God keeps stopping and declaring an end to every day of work with "It is good."  When he creates man, he declares him "very good."  But then something happens: God declares something "not good."  He says, "it is not good for man to be alone."  And so he creates a woman, Eve, to be his suitable companion.  And again he declares it "very good."  Now here is where most critics of homosexuality from a Biblical perspective come in with snarky signs that say "God created Adam and EVE" not "Adam and STEVE."  And it's true.  For Adam, his suitable companion was Eve.  But does that inherently mean that EVERY man's suitable companion is a woman? And vice versa?  Well, first, from a practical perspective, if God had made two men, there could have been no children, no "reproduce and fill the earth."  And equally if He had created two women.  So, for Adam, with his duty to reproduce, the only suitable companion for him was a woman.  But let's go back to that first premise: "It is not good for man to be alone."  Now, the traditional interpretation and application of Christian doctrine on homosexuality is that, for a homosexual, he/she must necessarily remain alone, for although their suitable partner would be someone of the same gender, and, if that is morally wrong, he/she, as a Christian must refrain from acting on it.  Forever.  So, I have to ask: how can it be "good" for a gay person to forever remain alone?  Doesn't that fly in the face of that first declaration of "not good" in reference to man's isolation?  Now, Paul's teaches in Romans 1:26-27 that a man exchanging "natural" relations with a woman for "unnatural" relations with a man (and likewise, women exchanging "natural" relations with men for "unnatural" relations with each other).  The passage is clear that it is talking about someone abandoning his/her former state (i.e. heterosexuality) for one that is unnatural for him/her.  The verses preceding this passage are talking about people who previously knew God but abandoned Him to pursue worldy idols.  So, in this light, for a straight man, any straight man, of course it is inherently "unnatural" for him to have sex with another man.  But what about for a gay man?  Wouldn't it be just as "unnatural" for him to stop sleeping with his male partner and start sleeping with a woman?  For the passage is clear that the people in question were, in fact, already having relations with people of the opposite gender.  So it is arguably safe to say that these people were, according to today's terminology, straight.  Furthermore, let's look at the context surrounding this passage: Paul had just returned from Rome where he witnessed the odd sexual practices of priests and priestesses in the pagan temples.  These practices ranged from drunken orgies to sleeping with young temple prostitutes (more on this in a minute) to castrating themselves.  So he we exhorting the recipients of his letter to not be overtaken by a sexual obsession and sink into sexual depravity.  So God gave them over to the natural consequences of their obsessions.  To me, this says nothing of a lesbian woman and her life-long partner/wife (depending on the laws in their state) engaging in a healthy level of commitment, love and devotion in pursuit of honouring God comparable to a "traditional," Godly, heterosexual union.  Furthermore, the one other time that Paul uses this term "nature" is in 1 Corinthians 11 wherein Paul describes it as "unnatural" for a woman to pray with her head uncovered and for a man to have long hair.  The contexts and words used in these two passages are remarkably similar, but the way in which they are traditionally understood is markedly different.  So the terms "natural" and "unnatural," it would seem, refer to customs of the time.  It does not refer to biology or sexual orientation, but to customs and idolatry and unbridled passions.
8. Finally, and on this I want to be perfectly clear and very blunt: the word "homosexual" never appeared in the Bible until the late 1940s at the earliest.  It is now used to translate the Greek word "arsenokoitai."  This word first appears in 1 Corinthians 6:9 and again in 1 Timothy 1:10 and its translation is murky, at best.  Also appearing in these verses is another troublesome Greek word, "malokois," often translated as either "effeminate call boys" or as "male prostitutes."  The primary interpretation of the second word, "malokois" refers to young boys who were shaved clean and traded at the temple for money.  Others say that the literal interpretation of "malokois" is "soft" and refers to people who are lazy or cowardly.  Whichever may be more accurate is unclear, as this is a vague term often used in lists of general vices.  And, although the word "arsenokoitai" is hardly ever found in any of Paul's contemporary Greek literature, we can be pretty sure, from the context in which it is written, that the term refers to those people whom today's society would label "dirty old men" or, to put it more bluntly, the pedophiles who pay for sex with the "malokois."  Every other use of the term following Paul's (which is the first known use of the word) refers to some form of sexual and economic exploitation.  So this word, as best we can tell, has nothing whatsoever to do with a loving, faithful same-sex relationship.  Therefore, it would seem that Paul's condemnation of "arsenokoitai" and "malokois" is a condemnation of exploitative, sexual relationships, especially pedophilia.
9. And  my final and most crucial point comes from Matthew 19:4-5, 11-12.  These long-forgotten passages specifically affirm homosexuals who are "born that way" (yes, apparently, Jesus knew of Gaga even before Gaga existed).  In the first portion of the passage, it is Jesus' explanation of the reasons behind marriage.  He says "Have you not read that the One who made them at the beginning made them male and female... For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife and the two shall become one flesh?  Therefore, what God has joined together, let no one separate."  Jesus then allows for three exceptions to this rule, "Not everyone can accept this word, but only those to whom it has been given.  For some eunuchs because they were born that way; others were made that way by men; and others have renounced marriage because of the kingdom of heaven.  The one who can accept this should accept it."  So, what on earth is this talk of "eunuchs?"  Well, eunuchs were highly ranked but socially "deviant" men who were supposed to protect and serve the female royalty without feeling sexual or romantic attraction for them.  So, in layman's terms, the last one seems pretty simply: those who choose celibacy to serve God (Paul would probably fall into this category); those who are castrated (or otherwise made impotent at the hands of man); and those who innately do not feel sexual attraction to women.  Now, this last category could, in theory, apply to that EXTREMELY small group of people who are born without "parts," for lack of a better term.  But, because this is so incredibly rare (and it's unlikely that society even recognized this group of people during Jesus' time), it is far more likely that, here, Jesus is referring to men who are not attracted to women because they are, in fact, attracted to men.  As I already emphasized, there was no language in Jesus' time to describe homosexual orientation as we know it today, so it seems to me that Jesus expressed his affirmation of homosexual orientation in the only language that he knew how: through a seemingly obscure reference to "eunuchs" who are "born that way."  Furthermore, when this reference to "born eunuchs" is used in other writings around that time, it is associated with men who are sexually attracted to each other.  And Jesus stated that those with that orientation "should accept it."  This, to me reads that homosexuals should embrace their orientation as natural and live their lives accordingly.  Furthermore, when Phillip comes across an Ethiopian eunuch on his travels, although we do not know for sure if he was a born eunuch, it seems like a fair assumption, especially in light of his reading material (Isaiah 53's passage regarding suffering and rejection) that he was, in fact, gay, Philip does not condemn or tell him that he cannot be baptized.  Instead, he says if you believe with all your heart, you may." (See Acts 8:26-40).

I know that not everyone who reads this will "accept it."  But I ask you to at least try and understand.  Try to look past yourself, your own lack of understanding about same-sex attraction, your own traditions.  I may not be able to change anyone's minds.  But this is no longer just me spewing a political belief.  It is an apology, a call to action, a call for reformation.  I believe that revolution is coming, particularly on this issue.  It will change the church forever, and so I ask you, do you have the courage, like Martin Luther and his followers, to answer that call?  I know it's scary, and you may have to risk everything, but you are called to scrutinize teachings in light of the Bible.  And, once you have sought and found the truth, you are called to action.  And you are called to reformation.

One final word, and with this I actually am making an apology in the traditional sense of the word.  To anyone and everyone who has been hurt by the church's traditional views on sexual orientation: please know that I am so sorry and heartbroken that we, the church, have hurt and attacked and shamed you.  That is not who Jesus is.  That is not who I am.  I am sorry for every last tear, every fear, every feeling of shame and rejection.  You are not alone.  You are loved,.  You are loved for exactly who you are.  And who you are and who you love, God has declared it "very good."

Sources:
http://www.soulforce.org/
http://matthewvines.tumblr.com/
www.wouldjesusdiscriminate.org/
"For The Bible Tells Me So"
http://www.religioustolerance.org/hom_bibl.htm
http://religion.blogs.cnn.com/