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.

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.

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/

The Real Reason

I just got a new tattoo, and I know that throughout my life people will ask for an explanation to these pain-stricken words: “I’m standing on the mouth of hell and it’s going to swallow me whole.  And it’ll choke on me.”

When people ask this question I know what I will tell them.  I’ll say that fighting for justice for survivors of sex crimes will place me square on the mouth of hell.  But I will beat it back.  I will stand firm.  And hell will choke on me.

And all of that’s true.  But to be honest, that’s the kosher answer.  That’s the one fit for public consumption.

I know that I won’t go into the details of the hell I stand on every day, the hell that is so much more personal.  It’s a hell that I keep hidden from all but a few.

My hell involves living every day with the knowledge that my limits will be stretched,and beaten down, and broken.  Until there’s nothing left.  Whether it’s the physical pain that I’ve dealt with every fucking day for nearly two years now; the perpetual desire to lose myself in the nothingness and numbness of self-injury, depression, and suicide; or the completely hidden parts of myself that I’m still afraid to show to all but a few.

These things are my hell.  And all of these things threaten to swallow me every fucking day.  And every day I must beat them back.  Every day I must force hell to choke on me.

And I’m not that strong.  But I do have faith.  I do know that one day I will break free.

 So I have these words perpetually etched onto my body.  Because I will stay in this fight.  I will stand firm.  And whether it’s the public battle against sex crime that will consume the rest of my life or the private wars that threaten me every day, I will triumph.  And hell will choke.

Thank you

I can’t fully express what it means to me to reconnect with long lost friends.  But not just to reconnect.  To realize that, despite the fact that our lives have diverged and moved on and changed so much, we can still count ourselves sisters at heart, connected in more ways than can adequately be described.

It’s been a long time since someone has told me that it is, in fact, important that I keep fighting.  That simple sentiment, that notion that what I’m doing, what I’m fighting for still matters, has fanned the flame in me and driven me forward.  I no longer just want to get through this year for the sake of passing my first semester of law school.  I want to do well, I want to succeed because what I do, what I want to do matters.  Simple as that.  And it’s been far too long since I’ve been reminded of that simple fact.

But beyond the much needed encouragement and validation, I can’t quite express what it means to be able to be fully honest with someone again.  Even if I can’t say everything out loud quite yet, either due to lack of clarity and self-reflection or simply due to fear, knowing that I once again have someone that I know I can and will be able to share these things with is beyond freeing.

It gave me the courage to post what I’m feeling on this blog, even if I’m not in any way ready to explain everything I’m talking about to anyone who might ask.  The simple knowledge that I have someone by my side, willing to stand with me and back me and continually confirm that no matter what I might say or feel, I am still a powerful woman ready and willing to do important and amazing things has given me the strength that I need to take even just this small step forward.

The words “thank you” are beyond insufficient, but they are all that I have.  So that is what I will give.

Pleadings for Tolerance

I don’t care if people don’t agree with anything that I say or believe, if they hate all of my interpretations and every single one of my beliefs.  It really doesn’t matter to me.  Some of my closest friends and most trusted confidantes disagree with me on a huge number of my beliefs, especially many of those that I tend to post about on this blog.  So what I do care about is people having enough respect for the fact I am a (relatively) rational adult with the free will, freedom, and intelligence to make my own decisions, to form my own thoughts, and to have my own interpretations.

In today’s culture (and perhaps in the past as well), “tolerance” is a dirty, four-letter word among many Christians.  For some reason, they view it as a requirement to give up every one of their beliefs, to concede to total universalism, and to never even be used in expanding the Church.

I understand that fear, and while I find it ludicrous (and have probably addressed it elsewhere), that’s not what I’m talking about right here.  What I’m so incredibly twisted around about currently is the idea that, even among fellow Christian believers, there cannot be dissention, disagreements, or alternative interpretations.

I’ve said it before, in fact I said it incredibly recently on this very blog, but I will reiterate: for Christians, beyond the “essentials of Christianity” (usually defined as a handful of doctrines including man’s sinful nature, God’s holiness, Jesus’ life, death and resurrection, and the creation of the Church), there is much room for interpretations.  In fact, a Jewish rabbi once said that with every passage of Scripture there are thousands of ways to understand what it means.  Furthermore, even in Biblical times, there was valid and acceptable dissention in the early church.  Peter and Paul had sincere doctrinal disagreements.  Paul once said “Everything is permissible, but not everything is beneficial.”  And while, according to my own arguments, this statement can be interpreted any number of ways, what I understand it to mean, in light of the context of the passage, is that different Christians can and will have sincere disagreements over doctrines, over how to act, over moral choices.  What matters is not coming to some universal agreement on every minutia, but instead to believe what we believe, act the way we have come to understand is correct, while keeping a watchful eye for situations in which some spiritual or other leadership role would cause our beliefs and actions to become “stumbling blocks” to others.

Additionally, the thought that it is every Christian’s job to “judge” their fellow believers is so beyond my comprehension, it’s laughable.  Jesus said, “Take the beam out of your own eye before trying to take the speck out of your brother’s eye.”  I’m not saying there is no place for encouraging and challenging your fellow believers to re-evaluate their actions or beliefs in light of Scriptures.  There is.  But I simply can’t wrap my head around the thought that, as a Christian, I have the right to walk up to any fellow believer, no matter my relationship with them, and, in judgment, try and force them to accede to my own beliefs and interpretations.

As I said, there is a role for constructive criticism, for accountability.  But, from what I’ve come to understand, this role should be (and is) fulfilled in my life by certain individuals who truly know me, have the opportunities and abilities to see the way that I both speak and live, and in whom there is a relationship of mutual respect.

If among believers as a whole there is no room for differing opinions, for alternate interpretations, for “agreeing to disagree,” for tolerance, the church, and ultimately the world, would be in a constant state of war.  Every believer would perpetually be trying to force their beliefs down every presumed Christian’s throat, and I don’t see any way other than it getting bloody at some point.  In my opinion, this thought that tolerance is unacceptable is simply dangerous. 

And while I, by nature of my own thoughts on the subject, will tolerate my fellow believers’ opposing views on tolerance, I must set up boundaries between myself and them if they choose to try and shove their beliefs down my throat.  I cannot have rational conversations with people who won’t even respect me enough to allow me to have differing opinions, who won’t tolerate my opposing views.

Ending Fat Shaming - Even If I Can't Write It Myself

I've been trying for a couple years now to reject society's notion that I should be utterly ashamed of the way that I look.  I can honestly say that I'm getting much better about it, but I'm not yet in a place where I can boldly proclaim, in my own words, my pride and my love for my appearance, for my curviness, and yes, for my fatness.  I can barely even write that last word.  But I need to claim it publicly if I'm ever going to, for any extended period of time, successfully stop hating this part of myself.  So I'm claiming the words of someone else who has written boldly and unashamedly about this subject for years.  Maybe one day I can do the same.

[This post was originally written by Melissa McEwan and posted on her blog.  I've edited some parts out of it and inserted a few personalizing touches.]

Fat Stereotype #9: Fat people don't know how they look.

As preface, I want to acknowledge that there are people with body dysmorphic disorders who are genuinely unaware of how their bodies actually look to other people, and many of us, to one degree or another, have some dissonance about some aspect our appearance when we, for example, see a picture of ourselves. This post is not about that. This post is about the concept of thin people (and sometimes other fat people) reflexively concluding a fat person is unaware of how she looks if she does not present herself in a way that conforms to cultural expectations about fat people's performance.

Not only are most fat people aware of "how we look," and the precise ways in which "how we look" deviates from the kyriarchal norm and fails to conform to what is considered acceptable for people of our size, we are also keenly aware of the negative commentary being delivered on "how we look" via the unsubtle judgmental gazes of body policers.

Internal judgment and external judgment conspire to ensure that we generally have a heightened awareness of both "how we look" and "how we are perceived"—which are often two different things.

But both of them are about deviating from the expectation that fat people should be seen as making some sort of demonstrable effort to be ashamed of their fat and hide it from view, which is second best to not existing at all.

In the comments of the last entry in the series, I observed: "One of the key things to understand about systemic fat hatred is that fat people are asked to be invisible. Once you understand that we are asked to keep ourselves from view, to take up less space, to be less noticeable, all the rest of it makes perfect sense. We are not even meant to visible, no less flashy about it."

We are meant to abide The Rules that prescribe not calling attention to ourselves, folding ourselves up to take up as little room as possible, and, crucially, seeking maximum coverage of our fat bodies by loose garments that mask our shapes.

In practical terms, this means that we are not supposed to wear anything that clings to and thus outlines fat; we are supposed to cover as much of our flesh as possible; we are supposed to strap our fat bodies into "shaping" garments that prevent unseemly jiggling; we are not supposed to wear anything that flatters our figure or suggests that we might be attractive and/or sexy; we are supposed to avoid anything that calls attention to ourselves at all.

The perfect outfit for a fat person is something black and shapeless. The justification is that it's "slimming." The reality is because it helps blend us into the background. Just another shapeless shadow.

(Fashion designers are happy to oblige in the shame department, routinely designing clothes for fat people—if they have plus-size lines at all—with the evident expectation that we are ashamed of our bodies.)

Thus, when a fat person—especially a fat woman, who has no purpose in life since she is axiomatically deemed unfuckable and hence worthless as a woman/sex object—refuses to be unseen, and instead demands to be seen, and/or refuses to live a life of discomfort, and instead wears what makes her feel good, when she lets her fat body hang out of her clothes, when she wears sleeveless shirts or short shorts, when her belly meets the breeze, when she dons bold colors and patterns and (gasp!) horizontal stripes, when she shows off fat flesh bedecked with brilliant tattoos, when she wears short hair (or long hair, depending on The Rules according to fat policers around her), when she insists on being a visible participant in life, she is thought to have no concept of what she looks like.

How could she go out of the house all openly fat like that? Doesn't she know people can see her body?! Doesn't she know people are judging her?! If she had any idea what people are thinking, she would cover herself up and have the decency to be ashamed of herself.

Because it is incomprehensible that anyone could be fat and content (or even happy!), it is inconceivable that a fat person who is unabashedly fat in public, who isn't remorsefully covering herself in eight yards of unflattering fabric to conceal herself in deference to the delicate gazes of body policers offended by her very existence, knows what she looks like and made the deliberate choice to look that way.

It is a radical notion that some of us are visibly fat ON PURPOSE.

Fat people who aren't conforming to The Rules on how we must exhibit remorse for failing to be invisible are not unaware of our transgressive appearance. We've made the conscious choice to reject the obligation to take up less space, physical and psychological, than we need.

We know "how we look" to you. We don't care. (At least not insomuch as we're going to let your opinion dictate how we present ourselves to the world.) What is important, the only thing that should matter, is how we look to ourselves.

Disagreement with that notion comes in many forms, the most frequent of which is the ubiquitous criticism that is some variation on, "She shouldn't be wearing that." Shouldn't be. As if it's a moral act.

The implication is that she should be, instead, wearing something more appropriate for a fat person; that is, something that better communicates she acknowledges her body is hideous and ought to be hidden. Something that renders her invisible.

That's straight-up eliminationism, and yet we give it a pass because of the profound cruelty of asking fat people to do it to themselves.

Fewer things more pointedly than that underscore that fat hatred is not about "health," but about aesthetics.

Which is why I'm slowly but determinedly giving up every last trace of any urge to hide myself for other people's pleasure and comfort. My once almost exclusively black-and-grey wardrobe is now filled with color. And the clothes are in the right size—not a size bigger to conceal my shape....I have worn sleeveless shirts all summer—Flabby Arms Meet World! I now have five tattoos that I unabashedly show off.

There are and will be people who wonder, sometimes loud enough that I can hear, if I don't know what I look like. I do. I look like someone who refuses to agree with the idea that I shouldn't exist.

All credits go to Melissa McEwan on Skakesville.  Original found at: http://www.shakesville.com/2012/07/fatsronauts-101.html

Missing out on Triumph

I only have a few weeks left in this city that I've come to love so much. And I have even less, if any time to actually enjoy it. I have three more weeks of classes, then finals, and then I'll be done with this crazy adventure known as an undergraduate education (more or less). This semester hasn't been anywhere near what I expected (to put it mildly).

As the year started, I promised myself and God and everyone around me that I was going to throw myself into this semester and make the most of every moment. I wanted to throw myself into Chi Alpha and really connect with this community that had been so good to me, even though I knew that would make it all the more difficult to leave. I wanted to do amazingly well academically, as my schedule held such promise with classes and responsibilities that I felt I could excel in. I wanted to savour every last moment at my church that I love so much. I wanted to embrace God and finally begin to wrestle with what my salvation means for my outward life.

But then so many things got in the way. I began to majorly struggle with depression. My many medical issues began to flare up and I got sicker than I've been in as long as I can remember.

I'd like to say that despite all of this I still made a gallant effort and stayed as connected, involved, and committed as possible. I'd like to say that I never doubted or wallowed in self pity or gave up.

I'd like to say all of these things. It'd be nice to think that after everything else that I've been through I was still able to hold on to the truth through all the hurt and pain and doubt. It'd be a nice story of triumph through trial and testing of faith.

But I could never claim to be that neat. My life has never been able to be wrapped in some nice little bow.

Instead of staying focused on the truth and the hope and prize that comes with it, I doubted, wallowed and failed so many times. And I gave up. So much more than once. I returned to old bad habits and picked up a few new ones. I hid myself from all but my closest friends and family, not feeling like I could face the community that God has placed me in in my current state of doubt and pain and dysfunction.

I like being the strong one, the one with so much faith and love and passion. I've never claimed to be perfect, but honestly, over the past three and half years, I've found such strength in that declaration. I've found freedom and opportunity to just be myself and discover what God's love and calling means within my life. I don't have it all together, and for me that was one of the strongest and most faith-filled things that I could admit.

Yet in my time of trial and pain, and at the very depths of my not having it all together, I hid from the world, and perhaps far more importantly, I hid from myself. I got lost in television and movies and my own self-doubt and self-loathing.

But throughout it all, through every falter and failing, through my every calculated choice or conscious omission to not rely on God's amazing love and power and strength, God has never left my side. Every time that I've broken down to the point of giving up, God has pulled me back to me feet and given me so much love and tenderness and space and love and rest. So much rest.

I've had it so wrong. I've been wallowing in my own muck and mire hoping that somehow the strength from my past and from my faith would pull me through. What I've failed to realize is that that strength was never my own to use. I've wanted to get through this by the power of myself.

Oh, how arrogantly ignorant I have been!!

This was never supposed to be a story of my own triumph through temptation and tests and trials. I can have no triumph on my own! Yeah, I can get aid from modern medicine and from distractions and stress-relievers, but none of these things can help me succeed. This semester should've been one of the greatest of my undergraduate career. But instead of relying on the strength of God which he has allowed to build up in me over the past three and half years, I've tried to rely on my own strength, arrogantly thinking that the two were somehow one and the same.

I'm going to try to let go and allow God to redeem what is left of this semester. But oh how little time we have left!

But even though the time frame is short, I have seen God's power. I know what He can do, so I'm not going to balk at the thought of His redemption being possible just because of the short time span.

Now to Him who is able to do far more abundantly beyond all that we ask or think, according to the power that works within us, to Him be the glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations forever and ever. Amen.

Pedestal

I'm broken and bruised and tattooed
And I'm not the girl you knew

So take me off your pedestal
'Cause I'm not some china doll
I won't live up to your standards
I won't feel guilt for failing

The girl you knew wasn't real
She was masked and hidden and confused
Underneath that mask was raw and broken and bruised

I'm still bruised and broken and tattooed
But this time I'm real
I'm a person with my own views
And I won't live up to yours

I smoke and I drink and I want to screw
I won't live up to your expectations
I won't abide by your views

I can't live on your pedestal
I refuse to change for your own views
I'm a real person now
Broken and bruised and tattooed

I might not live up to your views
But I have so much faith
I live by love and embrace the gray
My life isn't black and white
I don't always know where I stand
But I won't live up to your views
I'll find my own

So take me off your pedestal
'Cause I'm not the girl you knew
But find out who I am
I promise, she wants to know you

But first, there's one thing you must do
Take me off your pedestal
You'll find me broken and bruised and tattooed

Getting over it - finally

Tonight, the Watoto Children's Choir came and performed at my church.  This is the third time that I've seen them, and once again it amazed me how incredibly joyful and uncynical all of these orphans were.  Each and every one of these children has lost one or both parents, many having never even met them.  Their parents and other relatives were killed by war, disease, or HIV/AIDS.  Compared to my life, each of these children have been through hell and back.  Yet I am the one sitting in the audience continually fighting my own cynicism and bitterness.  They who have every reason to be bitter were standing up there singing their hearts out about their love for Jesus and the fact that they are not alone.
This amazing spectacle was immediately followed by Pastor Mark giving a sermon on Parenting.  I instantly knew that God wanted me to deal with my own heart, as my own experience being "parented" is at the source of a large portion of my bitterness and cynicism.
I have two of the most amazing parents in the world, who loved me and raised me with more love and care than I could possibly hope to imagine, and yet I struggle all the time with bitterness and anger towards the way that they raised me.  It's not their fault.  I am perfectly reconciled with my parents and their incredible love for me.  But I am still unbelievably bitter towards the primary source of their parenting ideology.
My parents are disciples of and leaders in a parenting ministry called Growing Families International.  While I truly believe that the hearts and motivations of the ministry's founders and leaders are perfectly good and right, I still harbor such resentment regarding what it did to me.  Because of the methods espoused by GFI, I grew up believing that I had to lie my way through life, constantly pretending to be this perfect little girl who was so far from the person I truly was.  Instead of ever changing my heart, my parents were constantly correcting and molding this facade which I chose to show them.  And every time the true me broke free, I was corrected and punished at length, hearing every single reason why these actions, this real me, wasn't ok.
Even while I'm writing this, I shudder at the person that I used to be, at the anger that I still hold.  I have to let it go.  I have to get over it.  I want so badly to be able to speak into GFI, to affirm in them what I think they're doing right and to be able to loving tell them which very specific areas they may be erring.  But when I even contemplate talking to anyone related to the ministry, bile rises in my throat, and I have to fight back the anger and bitter criticism.  I have no clue how to forgive, how to forget, how to stop blaming them (not my parents, but the ministry).
And GFI isn't the only thing which I harbour resentment towards.  My highschool.  My hometown.  My old youth group.  My old church.  Christianity in general.  Every one of these things, I hold captive in my bitterness.
I could go on and on about how deep my resentment runs, about how completely cynical I have become.  But none of that compares to the stark contrast I felt tonight while I was sitting, wallowing in my own bitterness, watching the beautiful, joyous, and carefree faces of the Watoto Children's Choir.  I have nothing to complain about.  I have been through nothing.  Yet, just like them, I belong to God.  I am His.  And I am not alone.  I may have been hurt and I may carry the scars forever, but I am here.  And I am alive.  And I am His.
If those little kids can smile and dance and sing, unencumbered by the tethers of cynicism, unhindered by the chains of anger, then my own past must hold no more power over me.  I am free, because I belong to the One who freed those children from the grips of war, disease, and every possible hardship. I am free because, even in my darkest hour, even when I felt most alone, it was God Almighty that was sheltering me, it was under His wings that I took refuge.

Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.  And we all, who with unveiled faces contemplate the Lord's glory, are being transformed into his image with every-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.  (2 Corinthians 3:17-18)