"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.
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
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.
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.
Monday, September 16, 2013
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.
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.
Monday, July 29, 2013
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.
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.
Sunday, June 16, 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
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.
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.
Friday, May 10, 2013
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.
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.
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