Taming of the Misconstrued

I’m taking a sexual ethics class at a Conservative Baptist Seminary. Basically, that means I don’t exactly fit in there. But when the professor of the class makes statements like: “Never has American culture been so deeply divided. It is dividing Americans more radically than the issue of slavery that sparked the American Civil War” when discussing same-sex marriage, I feel compelled to try writing some sort of response to it.

Maybe same-sex marriage is dividing certain churches and certain parts of Christianity but it’s certainly not dividing Americans more than the Civil war. Mostly because ya know, there hasn’t been a literal war over sex other than the culture wars.

My main response to many things presented in this class is in the form of several questions that maybe I’ll expand into other blog posts later:

1. How does our sexual ethic affect the rest of our moral views or mean that we have to redefine our moral framework if we don’t hold a “biblical” sexual ethic?
2. Is holding to a conservative sexual ethic required to be a Christian?
3.  How is the current conflict over same-sex marriage in any way affecting what we believe about salvation, the meaning of the gospel, the incarnation, etc?
4. How would you express your conservative, biblical sexual ethics to someone who is not a Christian and/or holds a different sexual ethic or even a different worldview?
5. Are you expecting them to live by the same standards as traditional Christians hold to?
6. What about the separation of church and state?

My professor also made claims that we have “redefined” marriage based on people’s feelings. So, let me just say this too. Gay couples or bi/gay couples aren’t wanting the same equal marriage rights as straight couples because they simply “feel” gay. This is limiting the complexity of sexuality to feelings. Sexual orientation is about sooo much more than that. People don’t just decide one day they want to be gay or follow their feelings to the point that they’re ok with being attacked and demonized for that “feeling.” Anymore than transgender people wake up one way and “feel” a different gender than the one they were assigned at birth.

If we’re truly going to “engage” the culture ( a phrase I’ve heard quite often recently), we need to actually engage it/engage people–not attack people. The evangelical church as a whole is good at going to war with the culture.

They’re not as good at calling a truce and fighting for peace and empathy in “reaching” the culture.

Also, a few more questions:

1. How can churches better minister to the LGBTQ community that is in the margins between their faith and sexuality?
2. Why do they have to choose between two things that are a part of who they are?
3. Why is the church asking LGBTQ Christians to give up something that they themselves do not have to give up? (a life long relationship with someone they love–just of the opposite sex. In other words, not JUST same-sex sex.)
4. Why is the church not showing compassion and reaching out to minister to sexual minorities?
5. Why has the church’s main response been only “don’t have gay sex” or “you have to change to be accepted”?
6. Is what’s really the most important thing in this discussion allowing churches to reject LGBT people and therefore exclude them from being ministered to like everyone else in the church?
7. Also, why was the church’s majority response to the Orlando Pulse Nightclub shooting on June 12th of THIS YEAR that killed 49 people and wounded 53…silence. I’m sure if gay men would have stopped “choosing” to be gay or if lesbians would have stopped having sex maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe the victims of the Pulse shooting brought this on themselves so you should just condone this violent act by either being silent or by saying the victims somehow deserved it. Simply because the victims were majority LGBT. But also some of them were Christians.
8. So really, the question I most want to ask is why we can mourn the victims of other mass shootings more easily than the lives lost in the Pulse shooting who were predominantly LGBT?

I love deep conversations. They keep me going and make me feel alive. Recently I had an hours long conversation with a close friend about what our “core” values are and why we stand for what we stand for, why we do what we do, and why we believe what we believe. So many people and so many experiences shape us. Our culture shapes us. Our religion shapes us.

And for me, I struggle with finding out what one core thing is my thing–my reason for doing everything I do and taking a stand against homophobia, sexism, sexual abuse, spiritual abuse, racism, etc. I know that those are all important things for me to talk about, but I don’t know the ultimate why of it all. I do know I care deeply–more deeply than most people.

Sometimes I think that’s my Christian background being reaffirmed in coming to grips with who Jesus actually is instead of who my church, parents, or school said he was. Yet, I’ve always been…different. I don’t know why God made me different. I just know that I am. And it makes me more passionate about helping others who are different.

I never fit in growing up. I’m not meant to, I don’t think, and I probably never will. I’m a queer woman, feminist, gentle person, animal lover, people lover.  I often care about things that most people wouldn’t give a second thought. This doesn’t make me anything special. I’ve been abused and targeted for abuse because of being all those things listed above. This makes me more compassionate and empathetic.

It makes me see people for who they really are. Sometimes it seems I know how to love others better than I know how to let others love me. So…I don’t know what my ONE THING is. Not in one word or one phrase. but I do know this:

You are alive. The fact that you are alive means something to me. You have worth and value, and there is hope coursing through your veins.

You. are. alive. Therefore, you have purpose. You matter. And you should be treated like you matter.

And because you are alive, I love you. I may not know you, but I will try my hardest to see you as a person even if no one else sees you. You make this world brighter by lighting up the darkest parts of who you are.

You are here. Your very existence means you are magnificent. Beautiful. Fantastic.

Because YOU ARE ALIVE. You have a beating heart, air in your lungs–gasping for meaning beyond yourself–bigger than you’ll ever know or imagine.

You are one drop of water causing a ripple throughout the vast ocean of life. You are alive. You deserve a world that sees you as you are and loves you just for being you.

Life after I Kissed Dating Goodbye…

Like most kids growing up in a conservative evangelical church, I was aware of Joshua Harris’s book, I Kissed Dating Goodbye long before I read it halfway through high school. Upon finishing the book, I fully endorsed Joshua Harris’s teachings as the best way to date and “guard your heart.” I had a purity ring, the first guy I dated asked my dad, it was really serious, and we had no idea what we were doing. Even for my independent fundamental Baptist church, it was a little too far when it came to purity culture and dating. My youth leaders didn’t fully support the courtship model of dating, but they didn’t speak out against the harms of the model either. My parents didn’t enforce strict courtship dating rules but I wasn’t allowed to date until after I was 18. (Yes, I was homeschooled after elementary school to protect me from “the world’s” teachings.)

Personally, this book taught me that there was only one right way to date and any other way that implied dating could be casual or fun even should be condemned. And I did adhere to it so very well with the first guy I dated. The problem was that even though I did all the “right things” and did it the “right way,” this particular courtship model gives men full control over the relationship. The gender roles are so strict and women can only be on the receiving end of the relationship according to Harris. It was the woman’s job in the relationship to protect the guy and not lead him astray. I felt held responsible for maintaining my first boyfriend’s purity because he couldn’t handle his “lust” and needed accountability (his words, not mine).

It terrified me that I could possibly marry the “wrong person” or go “too far” on a date and become forever ruined by the shame. I think that’s the word I most identify when I think about this book—shame. Not guilt. Guilt implies that something wrong actually happened/a wrong act was committed. Shame is what a group of people or a culture causes you to feel for not fitting into the status quo or “norm.” And I didn’t fit the norm. I spent so much time fighting against gender stereotypes because I’m not “feminine” enough and I’m an independent thinker. All that changed when I started dating and tried to follow IKDG in my relationship.

Giving the guy full control of my life even when we dated and were never engaged much less married led to emotional and sexual abuse. It didn’t matter how much I prayed about it and thought he was such a great “godly” guy, I felt trapped in the relationship. When I finally did end the relationship, I didn’t know who I was. My whole identity had been wrapped up in this one person and in molding myself into who he and my church/purity culture said I had to be. I’m more of the quiet, “submissive” type, I thought. I did everything right. So why didn’t this work? It has literally taken me years to undo what Joshua Harris’ teachings in his book taught me. It’s still a work in progress.

Another issue with IKDG was that I was only allowed to be straight and interested in men. Later I would realize that I was gay and no matter how hard I tried, regardless of what dating model I used, a relationship with a guy was never going to work out for me. Believe me, I tried. I spent a lot of time faking my attraction to men and not even knowing why my relationships never worked out. I even had convinced myself halfway through college that maybe I was just bi and that gave me some hope to have a relationship with a guy. And yet, the first time I attempted to be honest about this, the third and most recent guy I dated made me feel shame for being attracted to women and was afraid of me leaving him for a woman. So much was the shame of being queer compounded with the shame of losing virginity or giving my heart away to the wrong person. Now I identify as gay and gender queer, but it took a long time to get here. I wasn’t “allowed” to explore these parts of myself until after college.

Before I ended up in an abusive dating relationship, growing up in a very patriarchal anti-feminist church culture led me to giving someone else control of my body and my future. I was also sexually abused by someone in my church when I was a child. It felt very natural for me to let others control me because I thought that’s what I was supposed to do. This book basically destroyed my life as a young adult because trying to live out the model outlined in IKDG doesn’t work out well in real life. It’s abusive spiritually, emotionally, and can lead to sexual abuse and physical abuse. Maybe Joshua Harris won’t own up to the damage his book caused so many in his lifetime. But I hope that having a platform for those of us impacted by the book like Life after I Kissed Dating Goodbye has done will help bring attention to the damage. I hope that each of us finds healing and love in a way that’s good and wonderful in spite of how we grew up.

I’ve lived in the Southern US my entire life. I grew up in a white, conservative Baptist home and my family went to (and still goes to) a mostly white, conservative Baptist church.

For my family and church, the world was better for us than the reality of many. I learned racial and homophobic slurs before I knew what racism and homophobia were. Mostly from my father and grandfather who used them occasionally and never in a good way.

I learned more or less through osmosis and white culture that there were black people who were the “good ones” and black people who were “thugs,” “hoodlums,” etc. But my public elementary school thankfully taught me history as it was in America not just for white people. I learned much about civil rights and recognized that the slurs my family would use were wrong, but didn’t see racism beyond that people said “racist” things.

My church was never explicitly racist or homophobic. But the subtleties were always there. Now more blatantly expressed especially in the wake of legalization of same-sex marriage, the Orlando shootings, the Black Lives Matter movement, and the Dallas shooting.

The first time I even heard the word gay was in second grade and it was used to describe a girl who was more “butch” than the rest. My Sunday school teacher around this same time surmised that perhaps the curse of Ham was in making people black/resulted in the continent of Africa.

In my family, while slavery was condemned as bad, they argued that black people should just “get over it” as if systemic racism was over when the Emancipation Proclamation happened or when schools were desegregated during the 60s. But it’s not over. And white people need to open their eyes and hearts to where we need to change.

Donald Trump wants to “make America great again.” What he really means is maintaining the status quo of Whiteness as being privileged and in power. And no one else. We like to pretend it’s not our problem that our founding fathers as a whole did virtually nothing to stop slavery and oppression. As a matter of fact, racism, oppression, and violence against black people and Native Americans is woven into the fabric of this nation’s history. Anyone who is Other or not like what we perceive as beautiful, normal, worthy of value in this country ends up being marginalized and made invisible. This is our history.

When I was growing up, I saw the world as full of potential, ready to fulfill my dreams and if I worked hard, I could achieve those dreams. If I was good enough, kind enough, loving enough, my life would be easy.

And actually, the world I live in is set up that way. Because I, as a white woman, have so much privilege. Not as much as a white, straight, cisgender man. But still. A lot more than I ever realized. It is incumbent upon me to say that being gay and a woman in this country does indeed make my life hard. And yet, I can hide behind my race even though my gender and orientation are often things that people use to discriminate against me.

The world is not as I had hoped for everyone. My concept of the world as mostly filled with good, kind people who treated each other with respect and dignity.

That idealistic, ignorant view of life has died. And I mourn for a better world for all those who have been severely mistreated. I mourn for this world–this dark, sinister, scary world. I long for it to be better and brighter for everyone. I long for a world where everyone really does matter and has the same opportunities to succeed. Where black people aren’t shot at traffic stops just for reaching for their wallets. Where people aren’t shot at a nightclub just for being gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgender.

I long for a better world. It is not the world that we have. But it’s the world we should strive to have. The dignity of human beings is not up for debate. And it’s not a matter of opinion when we do not value everyone in a society based on race, gender, orientation, or physical ability.

Today…and for several months now…today I woke up angry. So angry at all that has happened. So angry at the loss of life and bloodshed we are so accustomed to in America. It seems we never get a chance to take a breath and grieve before something else happens causing us to grieve more. I want it to stop. I just want it all to stop. but I know I have no control over stopping the world from destroying itself. It feels like I have no control over how this nation is tearing itself apart from the inside out by snuffing out the lives of the most vulnerable.

I also know that giving into despair isn’t the answer. It’s not an option to quit–to give up hope. And I want to focus on what I do have control over. What WE have control over is standing up against in justice. We can say Black Lives Matter and not just say it but really truly mean it with our words and actions.

I can stand with my queer brothers and sisters and fight for no more hate. (’cause sorry Peter Thiel but the bathroom issue IS a big deal for trans people. they deserve better.) I will not give in to hate. I will not let fear and hate win. I hope that all of the violence that has happened these past few weeks and the past centuries in our country becomes less and less. That we take a stand for love, kindness, justice.

This is my requiem for a better world. It isn’t the world any of us asked for, but it’s the world we have. Let us make it a better place than it is now.

The color of thunder.

lightning splitting the sky asunder

and then, thunder

The sound of lightning and yet its own thing

The color of thunder:

dark clouds descending on a sunny day–

bringing beautiful destruction–

bleak, gray, unsettling.

the color of thunder–

my troubled soul–

sinking into chaos

as the storm rages on inside me,

bringing wind and heavy raindrops.

the color of thunder:

that deep rumbling that is

the encore to bright electric streaks across the sky…

my world, my heart.

the color of thunder is me.

I flinch at the sound, and it leaves me trembling.

I cannot take another shot in the dark.

it will break me.

I do not know who I am yet.

only bits and pieces of me,

like a frantic puzzle coming together

and then being shattered apart again like a broken mirror.

I used to see my reflection

but it’s only a shadow of who I really am:

silent yet screaming

awake yet still screaming

that the world is better than it is.

It’s been a little over a week since the mass shooting at the Pulse Nightclub in Orlando. Most everyone seems to be getting back to “normal,” but for the families of the victims and those in the LGBT community and more specifically the Latinx community are still grieving. And, I don’t think we can go back to normal after this. I’m still crying myself to sleep most nights since the shooting, and going through the motions of everyday life. I can’t imagine what it’s like for the families. I know…a lot of people much more articulate and qualified have written about this than I am. But writing is how I express what I’m feeling, and I have to get this out somehow instead of leaving it pent up inside me until I explode.

What’s worse, though, is Christians trying to save face by saying they’re “praying” for Orlando. The hate is still there in how LGBTQ+ people are treated every day of their lives, so I guess I didn’t expect this to change that. But I had hoped it would. I had hoped they would see us as human beings now. I still believe that love is stronger than hate. I really do, but right now, everything seems dark. I keep looking for hope and light in the darkness. But right now…not right now. Now we grieve. And we don’t let anyone tell us not to because the victims of this tragedy somehow “deserved” it because they were gay. I refuse to accept anything less than affirmation of LGBTQ+ people as human beings worthy of respect, dignity, and love.

It’s really tough to sit through a church service with people who wouldn’t kill you themselves, but who basically want you and those like you dead. They said that we deserve this. That we somehow bring the bullying, violence, and shame on ourselves. They deny basic human rights time and time again. But oh, they LOVE us sooo much, and want us to “repent and come to Jesus.”

I’m sorry, but if you have to clarify your statement that you wouldn’t want me dead, but you express the same hateful rhetoric as those who do…you are no better than the killer. If you wouldn’t call me a Sodomite, faggot, abomination, etc to my face, you probably already have. You just didn’t know you were talking about me. You wouldn’t harm us yourselves, but you don’t do anything to stop those who do.

There are skeletons in your closet; there’s blood on your hands. You tell me you wouldn’t kill us. But you only mean that you wouldn’t do it yourself. You let someone else pull the trigger. Your conscience isn’t clear just because you prayed. Oh, you’ll pray for people when they died. And by then…you’re too late.

What did we ever do to you to deserve such hate? What did we do other than exist and be different? But…ya know, I’m the one who needs to repent?

So, now more than ever…our eyes shift nervously in a crowded room, scanning for where the exits are, looking for potential threats to our safety. I wish I could say that this was irrational, or just paranoia–that it’s unnecessary. That there was no threat to our safety. But there is. I can scarcely go out in public without thinking about whether I’ll be safe or not. Nowhere seems safe anymore.

Bullets ripped through bodies

That didn’t deserve to die.

But people keep saying that God’s judgment is the reason why.

All they can say is that they deserved to die.

And heaven forbid, that we should cry

For those who are worthy of death.

Bullets ripped through bodies

And just because they were gay

This is all you have to say

Would that we lived in a better world

Where people aren’t hated for who they love

This wasn’t the world you were given

But it’s the world you deserved

Bullets ripped through your bodies

And our world already shattered continued to come undone

As the Christians who claimed to love you

Blamed your lifestyle instead of their hatred for your deaths

Hatred is what killed you, make no mistake. It wasn’t your fault. Your lives were all beautiful, wonderful, amazing. And over too soon.

Orlando. I love you. I love you and I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry for what has happened. The Pulse was supposed to be a place of refuge and safety for people who don’t otherwise feel safe. As if the LGBTQ community didn’t have enough pain in its history…this. We all hurt. We’re all angry. I don’t have the right words. It hurts too much. It hurts so much. But what adds to that hurt is that so many Christians are saying nothing. And that I do have the words for:

Do you want us dead?

Because you could have said:

I’m sorry. I love you. And I stand with you.

But, no. Instead. . .

You have capitalized on our grief.

You weep for a moment

But then with a sigh of relief,

You move on. You go on with your life. And you go on.

You go on and on and on telling us our deaths are our own faults.

You tell us that we are less than you.

And when you’re through, you step over our dead bodies

And you go back to screaming in our faces about our “sin.”

You don’t get to mourn for us in our dying

When you didn’t care about us in our living.

Fuck you.

Maybe one day we’ll forgive you.

But right now, not right now.

Do not mourn for people in their deaths

When you couldn’t love them in life.

Me Before You. If you haven’t heard the controversy surrounding this movie and the book it’s based off of floating around social media, good. You’re lucky. So…these are just some thoughts on critiquing a movie or book you haven’t personally seen or read for yourself.

1. Don’t.
2. Unless. . .you have in fact, seen the movie or read the book.
3. Especially this one. Unless you are yourself disabled–specifically quadriplegic.
4. OR. You have been a caregiver for someone who is disabled.
5. Take time to actually read the book first, and then see the movie, so you can better think through what’s going on in the story before making final judgments. It tends to work out better that way, and you’ll be a better person for it.

My words feel trapped,

Like they can’t get out

My words feel trapped

I can’t hear myself shout

My words are trapped

By another shoving them back down my throat

As they threaten to silence my lonely voice

As if I had a choice in who I am

If I stop writing, I fear I will stop breathing, will stop bleeding, will cease

Being who I’m meant to be

And if I stop believing

That I am anything less than worthy of love

If I believe what others perceive about me

If I give in to all the straight hate that’s been heaped upon me

I will die a slow death–a slow death in silence

As I swallow the words in my head

That never left my heart

Because others controlled me.

Never again will I not bleed from my pen

Because you thought you controlled me.

You do not own me.

You do not dictate how my story goes

As it flows from my wounded soul

From this pen that cannot stop writing

About where I’ve been, what I’ve seen, what has happened

At the hands of men who tried to destroy me inside

As I cried without tears, gave into my worst fears:

that I am nothing just because they told me so.

Told me that I didn’t belong in this song of humanity screaming out

That God created more than one narrative,

All fitting together into the bigger, beautiful rainbow of experiences that don’t all look the same.

Because the God I know takes all this pain, this blame, this shame

And makes it into something worth of love.

I am no more unworthy of it than someone whose story has fewer scars than mine.

I am worthy of love–love that says, I bled so you wouldn’t have to bleed.

And I make you worthy of this love no matter what love you thought you knew.

I am through listening to anything less than love.

Love is not love if it’s not for everyone. If it’s not for every daughter, son, every down and out drowned out voice that hasn’t been heard now speaks up to say:

This is the day we are heard. Hear us say this:

We are loved today. We are so very loved.