A Resurrection Reflection

For those that were reading my blog consistently and expecting weekly updates, I apologize.  Sometimes, life just catches up with us and doesn’t afford us all the luxuries that we desire. Time, at times, is a luxury, and one that I have felt short of the last couple weeks.

As Dwayne is performing in New York, I’m sitting in the apartment with worship music playing and my thoughts centered on the object of my faith: Jesus Christ.  If you’re like me, meditation can be difficult.  My mind races.  Thoughts in disarray, bouncing from one idea to the next at rapid pace.  Slightly discombobulated.  Slightly schizophrenic. At one moment I’m caught up in the music.  The next I’m thinking about what to cook for dinner.  And God knows all of my attention needs to go into cooking (it’s not good, even when I’m completely focused).   So, I figured the best way for me to focus my thoughts was to sit and write. 

It’s Resurrection Sunday! 

This weekend my attention, like millions of others, has been directed back to Calvary.  Back to the nail pierced hands and feet.  The crown of thorns.  God, in the flesh, the pure and holy One, dying with the weight of sin placed upon Him.  The ultimate display of love.  The greatest extent of sacrifice.  My redemption purchased.  Sin conquered.  Back to the grave. A dead Christ. The tomb sealed.  The great battle over death.  Seemingly defeated.  And then triumph.  The stone rolled away.  A risen Christ. Eternity sealed.

 

A story that brings greatest humility to those who believe.  Me, so undeserving, a recipient of the grace, mercy, forgiveness and love of God, so jealous for His people that He would become the remedy, the final solution to our brokenness.  A story that brings greatest joy and gratitude and hope to my heart.  And the greatest hope is yet to be realized, that Christ shall come again.  And His coming shall usher His Kingdom, the completeness of peace and justice for the Earth!

As I have grown older, my faith has certainly changed.  Not necessarily changed, but evolved.  And part of that evolution is my understanding and appreciation of Passion Week.  The week that began with joyous celebration of the Messiah to His betrayal and ultimate death. 

A significant focus of Good Friday for a majority of my life has been on sin being crushed and conquered by the death of Jesus on the gruesome cross.  Rightly so.  What has evolved is my understanding or perception of sin.  As elementary as this sounds, for so long sin was simply a breaking of rules.  A list of list of do’s and don’ts.  A guide for holy living.  If not holy living, at least a guide on how to be a good Christian.  How to please God.  Don’t sin.  Don’t lie.  Don’t steal.  Don’t cheat.  Guard your tongue and your speech.  Guard your mind and impure thoughts.  Malice.  Anger.  Adultery.  Fornication.  The list goes on.  And why should I not sin? What makes these things sinful? Because God said so?  For so long, I was taught that the consequence of this sin was death, separation from God.  My relationship with him broken.  And of course this is true.  My sin does separate me from God; hence, the need for the cross.   

But back to an earlier question: what makes these things sinful?  My evolution begins with one of the greatest mysteries of faith: the Trinity, the Godhead.  Father.  Spirit.  Son.  All in one.  And in this Godhead lies perfect unity.  The purest form of community.  In the beginning, we had access to this perfect relationship.  Sin broke that.  But not only with God, with one another as well. And with creation.  The human family became broken.  Sin is that which causes broken relationship, whether with God, or humanity, or with creation. 

Sin becomes much more real and tangible when we see and feel and experience its direct consequence.  Eventually, we will feel the complete extent of its effect; however, we experience it now.  With one another.  Take lying for example.  In doing so, I refuse truth to another.  In so doing, I hurt the one to whom I lied.  I create emotional baggage.   I create mistrust that, depending on the severity of the lie, may never be restored.  When I steal, I dishonor someone’s hard work and rob them of their livelihood.  The effects of sin are prevalent every day.  Just watch the news.  Humanity’s brokenness is evident.  People so disgusted by someone else’s sexuality that they attack them, beat them, kill them.  Prejudice that leads to outright discrimination against people of color.  A twisted view of women that leads to a disgusting rape culture.  A disregard for marriage that leads to rampant infidelity, leading to extremely broken, confused, hurting, angry, bitter people.  I could go on.  Paying attention to the world around us should weigh heavy on our hearts because the effect of sin is blatantly obvious.

And this makes sin so much more real.  When I sin, I am destroying relationship.  My sin directly affects everyone involved.  And I add to the hopelessness.  I bring hurt.  I bring pain.  I bring brokenness.

And this has made the cross so much more beautiful to me, because my sin has become so much more real to me.  When I really stop to think about my faults, my failures, my sins, I realize how much work I still have to do.  Sure, every day I am intentional about being kind, loving, generous, compassionate, forgiving, merciful, gracious, etc.  But I get angry too easily.  Sometimes I lie, most often about really insignificant things, but lie nonetheless.  My tongue can cut like a knife.  I get impatient with people easily.  I judge others, limiting how much I am able to interact with them.  I can carry grudges and unforgiveness in my heart.  As much as I am trying to reflect God in my living, I am breaking relationships. Now, in real time.  Right in front of my eyes.  Breaking relationship.  Hurting others. My actions causing and creating more brokenness in others.

And for this, Christ died.  And by His Holy Spirit, He continues to develop and build goodness within me. But He didn’t just redeem me from sin.  Remember, he rose from the grave.  I have been reconciled to God.  Jesus did not come to make bad people good.  He came to make dead people alive.  He has brought to me great hope and joy.

And this is the beauty of Resurrection Sunday! 

And I am called to do the same.  The resurrection of Christ calls me forth to action.  We are now the body of Christ.  Not a cute little analogy or metaphor.  Literally, we are the body of Christ!  We are His hands and feet. That will feed the homeless and clothe the naked.  We are the hands of Christ that will provide for the malnourished in developing countries.  We are the hands of Christ that will welcome refugees from war torn countries.  We are the hands of Christ that will care for the orphaned.  Who will visit the elderly in nursing homes when family no longer does.  Who will visit the imprisoned when their families and friends turn their backs.  Who will provide education for those who education is not accessible.  We are the hands of Christ that will stand and defend the oppressed.  Who will strive for racial equity.  And who will adamantly defend those who suffer from prejudice and racism. 

Instead of pushing people away from the church, the church should be reaching out to those who are suffering and broken.  The church is not for the religious elite.  It is not a place for the “righteous” to determine who is and who can be accepted.  The very people that the church should ferociously be serving are so often the ones that are turned away.  We build walls that reject entrance.  We are so focused and concentrated on “culture wars” that we become prejudiced and biased and unloving. 

The church should be loving violently.  Serving the poor.  Serving the drunks and addicts.  The church should be on the front lines of criminal justice reform and ending mass incarceration.  The church should be in the front line making the case to accept and care for refugees.  The church should publically condemn racism and prejudice that leads to biased policing policies.  The church should be loving and reaching out to homosexuals and transgender men and women.  Regardless of your religious beliefs, at least defend their humanity.  And if you’re so passionate about their salvation, your loving actions will speak much more than your hatred. 

We are the body of Christ.  His hands.  His feet.  We are called to bring dead people to life.  Not their eternal soul, but real and tangible acts of love that bring hope and joy to the suffering and oppressed.  We are the body of Christ. His hands.  His feet.  We should actively be ushering His Kingdom.   Bringing peace to our communities.  Bring justice and equity for all people.  Bringing hope to those who have long lost it.  Bringing reconciliation.  Piecing back together that which has been broken.  Shining light into the darkest of places. 

It is possible.

Arise church!

Come, Lord Jesus, and bring your Kingdom!

Finding Neverland, Finding Love

Do you ever pause and think about how good your life is?  I mean, a true, get out of yourself moment.  Get past the “first world troubles” that you have.  Get out of your pity party.  Get out of your discontentment.  And think.  Think about how good your life is. 

If you are currently reading this, you have some means of technology.  A computer.  A cell phone. And most of you probably have multiple televisions, video game systems, IPods, IPads, IPhones, Androids. You probably have heat and hot water running in your house. Air conditioning in the summertime.  Oh look, I just automatically assumed you have a house.  It may not be your dream home, but you have a roof over your head.  Assuredly you have a refrigerator and freezer and pantry to store your food and a gas or electric stove to cook it on.  When you’re lazy, you most likely have a microwave for quick zapping.  Speaking of food, you probably have enough money to stock your cabinets.  You probably have a grocery store within a reasonable distance, and that grocery store probably has fresh fruits and vegetables and meats at your disposal.  When you don’t feel like cooking, I would bet money that there is a restaurant nearby to which you can go.  I would assume that you have a car that you can jump in, filled with gasoline, to drive to such locations.  And if you don’t have a car, I’m sure there is some form of public transportation to which you have access.  Or a friend or family member on whom you rely.  You probably have easy access to healthcare.  You might not have health insurance, but if you needed a doctor, you could find one.  I’m assuming you had a decent, if not excellent education, at least getting your high school diploma.  But knowing most of those who read this blog, I’m assuming you have some level of higher education as well.  You can probably do the things that you enjoy: movies, bowling, theatre, concerts, vacations, etc. 

Do you ever take time to think about these things? How good you have it?  Of course we all have bad days, but in the grand scheme of things, you are probably very fortunate. 

You can practice your religion and hold your political opinion without persecution.

You can express your sexuality without capital punishment.  Oh yes, this still happens.

You don’t have to worry or be anxious about from where your next meal will come.

You don’t have to work tireless hours in harsh forms of labor for mere pennies a day.  Did you know that nearly one billion people on the planet today are living on less than 1$ a day? 

You’re not a victim of human trafficking or sexual exploitation.

You aren’t living in a war infested country where your own physical safety is in question due to flying bullets or overhead bombs or zealous rebels.  Well, in America, that sadly might depend on the color of your skin or the community that your income can afford.

Your children are attending school instead of working a field or a cave or a mine.

This is a short list.  An extremely short list.  You are blessed.

Sure you might have troubles with your car.  You might be living paycheck to paycheck.  You might be sick.  You might have people on your job that you don’t necessarily like.  Hell, you might hate the job to which you go every day.  You might need to make repairs on your house.  You might not be able to take that vacation that you so desperately “deserve”.  You might not be able to afford the clothes that you like.  Or the house that you desire.  But these are first world issues.  These are “rich people problems”.  I know, you’re thinking I’m crazy for calling you rich.  Ha!  What a joke, right?  According to Occupy Wall Street and an article on The Huffington Post, if you make $50,000 a year, you are in the top 1% of the world’s population.  If you make $30,000 a year, you are making more than half of working Americans.  Crazily, if you make just $10,000 a year, your income is more than 24% of American people.  This is really just the tip of the iceberg.  I could keep rattling off shocking statistics.  But just face it, you are probably one of the world’s most fortunate souls. 

I read a book several years ago where the author discussed a friend of his who always seemed to complain.  This friend happened to be a doctor.  And the doctor didn’t want to be filled with discontentment. So he decided to intentionally be grateful. In a journal. As a doctor, he decided to give thanks for each and every way that the human body works.  I’m not talking about the movement of hands and feet and blinking of the eyes and beating of the heart.  Nope.  He went bone by bone.  Muscle by muscle. Organ by organ. Artery by artery.  Bodily system after bodily system.  Neurons in the brain.  Cell production.  And not just the names of these organs and muscles and bones and systems, but the functions and processes that happen there.  Page after page after page filled up.  Just looking at himself, literally, his physical body, he was filled with such immense gratitude and joy.  He realized that there is so much to be thankful within the human body alone. 

On the contrary, I remember sitting in a small group several years ago at a church that I was attending.  We were talking about suffering.  One of the group members began sharing about his day.  To make a long story short, he locked his keys in his car on a rainy day.  And the keys gave him access to his car and house.  And as a result, he ended up being very late to work.  Now, this obviously warrants frustration.  And I would even classify it as a relatively bad day.  But suffering?  Really?  If this was the worst that your life has to offer, you are living one hell of a life. 

And I have to ask myself, which one of these people I want to emulate.  The person who finds immense gratitude in things that we often don’t consider.  Or the person who “suffers” from things that are in his control.  I’ll take the former. It is easy to fall into the latter.  To complain.  To want more.  To be ungrateful.  To compare.  To envy.  But life is so much richer when we find the positive.  When we choose thanksgiving. 

Lately, I have been surveying my life.  I have so much.  So much for which to be thankful. 

I love my little car.  It’s a Mazda.  Nothing fancy.  But it does its job. 

I love my apartment.  Nothing fancy.  But it’s my home.

I’m thankful to have a job.  Nothing fancy.  But it is paying my bills and allowing me to live in comfort.

I love my family.  Ok, they are fancy!

My cup truly is running over.

Now that I’ve chosen to live authentically, I have something else for which to be thankful:  my partner. And oh goodness am I thankful! It took thirty years to find love.  And the journey was well worth the wait. 

My pursuit to find love with a woman was futile.  I tried.  Authentically.  I struggled and fought for it.  And it didn’t happen.  And it was never going to happen.

When I finally made the decision to acknowledge my sexuality and openly live in it, I had no clue where to start.  I obviously was going to have a discussion with my family and close friends.  Otherwise, I was lost.  And one of the pressing questions was dating.  After all, I wasn’t planning on finding too many gay men in the church who would be willing to openly date.  And my personality isn’t the most outgoing.  I’m not too forthcoming to approach someone that I find attractive or with whom I would want to start talking.  I definitely didn’t want to get involved with casual hookups and a lifestyle of meaningless sexual encounters.  Yup, at thirty years old I was still a virgin.  Insert shocked face emoji.

So, I did what I vowed I would never do.  I joined an online dating site.  And relatively quickly I started communicating with someone. 

We started off e-mailing back and forth. At first the e-mails were few and far between. E-mails slowly turned to text messages.  And finally we started talking on the phone.  Our stories were so similar.  Both of us had lived “in the closet” for our entire lives.  Both of us were heavily involved with the church.  Both of us sang on our church praise and worship teams.  Both of us were contemplating how to move forward in our lives. 

The first time that we spoke on the phone, I was so incredibly nervous.  This was the first time that I was beginning to pursue dating with a man.  It was petrifying.  I typically pace when I’m on the phone, even with people that I know really well.  There is just something about the phone that makes me uncomfortable.  During this phone call, I walked all over my neighborhood.  Up and down streets.  Around the park.  Through parking lots.  If people were watching me, they would have thought I was losing my mind.  I was probably talking really fast.  Rambling.  Stumbling over my words.  I’m sure I had nervous sweat all over my body.  But even in my nervousness and awkwardness, I had never felt more natural.  It felt right. 

I live just outside of New York City; he lived in Washington D.C.  Not a close distance but only a four hour commute (if you make it at the right time).  Our conversations began getting better and better. And there was certainly a connection.  So we began discussing meeting.  Then, a really weird thing happened.  He had been visiting his family, and I was expecting a phone call upon his return home.  That phone call never came.  The next day I received a text message that he had been in a serious car crash and was in the hospital.  He described extensive injuries, and that he would be in the hospital for a lengthy stay for recovery and rehabilitation.  I kept following up with him in the hospital; one time his mother texted back thanking me for my support.  Honestly, I don’t really know if it was his mother.  I don’t know if he was actually in an accident.  I have no idea if he was really in the hospital.  I don’t know if he decided he couldn’t move forward.  That he couldn’t tell his family about his sexuality.  Who knows, maybe I was being “Catfished”. After all, to say he was attractive is an understatement.  At least in the photos he posted. 

I have no idea what happened.  But our communication ceased.  Whether he was truly in a near-death experience or he was copping out, he said he needed to focus on recovery.

Our communication was short-lived.  It was a really, really odd ending.  But I am forever grateful to this man.  It was a little test run.  A really weird one, but a test nonetheless.  And it affirmed everything that I had felt for my entire life.  It confirmed it.  And in doing so, it gave me absolute confidence to tell my family.  It gave me the strength to live authentically.  It gave me the courage to be myself, throwing other people’s thoughts and opinions to the wayside. 

So I went back to the online dating site.  Once again, I started talking to a couple of guys. One was another long distance thing.  The other was from New York.  I talked on the phone with the man from Saint Louis regularly.  And I met the guy in New York several times for dinner in the city.  But there was just one problem.

By this time, I had disclosed my sexuality to family and friends.  The very first person that I told was a friend of mine from church.  It was at Applebee’s.  Part of our conversation was about my preferences and what I was looking for.  She was supportive.  Extremely supportive.  And she immediately started thinking about people that she knew that I might match well with.  She would even shoot me pictures on FaceBook to see if I found them attractive. 

She shot me pictures of one guy: Dwayne Washington.  It was a little unfair.  She sent me his headshots.  Not like selfies.  Nope.  Professional headshots.  You know, the ones actors use?  And the pictures were beautiful.  I expressed interest.  Not too long after, late on a Sunday afternoon (isn’t it funny how your brain can remember really specific things when you find them important and memorable) she asked if I would come to her house.  And Dwayne was going to be there.  She was setting us up.  I had just finished working out at the gym.  I told her that I would come but needed to shower and get ready.  And since I had work the following day, I wasn’t planning on staying too late.

We eventually had to go pick Dwayne up from his apartment.  We went back to our friends’ house.  Oh goodness, I was so shy.  I probably spoke like twenty words the entire night.  I was so nervous.  I just drank.  Alcohol.  To calm me down.  Her wife was pregnant at the time.  In fact, she was just about to give birth.  They had bought a kit to make a mold of her pregnant stomach.  So, that’s what we did.  We paper mached her pregnant belly.  Cutting strips of cloth.  Dipping it in the glue.  Laying it on her skin.  Waiting for it to mold and dry.  Actually, it was fun.  Weird first meeting, but it definitely broke the ice. 

During our little project, she informed me that Dwayne was a singer.  So we asked him to sing a little song.  I was expecting some sort of pop.  Maybe R&B.  Possibly gospel.  He starts singing.  In French.  Beautiful.  Powerful.  Opera.  Wait…opera?  Come to find out, he graduated with a degree in opera performance from one of the world’s most prestigious conservatories. 

I gave him a ride home that night.  Dropped him off and made my way back to my apartment.  But that was it.  We talked very sporadically for about two months.  Very hit or miss.  One day, around Memorial Day, I posted a picture on FaceBook.  It was my first, and only, picture that I have ever posted of my body.  I had been hitting the gym hard.  Twice a day.  Lifting in the morning.  Running after work.  My body wasn’t anything spectacular, but I had definitely built some muscle.  I had pecs.  I had abs.  My arms and shoulders were looking good. I was proud of my work. Dwayne reached out again.  I thought it was because he found my body attractive.  He said, and still claims, that he realized I wasn’t a prude.  After all, I am a reverend.  And that sends messages to people.  Even unintentionally. 

We started texting.  And I will never forget the Friday of Memorial Weekend 2014.  It’s the first time that Dwayne and I hung out.  On Saturday I went to a cookout near the Jersey Shore.  Upon returning home, Dwayne and I hung out again.  We spent time together on Sunday.  On Memorial Day we both had parties to go to.  He was in Brooklyn; I was in Jersey.  We decided to hang out again when the parties were over.

Memorial Day weekend came and went.  But we never stopped.  We hung out every single day.  I have no idea how he felt at the time, but it’s all I wanted to do.  I went to work. And I thought about him.  I left work. And went straight to his house.  We were together on the weekends. We were together on the weekdays. We were doing everything together. 

A little shy of two months, we started to officially date.  I probably was a little pushy. Not probably.  I was pushy. Besides, this was the first real relationship I had been in.  And I was pretty head over heels.  I was pretty stalkerish.  Actually, I give him credit for putting up with my crazy, teenage boy crush.  That summer was one of the best of my life.  It was totally and completely irresponsible.  We did everything and anything that we wanted to do.  We were going to Broadway plays. Musicals. We were going to amusement parks.  We were all over New York.  Movies. In the theatre and in the park.  Dinners.  At whatever restaurant that we wanted to go to.  Shopping.  Beach and boardwalk. Mini golf. Bowling.   Every day or night we found something to do.

I don’t regret it.  My pockets do.  But I don’t. 

Obviously our relationship has matured and grown.  And I’m not longer the infatuated, inflamed love, honey moon, crazy stalker boyfriend.  Well.  At least I don’t think that I am.  I’m not infatuated; I’m in love.  A love that I have never felt before.  We are going on two years, and my admiration and respect for him grows every day. 

I remember talking to the pastor from the church that I was attending.  The pastor that I mentioned last week.  He had been trying to sway me from dating men.  Stop me from living openly gay.  Challenging me to struggle and fight the temptation.  During that conversation, he told me that I would not find happiness.  That searching for it here would not prove lasting.  It would not be fulfilling.  That only Jesus can provide true joy.

Agreed, Jesus provides ultimate joy.  A joy that goes well beyond human understanding.  Joy that lasts even in the most horrific of circumstances.  Joy that gives us courage and strength in the midst of life’s hardest storms.  But the pastor was wrong.  Being with Dwayne has brought incredible happiness to my life.  Happiness that I had never experienced before. Dare, I even say, joy.

I remember someone asking me what it was about Dwayne that I liked.  Why was I with him?  It wasn’t an attack on our relationship.  I think she truly was interested.  The answers are simple.
 

Dwayne is supportive.  It’s especially noticeable after hard, long days at work.  Which happen quite often. He encourages me. Dwayne is ambitious.  He has goals. Dreams.  Visions.  Dwayne is logical.  Compared to my emotions.  My intense emotions.  He provides balance. An alternative perspective.  He walks me through conflict and difficult decisions. Dwayne continuously opens me to new things.  I had never been to an opera.  Actually, not much of any kind of art form.  New foods.  New venues.  And he is open to trying new things.  He has a sense of adventure.  He is fun.  He makes me laugh.  He gives me confidence. Courage.  Strength.  I feel secure with him.  It is so easy to talk with him.  We can talk about anything and everything. And we talk a lot. And when we aren’t talking, we can sit in silence and enjoy one another’s company.    He is a family man.  And his family is awesome.  He is very socially conscious.  We talk about social justice issues frequently.  He is spiritual.  Not religious.  But spiritual.  Not in the same way that I am.  But we blend together well.  One that challenges my beliefs and convictions.  Dwayne is my best friend.  He is my partner.

Yup.  I’m sappy. And I’m not embarrassed.  I’m not ashamed.  I don’t care what you think.  I don’t care if it makes sense to you.  I’ve waited for thirty years for this.  I’ve struggled.  I’ve cried.  I’ve fought.  And this, this is worth the wait.  Dwayne has been worth the wait. 

I don’t know what the future has in store for us.  I have hopes.  I have dreams.  But tomorrow is not promised.  But I hope one day to marry him.  I hope one day we can start a family.  I hope one day we can own a home and grow old together. 

And for this I’m thankful.  Forget the car.  The apartment.  The technology.  All of the material things.  I’m thankful for Dwayne.  I’m thankful for happiness.  I’m thankful for joy.  I’m thankful for peace.  I’m thankful for authentic living.

I’m thankful for love. 

So, cheers to you hopeless romantics.  Cheers to the couples that have been together for decades that set examples for us young folk.  Cheers to the singles who eagerly wait.  

Cheers to love!