Tag Archives: Jesus

Can’t Help But Hope

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If you live in Vancouver you’ve dealt with disappointment. In the last week we saw our first snowfall of the winter come in all of its glory. It was beautiful, it was exciting, schools closed, the roads were covered…and the rain washed it away before a child could even really play in it. It was disappointing.

I’m realizing that disappointment is something that I spend much of my life avoiding. Disappointment hurts. I don’t want to look foolish by hoping for something that I’ll only eventually be let down by. Hope hurts. Hope causes you to raise your expectations, it creates vulnerability, it puts you in a place where you can be sorely hurt and let down. If you don’t hope for something you won’t get disappointed if it doesn’t happen. If you don’t hope for something you’ve placed yourself in a protected position, hedged against hurt, against potential shame, against embarrassment.

I’ve spent much of my life avoiding disappointment…but I think I’m ready to be hurt by hope. I think I’m ready to be disappointed by hope. I think it’s worth it. And I dont’ think I could have come to this place genuinely without the process that took me here.* In my first seven months fighting cancer my faith journey had to take me to a place where death was acceptable. And it still is. Death is unavoidable, death is nothing to be feared because death has been overcome (thanks for that JC), death has no permanent hold on me. I HAD to come to a place where there was hope even in death (not just despite death but even IN death). I had to believe that God could and would tell a story through my life, my sickness, and my death. But God did not is not leaving me there. God is inviting me to risk being disappointed by hoping for healing. Most people jumped straight to this place, their first (and only) prayer was for healing, their only expectation was that God would heal me. But I couldn’t make that jump both because I don’t fully believe it and because I couldn’t fully believe it until I was willing to see God in healing and death.

Today, and for about the last month, I’m ready to hope to be healed. I’m expecting to be healed. I’m planning to be healed. I might be wrong, I may be sorely disappointed, I may get hurt…but that’s the nature of hope isn’t it? Hope hurts. Or in the words of Foy Vance “hope deals the hardest blow, yet I cannot help myself but hope”

* That’s a bit of a redundant sentence…a bit goofy, though I’ll defend it’s truthiness to the end…and, yes, I did just say ‘truthiness’

"The Fence of Matthew Shepard"–Reposted Blog

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Richard Beck has not only written a great book that I’m almost all the way through but he’s also an exception blogger. His blog this morning struck me and made me ask myself “am I any different?”

“It’s gay awareness week.”

That’s what the killers said to Matthew Shepard before brutally beating and torturing him.

Eighteen hours after the prolonged beating a cyclist found Matthew, alive but unconscious, hanging on a fence (pictured right).

The cyclist initially mistook Matthew for a scarecrow.

Matthew was taken to Poudre Valley Hospital in Fort Collins, Colorado. We was in a coma. The autopsy later revealed that Matthew had been struck in the head 18 times with a pistol causing severe brain-stem damage. Matthew never regained consciousness. He died at 12:53 a.m. on October 12, 1998. He was twenty-two years old.

The Westboro Baptist Church attended Matthew’s funeral.

They held up signs.

“No Tears for Queers”

“Fag Matt in Hell”Many of us recall the news coverage of Matthew Shepard’s death. The outcry was enormous, eventually leading to advocacy groups requesting that attacks made on the basis of sexual orientation be added to the federal definition of a hate crime. After numerous setbacks and a great deal of political posturing the legislation was finally passed in 2009 by the US Senate and House. President Obama signed the bill into law on October 28, 2009, eleven years after Matthew’s death.

…

People wonder from time to time why I write about the relationship between the gay community and the Christian church. It’s not a comfortable topic where I live and work. But the answer is pretty simple.

I’m haunted by the scarecrow hanging on the fence.

In James Cone’s recent book The Cross and the Lynching Tree he makes the argument that the cross and the lynching tree need to form a dialectic. If the two are separated the cross becomes innocuous and meaningless. As Cone writes:

Unfortunately, during the course of 2,000 years of Christian history, this symbol of salvation has been detached from any reference to the ongoing suffering and oppression of human beings…The cross has been transformed into harmless, non-offensive ornament that Christians wear around their neck.Cone argues that during the Civil Rights struggle the Christian symbol of salvation should have been, though it was not, connected with the lynching tree–an actual and ongoing location of human oppression and cruelty. For when the two become separated–when the cross hung around our neck or in our church fails to bring to mind current and ongoing locations of cruelty in our world–then the Christian faith has lost its way.

The cross, to be a truly Christian symbol, must bring to mind the lynching trees of the world.

Christ hangs from the cross as Blacks hung from trees. As Matthew Shepard hung from a fence.

Cursed scarecrows all.

As it says in the Good Book: “Anyone who is hung on a tree is under God’s curse.” (Deut. 21.23)

Until we see Jesus standing with the cursed we will never understand the central symbol of our faith nor what it means to be a Christian.

Saul falls on his face on the road to Damascus. He looks into the blinding light and asks, “Who are you Lord?” And the reply comes: “I am one you are persecuting.”

Jesus hangs on the crosses of the world, from the trees and from the fences. It is as Elie Wiesel describes in his memoir Night. After watching a young boy hanged by the Nazis in the concentration camp:

Behind me, I heard a man asking:

“Where is God now?”

And I heard a voice within me answer him:

“Where is He? He is–He is hanging here on this gallows…”I don’t want to be read as drawing a strict equivalence between the history of African-Americans in the United States and that of the gay community. I don’t want to put sorrows in the balance. Gay persons are not being lynched and hung from the trees as Blacks were in the Jim Crow south. Because of this we might conclude that the fence of Matthew Shepard is an isolated incident, a crime committed by two hateful and deranged individuals. That the death of Matthew Shepard has nothing to do with me, has nothing to do with you, has nothing to do with the church.

And yet. And yet. I am haunted by the fence of Matthew Shepard.

As I reflect on my Christian walk I often ponder this question: If I had lived in Nazi Germany would I have stood up for the Jews?

Most Christians didn’t. And as I psychologist I’m familiar with studies like the Sanford Prison study and the Milgram Obedience study. I’m aware that normal, god-fearing people can do horrible things when pressure is put upon them.

So what makes me so special? Statistically speaking, odds are I would have made a good Nazi.

I also think a lot about the Civil Rights Movement in the US. I ask myself: If I had lived in the South would I have marched with Martin Luther King, Jr.? As Cone asks, would the cross in my church have made me think of the lynching trees in my nation? Would I have seen the connection?

Again, most Christians didn’t.

And I keep wondering. Am I any different? What makes me think I’d be a courageous agent of light in those circumstances? Odds are I’d be just like everyone else.

And then I think about the fence of Matthew Shepard.

Let me tell you what keeps me up at night. My deepest fear in life is that I’m going to end up on the wrong side of God’s history. Like so many Christians before me. My fear is that a moment will come when I am asked to stand up for those hanging on the trees, literally and symbolically, and I’ll respond with “That has nothing to do with me. That has nothing to do with the church.”

Where are the cursed scarecrows of this world? And does the sight of the cross bring them to mind?

I’ve read a lot of books and written a lot of words about Christian theology. But really, it’s all pretty simple.

Jesus hangs from crosses, from trees and fences.

And to see that, like Saul on the Road to Damascus, is the day of your conversion.

The day you become a Christian.

Listening to Mo

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Mo and I have been friends for quite a while now (going on four years). We originally met in the now-burnt-down-then rebuilt-then reopened under a new name-and now closed again Marcell’s Cafe. She ‘baptized’ me into coffee shop life. Until I met her I was a coffee shop recluse, sitting in the back corner minding my own business and leaving everyone alone. Because of her influence I now annoy everyone in sight, make friends, and bug the heck out of store owners who want me to get my coffee and leave. (thank you Mo)

Over the past four years the two of us have awkwardly cried together in both coffee shops and living rooms. She’s been a great support for my wife and I all throughout the last eight months and continues to dream for how she can care for our family in the future. We’re as different as can be…and it hasn’t mattered a bit.

Early on in our friendship I asked Mo if she would tell some of her story for one of my Downtown Dispatches and lately it just keeps coming up in my mind. I think her voice is important and it’s worth reposting even three years later. I’m certain, as is true with much of anything I’ve said that’s dated three years, that there are tweaks and changes to how she perceives and understands her story today–but with that caveat please read her story, in her own words. I think it’ll be worth your time.

I was raised in a household where religion and faith were not emphasized. Whenever my grandfather came to visit around the holidays I would be dressed up and expected to accompany him to Catholic Mass. Sometimes my parents would come too. Usually not. My father was 3 months away from ordination as a priest when he stepped away from the church and it seems like that was a pivotal moment in his early adulthood. He won’t talk much about it though. My mother was raised Buddhist, but never spoke of it. While in high school, I fell in with a “bad element” and began attending church and youth group functions. My parents were dismayed. We settled on a compromise. I could be a “user” but not a “pusher”. Eventually I went on to attend seminary. One of the things that drew me to church was the fellowship of Christians and finding a social “home”. The idea of a church family was incredibly alluring to me.

After quite a lot of time and introspection, I have come to realize that the idea of family, community and love were what I was “in it” for. I never experienced a personal relationship with God, Jesus or Buddha. So it comes as no surprise that I am no longer practicing at faith. Unfortunately, within many families love, support and community come with the price that you observe the social contracts established. When I came to accept that I was gay, my church family reacted by casting me out.

I felt like the carrier of plague. I was treated as though contact with me might contaminate otherwise happily heterosexual church members. I was also constantly aware of how much I had disappointed everyone. I think that humans are by nature likely to revert to cliquish behavior and that within the microcosm of a Christian community you can often see the power that this instinct can have. Sometimes for good. In my case. Not so much.

Love tolerance and acceptance of people where they are in their particular walk is rarely extended to my gay brothers and sisters who are still struggling to maintain their connection to faith and a church body. I was subjected to a surprise “intervention” by my pastor and church body and when I responded honestly that I was not prepared to repress and repent for my sin of homosexuality, I was cast out from my church. With a series of benchmarks and “proofs” I had to provide if I wanted to repent at a later time and rejoin the family.

I absolutely love that Mo’s essay is short and doesn’t end with some kind of tidy and pretty conclusion. It almost needs an ellipsis to capture the hanging nature of it…and I like that…bu then again if you read my blogs you’ll know that I love ellipsises…is that how you pluralize ‘ellipses’?

I hope you find time in your life to listen to people’s stories. It doesn’t matter if you agree or disagree with how they define themselves, it doesn’t matter if you have made similar or opposite choices…it doens’t matter. What matters is that each and every person is created by and indelibly stamped with the image of God and is deserving of dignity, of being listened to, and of being loved. Mo has definitely showed this to me as she’s listened to my ramblings for four years, I hope that in some way I’ve also listened her into free speech.

The Risk of Being Fully Alive

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Love this quote from Mark Scandrette in his book Practicing the Way of Jesus

So much of our lives is designed around minimizing risks, avoiding pain and managing the chaos and uncertainties that are inherent to the human condition. We are tempted to look to governments, corporations or social structures (including religion) to give us the certainty and security we crave. Yet the One in whom we live warns us that it is foolish to live cautiously and calls us away from the safety and conventions of our kingdoms into the mystery and adventure of the kingdom of love. Those who inherit this kingdom do so with reckless abandon, not looking back, and betting it all on the pearl of greater price, to risk being fully alive.

Where will practicing the way of Jesus take us? To the place where it has always taken disciples since the beginning, toward the fault line of love in our time: to suffering, persecution, misunderstanding, and death, this is where his footsteps lead, and to peace and hope beyond the struggles of this age. The greater question is not whether we are willing to suffer but will we risk being fully alive?

Had a great conversation with a few guys last night where we lamented the fact that if the church would just be the church–if Christians would just act like Christ, then things in our world (we were specifically talking about the foster system, healthcare, and the welfare system) would be incredibly different. But it truly does all start with me. Am I willing to risk being fully alive? Am I willing to take those steps beyond protecting myself, living in safety, and avoiding pain into a new way of living that is risky, vulnerable, and full of love?

It's Enough: Paying Bills and Finding Jesus

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This photo was taken almost exactly one year ago as Vancouver got its first snowfall of the season. India, who loves the snow, ran to the window and sat there in her own little world admiring the beautiful falling snow. As she sat there we heard her murmur to herself “It’s enough” only to then later exclaim to mom and dad “It is, it’s enough!”

Tonight I was blessed to worship with the Renovatus Church community. They’re an amazing crew in general and for a period of time are spending their Sunday evenings reading and listening to the words of Jesus. Tonight the dialog was built off of Jesus’ words and this photograph of India.

For all of time humanity has been looking for answers, most often for easy answers. Generally our questions are about wants, needs, necessities, and preferences. How can I get what I want, why don’t I get what I want, why did I receive what I did not want? The way the narrative of Scripture was written (at least the portion read tonight) was such that the crowds of people were dying for tangible signs of God’s reality, they (like their ancestors) wanted God to meet their needs. So Jesus met their needs with bread and meat. Quite a few thousand people ate bread and meat till their stomachs were filled. But bread and meat were not primary on Jesus’ mind.

Later as he continues to dialog Jesus makes a strange point by saying that HE is in fact the bread/sustenance that they’re looking for–that satisfaction, that their needs and wants are not going to be met by bread and meat (whether it falls miraculously from the sky, is handed over by the hand of Jesus himself, or is found through hard work or labor).  Jesus makes the audacious claim that he is enough. If you’re looking for bread and meat that’ll actually satisfy you’ve got to look at him. Oddly, though, it wasn’t that he was inviting people to look TO him for provision but instead to look to him AS the provision itself.

Needs Met

Over the last eight months my family’s needs have been in amazing ways. Financially speaking we are in a strange place. Major medical bills aside, if we were to make enough money to make our budget and pay our monthly co-pays/medicines/non-insurance covered visits/etc. we would make too much to qualify for our partially subsidized health insurance. So our options are: keep insurance and don’t pay for medicine or be uninsured with my prescriptions. Quite the pickle! (I could go into more detail, but that’s not the point) What has allowed us to make it is that there has always been a small amount of money trickling into our savings account through family and friends generosity. That extra non-salary income has allowed us to make ends meet. Here’s the cool part though, at least on four occasions our savings account has gone down to zero only to be replenished with varying amounts within at least 48 hours. Each time we scrape the bottom of the barrel there seems to be another shovel full of flour to be used for baking.*

And while that’s all awesome and I’m overwhelmed by the beautiful reality of it…it’s not the point. Not everyone who goes through our situation is taken care of by friends and family so effectively…and who’s to say that if this doesn’t drag on that eventually bankruptcy or something financially painful isn’t a part of our future?! The point is not that God has promised to provide us enough bread and meat!

Is He Enough?

The question that Jesus invites us to ask and answer is…is he enough? Am I satisfied with finding my hope in a resurrected Jesus? Am I satisfied in the invitation to follow him, to live with him, to die with him? Is Jesus enough? If everything else in my life fails is Jesus still enough? Is there hope beyond life being tidy, beyond things working out (as I think they should), beyond getting better? I think there is. I think that’s part of what made Jesus so radical–he was wholly connected to the pain and reality of this world while completely transcending it. He provided bread and meat but he invited people into a deeper reality–a more real reality (good grammar right?).

When India was staring out that window there wasn’t all that much snow on the ground. But it was enough for her. Even if it melted that afternoon she was willing and ready to take joy in what was given. I too want to take joy in what’s given, to find satisfaction in what I receive. Even if it all melts away before I’m ready I want to choose to be disappointed by hope than to never hope at all. But hope, true hope, is not founded in what we receive but in who we are given to or who gives themselves to us.

 

* (Late Addition) Let me clarify some by saying that through it all we are still working as employees of Renovatus as one of their daughter church plants. While things are moving slower than intended due to my health we have continued the work and continued drawing a part-time salary. Some have questioned where our income comes from and if it will ‘mess insurance things up’ if they send the church money. The answer is no, we are always in need of new financial partners to support Grassroots Conspiracy. If you’d like to join you can do so here: http://su.pr/1VwRyQ . Hope that clarifies!