Out with Purpose

When they found Him, they said to Him, “Everyone is searching for You.” He answered, “Let us go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do.” (Mark 1.37-38)

Celebrity

Some of us can remember when celebrity automatically inferred achievement. Celebrated people accomplished something worth celebrating and we regarded those who enjoyed fame without earning it as anomalies. They served no real purpose, and as a rule—which holds true even now—they tended to overstay their welcome. Lacking a substantial legacy, they were forgot before they were gone. With media now tasked to feed our bizarre, postmodern obsession with non-notables, anyone who surrenders personal privacy and pride to a camera crew can be famous. We’ve created a new brand of fame that severs the vital link between celebrity and celebration.

This is of little consequence going forward. Whether we’re onboard or not, the famous-for-being-famous ship has sailed. Yet its costs are felt in reduced appreciation for celebrated figures of the past. Prior to now, people set out with purpose and became celebrated in the process. If anything, fame was a burden, not a prize, and it challenged those it favored to harness its power for greater good. As we see in Sunday’s Gospel, Mark 1.29-39, celebrity increased one’s responsibility to wear it lightly and use it wisely.

Fame-Faithfulness

The Gospels operate on the pre-modern supposition that Jesus’s fame indicates substance of character—so much so that they don’t even bother with explaining how the provincial carpenter’s Son comes to grips with His destiny. Luke alone gives us a glimpse of Jesus as a boy, suggesting He may have known as early as 12 that He’d been born to save the world. Other than that, however, the Gospels’ unfortunate disinterest in the “lost years” from 12 to 30 encourages us to imagine He’s an overnight sensation—an assumption the writers would no doubt find laughable. Ancient life isn’t conducive to sudden fame. Word doesn’t spread quickly enough to support publicity campaigns or faddish followings. Daily existence is too arduous and time-consuming to chase after up-and-coming stars. In first-century Palestine, one achieves celebrity by embracing a heightened sense of purpose and applying oneself to realize it. In other words, purpose breeds performance. Or, as the proverb goes, “the proof is in the pudding.” Any time the Gospels mention Jesus’s fame, they expect us to connect it with His life’s purpose and His ability to act on it.

The fame-faithfulness connection is particularly crucial to Mark, which presents Jesus as a Prophet of unimpeachable integrity Whom God endows with divinity at His baptism. This is why Mark isn’t concerned with Jesus’s birth and youth; in Mark's eyes, the real story begins when Jesus is “adopted” as God’s Son at 30. Thus, once he records Jesus’s baptism, Mark rushes to demonstrate He’s a prophet unlike any other—as seen in last Sunday’s Gospel, where Jesus’s teaching and cure of a possessed man astonish synagogue worshipers—while this weekend’s Gospel enlarges on the fame theme. In essence, Mark cites Jesus’s celebrity as de facto verification of His divine claim. Jesus’s purpose breeds performance that, in turn, puts proof in the pudding.

The Message is the Miracle

As Mark tells it, no sooner does Jesus leave the synagogue than He learns that Simon Peter’s mother-in-law has taken ill. He heals her and word of the miracle spreads so rapidly that the entire town crowds around Simon’s door by sundown, bringing its sick and disturbed to Jesus. He spends the evening curing many of various physical and emotional diseases. The next morning, before sunrise, Jesus finds a solitary place to pray. When the disciples discover He’s missing, they hunt Him down and tell Him, “Everybody’s looking for You.” Apparently time didn’t permit Him to heal everyone and many have returned. Our stereotype of the infinitely caring Christ hits a snag with Jesus’s reply, however. Instead of agreeing to meet those He didn’t heal the previous night, Jesus tells the disciples it’s time to move on. “Let’s go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also,” He says. “For that is what I came out to do.” (Mark 1.38) For Jesus, the message matters more than the miracles.

Reaching people with the Good News of God’s love is His life’s purpose. The miracles merely make Him famous; in what must be record time, He’s celebrated for His ability to perform supernatural acts. But being a famous miracle worker is only useful to Jesus inasmuch as it expands His reach. It opens doors for Him. Verse 39 informs us, “He went throughout Galilee, proclaiming the message in their synagogues and casting out demons.” Today, we might say reports of miracles cause the Jesus phenomenon to go viral. Yet celebrity and recognition that come from such rampant attention are only a means to deliver life-changing truth to multitudes. Because Jesus’s words overflow with healing and freedom, the message is the real miracle. No one who hears and believes it is ever the same.

By All Means

Central to following Christ is our faith that God creates each of us as unique reflections of the divine nature, to fulfill specific purposes. The traits, passions, and vision we possess have been placed in us to work miracles. While our capacity for good works admittedly falls short of Jesus’s scope and standards, we are all famous for amazing talents and abilities. Some of us are known as peacemakers. Some have gifts of wisdom and kindness. Some are driven by selfless compassion for those without light and hope, others by courageous desires to restore righteousness where injustice prevails. The list of attributes we're given goes on and on. But once we accept the uniqueness of our making and its purpose, we can make miracles happen wherever we go. We don’t really care about fame or celebrity. Instead, we recognize that the reputation God blesses us to acquire opens new doors to deliver Christ’s life-changing, utterly miraculous message of unconditional love.

“This is what I came out to do,” Jesus says. Coming out with purpose is what we do as His followers. It really doesn’t matter how we’re perceived. In 1 Corinthians 9, Paul essentially describes his approach to fulfilling God’s purpose as a chameleon-like endeavor. “While I’m free to act and think on my own,” he writes, “I place myself in service to others so that I might reach them. To Jews, I am a Jew. To those who don’t abide by the Law, I have no use for it. To the weak I become weak.” He sums this up in verses 22 and 23: “I have become all things to all people, that I might by all means save some. I do it all for the sake of the gospel, so that I may share in its blessings.”

We’ve been given everything we need to live lives of purpose. What’s asked of us is setting aside short-term gratification and questions of adequacy so that we can apply and master our gifts for greater good. Proclaiming Good News and working miracles can be exhausting and challenging. Yet we do it, because that’s what we do—not for fame, but for the sake of the Gospel, which advances on works we’re known for. So what makes you famous in your world? What talents and proclivities are at your disposal to further Christ’s message? Whatever you’ve been given to fulfill God’s purpose, by all means, use it. Be who God created you to be and when necessary become what others need you to be so that you can pass along the life-changing Word and share in its blessings.

All Wise and Loving Creator, envelop us with a heightened sense of purpose. Embolden us with self-honesty to celebrate our unique traits and talents. And empower us with the will and wisdom to use our miracle-making gifts for Your kingdom’s benefit. Amen.

God endows each of us with gifts that make us famous in our worlds. But fame is merely a medium, not a reward, for realizing God’s purpose in our lives.

Podcast link: http://straightfriendly.podbean.com/2012/02/05/out-with-purpose/

Between Worlds

While he was still speaking, some people came from the leader’s house to say, “Your daughter is dead. Why trouble the teacher any further?” But overhearing what they said, Jesus said to the leader of the synagogue, “Do not fear, only believe.” (Mark 5.35-36)

A Day in the Life

In today’s Gospel (Mark 5.21-43), the writer tries his hand at narrative crosscutting. He gets one story going, interjects another, and finishes the first. Inasmuch as its events are sequential, the passage is linear. Yet Mark uses this technique to give us a day-in-the-life-of-Jesus snapshot to indicate there’s always a lot going on when and wherever He ministers. These 24 hours are especially eventful, and a sense of the distances Jesus and the disciples cover helps us gather how frenetic their days often were. Jesus spends the afternoon prior to today’s stories teaching on the Sea of Galilee’s western shore. Since He and most of the disciples are natives of this area, it’s where they feel most at home. The huge turnout to hear Jesus swamps the beach and a boat deck serves as His makeshift pulpit. When He finishes His lesson—the farming parables many of our preachers have discussed lately—the crowd doesn’t disperse. Jesus instructs the disciples to sail across the lake. At its widest, the Sea of Galilee spans a mere eight miles. But, as we quickly learn, it’s called a “sea” because conditions are frequently tempestuous and its opposite shore might as well be an ocean away.

A nasty squall kicks up overnight. The disciples panic and rouse Jesus from much-needed rest. After the foul weather lifts at His command, He chides them for allowing fear to overwhelm their faith in His guidance and protection. They land safely on Galilee’s eastern side, home to a predominately Gentile population steeped in Greek culture. The instant Jesus steps ashore, a naked madman tormented by evil spirits rushes toward Him, begging Jesus not to hurt him. As with the storm, Jesus speaks to the man’s chaos. The forces plaguing him plead with Jesus to drive them into a nearby drove of 2000 pigs—possibly more than He and the disciples have seen at one time, perhaps the first they’ve ever seen. The swine charge into the lake and drown. The locals are less impressed to find the madman clothed and in his right mind than furious over losing so many valuable animals. They order Jesus to leave. In roughly 15 hours’ time, He’s back where He started, on His turf, engulfed by another throng. Today’s reading picks up the story here.

Collision of Three Lives

The home crowd has learned how Jesus moves indicates what He wants to do. If He wants to teach, He picks a spot and they come to Him. If He wants to work miracles, He goes to them. Though rumors of His whereabouts travel swiftly either way, how He moves determines the type of crowd He attracts. Word of Jesus moving their way brings out people who don’t normally, or can’t possibly, attend His sermons—as happens with Jairus, a synagogue leader with a deathly ill 12-year-old daughter, and a woman bankrupted and housebound by a 12-year battle with menstrual hemorrhaging.

While Jesus is a popular favorite, the religious set views Him suspiciously. Based on Luke’s chronology, His own synagogue in Nazareth recently ran Him out of town, which no doubt set local tongues wagging. So Jairus takes a big risk when he seeks Jesus’s help. As does the woman whose “unclean” condition places her under house arrest. If seen in public, she’ll be excommunicated from her synagogue for endangering her village. Thus, we have the collision of three lives—a defamed Rabbi, desperate father, and determined lady—each of them bravely defying prejudice and taboo.

When Jairus finds Jesus, there’s no problem getting to Him. By alerting us to his status, Mark invites us to envision the crowd stepping aside for him and eavesdropping on his conversation. Some may gasp when Jairus falls before Jesus, begging Him to come to his house and heal his daughter. Others may be shocked when Jesus lets him beg repeatedly before agreeing to go. As He and Jairus set out, the crowd at their heels, Mark shifts to the woman.

Since it’s best she not to be recognized, the woman has to reach Jesus without benefit of social courtesy or personal kindness. In fact, she’s so wary of drawing attention she puts all her faith in touching Jesus’s clothes. Weak though she is, she pushes through the crowd until she’s able to graze His cloak. He senses power leaving Him and, to her horror, stops to ask who touched Him. A minor brouhaha ensues, with no one coming forward and the disciples’ asserting all He felt was random jostling. Jesus won’t budge. He scans the crowd. Only He and the woman know what He means. When their eyes meet, He’ll see she did it. In the face of backlash for ignoring religious law, she comes out to Him. “Knowing what had happened to her, [she] came in fear and trembling, fell down before Him, and told Him the whole truth. He said to her, ‘Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease,’” Mark 5.33-34 says. Next we’re told stopping to call out the woman costs Jairus’s daughter’s life.

“While he was still speaking, some people came from the leader’s house to say, ‘Your daughter is dead. Why trouble the Teacher any further?’” verse 35 reads. As devastating as this news is, it could have waited. That business about not bothering Jesus explains the rush to get to Jairus. With his house overcome with grief, arriving with a controversial Rabbi in tow is the last thing he needs. Jesus overhears the foolish advice and tells Jairus, “Do not fear, only believe.” (v36) He sends everyone but Peter, James, and John away and proceeds as planned. Walking into a scene pitched with hysterical mourning, He asks why everyone’s so upset. He’s nearly laughed out of the house when He tells them, “The child isn’t dead but sleeping.” (v39) Despite being enveloped by unbelief, Jesus honors the faith Jairus demonstrated by coming to Him and bringing Him home. He takes the little girl’s hand in His and commands her to wake up.

What We're Looking At

Mark (along with Matthew and Luke, as they embellish Mark) dovetails these two events with more in mind than literary flair or inserting a second plot to heighten the first’s suspense. Although we often detach the woman’s story from Jairus’s, both are better read and understood as all of a piece. Given what precedes it—Jesus’s parables about farmers who break traditional protocol, the back-and-forth crossing of the Sea of Galilee, the storm presaging the madman’s restoration, and the hostility it incites—as well as the background information on Jairus and the hemorrhaging lady, the narrative obtains parable-like force and dimension. We see what happens. But do we recognize what we’re looking at? Jesus, the disciples, Jairus, and the woman travel between worlds: from religion to faith, compliance to courage, comfort to dissonance, safety to risk. Changes they seek urge them to renounce caution and predictability. And in the process of moving between worlds, they’re asked to clear very high hurdles: life-threatening tumult, public humiliation, and ostensibly profound loss. In every case, Jesus answers its challenges with a variation of His word to Jairus: Do not fear. Only believe.

Settling for the world we know, conforming to its conventions and taboos, may alleviate fear. But it doesn’t create faith. For that, we choose to travel between worlds. We leave home shores, sailing stormy seas for places where mad people greet us, we see what we’ve always heard was foul and unhealthy looks like, and what we offer isn’t welcomed. Yet such journeys prepare us to enter chaotic, cynical environments where we must speak life in the face of derision and grief. We refuse to let what others think inhibit our desire to ask Jesus into our lives—even when we’re told not to bother Him. Though we live among people who view Him suspiciously, we bring Christ home and give Him charge of our house. We don’t succumb to religious insistence we’re social menaces to be kept from sight. We don’t forego faith and persistence when believers fearful of our touch make touching Jesus difficult. Nor do we permit social fall-out after our faith is found out to frighten us from publicly coming out as witnesses of Christ’s power. Do not fear. Only believe. It’s a mantra we travellers between worlds should tattoo on our hearts and minds.

O God, we pray our compulsion to find Christ, touch Christ, and witness Christ’s power will never diminish or relent. And we ask that You keep before us the reality that we’ll find everything we seek in Christ between worlds, where necessity makes faith flourish and miracles happen. Amen.

We travel between worlds because that’s how we find Christ and faith to touch Christ.

Repost: Performance

Blessed is she that believed: for there shall be a performance of those things which were told her from the Lord. (Luke 1.45; KJV)

Scenarios

Of all the coming-out scenarios I know—meaning any significant life turn based on self-disclosure—one has yet to rival Mary’s story. Here is a lovely, small-town girl engaged to a modest tradesman, probably expecting no more from her future than an ordinary life as a wife and mother. Then—WHAM!— an angel appears. In about 10 minutes’ time, Mary learns things about herself she never imagined. For starters, she’ll soon become pregnant. That knocks her into a tailspin and each new bombshell compounds her problems.

We think accepting ourselves and asking family and friends to do likewise is scary? After looking at Mary, let’s think again. At least we gradually discover who we are. Mary’s news hit her like a ton of bricks. It was her job to deal with it—its physical and emotional challenges, explaining it to Joseph and her family, facing inevitable shame in her neighborhood, and worst of all, comprehending the whole thing. If ever someone was entitled to ask, “What have I done to deserve this?” it was Mary. But listen to her response: “I am the Lord’s servant. May it be to me as you have said.” (Luke 1.38)

Scene Changes

Each of us understandably likes to view his/her life as its own unique drama. We see ourselves in lead roles we were born to play. And this is so. But our story also intersects with the spectacle of creation, in which we’re one in a cast of billions. Now, we’re supporting characters created and called to avail our talent to ensure God’s glory is revealed through us. This is precisely how Mary saw it. With stunning perception, she saw the scene had changed. Although Christ’s story suddenly overshadowed hers, she recognized God chose her for a reason. She set aside her expectations in life to serve God’s purpose.

A God Who Performs

Any time we’re asked to step into God’s sphere, we’re apt to have doubts. It’s hard to envision the full scope of God’s plan and feel comfortable about what we’re supposed to do. This apparently happened to Mary. Luke says she hurried off to visit her cousin, Elizabeth, who also was pregnant. Mary barely got through the door before God’s Spirit spoke through Elizabeth, saying because she believed there would be a performance of all she’d been told.

My former pastor repeatedly cited this passage, reminding us we serve a God Who performs. When God says it, God means it—whatever “it” is. Paul said, “For no matter how many promises God has made, they are “Yes” in Christ. And so through him the “Amen” is spoken by us to the glory of God.” (2 Corinthians 1.20) Yes, it is so, we say, knowing our story nestles inside a far greater one. Each of us plays a part. We all serve a purpose. And God performs.

Originally posted August 22, 2008.

Our story intersects with the spectacle of creation, in which we’re one in a cast of billions. We say "Yes" to God's purpose, and God performs what's promised to us.

Set Them Free

The cowering prisoners will soon be set free; they will not die in their dungeon, nor will they lack bread. For I am the LORD your God, who churns up the sea so that its waves roar... I have put my words in your mouth and covered you with the shadow of my hand. (Isaiah 51.14-16)

Exponentially and Continuously

October 11 is National Coming Out Day (NCOD) in the States and many European countries. (The UK observes it on 12 October.) It’s a relatively new tradition, and we’re just getting the hang of it. One might think of it along these lines: as US Independence Day is to Election Day, LGBT Pride is to NCOD. Pride celebrates freedom to be counted as equally recognized and honorable members of society; NCOD creates an occasion for women and men who’ve not yet embraced their freedom to do so. Since it involves no polls, there are no reliable data to assess its real impact. Yet even if we could calculate how many took advantage of NCOD, the figure—whether 5 or 5 million—would concede a gulf-sized margin of error to account for not including everyone, regardless of orientation, who quits the closet alongside the newly out LGBT individual. Coming out must be measured exponentially and continuously, because none of us comes out alone—whatever our closets may be (and we’ll get to that in a minute).

Calling off the hide-and-seek routine initiates a journey. The instant we say, “This is who I am and where I’m going,” we essentially ask everyone who hears (and hears of) our declaration: “Are you coming or not?” Thankfully, some hurry to join us, saying, “It’s about time!” Others come along despite uncertainty they’re equipped for the journey. Some need more time to process the information we just dropped in their laps—information we’ve had years to absorb—and send us off with promises to catch up, which they ultimately honor. Then, sadly, others want no part of it. They issue an ultimatum: “If you quit this closet, we’re through.” That’s why we can never know exactly how many people come out. It’s Henry + 6 x the people they inform (- those who stay behind). It’s Nancy + 250 x their friends and neighbors (- others who refuse to leave her closet).

What Do We Do?

The person coming out is never one data point, but a cluster of them that continues to multiply as more supportive allies accumulate. We show them our respect and gratitude by factoring them into our thoughts and conversations about coming out. As Christians, however, we’re also compelled to consider the missing points—the people shackled to prejudice and fear, those who sever ties to us because they’ve wound their love around doctrines, dogmas, and myths, and, finally, the unfortunates who filter every difficulty they face through their what’s-in-it-for-me sieve. What do we do—what can we do—for the people who can’t, don’t, or won’t leave our closets to take this journey with us?

We set them free.

Not us. Them. We set them free. This is where coming out ceases to be about us. Surely we understand those who willfully remain behind. How can we not, having fled the very terrors that torment them? It took years for us to muster the courage to defy it. Their reticence shouldn’t shock us in the least. Can we comfortably accuse them of conscious hatred, hypocrisy, and cowardice after inflicting the same harms—and many more like them—on ourselves? How soon we forget the doubt and confusion that darkened our lives!

Because we weren’t honest with God, others, or ourselves before coming out, we often look back on the closet as no more real than we were while trapped inside it. It’s now a cliché we’ve outgrown, a cartoon chamber of horrors we sneer at. But the closet remains very real to everyone it holds. It’s a prison that warps the heart of anyone too weak to resist its pressures. We recall the crippling grip of cowardice and the pain it hides in mean talk and hateful postures. The closet’s realities must never escape us. People we dearly love still languish there. And though we’re out of the closet, we won’t truly be released from it until we’ve done all we possibly can to set them free.

Answering Under Cover

“Okay!” I hear some complain. “The horse is dead. Put your stick down and tell us how we rescue our loved ones. What has to be done to tear the closet down?” We don’t tear it down. And we most certainly don’t go back into it, thinking we can sneak them out. (I know several who’ve tried and ended up worse off than before they came out—a few going so far as to submit to voodoo mind control therapy, attempting to reshape God’s image to reflect their fears. Oh yes, the closet is an extremely sinister place!) We free those still trapped in our closets by speaking and living freely. While they may claim they no longer care about us and may even say they hate who we’ve become, never doubt they’re attentively observing and listening to us. More likely than not, they watch because they’re primed to expect we’ll one day reappear at the closet door, begging forgiveness and readmission, like prodigals who’ve squandered their dignity on high living and carnal pursuits. In other words, they wait for us to fail. They don’t want us to fail, but they’re convinced we need to and we will. And that’s okay, because their attention is all that matters. With that, we have a God-given opportunity to demonstrate what freedom and integrity look like.

When we dedicate our lives to our Maker and devote our energy to pleasing Him, what they actually see bears no resemblance to what they anticipate. As I’ve personally witnessed again and again, our departure from their closet-based assumptions will trouble them. It should, as coming out constitutes a profoundly daring leap of faith—an act of determination based on confidence that God made us and loves us as we are. And faith never goes unrewarded. So coming out changes us for the better. The trials and hardships that often follow the leap are sent to refine our character, correct our thoughts, and increase our faith. Coming out fixes our speech and amplifies our courage to calm the distress that troubles others. Listen closely to Isaiah 51.14-16. God promises what we say and the confidence we express will become keys that release those still locked in our closets:

The cowering prisoners will soon be set free; they will not die in their dungeon, nor will they lack bread. For I am the LORD your God, who churns up the sea so that its waves roar—the LORD Almighty is his name. I have put words in your mouth and covered you in the shadow of my hand—I who set the heavens in place, who laid the foundations of the earth, and who say to Zion, "You are my people."

See how this works? God honors their faith by troubling their minds. The churning doubts and roaring disapproval come from Him. He honors our faith by enabling us to answer under cover—to speak words He puts in our mouths boldly and fearlessly, knowing His hand rests over us. It doesn’t matter what closet we have (or have yet to) come out of. The things we want to hide are things God wants to use. Nothing He gives us is unworthy or unsightly. Every trait and talent, everything that makes you uniquely you, is given to steer and sustain your journey. Shake off worries about what others will think or how they’ll respond to your freedom. Come out. Claim your gifts. Use them. Demonstrate freedom and integrity. You’re surrounded with people waiting for you to come out. You know people who won’t get it at first, but they’ll follow in time. And you also know people too threatened and uncertain to leave your closet. See God in their churning. Hear Him in their roars. His hand will shelter you so you can speak His word to their troubled minds. You may have to speak it over and over. But keep speaking. Keep being. Set them free.

It doesn’t matter why they’re watching, as long as we can show them the freedom and integrity that come from leaving our closets of fear and doubt.

Enough!

Blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked or stand in the way of sinners or sit in the seat of mockers... He is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither. (Psalm 1.1,3)

We Wonder

Last week’s news of Tyler Clementi’s suicide burdened our nation, and many around the world, with heavy hearts. His was an unusually happy story that turned tragic in a matter of minutes and ended abruptly the next day. The implications surrounding the tragedy go beyond the premature loss of a talented young musician whose gifts were meant to impart joy and inspiration for years to come. They expose corrupt, distorted values that inevitably emerge when a society becomes preoccupied with fear and hate.

The unjustly sad and final chapter of Tyler’s life starts with a foolish prank. A freshman at Rutgers University, he—like many at his age—was self-consciously discreet about his same-sex orientation. But he appears to have caught the attention of another young man. When he asked for privacy to spend time with him, his roommate pretended to oblige. While Tyler and his friend enjoyed one another’s company, the roommate streamed live video of their visit to an audience he rustled up with this Twitter feed: “Roommate asked for the room till midnight. I went into molly’s [sic] room and turned on my webcam. I saw him making out with a dude. Yay.” With one invasive mouse-click, he uncovered a secret Tyler purposefully held until he could feel confident and comfortable revealing it. If his wishes and feelings were even considered, they weren’t respected. And we wonder: while his privacy was maliciously violated, was he waiting—hoping—for love and companionship to open the door so he could live openly and honestly? While unknowingly victimized by haters who vent fear through ridicule, did he envision the complete opposite—pride, integrity, and courage? Such sentiments often race through the minds of young gay people at moments like this. Whether Tyler pondered them we don’t know, because he left without telling. He typed six words—“Jumping off the gw bridge sorry”—on his Facebook page, got into his car, and spent his final hour en route to the George Washington Bridge.

Absence of Light

Without minimizing the tragedy, Tyler’s story was perfect for TV. It had terrific video of him playing the violin. It occurred on a highly esteemed campus, complete with leafy quads and Gothic architecture. It involved technical savvy and social networking—hip, hot topics. Tyler’s sexuality definitely added edginess. (Many news outlets deviously upgraded “making out” to a “sexual encounter.”) Still, while watching the coverage unfold, I thought of the innumerable teen suicides that go unreported simply because they occur in less auspicious places and less viewer-friendly situations. How many other children took their lives that day because someone had no problem humiliating them? How many fell to gun violence? (Last week, four Chicago teenagers’ lives ended that way.) How many decided another minute in a world drunk with malice, fright, and pessimism was more than they could bear? And—God help us—how many are silently, invisibly inching closer and closer to the precipice, where the dark unknown frightens them less than terrors hiding in absent light?

And absence of light truly is the issue. Before we slap indictments on the disciples of hatred and fear, it’s our duty to assess how fervently and insistently our light shines. Have we misused Christ’s calling on our lives as a rationale for polite meekness? Are we too concerned about ruffling feathers and alienating people to seize every opportunity to restore light where it no longer exists? Must we actually experience tragedy born of our timidity before mustering courage to fight a cultural tide of thoughtless evil? Had any of us known Tyler or his roommate, does our typical behavior enable us to imagine we might have been instrumental in preventing their tragedy? Or would we have been the sort that thinks we're "making a statement" by not laughing at hateful jokes or sitting silently by while others promote fear and prejudice? Is our concern about being stigmatized victimizing others? No doubt, at this very moment, people who knew these young men wish they'd said or done what they should have said and done to prevent this horrible outcome.

We Will Not

Something’s very wrong when the people we live, work, and associate with presume we’re okay with their destructive attitudes and behaviors. Getting along with everyone is less essential—indeed, it’s non-essential—than spreading our light. To think we can remedy this crisis while abiding its causes is nonsense. Our commitment to justice and righteousness should precede us. We shouldn’t be welcome where hatred and fear reign. We mustn’t be seduced by the idea permission indicates tolerance. We can’t risk perils that befall those who believe it’s possible to indulge darkness up to a point. The first sign of its presence is the moment we say, “Enough!” and mean it. The safety of innocent lives is at stake. Our personal fulfillment and peace of mind are as well.

“Blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked or stand in the way of sinners or sit in the seat of mockers,” Psalm 1.1 wisely asserts. When we think this through, the focus shifts from what’s unacceptable in others to what’s unacceptable for us. Saying “Enough!” says, “We're not allowed to do this. We won't contribute to the crisis. We won’t risk the consequences. We will not surrender our light to darkness.” The psalmist tells us the person who defies wickedness and mockery cannot be shaken. “He is like a tree planted by streams of water,” verse 3 says, “which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither. Whatever he does prospers.” Why does the poisonous produce of hatred and fear overwhelm us at present? Too few trees bear the fruit of love and faith. We must stand firm in the light, all of us, every one of us, upholding the light, and declare without qualm or condition, “We cannot be shaken. We will not move.”

Absence of light perpetuates a culture of hatred and fear. We cannot falter in our resolve to restore light and end this crisis.

Out of the Box

Suddenly an angel of the Lord appeared and a light shone in the cell. He struck Peter on the side and woke him up. “Quick, get up!” he said, and the chains fell off Peter’s wrists. (Acts 12.7)

Defining the Box

My job as a marketing creative director places me in client input meetings that go something like this. The client details the project’s scope and objectives. Our team probes a bit deeper into the audience’s demographics and attitudes, deftly attempting to get a sense of what will appeal to it, as well as the executives who will be involved in the program we’ve been asked to design. Many clients are very clear about their expectations. Equally often they’ll say, “We’re looking for your best out-of-the-box thinking.” “The box,” as anyone conversant in corporate-speak knows, is a euphemism for cultural norms. It holds everything that’s been sanctioned and done well up to now. Staying in the box is generally safest because it minimizes risk. Yet it’s also a career-limiting strategy, since it portrays a lack of self-confidence and vision. The higher one climbs the more intensely one searches for out-of-the-box ideas to drive success and growth.

The same dynamic applies to believers. Some stay safely within culturally defined boundaries of faith, while others push to achieve greater heights in Christian experience. Either way, defining the box is an illuminating exercise. We must carefully examine conventional thinking about faith and discipleship around us rather than arbitrarily settling into it. If it doesn’t challenge our trust in God and obedience to Christ—if it asks no more than we’d naturally achieve without belief—our box is too narrow and restrictive. It’s here that the corporate analogy breaks down, because restraints endanger faith. Following Jesus is by its very nature living out-of-the-box. Safety inside the box is an illusion.

Better, Bigger Things

Acts 12 reports a time of intense persecution for the Church. Its phenomenal growth and popularity have rocked the religious establishment. The Jews urge King Herod to do something. He executes James, one of the original disciples, and when that pleases the traditionalists, he arrests Peter during Passover. The king intends to bind him over for public trial after the holiday. The situation is eerily similar to the arrest, trial, and execution of Jesus—also a Passover event. Since Herod’s conspiracy with the Jewish authorities didn’t work out like they hoped in Christ’s case, he takes extra precaution. He shoves Peter into the deepest, narrowest box he has, a cell buried far inside the local prison. He puts Peter in the custody of 16 guards, places sentries at the cell entrance, and shackles him to two soldiers. Jesus may have mysteriously escaped the tomb, but this one’s not going anywhere.

Let’s look at this for a moment, because Herod’s a wily politician. The resurgence of anti-Christian protest places him in a precarious position. He has to placate the religious right, whose hatred and blood-thirst exposes its fear of Christ’s followers. Since Pentecost, this minor sect has evolved into a major movement. Churches are forming in nearly every major city in the Empire. Gentiles—some of them high-ranking Romans—are converting. All Christians revere Peter as their leader. It’s a cunning maneuver on Herod’s part to imprison him for public trial after Passover. Provincial Jews who might be counted on to bolster outcry against Peter will have left Jerusalem. This also gives the Apostles time to organize a sizable, vocal minority to attend the hearing. Arresting the preacher looks good to the Temple establishment while it also protects him from assassination attempts and religious actions like the recent stoning of Stephen.

Locking Peter in a tight box seems like the safest, sanest way to go. But our logic is anathema to God. It’s dangerous to keep Peter off the streets for his safety. He’s needed out of the box, where he can lead and minister to the Church. Balancing the crowd at his trial isn’t an issue either, since there will be no trial. There’s no point in Herod’s scheme to avoid the errors that turned Christ’s unjust execution into a cause célèbre sweeping the Empire. (The king’s political savvy will soon do him in. He falls dead while accepting acclaim as a god for brokering peace in a rebellious province.) All the reasons in favor of boxing Peter in are for naught. God has better, bigger things in mind. As always, He’s thinking out of the box. He dispatches an angel to Peter. “Quick, get up!” the angel says. When Peter stands, the chains cuffing him to his keepers come loose. The angel orders him to dress and together they walk out of his cell unopposed. The sentries remain oblivious while they pass. When they reach the prison’s iron gate, it swings open by itself.

First We Stand

The world is full of Christians—practicing and lapsed—boxed in by logical schemes and cultural fences purportedly devised for their safety. Untold thousands are chained to erroneous doctrines alleging to protect them from death and destruction. Would-be gay believers are shackled to ironclad ideologies that prevent them from honestly pursuing their faith. Would-be women priests and pastors are confined in places too narrow for them to serve God’s people with their enormous gifts. Would-be apostles and leaders languish in institutions that sequester them from ministries they’re called to perform. These hindrances are forged from manmade reasoning intent on safeguarding those they encumber as well as the Church’s stability. But they’re dangerous to our faith. Our safety and the Body of Christ’s wellbeing are found out of the box.

God has better, bigger things in mind for us. His message is “Quick, get up!” There’s no need to wait for a public trial; there will be none. It’s unnecessary to balance opinion and outcry in our favor; human approval is irrelevant. The schemes and savvy of kings are pointless; their days are numbered. When we respond by faith as He urges us to stand, our chains will fall. We will walk out of the box unopposed because, like Peter, our passage won’t be detected until we’re free. Massive gates erected to hold us back will open by themselves. Expecting these barriers to vanish before we rise in obedience to God gets it backwards. First we stand. Then they fall.

Doctrines and barriers allegedly constructed for our safety can become restraints to pursuing our faith. Rather than languish in chains, God calls us to stand. When we obey, shackles fall and doors open.

Don't Ask, Don't Tell

You did not treat me with contempt or scorn. Instead, you welcomed me as if I were an angel of God, as if I were Christ Jesus himself. What has happened to your joy? ... Have I now become your enemy by telling you the truth? (Galatians 4.14-16)

The Mysterious Thorn

Overall, Paul’s an up-front, no-holds-barred kind of guy. When he finds restraint useful, he typically says why that’s best. For instance, near the end of his second letter to Corinth, he explains, “This is why I write these things when I am absent, that when I come I may not have to be harsh in my use of authority—the authority the Lord gave me for building you up, not tearing you down.” (2 Corinthians 13.9-10) In other words, “Better we hash this out on paper now than get into arguments when we’re together.” The only subject Paul shows any reticence in writing about frankly is his mysterious “thorn,” a personal issue he refers to in 2 Corinthians 12 and Galatians 4. It’s fairly safe to say reliable knowledge of what troubled Paul so much died with the last individual who knew him personally.

Thus, we have centuries of scholarly theories, none more plausible than the next. The second-century writer Tertullian is convinced Paul’s vexed by chronic ear infections, which helps explain his mercurial personality. But others propose sexual desire, stuttering, malarial fever, and acute eye inflammation. The last supposition assumes Paul’s condition is secondary to his blinding conversion, a notion supported by a reference to his eyes in Galatians 4 (see below). In any case, accepting we’ll never conclusively identify Paul’s problem doesn’t impede our learning from how he deals with it.

Additional Findings

The famous 2 Corinthians passage is Paul’s primer on the matter. He says his thorn is given to keep him humble, which would set off intense conflicts in anyone of his talents and drive. But Paul also copes with daunting insecurities due to his circumstances. He’s a latecomer to this movement, a man who’s burdened by a notorious past that casts shade on his motives and sincerity. More than that, he’s called to bring Gentiles into the faith—a mission many Jewish believers oppose. So Paul’s past, his role in the Church, and innumerable obstacles concomitant with his purpose already humble him. The added struggle amounts to more than he can bear. Three times, he begs God to remove it. God refuses, assuring Paul, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Corinthians 12.9) When Paul accepts his thorn isn’t going away, he changes his attitude. “That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses,” he writes in verse 10. “For when I am weak, then I am strong.” This mindset is the key lesson we derive from Paul’s condition. Disadvantages that might cripple our self-image and effectiveness become assets when we place our trust in God’s grace.

In Galatians 4 we uncover additional findings. Galatian believers have retrenched into religious traditions and verge on losing their faith. In verse 9 Paul asks, “How is it that you are turning back to those weak and miserable principles? Do you wish to be enslaved by them all over again?” He reminds his readers: “It was because of an illness that I first preached the gospel to you” (v13), alluding to his problem. This tells us Paul’s discretion on the page does not imply any shame about his thorn. He’s very open about it and uses it to witness God’s grace. But it’s also apparent his thorn stigmatizes him in some way. He writes, “Even though my illness was a trial to you, you did not treat me with contempt or scorn. Instead, you welcomed me as if I were an angel of God, as if I were Christ Jesus himself.” (v14) Now, in the wake of regressive influences, the Galatians withdraw their welcome because of the very thing they once tolerated gladly. In verses 15 and 16, we hear his sorrow: “What has happened to your joy? I can testify that, if you could have done so, you would have torn out your eyes and given them to me. Have I now become your enemy by telling you the truth?”

Burying Our Thorns

What weighs on Paul is worse than rejection. He’s wounded to know had he concealed his thorn (assuming it was possible), estrangement from the Galatians wouldn’t have happened. He’s penalized for his honesty! It angers and confuses him that formerly tolerant believers can’t discern they’ve been manipulated. He understands his freedom from shame and confidence in grace are no threat to the Galatians. But they most certainly intimidate those who oppose him. “Those people are zealous to win you over, but for no good,” he insists. “What they want is to alienate you from us, so that you may be zealous for them.” (v17) Before he debunks their heresy, he adds, “I am perplexed about you!” (v20) Nothing would please me more than asserting Paul’s frustration is an anomaly, a convergence of social and religious prejudice never again seen in Christian circles. But to this day, believers and faith communities adopt “don’t tell, don’t ask” positions at the urging of obstructionist dogma that neutralizes their duty to welcome the stranger, accept the outcast, embrace the weak (and their weaknesses), abhor rejection—in short, to love others as themselves.

Advocates of exclusion amass power through fear. “Believe what we say,” they threaten, “or there’ll be Hell to pay!” And sadly, many of us with thorns as inescapable as Paul’s submit. We lack the Apostle's confidence in grace. To keep our predicaments from coming to light, we conform to “don’t ask, don’t tell.” Most definitely, this is the easier way to go. But is it right? Paul would say, “Definitely not!” Burying our thorns hides God’s grace. Not only that, it offers no hope to believers who’ve lost their joy to hateful teaching. Later, Paul challenges those who’ve fallen for erroneous ideology: “You were running a good race. Who cut in on you and kept you from obeying the truth?” (Galatians 5.7) His question revokes “don’t ask, don’t tell” by exposing how it nurtures deception and disobeys truth. We delight in our weaknesses so God’s power may be revealed in us, for our sake as well as others’. It secures our confidence and restores the joy false teachers have stolen from gullible believers. That’s why, when asked, we must tell.

Although we're encouraged to keep silent about our thorns, duty to God, others, and us demands open honesty.

Postscript: The "Drew Marshall" Interview

Audio of my interview on last Saturday's "The Drew Marshall Show" is now available at the program's Website. It was most stimulating. The conversation covered a broad range of topics, from my personal faith experience to marital equality. Whether or not this indicates anything, it ran past its original 35-minute time slot by nearly 10 minutes. Please take the time to give it a listen. It is most definitely a product of our shared journey. I pray God uses it for His honor and glory, just as I pray you'll find it useful in some way and worthy of sharing with others.

Finally, if any good comes of it, none of it would be possible without your loving support and effective prayers. I owe all of you an immeasurable debt of gratitude, and truly thank God for all He's doing in and through you. The praise is His, but the reward is yours!

"The Drew Marshall Show" - April 24, 2010

The interview is listed under the "Journey" segment. I'll be most interested to hear your thoughts. And, once again, thank you!

Lost in the Shuffle

Thinking he was in their company, they traveled on for a day. Then they began looking for him among their relatives and friends. (Luke 2.44)

Caught Up in the Drama

The 90’s BBC hit “Absolutely Fabulous” is an outrageous sitcom about two women, Edina, a rich divorcée, and her best friend, Patsy, a supermodel past her prime. They’re joined at the hip by wantonly immature preoccupations—to the constant horror of Edina’s prim daughter, Saffron. In one episode, a video the women plan to show at a swingers’ party gets swapped with a tape Saffie intends to use in a school presentation. When they determine Saffie grabbed the wrong video (patently “unsuitable for young or sensitive viewers”), Eddie, Patsy, and their guests make a mad dash for the school. The group splits up, hoping to retrieve the tape in time. Along the way, a gay couple—one of them in full drag—glides by. “What are we looking for?” one asks, to which the other replies, “I don’t know. We’re just caught up in the drama!”

For reasons I can’t fathom, that goofy episode pops up when I read Luke's story of Jesus, age 12, being inadvertently left behind when His parents return home from Jerusalem after Passover. It takes a day for them to discover He’s not traveling in their caravan, and three more to locate Him. They find Him at the Temple, astounding the teachers with His insights. I assure you I find nothing at all funny about a lost child. Nor am I suggesting Mary and Joseph are irresponsible, oblivious parents. Yet I can’t help imagining the search for Jesus evolves into a chaotic situation not unlike the “AbFab” scenario. It must include people we don't hear about—family and friends, surely, as well as strangers who get caught up in the drama with no idea Whom they’re looking for. And since I’ve already made a wild leap by connecting Luke with a bawdy TV show, I’m going take a second leap based on experience and observation. Many strangers join the search for the same reason they make the Passover pilgrimage: to get lost in the shuffle.

Mistaking Invisibility for Inclusion

The Jerusalem Temple at Passover is the New Testament equivalent to today’s cathedrals and megachurches. It’s a place to be seen without being recognized, where all that’s known about you is what you reveal. For many, Passover in Jerusalem is the one tendril tying them to their faith. In villages where they’re well known, some are banned from synagogue and others stay away for fear they will be banned. The Passover Temple is a haven for anonymous worshipers. Getting lost in the shuffle gives them a sense of belonging they can’t find at home.

But there’s a problem—a big problem—in mistaking invisibility for inclusion. The same dogma and restrictions governing local synagogues also apply to Temple rites. Temple rulers and lawyers directly influence hometown rabbinical councils. Furthermore, since the overwhelming majority packed into the Temple come from provincial congregations, it’s foolish to believe they’re more apt to embrace you here than in smaller confines. Neither congregational size nor apparent sophistication is a reliable gauge of open-mindedness. The test for inclusiveness passes or fails in the preaching and practices. If they don’t passionately lead their people to find and reflect God’s unconditional love revealed in Christ, all anonymity offers is a chance to disappear. It changes nothing—not you, not them, not the dogma that divides and harms you and them.

A Place to Be Found

When Mary and Joseph track Jesus down, He’s confused by their anxiety and why it took so long to find Him. “Didn’t you know I had to be in my Father’s house?” He asks. (Luke 2.49) If we fault Luke for anything here, it’s for not including a sample of Jesus’s dialogue with Temple leaders. He settles for: “After three days they found him in the temple courts, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions. Everyone who heard him was amazed at his understanding and his answers.” (v46-47) Based on all Jesus says and does as an adult, however, it’s probable He’s already questioning the climate of rejection that emanates from the Temple and seeps into every area of Israel’s life. It’s also possible His uncanny ability to divine the inner turmoil of those He helps is starting to surface. If so, young Jesus spends the Passover looking into eyes of people hoping to get lost in the shuffle. And if there’s any merit to this, it significantly alters His response to His parents from “Didn’t you know where to find Me?” to “Don’t you know My Father’s house is where you go to be found?”

Later on, Luke recounts an incident with a little man who gets caught up in the drama and tries to get lost in the shuffle. This occasion has nothing to do with Jerusalem or Passover. It happens in Jericho, the home of Zacchaeus, a tax collector whose profession qualifies him as a “sinner”—an excommunicated Jew. When Jesus comes to town, Zacchaeus shimmies up a tree, ostensibly to see what’s going on. Jesus finds him, calls him down, and invites Himself to Zacchaeus’s house. It appalls the townspeople that Jesus would enter the home of someone legally barred from their synagogue. Yet the moment He steps into the house, it and its owner are transformed into everything the synagogue and locals are not. Once Zacchaeus experiences Christ’s acceptance, he has nothing to hide. He gives half of his wealth to the poor and offers to repay anyone he’s cheated four times over. Jesus declares, “Today salvation has come to this house, because this man, too, is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek and to save what was lost.” (Luke 19.9-10)

What’s extraordinary about this story is it’s not extraordinary at all. Over and over, Jesus seeks out people who feel compelled to get lost in the shuffle. He turns houses into temples and outcasts into insiders. He finds them so they know they’re worth finding. He ends their drama so they know it’s not worth getting caught up in. Size and sophistication of the crowd are irrelevant. He defies a religious posse set on stoning an adulterous woman by banishing her shame. He heals seven lepers and instructs them to show themselves to priests who barred them from worship. When an ostracized woman brushes His garment, Jesus calls her out and corrects the menstrual problem that prohibited her temple access for 12 years. Trying to find Jesus by getting lost gets everything backwards. First, Jesus isn’t hard to locate. He’s readily seen through every door that’s open to His Father’s unconditional love. Second, He came to find us so we won’t be lost. There’s no such thing as Christians Anonymous, because there’s no reason any authentic believer—gay or straight—should ever need to hide.

It’s easy to get lost in overcrowded cathedrals and megachurches. Yet that’s not what any church is meant for; our Father’s House is where we go to be found.

No Better Grave

He was assigned a grave with the wicked, and with the rich in his death, though he had done no violence, nor was any deceit in his mouth. (Isaiah 53.9)

Pressing Matters

After spending yesterday with our attention firmly fastened on Christ and the cross, today affords a chance to consider family and followers who survive Him. One of the first things we note is the timing of events convenes against them almost as cruelly as Christ’s enemies conspire to kill Him. Before they can absorb the maneuvers leading up to Jesus’s murder, He’s gone. Then, before they can find a moment to grieve together, pressing matters steal their attention. Matthew, Mark, and Luke clock Jesus’s time of death at “the ninth hour,” or 3 PM. At this time of year in Jerusalem, the sun sets around 7 PM, an inconsequential detail on any other weekday. With Christ’s execution on Friday, however, sundown halts all activity for Sabbath. This gives the disciples four hours to: wait for Jesus’s removal from the cross; secure His remains; find an empty tomb; locate a place to wash, anoint, and dress Him for burial; transport His body to the tomb, lay it to rest, seal the entrance, note the location—and still have time to return to their lodgings, prepare for Shabbat, the Sabbath rite, and have everything in place, ready to begin exactly at sundown.

Postponing burial until Sunday is unthinkable. Deuteronomy 21.22-23 declares, “If a man guilty of a capital offense is put to death and his body is hung on a tree, you must not leave his body on the tree overnight. Be sure to bury him that same day.” Now, add these factors. 1) All negotiations occur face-to-face and every task is carried out on foot. 2) The rapidity of events catches the disciples totally off-guard; there are no “burial plans.” 3) Not one of Jesus’s close associates hails from Jerusalem, This puts them at the mercy of local sympathizers who, given official and public hostility toward Jesus, are few and far between. Imagine a beloved relative or friend suddenly murdered in a foreign capitol—during peak tourist season, no less—and and you’ll get a sense of what Christ’s family and followers contend with.

Changed by Calvary

With little time to spare, a prominent citizen with local connections steps forward. “As evening approached,” Matthew 27.57-58 reports, “there came a rich man from Arimathea, named Joseph, who had himself become a disciple of Jesus. Going to Pilate, he asked for Jesus’ body, and Pilate ordered it be given to him.” Combining various details spread across the Gospels, we learn Joseph was member of the Sanhedrin Council, Israel’s Supreme Court. According to Luke 23.51, he dissented from the Council’s decision to try Jesus, although he didn’t disclose his loyalty to Christ “because he feared the Jews.” (John 19.38)

Appealing to Pilate for Christ’s body places Joseph in great jeopardy by openly acknowledging his discipleship. Undoubtedly he’ll be ousted from the Council, losing his social and financial connections. Why doesn’t he continue to follow Jesus discreetly, as he’d done before? He’s been changed by Calvary. He’s witnessed the incomprehensible lengths Jesus goes for him. Toppling his pillars of security and overcoming his personal fears for Christ’s benefit are the least he can do. Joseph of Arimathea essentially comes out of his closet. According to John, his bold act inspires another closeted Council member, Nicodemus—the Pharisee who in John 3 visits Jesus “by night”—to come out.

The two men take Christ’s body, dress it in fresh linen and preservative spices, and lay it in an unused tomb. John says, “This was in accordance with Jewish burial customs.” (19.40) What he doesn’t say is these two widely respected lawyers consciously (and conscientiously) break Mosaic Law: “Whoever touches the dead body of anyone will be unclean for seven days.” (Numbers 19.11) They defile themselves in service to Christ. And they don’t do it in the shadows. They touch Jesus’s corrupt flesh without apology during the height of Passover. After this, they will be barred from the Temple and disqualified to lead family rituals for the rest of the week.

Claiming Christ

Whether or not Joseph’s aware of Christ’s promise to leave the tomb, he and Nicodemus know they’re laying Jesus in a temporary grave. After Passover, Mary and Jesus’s relatives are required by Law to move His corpse to the family crypt in Nazareth. This is why we find Mary Magdalene and others present as Joseph and Nicodemus inter Christ; they need to know His grave’s location to claim His body later on. It’s also why the women are eager to refresh the preservative spices on Sunday morning—preventing putrefaction is of utmost importance to ease the transport of His corpse. Finally, it’s why Christ’s enemies urge Pilate to place a guard at the tomb. They’ve heard about Christ’s promised resurrection and it’s in their best interests to see He isn’t moved. (Isn’t it ironic how quickly legalists can ignore some laws that get in their way while twisting others to trip people they want to control?)

So Jesus’s body rests exactly as prophesied: “He was assigned a grave with the wicked, and with the rich in his death, though he had done no violence, nor was any deceit in his mouth.” (Isaiah 53.9) Yet the prophecy’s doleful tone no longer applies. Even Christ’s lifeless physical state somehow changes lives. After three years of constant battles with legalism, what could be more perfect than two nationally prominent lawyers boldly claiming Christ? What could be more powerful than inspiring them to come out of their closets of fear? What could be more eloquent than requiring them to defile themselves in His service? What could be more appropriate than laying Him in a temporary tomb? What could be more right than involving Christ’s women followers in the ministry of His resurrection? This story overwhelms us with examples and lessons. Yes, Isaiah’s prediction paints a grim picture. But, no, there could be no better grave.

Two lawyers come out of hiding to claim Jesus, unafraid to be seen in the company of His women disciples as they bury Him in a temporary tomb. (Carl Heinrich Bloch: The Burial of Christ)

Postscript: Meanwhile…
While all these magnificent turns in Jesus’s story take place on the ground, below the surface, Christ storms Death’s gates, releases its prisoners and defeats its purpose. From Mozart’s Requiem in D Minor: The Offering—Domine Jesu and Hostias.

Postscript: "Through My Eyes"

Several weeks ago, I posted a preview to a feature documentary called "Through My Eyes." Produced by the Gay Christian Network, the film uses a superbly effective, straightforward style to capture the anxieties, passions, and heartaches of young gay Christians who struggle with reconciling their faith and their identity. The movie is notable because there are no third-person experts or commentators, no "b-roll" segments of homophobic Christians or gay-hostile preachers; there's no pulling at Scriptures and hauling out statistics.

"Through My Eyes" is all about lives--young people either raised to believe in Christ as their Savior or who found Him at an early age. The film opens with their witnesses of faith. As I watched this, I couldn't help thinking, "How many youth pastors would be full of pride if these kids were part of their group?" Then, the movie segues into how they came to recognize and understand their sexual orientation, followed by the inevitable--trying to figure out why knowing and accepting their identities suddenly turned everything they trusted and believed into something foreign and untrue for them. Watch this young man's account and you'll understand how nuanced and tragic this moment can be--and how amazing the young gay believer's faith must be:

Find out more about this amazing film at: http://www.ThroughMyEyesDVD.com/.

Parents Need Our Prayers

Honor your father and your mother, so that you may live long in the land the LORD your God is giving you.

                        Exodus 20.12

Second Guessing

Luke, a Straight-Friendly email subscriber, left a comment on last Thursday’s “Conscience Cleanser” post that’s stuck with me ever since. If you missed it, here’s the portion that startled me to fresh awareness:

This false guilt blog really hit home with me. Not because I have false guilt over something, at least not that I am aware of now. It hit home because of my mother. She and my father both thought my being gay was their fault… It is hard to admit that you have nothing to be guilty about for some people. No matter if you did or not God has forgiven you because of Jesus' sacrifice. My parents wouldn't accept that or that they had done nothing wrong to begin with. It tortured them for a long time.

Luke’s story reminded me no matter how God shapes us, male or female, regardless of orientation, our parents naturally believe they could have done better. When we veer from the course they envisioned—drastically, as is usually the case for parents of GLBT children, or subtly—they’re left second guessing decisions and choices they made. It’s all too easy for parents to accept false guilt for perceived failures and incredibly difficult for them to accept God’s plan for us doesn’t always synch up with theirs. We may never convince them nothing they’ve done—or possibly could do—affects who we basically are. There may be nothing we can do to alleviate their anxiety. But we can intercede for their peace and comfort. Our parents need our prayers.

“This is Me”

As I’ve mentioned before, “coming out” isn’t a uniquely gay rite. We all come out once we mature into full personhood. Traits and proclivities we quietly harbor through youth grow more pronounced as our self-confidence improves. Many of them sneak out before we know it—a competitive drive becomes self-evident in our passion for sports or a solitary nature reveals itself in voluntarily keeping to ourselves. But eventually our closets run out of space for parts of us we try to hide. We open the door and announce, “This is me. This is who I’m meant to be.”

The coming-out experience is traumatic for some and reaffirming for others. From the worst to best possible scenario, freedom to live openly and honestly ends with us feeling relieved and exhilarated. We’re ready to get on with our lives. Before we dash into the future, though, we may find our parents headed into the past, replaying missed opportunities to steer us from potential dangers and disappointments we may encounter. From the most supportive to the least, they’re apt to feel let down and guilty on some level. Their responses may range from “I don’t care who you are, I’ll always love you” to “I didn’t raise you to be this way.” Wherever their reactions fall (and settle) on the acceptance spectrum, as followers of Christ, we accept them as they are because we desire their acceptance. If they enfold us in loving arms or angrily kick us to the curb, knowing their behavior and attitude toward us comes from internal struggle is why we love them and pray for them.

Second to God

The Ten Commandments' ordinal arrangement reveals a fascinating insight into God’s estimation of parenthood. The first four focus on Him: I come first; no idols allowed; revere My Name; set aside one day a week for Me. Then, before the big stuff that makes news—murder, adultery, theft, perjury, and greed—He wedges in a commandment many find toughest to obey: Honor your parents. Since He does nothing randomly, we assume putting this behind those about Him tells us to esteem our parents as second to God. Particularly for those whose parents act and think nothing like God, this sounds unreasonably impossible. How can He ask us to honor people who abused us physically and emotionally, neglected and rejected us, who withheld love and tormented us with fear, who took more than they gave? God only knows. But here are two viable theories.

First, we honor our parents as His instruments in our creation. Second, we honor them for our health and peace of mind. Reviling and resenting them weakens us. Thus, God promises long, established lives for those who obey. Our relationships with our parents may be damaged beyond repair. Yet inoperability doesn’t relieve us from showing the same kinds of concern we needed and still need from them. Those who endure unmitigated horror at their parents’ hands have every right to question why God placed them there to suffer. Yet they also should consider the possibility such questions are misdirected. Could it be we’re sent to love our parents, not the opposite? Again, only God knows, though it’s worth pondering, if only to aid obedience to His Word. Whether we credence this or not, we're still obligated to obey. When we can’t reach our parents with love, we can honor them with our prayers.

One last thought. Luke’s comment takes us to Calvary, where Mary stands. We wonder what she’s thinking and feeling as she looks up at her oldest Son splayed on a criminal’s cross. It defies all logic to imagine she’s not crushed with false guilt. How her mind must run through the past, searching frantically for where she failed, panicking at the thought she must have failed. John’s Gospel suggests Jesus senses Mary’s anguish. He sees her and calls out, “Dear woman, here is your son,” indicating John. Then He tells John, “Here is your mother.” “From that time on, this disciple took her into his home,” John 19.27 says. At His weakest, loneliest hour, Jesus saw to His mother’s care. We can do no less. Parents need our prayers.

No matter how “perfect” we grow up to be, our parents will inevitably feel guilty for not having done better. If we can’t dissuade them of this, we can pray for their peace and comfort.

(Tomorrow: Leaving a Legacy)

Postscript: Glade Church

I’m delighted to add Glade Church in Blacksburg, Virginia to Straight-Friendly’s “Welcoming Churches” list. It comes to us by way of personal recommendation by Alice, a regular reader here who attends the church with her partner. She recently inquired about how her church could be listed. After explaining I ask for an emailed permission from pastors of all the churches listed here, her pastor, Rev. Kelly M. Sisson immediately replied.

Glade Church and Rev. Sisson are active leaders in campus ministry at Virginia Tech, the site of last year’s horrible killings. Their witness of Christ’s love and healing is extraordinary in their on-campus work, congregational life, and numerous other outreach ministries they support. To learn more about the church, visit their site here:

Glade Church

Alice, thank you so much for bringing this vibrant body of believers to our attention! We will keep you, your partner, your pastor, and your community of faith in our prayers.