a word to my friends about phil robertson...

Dear Friends,

I'm writing to you, my brothers, my sisters, my tribe. I'm writing to conservative, evangelical Christians. I've grown up in your churches, your schools, and your camps. I've worked for your ministries, and I attend one of your seminaries. I sit next to you in the pew on Sunday, and we take the bread and wine together in the Lord's Supper. Like you, I believe the Bible is the inspired, infallible Word of God, and I believe it is our only rule for faith and life. Like most of you, I believe that the covenant of marriage was instituted by God for relationships of one man and one woman. Like many of you, I was distressed to see A&E bow to pressure and suspend Phil Robertson from "Duck Dynasty" because of his expressed views on homosexuality.

However, my brothers and sisters, I must say this. I've been even more distressed and deeply hurt by many of your responses to Robertson's comments and his suspension.

First, although Phil's comments themselves aren't my biggest concern, I'll address why they still hurt, even as someone who ultimately agrees with him on the biblical view of sexuality. I've seen the response, "Why should they hurt? He was just quoting the Bible." Fair question. Yes, Phil's comments contained biblical references (1 Corinthians 6, for instance), and he correctly stated that homosexual practice is indeed sinful. However, I can't say that his comments were actually biblical. Why not? Because they were neither loving nor gracious. They lacked wisdom. They promoted false stereotypes. Phil's crude anatomical references were not just an inappropriate indiscretion, they painted God's beautiful gift of sex as something else entirely. We're left to assume from his words that Phil sees the main role of sex to be personal gratification. Can we commend a view of sex that reduces women to the usefulness of their body parts in gratifying the urges of their husbands? I reject that. I reject that completely. I reject that because the Bible has such a higher view of the sexual union between a husband and wife. It's a total union, body and soul. It's vulnerability and sacrifice and safety. Yes, it's pleasure, but it's much much more. Phil's comments insinuate that the only thing gay people are looking for is sexual gratification, not the intimacy and self-sacrificial relationship that I hope Phil enjoys with his wife. True, I never plan to pursue such a relationship with another man. I do not believe that is God's will or his design for marriage or sex. However, as Phil went on to describe his views of sin, he essentially equated the longings I have for intimacy and companionship with the sexual desires some people have for animals. It's clear that Phil rightly believes homosexual practice is a sin, but it's also clear that he doesn't understand the experience of same-sex attracted people in the slightest. He may claim to love and respect everyone (and I believe he is genuine in his desire to do so), but I would never feel safe or comfortable sharing my story or struggles with him after reading his comments. Why would I open up to someone who apparently finds my struggles so reprehensible and unfathomable, comparable to both bestiality and terrorism? Phil's comments did contain truth, yes, but they were incredibly insensitive and dehumanizing to anyone who experiences desires for their same gender. This is not how Jesus would have spoken...not even close. You can say a lot of true things, but if you're not speaking in love (the language of our Savior), you're not speaking the Truth. 

Secondly, while I found Phil's comments troubling, I do disagree with A&E's decision to suspend him. We can't have healthy dialogue if our first resort is always to silence and remove our opponents. I agree that A&E's move is a troubling sign for the future ability of Christians to speak publicly about our beliefs. However, as a Christian, I am far more concerned with the responses I have seen on social media from fellow Christians attacking A&E and rushing to defend Phil Robertson. I understand the concern, but I believe this is misplaced fervor. And you know what? I'll be honest...it hurts.

The Church would have far more credibility in her defense of free speech if she were actually seeking to create a safe place for vulnerability and dialogue in her own midst. Friends, there is a reason that this blog is anonymous! Maybe I would feel more sympathy for Phil Robertson if I hadn't always felt pressure to remain silent about my story within the very community where I should have felt the most freedom. We can rush to defend people like Phil as the victims in situations like this, but what about the hundreds and thousands of kids and young people and even adults who deal with their various struggles in silence out of fear of what other Christians will say? If we're looking at this from a biblical perspective, are they not the real victims here? The silent victims?

There is a swell of righteous anger when a reality star is suspended for his crude, insensitive defense of biblical sexuality in GQ, but where was this outrage when my friend was fired from his job at a Christian school because a parent found out he was same-sex attracted? Where was the outrage when another friend of mine was thrown out of his house in high school and shunned by his church because he came out as gay? Where is the outrage over the countless teenagers who are bullied (often by Christian teenagers) because of their sexuality? Where are the tears of remorse and contrition over those who ultimately find no hope and end their lives, convinced that no one could ever really love them? Where is our swell of righteous anger, Church?

I have been blessed with a loving family and incredibly supportive friends. More and more people know my story, and I attend a beautiful, grace-centered seminary that reminds me everyday that God is good and Jesus loves me. I have enjoyed blessings far beyond what most people with my struggle enjoy. But when you, my friends, seem far more concerned with protecting the rights of Mr. Robertson to express his beliefs than you are with making sure your brothers who struggle with homosexuality know they are loved, that they have dignity and worth...that hurts. It does. 

I'm not asking you to change your beliefs on the sinfulness of homosexual practice. I share those beliefs, and I'm certainly not changing mine! My convictions here are firm. However, I do ask you to think about the message you are sending when you rush to defend the comments of Phil Robertson.

Jesus didn't die to give us freedom of speech...or even freedom of religion. He died to give us freedom from the bondage of sin and the law. "For you were called to freedom, brothers," Paul wrote to the Galatians, "Only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another. For the whole law is fulfilled in one word: 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself.'" (Gal. 5:13-14) We were not set free primarily so that we could express our opinions and live a happy life; we were set free so that we could love our neighbors--sacrificially--as we love ourselves. Is Phil Robertson free to make these statements about homosexuality? Yes. Are you free to defend him and post #IStandWithPhilRobertson on your twitter? Absolutely. But friends, I would ask you to consider if that is the best use of your freedom. 

Let us follow the example of Jesus. Jesus always moved toward the poor, the broken, and the outcast. He defended those who could not defend themselves, those who had no voice. He broke the social and religious customs of his day to show broken, hurting people that he loved them. The religious leaders said terrible things about Jesus because of the people he spent time with, the people he stood up for. In the eyes of the religious, Jesus was always defending the wrong people. 

If you think Jesus would be shaking his fist at A&E right now for their treatment of Phil Robertson, I'm not sure if you have an accurate picture of Jesus' life and ministry. Wouldn't it be better to imagine Jesus seeking out and comforting the young teenager whose family watches "Duck Dynasty" religiously...the kid who doesn't understand the feelings and desires that he's experiencing for other guys...the child who hears Phil Robertson's comments and only hears further confirmation that nobody could ever love someone like him, least of all Jesus? I believe this is where Jesus would be if he was walking the earth today, and I believe that's where we as his followers are called to go as well.

We will face injustice in this world. Our rights may be infringed upon or taken away. That's been the majority experience of the Church throughout history. Jesus himself was the victim of the ultimate injustice ever perpetrated: a perfect, sinless man crucified for the sins of the world. Jesus wasn't interested in securing his rights. His mission was love and healing and grace and restoration. He was interested to speaking the words of hope and life to a world in despair. 

As your brother in Christ, your fellow sojourner in the faith and one who happens to experience attractions to other guys, please hear these words. Please consider your response to the Phil Robertson situation and other situations like it. Please know that you have many other friends, friends like me, who see your responses and feel deep pain and betrayal. You may not mean it that way, but that's how it is received. Trust me. 

May we all seek to follow our Savior humbly to the all the broken places and people of our world...and may God have mercy on us all.

Grace to you, brothers and sisters, and the peace of Christ,

Love, Your Brother Behind the Mask

Moments.

"I miss coming out somedays for that very reason"

I received this text from another same-sex attracted friend a couple nights ago, and it got me thinking. I'd just told him about a particularly encouraging "coming out" conversation that I'd just had with another friend.

I've  been having quite a few of these "coming out" conversations lately. 14 conversations already this week, to be exact. That might sound absolutely crazy to you. It would have sounded crazy to me a few months ago. I mean...in the past 24 hours, I've already told more people that I'm attracted to other guys than I told in my first 24 years!

So what's the rush? Why this sudden burst of self-disclosure?

As I wrote earlier this summer, I'm on the road to being "out." The Groucho glasses will come off, so to speak, and I'll walk in the light of openness and honesty about what God has done [and is doing] in my life. That's a decision I made a while ago, but there were a number of reasons it couldn't happen right away. There was a chapter of life that needed to finish and another that needed to begin. There were a number of people who needed to hear it straight from me before they heard it anywhere else.

I'm not good with gray area. I'm not very patient. I hate waiting. After I decided that I would share my story publicly, the idea of waiting months to do so seemed unbearable. I was tired of the mask. I was tired of living two different stories. I saw "coming out" as a rather awkward, unpleasant process to be powered through as quickly as possible.

Hence...these 14 "coming out" conversations in one week, with more to come. I'm ready to be done with all this. 

That's why my friend's text message gave me such pause. He missed coming out? Why on earth? Here he is, living his life in the open, and he misses the days of double-life and awkward conversations?

But then I reflected on the conversation I'd just told him about...my encouraging "coming out" conversation that made him miss his own "coming out."

The guy who I'd just come out to is involved with the ministry I used to work for. He's a very good friend. I had spent 2 years listening to him and trying to encourage him, love him, and point him to Jesus. Now, a few months later, over pizza, he was listening to me, encouraging me, loving me, and pointing me to Jesus.

I've had many encouraging "coming out" conversations. I haven't had any negative responses, and I've been deeply moved by the love and support shown to me by countless friends and family members...but this guy --let's call him Brad-- Brad took it to a whole new level.

What did that look like? What made this particular conversation stand out among the rest?

First of all, as strange as it may sound...he smiled. He smiled the whole time. Sure, he was just as surprised as anyone else, but his first reaction was to smile. He wasn't being insensitive or callous. He didn't think anything was funny, but he was instantly moved by the power of what I was sharing. He knew what it meant that I was telling him this. When I saw his smile, I didn't see someone glossing over the weight of my story...I saw someone grasping the full beauty of my story, difficulty and pain included. His smile said that he was glad I was sharing this with him, that he knew God was sovereign, that he was hopeful about my future...that this didn't change the way he saw me at all. 

Brad's smile as he listened to my story made a big difference in how I told it. I told my story with more hope...more thankfulness. I felt the freedom to tell the harder parts of my story, because I knew he was looking at the bigger picture. It reminded me that despite all the challenges, my story already has a happy ending that can't be rewritten.

Brad listened, he smiled...occasionally he'd shake his head in amazement. He asked questions...good questions. He wondered aloud how hard it must have been for me to live with that secret.

I told him about the impact Wes Hill's book, Washed and Waiting, had on me...and before I could even think to suggest it, he asked me if it would be a good book for him to read, to help him gain a better understanding of the struggles faced by same-sex attracted Christians. He wanted to learn more...to read more. This showed me his support. It gained even more of my trust. It let me know just how valuable he saw my story to be.

There's a place for tears. There's a place for sorrow and weightiness. There's a place for challenge and exhortation, but Brad's simple, authentic response communicated so much to me in that moment.

It said that he loved me, but it also said he respected me. It said he wanted to enter into my story's framework rather than try to fit my story into his framework. It said he didn't see me as someone to be pitied, but rather, someone he could learn from. It said he wasn't weirded out by what I'd just told him...and that I was free and safe to share more.

It reminded me that at the end of the day, my story is not a tragedy. It's a story of hope. It's a story of light. It's a story of Redemption. 

I've been blessed with so many of these conversations this week. I only have the space to talk about this one, but that's not to say the others haven't been just as encouraging or moving. The more I see friends respond with smiles, with interested questions, with affirmations of love and support...it proves to me that these friendships were not fake after all. The lies that my heart had told me for so long were false. My friends didn't just love my Mask; they loved me...and when my mask came off, that love for me continued...even deepened.

For the first time, I'm experiencing what it feels like to be truly loved and truly known. It's a lot like being loved by Jesus, and it points me right back to His Love. 

So I think I'm starting to understand what my friend meant when he said he misses coming out. These are special days I'm living in. This is such a cool period in my life. It's not a time to be rushed and hurried through. It's not a time to be characterized by awkwardness and shame. It's a time to be characterized with a smile--like Brad's smile--with embraces and words of support, like so many embraces and words I've received this week.

These are moments to be cherished...moments to soak in. For the first time, finally, the love of my friends and family has breached my heart's defenses. It's flooding in. It's filling all those dusty places and dark corners. It's pointing me right back to the love of my Savior, the love that's always been there...the love that's always seemed too good to be true. 

I'm moved to thankfulness. I'm fully aware that the support and love I've experienced is not true across the board for many people in my position. Far too many find rejection and fear when they share their story. Instead of being pointed to their Savior, they're pointed away. They're told they have to be fixed before they can be loved. They're told they don't belong...and they believe the lies. They start to believe that Jesus feels the same way. (If this describes you, I'd love to talk more.)

I'm so thankful for the love and support of my friends and family. It's my desire, my passion, my prayer that more and more brothers and sisters would experience this same kind of love from their communities. We need this love. We need to learn how to show this love, and we need to learn how to receive it. This love changes lives. 

These moments of "coming out" have drawn even closer to the heart of God, my Father, my Daddy. The day is coming, blog readers, when you too will know my identity and hear my full story...but I'm in no rush. I'm soaking in these moments. 

Grace & peace,

Your Brother Behind the Mask

Me.

Let's talk about me.

I mean, really...why stop now?

Let's talk about me.

Okay, well obviously, this is a blog. It's my blog. I write it. I'm a Millennial (not to mention a human-being), and it's going to be about me. I want to write about me...what I think, what I like, what I know, what I want, what I see.

(Sorry. That's the first and, hopefully, the last time I channel Toby Keith...but I make no promises.)

Surely none of you are too surprised that the primary topic of this blog is...well...me. I don't apologize for that. But when that self-focus overflows from the blogosphere into my real-life relationships...that's when a great deal of repentance is needed.

I'm an INFJ. I like talking about my feelings, and my feelings and I are pretty tight. We interact often. We have open lines of communication. The problem comes when I try to include everyone else I know in that party-line of my inner dialogue.

Don't get me wrong...we all need to vent sometimes. We need friends who will listen to us when we just need to rant and get things off our chest....or just verbally process something. Absolutely. I'm blessed to have friends who will "listen to me bitch," so to speak.

But somehow, the vast majority of my conversations, like my blog posts, tend to revolve around me...what I think, what I feel...what I think and feel about what I think and feel. Convinced that such vulnerability is healthy, I talk and talk while my friends patiently listen, ask questions, offer thoughts and feedback. Sometimes I'll sense that things are getting one-sided, and I'll ask some token questions about what they think. But invariably, their responses will remind me of something else I was thinking about, and boom...we're back on the ME-train.

I'll cut myself some slack. I am processing through a lot of stuff right now. I'm still coming to grips with what it means to live as a same-sex attracted Christian. I'm learning the dance of attending seminary while simultaneously being attracted to my same gender. I'm struggling to trust that God has indeed called me to full-time ministry and anxiously wondering what the ordination process in my conservative Presbyterian denomination will look like for me. Throw in the loneliness and battles with shame, and sure...I suppose I do have a lot to talk about.

I could talk to you for hours about what the Church can do differently...how the Church can love me better. I could produce a whole list of ways that my friends and family can love, serve, and support me as I deal with the implications of life as an evangelical, same-sex attracted pastor-in-training. Basically, I'm an expert at telling you how you can love me better.

But you know what I'm not very good at? Loving the Church...loving the world...loving you.

I'll gripe about how hard it is to find my place as a single man in my church, but I avoid service opportunities like the plague.

I lament the possibility of never having children of my own, but whenever my church asks for nursery volunteers, I'm oddly M.I.A.

I love to see myself as a victim...even a martyr! But I consistently numb myself to the suffering of millions around me. I forget about those who are hungry, sick, and oppressed. I forget those whose very lives and loved ones are at risk because of their faith in Jesus.

I talk about how much I need and want community, but when push comes to shove, Netflix is one of my closest, most trusted friends. #1 on my speed-dial, if you will.

I long for close friendships, but I forget that friendships are two-way streets.

I'm quick to demand sacrificial love, but so painfully slow to offer it myself.

You know, there are a number of things the Church could do better in regards to loving singles and especially gay people. I think that's an important conversation to have. I also think it's an important conversation for my friends to know how they can love me better, but we must be having the same conversations about how I can love them better too.

A self-absorbed life is a miserable life. I spend way too much time rattling around inside my own head, analyzing my thoughts, questioning my analysis, lamenting my lack of growth, wallowing in my mess. I need to break out of my bubble, my petty web of needs and insecurities...and learn how to love.

I love this C.S. Lewis quote: "True humility is not thinking less of yourself; it is thinking of yourself less." Wow...right?

I'm not saying it's wrong for me to desire love and friendship. I'm saying it's wrong for me to sit around waiting for love and friendship instead of going out and looking for ways that I can love other people like Jesus has loved me.

Maybe a married friend needs help running errands. Maybe the young parents next door need someone to watch their kids so they can have a night out together. Maybe that guy who always sits alone at church needs someone to talk to. Maybe the church needs me to use my spare time and resources to serve her various ministries. Maybe the church needs me to start a new ministry to meet that need I'm always griping about!

Maybe my wonderful, patient friends need me to stop talking about how much I love them...and simply listen to them for a change. 

I'm a slow learner...but I'm learning. I'm learning to listen, and I'm learning to love. I still have a long way to go.

I think it's time for me to stop asking what the Church can do for me...and start asking what I can do for the Church.

I'll need a whole lot of grace for that endeavor, but His grace is sufficient...and it never runs dry.

Your Brother Behind the Mask

Breaking the Rules.

We were smack-dab in the middle of a sweltering Southern summer. No matter how bright the sun was shining (and it was bright), you still felt like you were swimming every time you stepped outside. It was that thick, wet, suffocating heat that makes you wonder how people even breathed below the Mason-Dixon Line before air-conditioning was invented. 

My high school basketball team was attending a week-long camp at a nearby Christian college, and we were making the daily trek from the dorms to the gymnasium...wearing long pants.

Yep, you heard me...long pants. Summer. Southern. Sweltering. All-guys Basketball Camp. Long pants. 

At least modesty in sports has improved over the years...

The college that was hosting the camp had a very strict policy that men could only wear shorts in their dorm rooms and on the basketball court. Maybe they knew something about legs that we didn't, but needless to say, the rule seemed a bit oppressive.

So just how serious were they about this policy? 

Well, let's just say that the emergency evacuation procedures, clearly posted in every dorm room, spelled out that in case of emergency, everyone must be dressed in proper "street attire" before exiting the building. It seemed they'd prefer us burn in a dorm fire than burn in eternal hell fire for letting a lady firefighter see our shapely calves. [slight exaggeration perhaps?]

Of course, I realize having to wear pants for one week of summer is nothing compared to some of the overbearing standards imposed on women year-round in the name of "modesty." (See this article and this "modesty heart check") 

Guys have it easy. We really do. The usual line is that guys are wired to be visually stimulated, and therefore, it's the woman's job to keep her brother from stumbling. Meanwhile, guys are typically let off the hook, free to wear just about whatever they want (except at this particular college, where lower-leg nudity is still frowned upon)

Brett Harris wrote about this double-standard recently on the Rebelution blog, in an article called, "The Other Side of Modesty." His conclusion: "If girls should be modest, so should guys...If girls should consider their brothers in Christ, guys should consider their sisters in Christ." On one hand, this could be seen as refreshing. Finally! Guys are being held to the same standards as girls! If girls have to cover up at the beach, then so should guys! If girls are expected to do "modesty heart checks" before leaving home each morning, then maybe guys should consider their motives for wearing that small v-neck instead of the medium crew-neck. 

Upon further reflection, though, is Harris' solution really that refreshing? Is it even a solution, or is it actually part of the problem? Instead of shaming and sexualizing only women's bodies, are we not just doing the same thing to men?

We're reducing modesty to a culturally-influenced dress code, placing the blame for lust on the one lusted after, and buying into the lie that our bodies are inherently shameful and sexual rather than beautiful and glorifying to the Creator who designed them. 

Brett's article also brought something else to light in this discussion...for me, at least. Modesty is usually discussed in a very binary, black-and-white manner. Girls, consider your brothers. Brothers, consider your sisters. Ladies, guys are lust-machines, so watch what you wear. Gentlemen, show the ladies some respect and keep your britches up. 

But what about brothers and sisters who are not attracted to the opposite gender...brothers and sisters who find more temptation with members of their own sex? We can't just ignore it and pretend it's a rare exception to the rule. It's real. It's relatively common. It kind of changes our conversation. 

Back to basketball camp...Wednesday night was swim night, but of course, "mixed bathing" is a big no-no. (Could there be a more awkward name for something so non-awkward?) There were some other co-ed camps running at the same time as our basketball camp, so guys and girls were each assigned specific time-slots to use the swimming pool. The pool was surrounded by a very high wall, and behind the privacy of this wall, we could wear shorts AND take off our shirts! [gasp]

This extreme separation of the genders betrays an assumption that I believe is far more widespread than just this college. The thinking goes like this: when in the presence of the opposite sex, one covers up to prevent the temptation of lust. However, when in the presence of only one's own gender, such covering up is unnecessary. If the goal is to remove the temptation of lust, we're assuming that there's no such temptation in a gender-segregated environment. This, of course, is simply untrue.

For these kinds of modesty rules to make any kind of sense, we have to assume that same-sex attraction either doesn't exist or that it's an extremely rare anomaly. What was the responsibility of the other guys at the pool? They had no idea I might be attracted to them. (Heck...I was still in denial myself.) If one of them caused me to "stumble," where does the fault lie? If we're truly trying to remove the temptation of lust, then we either have to pretend that guys like me don't exist...or require guys to wear shirts in the swimming pool. And if we're taking this to the logical conclusion, we can't just limit it to the pool. What about living arrangements? Dorms? We again have to either deny that guys like me exist, isolate us in separate quarters, or require all guys to remain fully clothed at all times...even in their rooms. Do we see the absurdity of all this?

Let's leave high school now, fast-forward through college, and arrive at last year. I'm staying in the same hotel room with three of my good guy friends. These are guys that I love, trust, and respect. Guys that love Jesus. These guys are the first peers that I've decided to come out to. Our conversation that afternoon is incredibly encouraging. They listen well, they ask thoughtful questions, and they assure me of their continued love and friendship. They encourage me about the role my story can play in the Church, and their prayers for me bring tears to my eyes. They said all the right things, and they said them well.

But it wasn't just what they said that was so encouraging...their actions spoke far louder than their words. That is to say, their actions didn't change. They didn't treat me any differently. Back in the hotel room, they weren't afraid to change their clothes in the same room or even share a bed with me. They might not have even thought twice about this, but the message I received was one of trust, love, and acceptance.

Now what would the Modesty Police have thought about this? If I was a female, my friends' lack of "modesty" would have been quite inappropriate...not to mention sharing a bed! Now, of course, I'm not a female (important difference), but if our motivation in modesty is always keeping our brothers and sisters from stumbling, why were my friends' actions any different?

Because the alternative would have been isolation. It would have meant further confirmation of my otherness rather than my sameness. It would have said "You're definitely not a woman, but you're not quite a man. We're the same biologically, but you don't really belong here." But wouldn't that alternative have been the loving thing to do? Wouldn't that have protected me from temptation? If you're one of the Modesty Police, and the elimination of temptation is your top priority...is there any other option?

What did my friends' response communicate? It communicated that they saw me as one of them, still one of the guys, a brother. It communicated that they trusted me, and that they trusted Jesus. It communicated that they were committed to me...that they weren't going to let me go.

So many of our modesty rules are built around this core idea that we can eradicate temptation, and if we eradicate temptation, we can live holy lives. But we can't escape temptation. Even if you throw out your TV, cell phone, and computer...even if you never leave home, never see another person again...you can't escape temptation because you can't escape yourself!

The best way to fight the battle with lust is not shame, fear, and hiding. It's relationship. It's friendship. It's community. For heterosexual guys, it's seeing women as beautiful sisters in Christ, sisters with gifts and talents and passions and a story....not just bodies. When we focus on covering up and hiding the body, we only draw more attention to it. We quietly feed the lie that bodies are sex objects...and shameful. We say "SEX! Don't think about SEX! Stop thinking about SEX! Why are you thinking about SEX? Why can't you stop thinking about SEX? Stop thinking about SEX! You're still thinking about SEX!"

For me, as a same-sex attracted guy, I must be able to see other men as my brothers in Christ. We have far more in common than we have different. This brotherhood happens the same way it does for most guys: friendship, vulnerability, accountability, common work, and shared experiences....so basically, community. Pursuing this kind of community is not without its dangers. The rules of modesty and propriety, designed to keep the genders safely separate, also do their work of separation when applied to male friendships. My heart is an idol factory, and it will always be looking for something--or someone--to idolize.

What I'm trying to say is this: if I'm going to have friends, if I'm going to have community, I can't just run away every time I'm attracted to another guy. That's not the gospel. That's a recipe for a desperately lonely life, cut off from the life-giving Body of Christ. No, I have to separate attraction from lust...and learn to tell the difference. I must certainly guard my heart, but I can't guard it so tightly that I never let anyone inside. I must faithfully pursue holiness and purity in all areas of my life, including my sexuality, and I must believe and rest in the fact that Jesus has paid it all.

If my friends make it their priority to keep me from stumbling, they will keep me at arm's length. They won't let me into their lives; they won't let me feel like I'm one of them. They will keep their guard up. However, if my friends make it their priority to love me, they will respond like these guys did. They will welcome me in and let me know I belong....that I'm one of them. They will let me serve and love them as brothers...just like they serve and love me. And when I do stumble, they will be by my side to walk with me through it...and I too will be by their side when they stumble.

Modesty rules as a means to prevent temptation ultimately can't work...at least not with any kind of sustainability. These kinds of rules lead to pride, judgment, anxiety, and shame. They work against community because they divide and separate. They point fingers and lay blame. They send the message that people are sexual bodies to be covered rather than images of God to be loved and appreciated. Modesty is not about what's on your body, it's what's in your heart. Of course, what's in your heart will ultimately affect what's on your body, but we must stop judging people based on outward appearance.

We must stop blaming our idolatry on our idols.

Instead of trusting our dress codes, we must start trusting Jesus and His finished work for us on the Cross. In that freedom, we can appreciate and rejoice in the beauty of those around us, seeing that beauty as a testament to our Beautiful Creator.

Grace & peace,

Your Brother Behind the Mask

Light of Life.

I'm a mess.

Okay, yeah, I am an emotional mess at times, but I'm also quite messy in a very literal sense. My room is in a constant cycle of clean, cluttered, choas, "Hoarders" film crew, clean, cluttered, choas, etc. ad infinitum. Sometimes I have to fight with my laundry for space on my bed. Forget monsters hiding in the closet, there are some dust bunnies lurking in there that could devour my friend's chihuahua (which wouldn't ruin my day).

Note: Not actually a picture of my room.

But here's the beautiful thing about my room...it has a door. My room has a door, and I can close that door (most of the time...sometimes I have to move some boxes first.) 

"Hey man, can I run upstairs and grab that DVD?"

"Errr...hold on. I'll get it."

"No it's okay, I can get it. Just tell me where it is."

"Trust me. I'll get it. Something might fall on you."

Yes, that door stays closed 24/7, because you never know when an unsuspecting guest might wander in...and nobody has time for a lawsuit. Ha, but seriously, as long as nobody else ever sees my room, what difference does it make? Right?

Plus, I can then devote that time and energy to making sure the rest of the house is presentable. Not spotless, of course, but presentable. My kitchen is actually pretty clean. (Girls have told me this. I have witnesses.) Odds and ends occasionally start to accumulate in the living room, but before long, that pile gets gathered up and dumped behind the closed door of my room. It's the rug I sweep everything under...the mask for my mess.

Aha! Do you smell that? I think it's a metaphor! 

Unfortunately, like my room, it's easy for me to get lost and bogged down in my metaphors, so... Wait, we're doing meta-metaphor now? This must stop. 

Apologies.

As I've written before, life inside the closet of same-sex attraction gets less and less comfortable as I spend more and more time outside its confines. The more people with whom I share this part of my story, the harder it is to keep up the charade with everyone else. It's like coming home after a long hike...you don't realize how tired and sore your feet really were until you take off your boots. You've been wearing them all day without really noticing, but now that they're off, the last thing you want to do is put them right back on. 

Just like my bedroom door, my "closet" door hides a whole lot of crap that I don't really want people to see. I've been in ministry for the past few years, and I'm currently training for future ministry. One day, Lord willing, I will be a pastor. I've had and will have people coming to me for spiritual guidance. They can't know what's behind this door. They just can't. If they did, they wouldn't listen to a word I said. Right? 

Pastors are supposed to minister to people with same-sex attraction, not actually struggle with it themselves. Sure, it helps for pastors to be open about their own weakness, but not this open...not this weak. Right? 

Hopefully this is sounding ridiculous. It certainly feels ridiculous as I type it out, but this is what runs through my head. This is what's lodged in my heart. This is what keeps my closet door closed.

I've recently moved to a new city, and I'm starting a new life chapter. There are a lot of exciting things happening, and I'm seeing God at work, leading me down this path. For the first time, I'm fully convinced that my anonymity is temporary. I don't know just long or short the road will be, but I'm on the road to full openness and honesty about my story. Sure, that scares the heck out of me, but I just can't see any other alternative.

A life lived in a closet is a life lived in darkness. All kinds of nasty things thrive in the darkness. It's there, in the darkness, that they remain hidden, under the radar. I remember the old gymnasium where my middle school basketball team used to play. Some of us would show up early to help the coach set things up. There was an old maintenance closet where they kept the big dust mops, and none of us wanted that job. You'd reach in, flick on the lights, and... [shudder]

Roaches. Everywhere. Skittering. Scattering. Scuttling...

For a few moments, there was panic. There was terror. Revulsion. Occasionally a disoriented little monster would come charging toward us, in which case there was also embarrassment.

But then they were gone. With that forsaken closet flooded in dim yellow fluorescence, the roaches didn't dare show their disgusting little carcasses. If they did, they were immediately dispatched. The problem was that we always had to leave. We had to turn the light back off and close the door. The roaches could return to their revolting celebration.

But what if we didn't have to turn off the light? What if we didn't have to close the door? What if we didn't even need a door? What if we could put in a window and let in some fresh air and sunshine? What if we could start unpacking some of the boxes of crap and odds and ends that had been piled and left in there for who-knows-how-many years? What if we could let more people in?

John writes in 1 John 1:7 that "if we walk in the light, as [God] is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us from all sin."

When light pierces through darkness, when the curtain is torn away, the mess has nowhere to hide. It must flee or be dealt with.

When we walk in the light, when we live our lives outside the darkness of our cozy little closets, there is nowhere to hide. There is nowhere to nurture our secret sins and self-pity. When we walk in the light, people see us. They see our lives, they see our stories, and they see our mess...but they also see Jesus.

When we walk in the light, we welcome others to do the same. When we walk together in the light, then we have fellowship.

We're no longer trying to relate to each other's masks and affectations. We're relating to each other. We invite each other into our stories, and we challenge and encourage each other on the road to godliness. We give and experience grace, reflecting the matchless grace of our Savior.

Darkness is the enemy of fellowship. It's the enemy of grace and the enemy of peace. Darkness keeps us isolated. It keeps us isolated from God, from each other, and even from ourselves.

I think it's time to start opening this closet door wider, and the time may soon come when I'll step out once and for all. He has given me a story, and He's given me a voice. Most importantly, He's given me His grace. I'm beginning to realize that these weren't intended to sit under a bushel or behind the mask of an anonymous blog. He's also given me a name, and He's given me a face. It's the face of a redeemed child of God, washed clean by the blood of His Son. It's a face that will soon be attached to this story, a story that is similar to so many others.

It'll be a process. This isn't something that happens overnight. There is a lot of prayer, a lot of thought, and many conversations with friends and loved ones that need to happen. But it's happening. I feel like I've been caught up in a current that's carrying me forward, a current I didn't mean to stumble into. I don't have much control over it, but I know Who does.

And I'm excited. There will be bumps. There will be times I'm anything but excited, but this is clearly the path God has laid out for me. The signs are unmistakable.

So no name and no face today. I'm not sure exactly when...but soon. I love the line at the top
of this blog from the hymn "I Heard the Voice of Jesus Say." (That's why I put it there.)

"I looked to Jesus and I found in Him my star, my sun. And in that light of life I'll walk 'til pilgrim days are done."

A pilgrim's journey is long, difficult, and sometimes dangerous. If he's travelling alone, it's also quite lonely. It's his purpose, his goal, his destination that keeps him going. If God is calling me to a life of faithful celibacy, then there are indeed some pilgrim days ahead. Even if that's not His plan, as I travel this road ahead, I need companions. I need community. I need friends who, like Samwise, will pick me up and carry me when I feel I can go no further. I also need friends who will need the same from me.

Most importantly, though...I need light. I need the light of life. I need the light of life that comes directly from the source, from Jesus, my star and my sun.

I'm excited and terrified all at once, but I have peace. I may not know the way I go, but oh, I know my Guide. His Love can never fail.

Grace & peace,

Your Brother who remains, for now, Behind the Mask

Cozy Closet.

My closet is cozy. It's safe, it's warm...it's familiar. 

Yeah, dude, looks like you're having a great time out there, but no thanks, I'm perfectly happy right here...in my closet. I like it in here. I do. I promise. Really.

If you've ever seen my bedroom, you of course realize I'm referring to my proverbial "closet." My real closet smells funny...and there may be animals in there. I don't know. Ignorance is bliss.

But no...my cozy closet is the one I've lived in my entire life; the doors that hide my sexual orientation from the world. For years, these doors have convinced all my loved ones that I'm straight--straighter than an arrow, in fact. I'm always a little proud of myself when a friend tells me, "wow...I had no idea" after I come out to them. You're darn right you had no idea. I got this closet business down to an art form.

The closet doors cracked open for the first time in college--late college. I told my pastor that I was attracted to guys. I was terrified, but he responded with grace and compassion. It was the first time I'd ever shared this burden with anyone, and it was incredibly liberating. I thought I was done. Okay, I told someone! Glad that's over with...

I had cracked the door. I let a sliver of light pierce the darkness. I had let someone peek inside, someone I trusted deeply. Now I could close the door back and go on with my life, right? I told my pastor over and over that I was a heterosexual guy who just so happened to struggle with same-sex attraction...like I had struggled with acne. This was just a little bump in the road--something to overcome on my quest to find my hot Christian wife and make adorable Christian babies.

As I finished college and moved on, I told a handful of other people...mostly other pastors or mentors. I was looking for accountability. Nothing else. I needed people who would ask me the hard questions, but I didn't want those people to get too close. If my family and closest friends knew, well...that could just change my life, couldn't it?

You see, as constricting as this mask can be at times, I love my life. Sometimes I forget I'm attracted to other guys. I forget how difficult the road ahead will be; I'm too busy playing my part. I love talking to friends about their relationships. I love talking to friends about my relationships--about the girls I've dated, the girls I want to date. I'm constantly referring to my future wife, my future kids. This is the future I've always dreamed of. It's comfortable. It's cozy. It makes everyone happy. It's not me.

While the world watches me talk of future wedded bliss, I'm silently coming to grips with the fact that wedding bells might never ring for me. I get pissed when friends assume I'm actively seeking a mate, and I forget that I've given them no reason to believe otherwise.

So what's the big deal? There's plenty of people who get married later in life. Some people never do. Why can't I just continue with the act? I've done it this long. Why can't I just tell a few people, a small inner-circle of trusted mentors, and go about my business? Why tell people this secret? Why share this burden? This closet is cozy. It's comfortable. People like me in here.

Someone shared this quote with me not too long ago. It's from Timothy Keller, a pastor in Manhattan.

“To be loved but not known is comforting but superficial. To be known and not loved is our greatest fear. But to be fully known and truly loved is, well, a lot like being loved by God. It is what we need more than anything.”

I think he's talking about marriage in this particular context, but what about those of us who are unmarried--those of us who might remain so for a very long time? Possibly forever? I identify deeply with his first statement. I'm loved by many, but known by so few. So many don't know this huge part of my story.

Their love is comforting, and they really do love me. But locked away in my closet, their love bounces right off the closed doors of my heart.

Recently, one of my best guy friends was asking me repeatedly if I was still pursuing a certain lady, the one I had seemed so sure about. I said no. He asked why not. I didn't know what to say. Did something go wrong? Was I not attracted to her? I tried to change the subject. I either had to clam up and act like a middle-school boy afraid to talk about his crush...or lie to one of my best friends. I hated it. I certainly didn't blame him. He was asking very valid questions to his friend...his friend who had very convincingly led him to believe they were valid questions. 

Now you're thinking: "Wait, you could still answer those questions honestly. Just tell him no, you weren't attracted to her. That's honest, right?" Yeah. Technically. But there's so much more to the story. So much more at play. Do you know how hard it is not to talk about something like this with your best friend? To have to choose your words so carefully and not actually share the enormous burden weighing on your heart? Could I so simply say, "Yeah, I guess she's just not the one" and leave it there? I wouldn't let my friends get away with nonsense like that...would you? 

This guy had been an incredible friend to me, but his love felt superficial. Not because it actually was superficial, but because I wouldn't let him in. Way deep down, I was afraid that if he really knew me, he wouldn't love me. Story of my life.

So yes. I finally told him. And it was very good. He is a very good friend.

This was just one conversation of a growing number. Over the last few months, I've been sharing my full story with more and more people. I have a list of "those who know," and that list currently has 13 names. The list of "those to tell" is quite a bit longer, and yes, my family is at the top of that list.

It's scary to open those doors. Once you tell someone, you can never un-tell him. You can't say "never mind" and run back inside. But that's friendship. Friendship isn't hiding...it's vulnerability. It's honesty. It's openness. It's loving someone in the middle of his brokenness. It's bringing all your shit to the table and letting him love you.

I've been blessed way beyond what I deserve. God has given me wonderful, supportive friends. That list of 13 names includes many dear brothers and sisters who have each listened to my story, sometimes in tears, always in love. Despite all their many words of encouragement, it's been their actions that have spoken the loudest, that have most pointed me to Jesus. They have continued to treat me as a friend, as a brother, as...me. They have embraced me. They have told me they loved me. They have wept with me, laughed with me, and walked with me.

I've been taught my whole life that Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so. I've been taught that Jesus sees me to my core. He knows my deepest, darkest places, and he loves me...delights in me! All this I've been taught, and I've believed it. But what takes this knowledge from theological abstraction to tangible experience?

After my conversation with this good friend, as I rose to leave, he hugged me. He told me he loved me, and in that moment, I knew Jesus loved me too. The love of Christ was made tangible for me through the love of my brother in Christ. This has happened now time and again...from all these brothers and sisters who know my story...through embraces, conversations, emails, and even text messages.

My closet is very cozy, but every time I leave it, no matter how briefly, it's a little less comfortable when I return. It seems smaller, more cluttered, more...artificial. It smells a little worse (a little more like my real bedroom closet?) I curl back up on the floor, go back to my same patterns, my same lines. It feels so familiar, but yet so fake.

But right now, it's where I live...and for now, that's okay. It's a whole lot more bearable now that friends know where to find me.

When the closet door is open, my sin has nowhere to hide. Satan's lie (that no one really loves me, least of all Jesus) stops holding water. As I tell my story, I can also tell God's Story...the Story of Redemption.

It's scary. It really is. I don't know just how far these doors are going to open. Will I someday be locked out of my cozy little closet, unable to return? I have no idea, but I know Who does:

"I may not know the way I go, but oh, I know my Guide."

I'll trust my Guide with the future. Right now, I'll just keep inching that door open. The Light is hitting my face, and it feels glorious.



Grace & peace,

Your Brother Behind the Mask