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

Prejudice.

It was a little after 9:00 on a cold, Chicago winter night. Our college group was spending a week serving, learning, and living on the city's South Side with a local ministry, and we had just finished dinner at a couple's home. As we walked the few blocks back to the ministry's office, a woman came around the corner. She gave us one look, and, in a low voice, she warned, "You boys watch out. There's a cop back there." 

I was confused. Watch out? For a cop? Why did we need to watch out for a cop? In fact, I felt safer knowing that cop was there, because...well...you know. We were a group of white kids wearing expensive clothes walking through a black neighborhood late at night. Surely we weren't the ones the cops should be looking out for!

But then it dawned on me. I remembered what the ministry staff had told us earlier that week. White kids from the suburbs do come to this inner-city neighborhood on a regular basis. They come to buy drugs.

It suddenly made sense. I wanted to turn around and chase down this woman. I wanted to say, "Wait a minute! You have it all wrong! You think that we're here to buy drugs...just because we're white? As if that's the only reason we'd ever be in your neighborhood?"

Those words that I wanted to say, those perceptions and assumptions I wanted to correct...it all stuck with me for a few days. It made me uncomfortable, but as I reflected on that discomfort, I realized that it was temporary. It was limited. It was localized. At the end of the day, it didn't really impact my life.

In just a few days, I would be leaving this neighborhood and returning to my life in the majority. I would return to no longer worrying about society pre-judging me and my motives by the color of my skin. Store clerks would not watch me any more closely than anyone else when I went shopping. People would not lock their car doors when I passed by. Overzealous neighbors would not follow me with a gun when I walked around my neighborhood.

My mom never had to have the talk with me about how to avoid being seen as a threat simply by existing somewhere. I've never thought twice about getting into an elevator with a white woman...or anyone, for that matter. When driving through the gate of my Christian college after midnight, my friends and I could hold up slices of cheese instead of our school ID cards, and the security guard would simply wave us through, chuckling.

As I reflect on the aftermath of the Trayvon Martin verdict, I'm realizing just how much I don't understand. 

It's one thing for me, as a white man, to say, "this isn't about race!" It's another for me to realize that for thousands of my fellow Americans and brothers & sisters in Christ...it is most definitely about race. It's one thing for me, as a member of the majority, to say, "I don't care what color you are! It makes no difference to me!" It's another for me to realize that many of my fellow Americans and brothers & sisters in Christ care very deeply about what color they are...that it makes a very big difference to them.

It's one thing for me to say, "Justice was served! It was a trial by a jury of peers! Let's accept the decision and move on." It's another for me to realize that, regardless of the trial's legitimacy, the verdict does nothing to calm or assuage the deep-seated fear and pain of these fellow Americans, my brothers & sisters in Christ. If anything, the verdict confirms those fears, it intensifies the pain, and my callous words of color-blindness only spit in their wounds. 

If I'm going to love my brothers and sisters of different races, I don't need to explain and argue to them why I'm not prejudiced. I don't need to tell them why my words weren't intended to be hurtful and why they should give me the benefit of the doubt. I need to be quiet. I need to reflect. I need to pray. I need to cry. I need to sit beside and stand in solidarity. I need to listen. I need to listen a lot. I need to keep listening until I think I can't bear to hear anymore, and then I need to keep listening. 

Then...maybe then...I can speak.

I don't understand prejudice. I don't understand race relations in America. I can't understand the depth of pain and fear and anger generated by George Zimmerman's not-guilty verdict. I don't know what a black mother feels now every time her teenage son walks out the door.

But I can't be content to sit here in this lack of understanding. I must listen, I must ask questions, and I must learn. I must be willing to admit that I've been blind, that I've been callous...that I've been wrong. I must let myself be shaped by the love of our Savior, love that isn't color-blind, but love that sees and values the beauty of diversity he created...diversity that leads us to greater unity. 

I'll admit, as I move towards greater openness with my story as a same-sex attracted Christian...I fear some elements of prejudice myself. You may be aware of the stereotype that gay men have a far greater tendency to be pedophiles. This stereotype, as false as it is, has already left deep scars on my soul. "Maybe I can't be trusted," my subconscious whispers. "Maybe I am just a sex-obsessed reprobate." What will people think if I sign up to serve in the nursery or with the youth group? As I deal with the deeply painful prospect of never raising and loving kids of my own, I find myself avoiding opportunities to love and care for other people's kids for fear of being misjudged or drawing suspicion. Now yes, of course, I am a sinner. I am capable of just as much sin as you are, and I must rely on the grace of Christ just as much as you do, but this stereotype has slowly led me and many others to believe the lie that we're much more capable of sin than anyone else. Not only are we more broken...we're more dangerous.

I want to be very careful about equating my experience with that of racial minorities in this country. But I do want to add my voice as we speak about the deeply painful impact of harmful stereotypes. For a black man to have to explain why he doesn't want to shoot or steal from you...for a gay man to have to explain why he doesn't want to molest your kids...can we get a sense of the deeply dehumanizing effect that can have? 

There's a lot I don't understand about racism and racial prejudice, but I want to learn. Before I speak, I need to listen. Before I claim my innocence, I need to consider where I might be complicit...or even guilty. I need friends of different races and cultures who can tell me their stories, who can teach me, who can show me different aspects of the gospel that I've never seen.

I humbly ask for the same thing as the Church moves forward in its conversation on sexuality. I ask you to listen. I encourage you to build friendships with those of different sexual orientations, not to prove that you hang out with sinners like Jesus did, not to preach and convince, but to listen...to learn...to love and be loved yourself. Whether or not your beliefs or political positions change, you will be able to engage in the conversation in a way that truly reflects the love of our Savior. You will no longer just speak theoretically of "gay people," but you will have names and faces and stories....names and faces and stories of people who you love and who love you back.

As I do the same, as I seek out friends of different races and ethnicities, when I discuss the Trayvon Martin case, I won't just think of a generic "them." I will think of names and faces and stories and tears. I will think of people I care about so deeply that their pain becomes my pain.

Christians are called to identify with the outcast, to stand with the oppressed and seek justice.

We're called to weep with those who weep, to mourn with those mourn. Right now, the African-American community is mourning. It's hurting. What will our response be, people of God?

Let's start by listening.

Grace & peace,

Your Brother Behind the Mask

***In the spirit of this post, I welcome your feedback. If you feel that something I've written lacks sensitivity or understanding, if I have a blind spot...I'll be the first to admit that I don't always understand. I welcome your thoughts and challenges, either in the comment section or via email at behind.the.mask.blog1@gmail.com. 

Belonging.

My heart pounded as I shifted my weight from foot to foot. I stood before the director and his assistant in the otherwise empty room, waiting nervously for the accompaniment to start and trying to avoid eye contact. I had been convinced to audition for a role in a local high school production, but I was starting to think I'd made a big mistake. 

It wasn't the singing or acting that had me so worried, though. I was entirely outside my comfort zone. I only knew a few of the other people auditioning. This wasn't my crowd. My school didn't have a drama club. I wasn't a "drama kid." Sure, I had always been a fan of musicals, but I was a basketball player. I didn't know the theater lingo or etiquette. I didn't understand the inside jokes. I had never heard of "Wicked." I was an outsider. 

A piece of me dies every time I remember this scene.

It was my own High School Musical story...except I wasn't particularly stellar at basketball, I wasn't all that great at singing or dancing, my hair looked nothing like Zac Efron's, and thankfully, none of our basketball practices ever involved choreography.

There was another component to my discomfort too. While many of my fellow cast members were also believers...many were not. Up until that point in my life, my social circles pretty much consisted of church friends and classmates at my small Christian school. It was my first time in a social environment that wasn't specifically religious, and that kind of freaked me out.

I'm not entirely sure why it freaked me out. I don't know what I was scared of. Maybe it was because I knew how the kids in my Christian school tended to treat people who were different. Maybe it was because I knew how I treated outsiders--no open hostility, of course, but polite indifference. And if we were the Christians, how would they treat me now that the tables were turned?

I had bought in to the narrative that the real intolerant people were the unbelievers, the liberals, the secularists. They preached tolerance for everyone except for us, the oppressed moral majority.

Imagine my surprise when I ventured outside my Christian bubble and found a greater sense of welcome and belonging than I ever had back inside.

I'm not even talking about my sexual orientation here. I was still in deep denial about that, and not another soul knew about the battle raging in the deep, dark corners of my heart. No...I just mean welcome. Plain, old-fashioned welcome. I mean coming in as an outsider and almost immediately feeling like an insider, without having to prove anything first.

What a concept, huh?

For the first time in my life, I had friends who weren't religious. I had friends who didn't go to church on Sunday, didn't know who John Piper was...friends who didn't know all the words to "Here I am to Worship" or the Veggie Tales theme song. Some of these new friends were believers but had grown up with unbelieving friends; they were used to the tension.

These friends didn't make me earn my place among them. They were themselves around me, and thus, I felt free to be myself around them. They invited me to parties...and no, not wild, drunken parties with Top-40 hits and cigarettes, but pool parties and movie parties. We watched musicals, and for the first time, I could sing along without shame because everyone else was singing along too. We didn't "hit any clubs," but they took me to Applebee's for my birthday and we stayed until after midnight, laughing, talking, and eating enormous brownie sundaes. They liked me. They appreciated me, and they went out of their way to let me know that.

This is not a story about poor-little-outcast-me, because for all the lack of acceptance or affirmation I felt in my Christian bubble, I was just as guilty. I can't tell you how many "do-overs" I wish I could have, for people I hurt with my words, my anger, my arrogance, my judgment. I thought that I was a welcoming person, but my welcome was limited to those who got with the program and conformed to our system. If they wanted to play our game with our rules, then sure, they could join our team. Otherwise, it was live-and-let-live.

Of course, for the sake of illustration, I'm painting a rather black-and-white picture (please see note at the bottom**). I'm leaving out some important nuances. I had some very loving and accepting Christian friends, and I knew many non-Christians who were anything but loving and accepting.

But nuance aside, this is how I felt:

In my Christian school and church circles, I felt like I had to perform, to fit a mold, to play a part in order to be accepted. In my eagerness to be accepted, to have others seek my acceptance, I only continued the vicious cycle. 

In my non-religious theater circle, I didn't feel like I had to perform (well, except on stage). I felt like I could be myself, that my self was welcomed and valued, and that I could be honest. I didn't have to earn my way in. I was already in. 

Which circle do you think I was most drawn to?

What if the Church was seen as a place of such welcome? What if people knew that they didn't have earn their way into our fellowship and community? What if, simply by showing up, they knew they were already in?

I'm not talking about church membership. I'm not talking about changing our beliefs our softening our doctrinal standards. I'm certainly not talking about watering down the gospel, because I believe this kind of welcome is the fruit of a gospel-rooted heart.

We have to be able to say, "You are welcome here" and "We love you" as complete, stand-alone sentences. Not "you are welcome here, if..." or "We love you, but..." There is a time and a place for so-called "tough love," but it is not at the beginning. When we open with our list of must's and must-not's, we're communicating that people have to clean themselves up before they can come join us, and that lie of the devil then gets attributed, by association, to Jesus.

Jesus, who didn't require a public apology from the prostitute before he let her wash his feet with her tears.

Jesus, who told the woman caught in adultery to go and sin no more, but who did so after publicly defending her against the judgment of the religious leaders.

Jesus, who called the selfish, swindling Zacchaeus down from the tree and invited himself over to his house for supper, bewildering and infuriating the religious elites.

Jesus, who called you and me out of our own slavery before we could do anything to earn it ourselves. 

from the "Jesus Storybook Bible"

We must stop excusing our arrogant, Pharisaical behavior, and we must stop excusing our kids. Maybe our church's teenagers are faithfully attending youth group and Bible studies. Maybe they've all signed True Love Waits pledge cards and listen to Christian music. Maybe they don't drink, smoke, chew, or go with girls/boys that do, but this is not mission accomplished. 

Have their hearts been transformed by the grace of Christ? Are they welcoming to other students who aren't like them? When they're at school, are they standing up for the bullied and ostracized? Maybe they memorize Bible verses, but is there evidence of heart change? Maybe they don't cuss or tell dirty jokes, but are they telling jokes that are hurtful or demeaning to people who are different? Are their lives moving toward the outsiders or the insiders?

Which teenager is closer to the Kingdom of God? The one who has kissed dating goodbye and is outspoken about his Christian values (that was me)...or the one who sits down and eats lunch with the openly gay kid who came to school that morning with his eyes red from crying? (that was not me)

Now I understand that these two scenarios aren't mutually exclusive, but we continue to celebrate and promote this "outspoken" Christian witness to our youth over and above the sometimes unspoken witness of a life rooted in the radical grace of God. We beam with pride when our young people follow in our footsteps of culture war, rather than the footsteps of Christ...footsteps that lead to love, to sacrifice, to the Cross.

Yes, we must continue to preach a message of holiness and obedience to our youth, but that message must include the call to love the outcast, to welcome the outsider, to defend the defenseless. Imagine if hurting young people, especially hurting young people who carry the shame of same-sex attraction (like me), found in our churches the same kind of warmth and welcome and belonging that I found in that drama club.

We don't have to choose between truth and love. We don't have to emphasize either justice or mercy. All of these are united in the person and work of Jesus Christ. We don't have to choose between "fixing" same-sex orientations (like Exodus International) or "celebrating" them (like Glee). The gospel calls our churches to be even more open and welcoming than the Glee club, and even more committed to the truth of Scripture than Exodus International. 

For this, we pray.

Grace & peace,

Your Brother Behind the Mask


**Re: the missing nuance from this piece. I'm writing this note in 2016, and I want to reiterate the point that I was purposefully painting a black-and-white picture for this piece. I want to make it perfectly clear that I had wonderful friends in my church and Christian school who loved me well, loved me unconditionally, celebrated me, enjoyed me, etc. I could not have survived high school without these friends, and I know, without a doubt, that had I decided to come out to them in high school, they would not have rejected me. They probably would have been even better friends to me had I let them that far inside my world. I love them fiercely, and I am so thankful for them. 

---------------------------------

(Update 8/18/16): Below are some pictures from my summer with the theater kids...Summer Stock Theater's 2005 production of "Beauty and the Beast."

Me & Belle

Me, Charlana, & Mimi (a.k.a. the Wardrobe and Silly Girl #2)

Practicing "Be Our Guest"

The Whole Gang

Casualties.

Every war has unintended casualties. 

Military commanders may try to limit civilian deaths, but it's inevitable that innocents will be caught in the crosshairs of almost any armed conflict. World War 1 alone left more than 6.5 million civilians dead across the European continent. 6.5 million. That's the whole state of Tennessee. And what exactly was accomplished by World War 1? We're still not entirely sure.

The Culture Wars are no different. The battle lines are drawn. The trenches are dug. Opposing sides take aim...and fire. Victories and half-victories are won...or at least proclaimed. Just like scorched ruins of Europe's cities, devastating destruction is left behind...and for what exactly?

We find ourselves in the heat of yet another Culture War battle. It's a battle that's been raging for quite some time, but the recent decision by Boy Scouts of America to allow openly gay scouts has touched off quite a firestorm. 

You don't have a war without warriors, though. So who exactly are the warriors in this Boy Scout battle? Let's take a look... [emphasis added]

• Al Mohler, president of Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, wrote on Wednesday, "The culture wars came to the Boy Scouts many years ago. For the last few decades, the Boy Scouts have had to fight battles with both secularists and homosexual activists."

• Back in March, Texas Gov. Rick Perry made headlines by going after Madonna, who had recently dressed up in a Cub Scout uniform and called the organization's ban on gays "stupid."

• Yesterday, Bryan Fischer of the American Family Association tweeted: "BSA now stands for Boy Sodomizers of America, because that's what will happen. Mark my words."

• Michelangelo Signorile, editor-at-large for Huffington Post's Gay Voices, wrote last month, "the BSA must be considered an enemy of civil rights. Any parents in good conscience must continue to realize what they are a party to by enrolling their kids in an organization whose policies would help drive hostility toward a minority group."

Wow. So what we have here is a fight between homosexual activists and an enemy of civil rights. Sodomizers and secularists joining forces against the backward, "stupid" Boy Scouts. We see opposing crusaders as diverse as the Governor of Texas and the Queen of Pop.

Of course, both sides are guilty of wildly overblown rhetoric and unhelpful caricature, but I'm much more concerned with the response of the church. Why?

FIRST-- Important disclaimer: I certainly don't claim to speak for the entire Church. Many committed followers of Christ find themselves on different sides of this issue. However, as a conservative, evangelical Christian of the reformed tradition, I am saddened particularly by the responses of many who share my little corner of Christendom. 

I realize the evangelical church isn't waging this culture war single-handedly, but far too many of our churches are ready allies in this shock-and-awe, scorched-earth campaign against the "homosexual agenda." We shoot first and ask questions later. We launch our theological missiles at the "homosexual activists", secularists, and other assorted degenerates we see on the news. We forget the real boys and real girls that are collateral damage in our war of words and litigation. 

Boys and girls with names, faces, and stories. 

Boys and girls who didn't sign up to be soldiers in a culture war.

Boys and girls who look an awful lot like you and me.

What's missing in so much of the pro-gay-ban rhetoric is any acknowledgement that these gay scouts are real boys, not just simple pawns in a chess match.

Tony Perkins of the Family Research Council wrote last month that "this decision would send the wrong signal from the national body: that political correctness ultimately triumphs over character...Scouting has never been about political correctness. Making it so today would have disastrous results for the organization." 

Is that really what this is about? Political correctness? What about the life-long scout who fulfills all of his Eagle Scout requirements only to be denied the honor because he chooses not to hide his sexual orientation? Is this debate about political correctness for him? Is he trying to advance the "gay agenda" or does he just want the final honor that he's spent much of his childhood striving for, like all his fellow scouts? Is he an activist or a just a responsible teenager? Do we view him as an enemy solider or an image-bearer of God? It's an important question, because an enemy solider demands our firepower, but an image-bearer of God demands our love.

Here's the thing: the Boy Scouts are not condoning homosexual activity. They maintain that no form of sexual activity, gay or straight, is acceptable for a scout. They are not trying to teach a deviant sexual ethic or advance a political agenda...they are giving their scouts the freedom to be honest about themselves. Part of growing up and becoming a man is learning how to deal graciously with people who are different than you, and thus, becoming a healthy and productive member of society.

In the wake of the BSA's decision, thousands of Christian scouting families are mulling their options. There is talk among some like-minded families opposed to the change of forming a new "character development organization for boys," and many other church-based scouting programs are expecting boosts in membership from scouts leaving the BSA. Of course, families have the right to enroll their children in the programs of their choice...but what message does this mass exodus send? As families boycott the Boy Scouts, what message are the boys hearing, both those who leave and those who stay?

Mark Makela for the New York Times

This New York Times photo shows the smiling Mackey family of Pennsylvania. One son is an Eagle Scout, three are currently involved in scouting, and the youngest is hoping to join one day. According to the Times, "All the sons said they were willing to abandon the Boy Scouts if openly gay members were allowed." I've never met the Mackey family, and I don't know what they believe. However, are these the values that we really want to instill in our children? --If they are included, then I will leave-- Maybe we as adults can grasp the complexity at work here, but what is being ingrained and reinforced into the worldview of these young boys? "I am respected for standing against 'the gays.'" Not for standing against homosexuality, but against homosexuals. Fellow scouts. Their friends.

Maybe the homosexual-oriented scouts aren't the only "civilian casualties" of this culture war battle. Maybe we are also harming these other boys by elevating the virtues of purity and personal righteousness over those of humility and social righteousness. The Old Testament prophets had some things to say about that...

Tony Perkins continued, "An organization that teaches character, courage, and conviction shouldn't be exploited for the purpose of sexualized political correctness. For decades, the BSA has kept the interest of the boys it serves as the focus of all its actions." 

What about the character of humility and compassion? What about the courage to be honest about your story or struggle in an organization where such simple honesty is frowned upon as activism? What about the conviction that we are called to love those who are different than us...even those who might consider themselves our enemies? What about the boys already involved in Scouts who are gay? Is this ban really in their best interest? Are they not some of the boys who could benefit most from scouting?

To be fair, Mohler does cut the BSA a little bit of slack: "We must sympathize with the organization's rightful hope to include as many boys as possible within its honored and respected program. At this point, we should remember that homosexual scouts and scouts with any number of sexual confusions have always been involved in Scouting. But this new policy relates to openly homosexual youth. Bringing that advocacy within an organization for boys is both unwise and calamitous."

I'm glad Dr. Mohler recognizes the fact that there are plenty of homosexual-oriented boys already in the BSA who must remain silent (although I would argue this imposed silence is more harmful to these boys than he might imagine) I also agree that some scouts and leaders will likely use this policy change as a platform to advance their political or social agenda...which I agree is harmful to the organization. Boy Scouts is no place for political agendas. 

But here's where we come back to the main point. I don't deny that there's a real honest discussion to be had here. I'm not saying that lifting the ban will or won't be a great decision in the long run. I'm not here to fight the war...for either side. I'm here to say "please watch out for the civilians! for the innocents!" No matter how much Madonna tries to hog the spotlight, Madonna is not the real face of this issue. Neither is the American Family Association. It's not the men wearing leather and waving rainbow flags or the Southern Baptist Convention. It's so easy to get sucked into battle-mode. We see outlandish activists and demonstrations, we hear dramatic speeches and rhetoric, and we instinctively reach for our weapons. 

We take to our platforms and pulpits to fire back at the enemy. We drop bombs. Big bombs. We can't look weak. We have to send a strong message to the other side. But it's not just the "homosexual activists" who receive this message...it's also the scared and confused young kids sitting in our church pews and on our youth room couches every week who hear our message loud and clear. 

We've so caricatured the other side that our perceived enemies hardly resemble reality anymore. We're firing nuclear missiles at Madonna and flamboyant drag queens, when it's the lonely and confused 16-year-old boy, with no one he can talk to, who is absorbing the full impact of our warfare.

Maybe some scouts or scout leaders will take this as an opportunity to push a political agenda. I hope not, but of course, that's a real possibility. However, in our efforts to thwart an agenda, let's not sacrifice the boys caught in the middle who really are struggling with their sexual identity, struggling with who God made them to be and what He expects of them. And let's also not sacrifice the boys who need to learn the importance of love and compassion toward their fellow man in addition to the importance of truth and piety.

Yes, as Christians, we must engage the conversation. We need to be a part of the discussion, and we need to be honest. There are dangerous worldviews out there that must be challenged, and there is innocence that must be protected. However, we must limit our warfare to appropriate levels and accurate targets. 

I love these words from the hymn "O Church Arise,", describing the nature of the Church's "war." 

With shield of faith and belt of truth
We'll stand against the devil's lies;
An army bold whose battle cry is "Love!"
Reaching out to those in darkness.

Our call to war, to love the captive soul,
But to rage against the captor;
And with the sword that makes the wounded whole
We will fight with faith and valor.

We have proven ourselves excellent at mobilizing as an army...but is our battle cry "Love"?  We've shown ourselves adept at waving our swords...but are we wielding the sword that makes the wounded whole? 

Yes, we must stand against the devil's lies. We must rage against the captor. But if in our fervor we start causing collateral damage, we should not be silenced by political correctness, but we should be silenced by love. We should silence ourselves for a season to seek God's guidance on continuing the fight in a way that truly loves the captive soul and seeks to make the wounded whole.

I've never been a Boy Scout, so maybe that takes away some of my credibility here.

But I do know what it feels like to grow up with sexual attractions that I don't understand, that I didn't ask for. I do know what it feels like to live a lie, to have to pretend...to live in fear of being discovered. I know what it feels like to be drafted as a soldier in a war I didn't sign up for. 

I also know the freedom that has come from sharing my struggle with my friends and loved ones. I know the ways I've seen Jesus in the love and support of my friends. I know the ways my friends have learned and grown from me sharing this part of my life with them.

I know I am a better man today because I've been started being honest with others about my sexual orientation. I know I have seen Jesus more clearly in the process, and I've grown to be more like him. I know how I've seen sinful behaviors lose their grasp in the light of Christian community. I know I've learned to be more Christ-like toward those who are different than me or those I disagree with. I know I am more convinced of the Truth of the gospel now than I have ever been before.

It's my prayer that all young men who share my struggle would know these same things, and it's my prayer that the Boy Scouts of America would be a place where all young men could learn these things in a safe environment, with friends and mentors to show them the unconditional Christ-like love that should characterize any organization claiming His Name.

Friends, there is indeed a war to be fought. There is a war going on for the souls of men and women all around us, men and women and children who are lost and searching for hope. Let's focus on this war, a war that will only be won with the self-sacrificial love of Christ. When our weapon is Love, casualties are a good thing...a very good thing, indeed.

Grace and peace,

Your Brother Behind the Mask

Denial.

Spring had sprung at my little Christian college. The dogwoods were blooming, and the frisbees were flying. Blankets, textbooks, and [usually] Bibles were spread out all over the grass. If you listened closely, you could hear some basic guitar chords floating up from a bearded dude in a hammock.

And then were the couples...all the happy couples. There was essentially a line of them waiting to get their engagement pictures taken in front of the chapel.

Love was in the air...or maybe it was pollen. Either way, I couldn't breathe.

It seemed like Cupid was a sniper, perched on top on the library, methodically picking off my friends one by one. I tried to get his attention, but alas...I remained a witness at the scene of the crime.

I wanted a girlfriend. I wanted one bad. I wasn't looking for a cover-story or alibi...I was looking for love...for matrimony. I imagined how I would sweep her off her feet, how my epic proposal would blow every Hollywood proposal out of the water. I fantasized about our picture-perfect wedding...the little country church, all of our friends crowded around cheering. I thought about exotic honeymoon locales; I saw our little bungalow-style cottage in some cozy Southern suburb. I imagined our beautiful children, three of them...two boys and one girl...one golden retriever. I knew their names. I saw our family portrait hanging over the fireplace. It was a picture of perfection.

It was perfect. So perfect. I was going to be a godly husband and father to my perfectly beautiful family. It was so...right. Wasn't it? I was on the right path, in the right place, surrounded by hundreds of the right attractive, intelligent, godly, single young ladies--young ladies who wouldn't mind being a pastor's wife. The ratio was in my favor...two girls to every guy. As some of my friends would say (apologies ahead of time for this one), it was a target-rich environment.

There was only one problem. I wasn't all that attracted to the "targets." I was more attracted to the competition.

You'd think this would be a pretty big problem...a game changer, if you will. I mean, what exactly was I planning to do on this honeymoon? There's only so much sightseeing to be done before it starts getting awkward.

But I was oddly unworried by this obstacle. Nothing but a minor complication. Surely I could fake my way through some kissing while we were dating, and then, on the wedding night...well, once we were there and all...you know...I'm sure it'd all work out. Reading Joshua Harris books made me feel a lot better. If we could just be one of those super-godly Christian couples that didn't kiss until their wedding, it would be so easy! I wouldn't have to worry about the physical side of the relationship at all until the deal was done, and I'd get bonus points for my impeccable self-restraint.

I was in denial.

Good ole-fashioned denial...and I was in deep.


I mean, I knew that my friends weren't attracted to other guys like I was. I knew I was different. But I didn't want to be attracted to other guys. I didn't want to be different. Surely that had to count for something. I wasn't choosing this. I was fighting it...with everything I had in me, I was fighting it. It couldn't be true. It wasn't true. Don't you dare tell me I can't change it, because if I can't, well then I have no &@#$% idea what I'm supposed to do.

No...I couldn't admit it. Certainly not to anyone else, but not even to myself. I couldn't admit it because it scared the shit out of me. My only option was to bury my head in the sand and keep plowing ahead. Stay on track. Don't lose sight of the goal. Surely all the details would sort themselves out. If I just played the part, surely I would make it to that happy ending, to that perfect picture..

Midway through college, I started dating girls. As I'm sure you can imagine, this "play the part" approach didn't work too well. There was a lot of frustration, doubt, shame, anxiety, and ultimately...pain.

I never saw the absurdity of it all. I never let myself consider the implications. Of course I was straight. I was normal. I wasn't one of them. I was a Christian. I had grown up in church. I went to a Christian school. I won all the "Christian Character" awards. I led Bible studies. I didn't smoke or drink or cuss. I was a virgin. I was the guy all the parents wanted their sons to be like and their daughters to date. I wanted to find a nice Christian girl and start a nice Christian family. I wanted to be a pastor, for goodness' sake.

I would ask you, brothers and sisters, to enter into this absurdity. 

Enter into the story of a scared and lonely young man who desperately wants to change his attractions, his feelings...a young man who's terrified to even admit those feelings to himself.

Enter into his fear that if he even begins to admit those feelings to himself, it would send him down a long, dark path to destruction.

Enter into the confusion of trying to live a life that was not his. Remember all those important, formative conversations you [hopefully] had with your friends and family about relationships and crushes and dating and love...and imagine having to fudge and fake your way through all of it.

I'm not trying to stir up pity. I'm trying to paint a picture of the secret struggle of so many young people...young people sitting in the pews and youth rooms of your churches every week. Young people that you assume are "just fine" because they read their Bibles and have significant others. Young people whose worst fear is you finding out about their secret.

That might hurt. You might think, "Now wait a second! Why would they be afraid of me? They know me. They know I love them." That may be true. They may be well aware of your love, but still, they are afraid. They continue the charade, continuing to fool everyone, including themselves. Welcome to the confusing and complex world of same-sex attraction in the Church. 

But why? Why do they live like this? Why are they afraid of you...of us? Why are so many driven to depression, to addictions, to self-harm, to dangerous sexual behaviors? How can we, as the Church, begin to change this? How are we talking about sex and marriage in the Church, and is this helping or hurting? How are we talking about homosexuality? Why does this blog have to be anonymous? 

I'm not here to point fingers or throw stones. I love the Church, and I'm not going anywhere. I'm not a separatist, an enemy, an outsider. I'm not trying to advance "the gay agenda." I don't even know what that means.

I write to the Church...to my tribe...to the Body of Christ. I write to my friends, my mentors, my brothers and sisters, my family. I write to those ahead of me on the path of faithfulness, and I write to those behind. I write to those who share my struggle and to those who don't. I write to challenge, but mainly to encourage. I come to you as a brother, a brother whose story may look a little different than yours, but a brother who is following the same Savior on the road to Calvary.

This is not about me. This is not about you. It's about the gospel of Jesus Christ. His glorious message of hope and grace and freedom that is found only in Him. It's about the fact that far too many same-sex attracted young people in our churches are missing this message of hope and grace and freedom. Will we lay down our pride and enter into this conversation with love and humility? Can we set aside our right-vs-left politics and listen to one another?

I hope so. For the sake of the gospel, I hope so. 

There is so much more to be said. I would love to hear your stories too. I would love for you to engage this conversation...to ask, to share, to challenge, to pray. I welcome your feedback. If you find this blog helpful [shameless plug], please feel free to share it.

I look back at my life and see God's grace and mercy at every turn. I look ahead to the future with the firm hope that He who has brought me safe thus far will lead me safely home. My prayer is that wherever you're coming from...you will be able to do the same.

Grace & peace,

Your Brother Behind the Mask

Alter Ego.

Well, I've certainly let this puppy go, haven't I?

 I don't really have a good reason. I didn't decide to take a break. There was no crisis. I just haven't had anything much to say recently. Let me rephrase that...I haven't had anything much to say recently that can go on this blog.

Oh, believe me, I've had plenty to say, and I've said it...but not here. This blog is not me. It's not my voice. You can't see my face, only those ridiculous Groucho glasses. You don't know my story, only the vague descriptors there in the sidebar. My words and my stories are shrouded in mystery.

If all you knew about me was this blog, you'd think my life was dominated by my sexual orientation...that it's all I ever think about. I wouldn't blame you. It's all I ever write about--on this blog, at least.

I wish I could show you that's not true. I wish I could tell you about the things I'm passionate about, the things I most enjoy. I wish I could tell you why it's been such an emotional week, and why that has nothing to do with my same-sex attraction. 

This blog is just an alter-ego. It's a cloudy reflection of a small piece of who I am. It's an excursion into a world completely foreign to the real me and the real me's friends. With the swipe of a finger across my phone, I effortlessly switch between twitter accounts...between @themaskblog1 and the real me's twitter...between two completely different worlds. In neither world am I completely myself, but far less so here.

It's almost like I've created a horcrux (pardon the Potter). I've split my soul in two and stored part of it in this blog so I don't have to deal with it in my normal life. Split in two, the two sides grow separately. There's a lack of integration or cohesion. It's easy enough to switch back and forth between online accounts, but instead of taking off one mask, I've just created another.

Am I being a little overdramatic? Apologies.

So what does this all mean? Am I going to stop blogging just a couple months after starting?  I don't think so. I have appreciated this outlet, and I have been encouraged to hear from some of you who have found some of my writing helpful. I don't think stopping altogether is the answer, at least not yet, but I might slow down. I'm not going to wrack my brain to come up with something to write on a regular basis. When I have something to say, I will say it.

I intend to stay grounded in my real life...with my real job...my real community. This blog is a helpful way to engage a conversation that's very important to me, but it won't define me or consume me.

I think I got a little carried away at first, and I burned out just a little bit. But I will keep writing, and I will post when there is something to post about. If you find my words helpful, I am grateful that God sees fit to use them. If you think someone else would find them helpful, please feel free to share. I welcome your comments and feedback, especially any questions or ideas for future writing.

I apologize for this meta-post. Blogging about blogging is kind of lame, but I wanted to explain my recent absence, express my frustrations, and clarify my future goals for this blog.

I'm still here. Humbled but hopeful...

Your Brother Behind the Mask

Complexity.

I was talking to my counselor the other day about the trickiness of deciding who to tell about my same-sex attraction...and when. He smiled warmly and leaned back in his chair. He wisely didn't offer advice or direction, but rather mused, "There are so many complexities at work here, aren't there?"

Yes.

I've already discussed the inner-turmoil that can come from being a same-sex attracted Christian and the need for space to struggle. Forget other people trying to fit me into their categories, I've been spending my whole life trying to fit myself into a box...a box that I can understand.

The inward wrestling match is difficult enough, but I'm starting to get a taste of the bumps and twists and turns waiting for me on this road ahead called the "Christian life." Sometimes it feels like I'm speaking from two different angles. I'm trying to convince these people over here that yes, I believe the Bible says homosexual practice is a sin and that my homosexual orientation is a result of a fallen world. But then I'm also trying to tell these other people that I don't hate gay people and, maybe even more, that I don't hate myself.

On one hand, I stand in solidarity with the LGBT community. I stand against hatred and ignorance and discrimination...especially in the Church. I stand for the dignity and inherent worth of all people, regardless of belief or practice.

On the other hand, I stand with those who believe God intended covenant marriage to be between one man and one woman, that sexual intimacy is reserved for covenant marriage, and thus, that any sexual intimacy outside of that is off-limits for followers of Christ.

But on the third hand, I don't think it's the government's place to regulate or administer covenant marriage. That's the Church's job. So why does it really matter how the government defines marriage? If we disagree with the definition...okay. We also don't agree with sex outside of marriage, but it's still legal, so...what are you going to do?

"Mr. Mask, is that your official endorsement of gay marriage?"

Yes...well...no. I have no idea.

If you put a ballot in front of me right now, I have no idea how I'd vote on marriage equality. To be honest, at this point, I probably wouldn't feel comfortable voting either way. And you know what, that's going to frustrate a lot of people--a lot of people that normally wouldn't get frustrated about the same things.

I've said before that unless God allows me to marry a woman, I am committed to a life of singleness and celibacy. But I'm not actively seeking orientation-change through therapy or any other methods. I believe this cross will be something I carry for my whole life. I don't think I'll ever not be attracted to men at all, or that I'll ever be sexually attracted to women (in general). But I do think it's possible for partial change to take place. I think it's possible for me to be sexually attracted to one woman in particular. Yes, I do continue to pray that God allows me to get married...to have a wife and kids.

And then it begins:

"Okay, well that's great that you've made that commitment. But certainly you're not implying that everyone should reach the same conclusion..."

"What do you mean you'll always be attracted to men? This is not God's will for your life! Why wouldn't you try everything possible to change?"

"So you're at peace with being celibate. Cool, fine, but won't others just use your story to bully those who aren't at peace with that?"

"You should be more public with your story! God could really use you to show how you can live faithfully as a same-sex attracted Christian!"

"You should be more public with your story! God could really use you to show people how bigoted and ignorant their views of homosexuality are."

"Are you sure you're being called to ministry? Isn't that just a recipe for trouble?"

"This is how you've been created. Holding out any hope of change will just leave you depressed and angry at God!"

"Why are you so afraid to call yourself gay? It doesn't speak to your behaviors or choices...only your orientation."

"No! Don't say you're gay! People might get the wrong idea!"

"You would get married even if you're still have a same-sex attraction? Is that really wise?"

"Why are you doing this to yourself?"

"Why are you doing this to us?"

"You need to love other people more."

"You need to deny yourself."

"You need to love yourself."

"What would Jesus do?"

"What would Jesus do?"

There's a lot of people who love Jesus who wind up believing different things about what exactly Jesus would do. That can make this business of following Jesus pretty messy. I realize my story may upset people all along the spectrum of belief on this issue, but at the end of the day, all I can do is tell my story.

And as you read my story, wherever you're coming from or whatever your beliefs, I pray you will see more of Christ and less of me. Where we agree, I pray you will see encouragement. Where we disagree, I pray you will see humility and grace. In all things, I pray we find unity in our diversity, a unity that can only exist when centered on Christ. It's our job as the Church, the Body of Christ, to show a broken world how the gospel can unite people who would only be enemies apart from Jesus.

My story is complex. Your story is complex. Let us continue to love each other in the midst of complexity and look forward to the day of redemption. That day, all of our stories will finally make sense as we see their threads coming together to form one story...the Story. Praise Jesus.

Grace, peace, & even more grace,

Your Brother Behind the Mask

Jesus Picture.

"Excuse me, young man, I'd like to give you something..."

I looked up from my computer to see an older gentleman standing there...awkwardly. I was in a different coffee shop than usual...where I go when I need to mix things up. I was trying to get some writing done and decided a change of scenery would get the creative juices flowing.

I smiled politely as I pulled out my earphones. He continued with his spiel, which I'll admit I don't really remember. He spoke fast. He and his wife were traveling, they were involved in a ministry, they had gone to some college, he had been asked to draw a picture of Jesus for the college's yearbook, here was a copy of the picture, it conveniently had the plan of salvation printed on the back, I could use it as a bookmark...or something.

Without waiting for a response, he handed me the homemade tract and returned to his seat. Another young guy had just entered the coffee shop, wearing skinny jeans, a beanie, and a sweet handlebar mustache. He took the seat right next to the older gentleman...but strangely enough, he didn't get offered a Jesus picture. Maybe my T-shirt, jeans, and clean-shaven lip looked more ripe for the harvest.

I don't really mind getting evangelized in public places. I could definitely use more boldness for Christ myself, and I respect those with the courage to engage strangers. However, I do like when people start off with a question. Something relevant like, I don't know...do you know Jesus? First of all, it saves them some breath. But also, it shows that they care enough to get some basic info before telling me how to change my life.

So there I sat, holding Jesus. He had been thrust upon me. I didn't really know what to do with him. The older gentleman was still sitting right there. I couldn't just put Jesus in my pocket. I couldn't stuff Jesus in my backpack. The gentleman had suggested I use Jesus as a bookmark, but I didn't have any books with me (although I wish I could have pulled out my ostentatiously large ESV Study Bible to put Jesus in for safe keeping.)

I finally set Jesus down on the arm of my chair. At least we weren't making eye contact. It actually felt like Jesus was avoiding eye contact...come to think of it, he actually looked a little pissed.

But the older gentleman was not finished "engaging" his fellow coffee shop patrons. He pulled out his cell phone and started making calls to friends and family--all just to catch up. Roughly half of these calls were on speaker phone. (I never figured out how he decided which ones were on speaker and which weren't.)

It became clear that we were all supposed to hear these conversations. He was passive-aggressively evangelizing us. He was telling us his story by making us eavesdrop. He was sharing the gospel to a captive audience who couldn't respond, who couldn't say "no." I put my earphones back in and turned up the volume.

"Whaddaya think about the pope?" I heard him ask one woman, identified as "Viv." Viv was not on speaker phone, so I couldn't hear her take on the papacy. "The pope!" he said again, "The new pope! You know, the Catholic church? In Rome? Rome! Yes, there's a new pope! The old pope retired. No, I don't know why..."

Apparently, Viv wasn't Catholic...or even paying attention in the slightest.

"Yeah, well, you know the Catholics all wanted someone more liberal. Someone who'd make women priests, say abortion is okay, and then all that homosexual stuff. But it sounds like that's not who they got!"

The hair on my neck stood up. I was not listening in on some private conversation. He was speaking to be heard. The dude with the mustache looked uncomfortable. Heck, I was uncomfortable. I looked down at Jesus for some affirmation, but he still wouldn't look at me.

I finally had enough. I was just getting mad. I couldn't focus on my writing anyhow. I packed up my things (perhaps a little more demonstratively than necessary) and left the shop. Jesus came along too. I couldn't just leave Jesus behind, even if he wouldn't look at me. He might get thrown away.

Even now, as I sit here typing this, Jesus is sitting on the bed next to me. I can't throw him away, but I want to. Something about this picture really bothers me. Why won't he look at me? Why is he looking up and away like that, with his arms crossed? Is he waiting for me to get my act together? To say I'm sorry? Is he waiting for me to "pray the prayer printed below"? Haven't I already prayed that prayer? Yes. Many, many times.

Maybe it bothers me because this image was just forced upon me. I didn't have the opportunity to reject it. I didn't ask for it. He just handed it to me and left. What am I supposed to do now?

I can't help but project the older gentleman's characteristics on this Jesus. He didn't really care about me. He never asked me any questions. He didn't ask if he could talk to me. He didn't even ask my name. He knew nothing about me. I was just an easy target...and apparently an easier target than the guy sitting next to him.

No, he didn't want to listen to me. He didn't even want to talk TO me. He wanted to talk AT me. He wanted me to get his message without having to engage with me. Who knows? I could be messy. I might ask questions. My response might not fit into the clear-cut 7-step plan of salvation printed on the back of Jesus. There might be parts of my story that didn't fit his categories. 

In his conversations, I heard intolerance and disdain. I heard ignorance and misunderstanding. I heard plenty of all that, but still I didn't hear a monster. I also heard a lot of faith. I heard a lot of prayer. I was moved as I heard him discuss his wife's battle with cancer. I wanted to put this guy in a box and dismiss him, but I couldn't. He was more complex than that. I just wished he could see my complexity. I wished the Jesus he gave me could see my complexity, but the Jesus he gave me wouldn't even look.

The reason I haven't thrown this picture away probably goes back to a silly Sunday-school superstition...but I need to do it. I need to throw it away. This Jesus is aloof and distant. I imagine him tapping his foot, waiting for me to finally get it through my thick skull how ridiculous I've been. The corners of his mouth betray the slightest of smiles...as if he's almost even enjoying the distress he's causing me.

This is not Jesus of Nazareth. This is not Jesus the Christ, the Messiah. This is a jesus we've created after our own image. This is a jesus on whom we can project all our insecurities and self-absorption. This is a jesus who affirms nothing but our deepest fears.

This jesus is going in the trash. 

I will instead turn my eyes to Jesus, my friend and my Savior. Jesus, full of life. Jesus, who didn't wait for me to come to him, but who ran to meet me, embracing me, wiping away my tears.

'Tis that look that melted Peter | 'Tis that face that Stephen saw | 'Tis that heart that wept with Mary | Can alone from idols draw.

Captivated by His beauty | Worthy tribute haste to bring | Let His peerless worth constrain thee | Crown Him now Unrivaled King.

This is the picture of Jesus we need to see. This is the picture that changes hearts and changes lives. When I see Jesus not just looking at me, but looking into my very soul, and still loving me...that leads to transformation. That leads me to love Jesus even more, and it leads me to reflect his love to those around me.

I don't want to hand people a jesus picture that looks like me. I want them to see the real thing.


Grace & peace,

Your Brother Behind the Mask

Space.

If I've ever given the impression that I'm perfectly okay with my beliefs about my sexuality, then I deserve an Oscar...or a least a nomination.

The Bible can be a hard book to believe sometimes. Amid all the good stuff, all the grace and mercy and glory, there's a lot of stuff I wish was different. There's a lot that I may be able to wrap my head around, but not my heart. I can wrap my head around God's right and moral authority to wipe out cities of men, women, and children in the Old Testament...but I struggle to wrap my heart around that. 

I can wrap my head around the fact that God designed sex for monogamous, heterosexual relationships, and nothing else...I believe that. I do. I absolutely do...but friends, my heart lags behind. 

My heart doesn't get it. Yes, I know, marriage is a picture of Christ and the Church. That's cool. I love that. But I can't help but wonder why I'm asked to deny some of my most fundamental desires for intimacy to play along with some grand, cosmic narrative. Marriage is a beautiful and complex picture of Jesus' self-sacrificial love for his Bride...why don't I get to experience that?

I'm sorry if this makes you nervous. If it makes you feel any better...it makes me a little nervous too. 

But I don't think it makes God nervous. In fact, I know it doesn't. He knows I'm his child. He's the one who rescued me in the first place! He has given me his Holy Spirit, who speaks through his Word. He knows my weakness, my lack of understanding. In his grace, he meets me in my doubt...but thankfully, he doesn't leave me there.

I'm not one of those guys who says true faith requires doubt, but I am one of those guys who says a true relationship requires honesty. It is my sincere prayer that God leads me to a deeper understanding of his design for sexuality; not just a head understanding...a heart understanding. But in the meantime, in the tension, I must trust him. 

Saying I wish some things in the Bible were different doesn't mean I actually think they should be different. I believe in God's design for sex. I believe it's good, and I believe it's right. But...well...I wish it was different. All I can do here is look to Christ:

"And he said, 'Abba, Father, all things are possible for you. Remove this cup from me. Yet not what I will, but what you will.'" Mark 14:36

Jesus himself, on the Mount of Olives, wished that his Father's will for him was different. He wished there was another way, but he ultimately trusted the Father's will. Likewise, I must keep my trust in the goodness and wisdom of God, even when my heart does not understand. 

As I think about what it looks like to open up and share my struggle with more people, these are the fears that run through my head. "What will they think of me?" My first gut reaction is rushing to assure them I believe what the Bible says about homosexuality. "Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything crazy."

Maybe this is more insecurity on my part, and less expectation from other people. Maybe it's a mixture of both.

As your brother in Christ, your brother who has to trust Christ with my brokenness just as you trust him with yours, I humbly ask you for space. I ask you for the freedom to struggle, to wrestle. I ask you for the freedom to remove my ever-smiling mask. I ask you to let me mourn...and for you to mourn with me. 

I ask you to trust that God has me in his grip, and that he's not letting go. These storms of doubt may toss the ship around, but it's never coming loose from its moorings. I ask you to listen to me when I say I wish I could pursue a God-honoring same-sex relationship...and I ask you to trust me that I know that's not his plan for me. 

I don't need someone to continually convince me of the truth I already believe. I need someone to walk with me, to listen to me, to cry with me, to laugh with me. I don't need another Bible verse. I need someone to be the hands and feet of Christ in my life. I need a friend. 

Now, of course, I'm not saying I shouldn't be challenged or questioned. Friends don't have to walk on eggshells. If my behavior is out of line with God's Word, I need to be confronted. If I say something that's not true, I need to be lovingly corrected. If I have a blog post that misses the mark of the gospel, I should get emails. Accountability is a part of community. 

I'm just asking for space. I firmly believe that it's not God's will for me to pursue a same-sex relationship. However, when I struggle to accept the implications of that belief, when I struggle to understand why God let me be this way, when I'm faced with another night of seemingly hopeless loneliness, when my head collides with my heart...these are the times when I need a friend who trusts Jesus enough to give me the space to struggle. Not space as in distance, but space as in freedom: the freedom that only comes from faith in our sovereign, omnipotent Savior.

This post sounds so needy. I hate being needy. I desperately want to do all this myself, to fight my own battles. I want to say that I got this, that I'm fine flying solo...but I'm not. I need Jesus, and I need friends who point me to Jesus. 

It's telling that I feel like I have to assure you I'm fine, that I'm not on the verge of some kind of 

meltdown (I'm not) nor even walking through any particularly dark spiritual valley (again, by God's grace, at this point in time, I'm not). I've had a moment of honesty, and now I want to clean up the mess, to get back to normal, to make sure you know I'm okay. 

I am okay, but I'm okay because of Jesus, our true Friend. He's our friend who meets us in our moments of messy, needy honesty, sits with us, listens to us, weeps with us, laughs with us. He embraces us, and he tells us he loves us even when we struggle to find words of response. He doesn't meet our doubt with anxiety and insecurity...he meets our doubt with Love. Love so amazing that it starts to chip away at our fears and struggles to believe. 

Because of his Love, his never-ending, never-giving-up Love, my heart can finally start to wrap itself around his Word. 

Because of his Friendship, I can start showing this same friendship, compassion, and freedom to those around me who are just as needy as me. 

Friends, this is the good news. This is the gospel. Jesus meets us where we are, but thank goodness he doesn't leave us where we are.

"Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief."

The grace of Christ, and the peace that passes all understanding,

Your Brother Behind the Mask

Lord, Have Mercy.

"If only God would take away this same-sex attraction, I'd be a pretty good guy. Still sinful, mind you! Depraved since birth! But really...overall...pretty darn good. (See? "darn." I don't even cuss!)"

I wish I could attribute this quote to someone else...but I can't. No, I've never said this out loud. I don't even think I've thought it (not consciously, at least). But this sentiment has run deep in my psyche for years. There was even a point where I decided God had given me this burden to keep me humble, because otherwise, I wouldn't have a whole lot to confess. 

What a bunch of shit. (Okay...so I do cuss).

My same-sex attraction has always been my "go-to" during silent confession time in church. I know I only have about 30 seconds of silence before the assurance of pardon, so I slip it in real quick. "God, I confess my attraction to other guys. I'm screwed up. This is not your will for me. Please forgive me. Amen." Or something  like that. Sometimes I'm a little more eloquent, and sometimes I also confess specific instances of lust, but in general, my personal confessions of sin usually revolve around my sexual orientation. 

It's easier that way. It's my obvious "thorn in the flesh." In many ways, it's like I've made peace with it. It's like the crazy uncle who lives upstairs that I just have to put up with because he's not going anywhere anytime soon. 

I've been taught and always believed the doctrine of total depravity. I believe that we are born in sin, unable to choose Christ on our own. But how convenient...I have such a nice, clean-cut way to view my depravity: I'm the guy who likes other guys. That's messed up, right? So messed up. Wow. Glad I understand my sinful nature. When's lunch?

Today, I sat in a little church building waiting for the Ash Wednesday service to begin. Now, I'll be honest, I've grown a lot over the past couple years in understanding my same-sex attraction. I've started to understand that, while my orientation is a tragic result of the Fall, my attractions themselves are not the sinful part. The sin is my lust, just like it is for guys who lust after girls. I've also started to see how lust is just the tip of my iceberg, that my idolatry is far more expansive and rooted much deeper than just my sexual attractions.

But as I headed to the church today, I was looking forward to my first Ash Wednesday service since admitting that my sexuality just doesn't work the way it was designed to. After finally being able to write the words, "I'm gay" for the first time, I would be in touch with my brokenness like never before when I took the ashes. It would be so moving, so raw, so powerful. 

There I sat, the piano playing softly in the background, waiting for the service to begin. The atmosphere in the sanctuary was somber, but hopeful. I silently looked over the order of worship, reading and internalizing the words of the hymns. I felt at peace.

Then he walked in. Him. You know him. He's that guy. The guy you never really want to walk in. The guy who can take even the most solemn occasions and turn them into jokes. The guy who talks too loud. The guy who can't take hints, who doesn't pick up on social cues. The guy who always comes and sits by you, probably because you're too "nice" to ever tell him to be quiet. 

I was no longer at peace.

He plopped down next to me and immediately started asking questions, loudly. He started telling me about his day, so so loudly. He seemed downright giddy about being there. Did he even know what this service was about? I smiled (I think it was a warm smile) as I quietly wished he wasn't there, that he had just stayed home.

The service started, and he was quiet. But then, as we were reciting the corporate confession, a baby starting wailing, shrieking. The piercing sound sent a shiver through my bones. Here I was, having a moment, and this child...no...these parents thought their child needed to be there in the sanctuary with us instead of the nursery. They probably thought it was cute. I tried to focus on the confession while I quietly wished the baby wasn't there, that he was back in the nursery where he belonged.

As the pastor started the sermon, the parents finally took the baby to the nursery. Peace. I listened to the message about our sin, our brokenness, and the hope that is found in the Cross. I realized that my friend wasn't there. Why wasn't he there? What, did he have something better to do? Something more important? I knew he wasn't working. Did he think he didn't need to hear about his sin, his brokenness, the hope found in Jesus? Was he too good for an Ash Wednesday service? Too proud? Too Protestant? Really, it was pretty typical of his whole attitude lately. Oh wait...there he was. He must have slipped in late. Oops. I smiled, smugly. I was glad he was there, but I was more glad that I was there first.

Now you're waiting for the part where I had some epiphany, where the ashes were placed on my forehead and all of a sudden I realized the anger that was in my heart. Well, there was no such moment. No, to be honest, I was perfectly aware of my hypocrisy...right there in the midst of it. As I was wishing that guy wasn't there, as I was hating him, as I murdered him (by Jesus' standards), I knew exactly what I was doing. I tried not to. I tried to love him. I managed to pretend love on the outside, but inside...I just couldn't. My heart sank.

It was the same with the baby. Ironic how I'm all in favor of babies when they're in the womb, but when they're crying in church and disturbing my moment, I wish they weren't there. I hate them, and thus, I murder them.

I judged my friend when I thought he had skipped out on the service. I made up reasons why he probably wasn't there. Never mind the fact that he actually was there, and never mind the fact that I've been late to church dozens and dozens of times, usually because of a long line at Starbucks. This time though, I judged him, and I felt prouder of myself for obviously caring more about my brokenness.

Once again I realized, as I sat there in a sanctuary full of God's people, full of people marked by the sign of the Cross, men and women, old and young, rich and poor, all admitting their brokenness and placing their hope in Christ...as I sat there in the midst of that beautiful picture and couldn't shut off my heart's faucet of hate, I realized my sexual orientation was the least of my worries.

The root of my sin isn't finding the wrong sex beautiful. It's that I don't find Christ beautiful. My problem isn't "loving" the wrong people. It's that I don't really love anyone at all. 

So no, there was no great epiphany moment. No clouds opening or angels singing. Tonight was nothing new. I've been here before. I'm reminded once again just how deep my depravity runs, that my misplaced sexual desires are just the icing on the cake. I'm not just the guy-who's-attracted-to-other-guys. 

I'm the guy-who's-attracted-to-other-guys who lacks patience...and hates babies...and judges his friends...and stretches the truth just a little bit in some details to make his stories more dramatic. 

But as I sit here typing this post, the ashes remain on my forehead. I look in the mirror and see the faded remnants of a smudged cross. 

This ashen cross, this mark of hope in the midst of depravity, of beauty in the midst of brokenness...this reminds me that I'm the guy-who's-attracted-to-other-guys, who lacks patience, hates babies, judges his friends, and stretches the truth...but who is loved by Jesus more than he'll ever be able to imagine. 

The more I see my debt, the more I see the One who paid it. The greater I see my rebellion, the more I see the One who pursued me and captured my heart. 

Friends, whether or not you attended an Ash Wednesday service (and it's really okay if you didn't), I encourage you to imagine the cross, smudged in ash on your own forehead, marking you out as a child of the King. Marked in your brokenness. 

From dust we came, and to dust we will return, but then one day, our broken bodies will be raised up with Christ. We will be made right. Yes, my sexuality will be redeemed, but far more importantly, we will finally know Love, and know Him deeply. 

Kyrie, Eleison...Lord, Have Mercy | Christe, Eleison...Christ, Have Mercy.

Grace and peace,

Your Brother Behind the Mask