Progress or Regress

Three years ago, I was wrecked. My experience then launched me on a path of intentionally re-examining of my faith and intentionally moving toward gay-affirming theology. Year one of this journey was incredibly difficult. It was terrible and lonely and sad. And though the journey is not linear, I can say honestly that this my most recent year has been the best of my life. On the path toward accepting myself, I have made a conscious effort to keep my Christian faith at the forefront. It is not easy to be a gay Christian, but sometimes it's best to do things that aren't easy.

I was communicating aspects of my story to a conservative Christian coworker. I mentioned that studying Bible in college has helped me grow and progress in my faith. I would add that studying mental health, working with at-risk teens, studying abroad, living near an urban center, intentionally experiencing other faith traditions, intentionally listening to diverse voices, - these things have stretched me and grown me as well. She asked me, "How do you know it's progress? How do you know it's not reverse progress? I guess that'd be regress?"

It was an honest question, though I think she more accurately meant, "How do you know that your former positions were incorrect and that your current ones are correct? How do you know you aren't less correct? How do you know you weren't spot-on the first time?"

So there are two questions, and I'll answer them both.

How do I know that I am correct and that I was wrong five years ago? I don't. I worry constantly that my potentially incorrect beliefs will land me in a postmortem lake of eternal torture. I think that my fundamentalist upbringing has implanted a leech in my mind that I will never be able to shake off. I don't know if this will change. I can only try to suppress the impulse to be right all the time - to be the smartest person in the room. Being "right" is often beneficial - especially when playing trivia - but I'm trying not to make it the end-all goal.

The question originally asked - how do I know I am progressing? - I felt like this question deserved some words on a page. So here are my answers in no particular order.


How have I progressed in my faith?

I am less judgmental. I am more empathetic. I engage with more people who look and act differently than me.

I am working more actively toward reconciliation. Through the process of coming out to myself, I have identified relationships in my past where I was in the wrong. I have always, more or less, been good at forgiving. I've never thought much about reconciling - actually processing past events, embracing feelings that are difficult to feel. I also don't beat myself up if the process takes a long time. If I go months without making progress toward reconciliation, that's okay. I am lenient with myself, and I forgive myself more.

I am more hospitable. I have intentionally made hospitality a cornerstone of my life, and I have realized that I love it. I try to open my home to travellers as much as possible. I invite people to my home and I share life in others' homes as more often, too. I share my possessions more. I have broadened my circles of friends and acquaintances. I try to love people without conditions. Here, again, I don't get mad at myself when I fail at this. Repentance, here, is not sackcloth and ashes. Repentance is the journey of changing one's mind, heart and way of life.

Twice in the past five years, I have intentionally chosen not to pursue lawsuits. Fundamentalists me might have made a very different choice. I have chosen to be more inclusive in my business practices. I have tried to make sure that profit is not my all-time bottom line. I want to build a bigger table, not a bigger house.

That's all I've got for now. I may edit this later as more comes to me. But I feel good. I feel better. I am healthier. If my life trajectory now is wrong, then it is wrong. I want my reflex to be love not correctness.

So it goes.

The Greatest Command

My family and I visited an a cappella church of Christ, and I was about through with it.

Sunday school was a pre-packaged, cursory study of a best-selling Christian book. I think the thesis was "God is real." No real questions were asked - nothing really wrestled through. The leader attempted to describe the Trinity - something very hard to do without breaking in to some sort of heresy. A back-row congregant raised his hand to help, "It's okay if you have a problem with the term 'Trinity' because it's not biblical." As if this solved any problem or contributed to any thought.

The sermon was about the same, except without the possibility of audience contribution. "The God of the Bible is God because the Bible says so." I thought of the infinite missed opportunities to expand this idea and think about how it engages our lives beyond, "therefore save as many people from Hell as you can." I thought about how un-(almost anti-)intelligent this all was. A prezi filled with questionable bumper-sticker feel-good quotes almost certainly hijacked from Facebook. Preaching to the choir. Easy. Pacifying. Bromide.

"I am an engineer, but I'm also a father. To my wife, I am a husband. To my parents I'm a son. That's the Trinity. That's who God is."

I wondered if anyone else knew that was the heresy of Modalism. Probably no one cared.

The sermon concluded with a call for anyone who needed to get their life right with the Lord, or something like that. Then a song.

I had sat through the first set of songs due to my recent foot surgery.  They were interesting, unfamiliar, and a bit awkward, but refreshing for the genuine and unique qualities of peculiar a cappella singing.

I didn't sit for the second set. Rather, in spite of my critical state of mind, past my church-weariness, past my longing for substantive theology, I had to stand for the song that followed the sermon.

I stood, crutch under one arm, and cried.
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At lunch, we talked about the uniqueness of the a cappella churches. They knew how to sing harmony, of course. One woman intentionally made her regular church seat right in front of my aunt so that she could learn to sing alto. It's an organic, sporadic, edifying environment. The odd blend of formalism and anti-formalism ensures that almost anything can happen. When I had last visited, a praise singer passed out on stage and a few of the M.D.-filled congregation rushed to help him. Almost no one sang that Sunday, but this - this Sunday the bricked auditorium was full of sound.

My step-mom remarked, "I had never heard that song before, but I really liked how it sounded. Had you heard it before?"

"Yeah, I've heard it before."

Alto: Love one another, for love is of God. He who loves is born of God; and knows God. He who does not love, does not know God. For God is love, God is love.

Bass: Love bears all things, Believes all things. Love hopes all things, Endures all things.

Tenor: God is love, God is love, God is love. God is love, God is love, God is love. God is love, God is love, God is love, God is love, God is love, God is love.

Soprano: Love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, with all thy soul, all thy strength,all thy might. Love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, for God is love, God is love, God is love.

Just the words of Scripture sung over and over. So typically church of Christ - and so theologically deep, so correct.

I waited until our conversation was more private to explain. I had to share the thoughts gathering up at the edge of my tongue. 

I told my step-mom how I knew this song - largely unknown outside of a cappella churches. 

I told her that I heard it sung at a funeral.

It was a funeral for a friend who took his life. He was my age - we were choir-mates. I was sitting at work in a new job when a friend texted me that it had happened. I was hit with sadness, but I was not surprised. A gut feeling - a sober, obstinate thought struck me. Did my friend's suicide have anything to do with his sexuality? I felt connected, and the usual litany of "could I have done more" ran through my mind. My friend who had sent the message was less close to the deceased than I was, but she felt the same, odd connectedness. I bet that many, many people had similar, flooding feelings when they learned the news. I'm having a hard time putting my feeling to words. Maybe it was just the deadening understanding that something was not right - off - ruptured - wrong.

I went to the funeral with friends from choir, and a few people I did not know. Our university sent a van full. I learned that my friend had begun attending a gay-affirming church after his ailing mental health caused him to leave college. His family had been thoroughly supportive - if not immediately understanding. His dad began attending a Bible study there.

His family was also actively involved in a Messianic Jewish congregation that met every Saturday. They had been going four or five years before I met any of them, I think. They weren't Messianic Jews themselves, and they weren't the kind of people you might expect to find at synagogue. Their family was full of surprises. They were modest, quiet, and sheltered, but had a more-than-healthy appreciation for the Black Eyed Peas.

Their Messianic Sabbath services did not, however, steal them away from their home church. They were life-long attendees of the a cappella churches of Christ.

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So, in the lobby were throngs of conservative independent Christians. There were bearded men wearing Yarmulkes. There were openly gay evangelicals. There were family members, college students, blue and white collar friends and acquaintances. And many gathered there, as we shuffled from lobby to our seats in the sanctuary, were complete strangers.

We sang an a cappella song that began with the altos, "love one another for love is from God." There was no song book, no projected lyrics. It was a round, and a little slow getting started for the many of us there not from an a cappella church. It was imperfect. The song was called the Greatest Command.

I will always remember that song, even if I don't always cry when I sing it. It was a turning point. It did something to me.

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I put down my crutch and elevated my foot when the song was over. A man addressed the congregation, "Thank you for letting me know what heaven will sound like."