6 Months of Reprieve

For six solid months I was gifted with a reprieve from some of my deepest-seated inner struggles. I don't know why - it just happened. A reprieve from a struggle I've had since I can remember. (If you know me well, it's not what you're probably thinking.)

I'm talking about a certain reaction, reflex, relational paralysis that happens in my closest friendships. An learned response that tells me: "You are not loved. You are less important than other people. No one would stick with you if they knew what was really going on inside."

For most of my life, that has been my framework and foundation for how I see myself in this world. And when good people have attempted to meet me in my need, I have reacted badly time and again: self-sabotage, making accusations, inventing reasons why they couldn't possibly be serious about loving me.

I've been battling this, working through it, sifting out the lies and learning to unite my heart with reason for a few years now. Until last November, it was ongoing.

Then - abruptly, suddenly - it all ceased. I was free. Everything became as clear as day. For the first time, I found myself relating to other people in an almost completely healthy way, able to give and receive love without any sort of self-doubt or self-torture that used to accompany my attempts at friendship. It was absolute bliss: there are not words to describe how shocked I was to find that life could be lived outside of that prison of despair, perpetual fear, and paralysis that I had always known.

It was a gift - that's all there is to say. I didn't do anything to make it happen. It was a gift - a beautiful, miraculous, sensational gift.

But it ended. Last month, on an odd sort of night following an odd sort of day, the floodgates opened in full force and I fell prey to the darkest of fears and self-doubt. In an instant, I found myself right back in the thick of everything I had been so glad to leave behind. It was almost devastating.

But not quite. Because of those six months - because of that gift - I was able to look my fears in the face and with a resolution that surprised me, say: "NO. I do not have to live this way."

I prayed that night like I hadn't prayed in years - fervent, desperate, but with resolve to overcome my fears. I wasn't going to quit until I'd sent the demons back to hell. (That's a metaphor... or maybe not.)

I said:

"God, you have gifted me with 6 months of reprieve from the pain, longing, and disappointment that has shadowed my whole life. You picked me up out of the muck and mire and held me close, shielding me from the darkness that tries to overwhelm me. There wasn't a hint of it to be seen, felt, or heard.

And in doing so, you've given me a glimpse of what life can be like. You've let me taste freedom. You've given me reason to believe in something better. I had no proof that I could live unencumbered by the chains of mistrust and self-loathing - until these 6 months. Now I know what it's like; I've sampled it; I've lived it... for a moment.

But nothing worth having ever comes easily. And I believe that you showed me this way, this freedom, to give me something worth fighting for. Like you did for Moses, you took me up to the mountaintop and showed me the Promised Land. You let me know it that it is real - that there is more to hope for than these desert wanderings.

And because of that, I can't help but be filled with hope. I won't despair and I won't retreat. I will fight for freedom because it's the sweetest thing I've ever known. And because I believe you are a God who values the journey over the destination, I will answer your call to follow the the Way that is messy, unknown - yes, frightening - because I believe it will be worth it. You have made me believe it will be worth it.

There is one more thing, God. During these six months of reprieve, the interaction I've had with people has been revelatory. I've made the discovery that my story can make a difference for someone else. That because I have known the darkness and the oppressive weight of fear and doubt, I can speak to other people in darkness from my place of hope, from the promise of freedom. In a divine twist that only you could imagine, my personal history of pain can be a catalyst for a future of hope for many. I want to serve you in that way. I want to serve others in that way."

That was my prayer that night.

It still is.

-M

I Am Not Alone

Some time ago, my roommate pointed me to a blog that I've read faithfully ever since. Andrew Marin is a self-described "white, straight, conservative evangelical" who lives with his wife in the middle of Boystown, a predominately (that's an understatement) gay part of Chicago. It's simple, really - he's taken incarnational ministry to the gay community. The type of "move-into-the-neighborhood" approach that is so popular right now among Jesus-following urban dwellers, inner-city ministers, and even those in international, third world work is Andy's approach to bridging the rift, gap, divide between the mainstream church and mainstream gay culture.

I can't tell you how excited and moved I was to learn of a guy on the conservative & straight side of things who had made it his life's mission to eradicate ignorance in both the church and the gay community about the "other side," and is so humble, open, and willing to go where the road leads him. When I had the chance to hear him speak at the National Pastor's Convention here in San Diego a couple months ago, I was in tears by the end of his presentation. I'm convinced he's the real deal - love is his priority, and he sees people before he sees an issue or agenda. Which is why I'm REALLY excited that he is coming back to San Diego next week, and I"m going to have the opportunity to take some friends from Citywalk, my church, to meet with him personally and get deeper into the dialogue about what needs to change in the church for reconciliation to happen in a big way in this area.

It's one thing for me to be committed to the idea that gay people would one day be a vital and integral part of the American church. It's another thing entirely for a well-respected, conservative, straight dude to write a book about it, build a foundation around it, travel the country and speak the truth about it. It's given me a lot of hope for my own future, and one more reason to keep working for and believing in the possibility of peace in the current culture war.

I'll have a lot more to say about Andy & The Marin Foundation in coming weeks, I'm sure. First, I'm gonna finish reading the book and enjoy the time I get to spend with him next week!

-M

A Late Submission: My Top Ten Movies of 2008

Ok, some lighter fare for a blog that's been a bit heavy-handed lately. I know I'm SUPER late in getting this out, especially since the final word has already been said with the close of the Academy Awards Sunday night, but I still wanted to get my own top ten list up before I start working on 2009!

Before reading this, it's probably helpful to know that my main criteria for rating a film is this: "Did it exceed my expectations?" A moviegoer's expectations are (or should be) very different depending on what film he is going to see. Hence, I found the summer bomb "Speed Racer" to be a fantastically entertaining time because I had almost no expectations, while the bar was set so high when I finally saw "Slumdog Millionaire" that I left a little confused as to what all the hullabaloo was about. (Neither of those made my own list.)

So, without further ado - my favorite films of 2008.

10. Marley and Me
I am an avid dog lover, and also a fan of cathartic crying. This film supplied both in healthy doses. Half feel-good movie of the year, half emotional breakdown - it's an assault on the emotions (and my emotions like to be assaulted).






9. Kung Fu Panda
A certain other digitally animated film received most of the love this awards season, but darn it if I didn't laugh harder at this than anything else all year. "Skadoosh" was my catchphrase for weeks after seeing Po take on the art of kung fu.





8. Then She Found Me
This was a little-seen passion project by one of my favorite actresses, Helen Hunt, who poured her heart and soul into this small story of a woman who experiences a midlife crisis of sorts when her adopted mother dies and her biological one shows up. Hunt does a phenomenal job as writer, director, and actor in a story that you think is about identity, family relationships, and romantic love - which it is, until the final chapter when Hunt's protagonist reveals that the true nature of her crisis is... well, you'll just have to watch it for yourself, won't you? A cast consisting of Matthew Broderick, Colin Firth, and Bette Midler should help convince you to pick it up.

7. Frost/Nixon
Apparently much of the minutiae of this plot is fabricated, but the setting for the story is well-documented history, and part of history about which I knew very little. So fascinating is this story that I spent most of the night after watching it voraciously reading any historical account I could find of the David Frost interviews with Richard Nixon. Pitch-perfect acting and a cohesive film from the deft director Ron Howard make this a must-watch.



6. Australia
By golly, when I go to the cinema to see a Baz Luhrmann film, I'm not going to see historical accuracy, or subtle nuance, or even a seamless storyline - and all of the movie critics who complained that Australia was lacking in these categories can just go on a walkabout to Faraway Downs. Lurhmann films unabashedly embrace the spectacle of cinema: sweeping vistas, swelling music, costuming, passion, and a larger-than-life story. And it's ok to go to the movies and hope to be taken away to another time and place to experience adventure, romance, danger, and laughter. Australia excelled at all of these things and for that, it most certainly makes my top ten list.

5. The Dark Knight
No best of 2008 list would be complete without this film on it. As has been said countless times, Nolan & Co. have elevated the superhero genre into a potent and relevant parable for our time. Fine acting by all and a knockout performance by Mr. Ledger as Joker won the world, myself included, over.





4. Milk
This film honors a man who had a vision beyond himself. The current-day fight for marriage equality is both amplified and dwarfed by the reality of an America where gays and lesbians were threatened with the loss of their jobs simply if their orientation were made public. Harvey Milk, portrayed with honor, personality, and electric life by Sean Penn, stood up in his day and declared to the GLBT community, "You must come out!" knowing that until Americans had a face and name to associate with "the gays," it would always be easy to write off a group of people that were feared and hated. Until people knew of their friends and family members who were gay, there was no reason for the nation to care about this group of people whose rights were being suffocated left and right. A very moving story.

3. The X-Files: I Want to Believe
Yes, I'm a devout X-Phile. Yes, this is a biased pick. Yes, this movie rocked my socks. In terms of sheer satisfaction, nothing trumped this film for me this year. It played like a long episode of the show my family spent so many hours watching as I grew up, and I couldn't have asked for a better send-off for the characters I love so much.




2. Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day
Some might call this light fare, and on many levels, they would be right. But this period piece about being true to your heart's heart at the expense of everything flashy and fake in the world hits all the right notes. An inordinately talented cast (the unstoppable Amy Adams, Pushing Daisies' Lee Pace, a sublime Frances McDormand, and even Shirley Henderson - 'Moaning Myrtle' from the Harry Potter films) delivers the story at a clip pace - literally the events of one day - with only the slightest of pauses for the audience to ruminate on how we, too, deny our own passions for things that placate rather than satisfy.

1. Doubt
I hinted a few weeks ago that this film would end up on my top ten list; indeed, it claims the spot as my favorite film of 2008. I'm simply fascinated by this fable (based in an all-too-real universe) of one nun's suspicions that her parish priest is molesting a young boy at her school. Of course the cast is amazing (all four principal actors were nominated for Academy Awards), and the stage play upon which it is based has already become a modern-day classic since it debuted off-Broadway in 2004. But I'm mostly drawn to the layers of social deconstruction that unfold as the story develops: gender roles in and out of the church, the nature of institutional religion, traditional and progressive worldviews, and, naturally, the very thin line between conviction and doubt. The cast is so adept at handling playwright John Patrick Shanley's material that I don't for a minute feel I'm watching Meryl Streep play a nun, but instead am immersed in four very distinct perspectives on how society operates, or should operate. There's no doubt this movie is my favorite of the year.

And there you have it! Hopefully I'll post 2009's list before next year's Oscar ceremony!

-M

Here's Hoping

Last night I reconnected with yet another friend from college days who had read this blog and had some encouraging words for me. She shared her sadness at the way the church has treated me (and many like me) over the years. It was very kind. It made me realize though, that my blog recently has only focused on one aspect of my journey in and through the church - the largely negative aspect. And so today is about sharing my reason for hope in the church, my own story of reconciliation, and why I don't believe it's a waste of energy believing that two communities currently engaged in a culture war can find common ground.

Part of the reason why I've started blogging again, and why I've been so personal and honest with what I say, is because lately (and by lately, I mean over the past 2 months) I've reached an unusual place in my journey (and by unusual, I mean a place I don't think I've ever really experienced before). That place could be vaguely classified as a place of direction, or directed-ness. In describing it to my roommate, I used the phrase, "Not a destination, but a direction." Much of my life has been puzzling, with varied and seemingly unrelated passions and hobbies, varied and seemingly unrelated personal struggles and demons, and varied and seemingly unrelated places and communities in which I've found myself. I haven't ever really made much sense of any of it. I recall telling my best friend once that I felt like Esau. "Jacob have I loved; Esau have I hated," said God. Jacob and Esau were twins, born into the same family, the same culture, the same everything. Jacob was chosen - given a destiny, hope, a future. Esau was not - he lost his name in the family and becomes nothing more than a blip on the radar. And it seemed largely out of his control. Esau has been a reference point for me over the years as I've wrestled with my own longing for purpose. When I concluded that I was merely fated to oblivion, he became my commisserator. I even wrote a song called "Esau," paralleling his story with my own.

But the God of purpose has been at work. Not just lately, not just in the past two months. But, it would seem, for the duration of my life. That feeling - no, more than a feeling - that underlying sense of reality is something I've heard many speak of over the years. Often, I received their words with a measure of resentment that I, too, did not sense God's underlying purpose for my life. But here I am, drinking for perhaps the first time long draughts of hope, purpose, and excitement over the direction toward which I feel pulled, led... called.

Here is why I feel these things. About four years ago, I was invited to help build a faith community from scratch. It's why I'm in San Diego - I followed my friends here in order to help them in their own vision for an urban church that developed around a common desire for a return to the way of Jesus in community with other people. Not a church that attracted devotees with flashy marketing, incredible music and production, iconic leadership and teaching... All those things are fine, but my friends had a desire for something more organic, rooted in relationship. Something that took the "come as you are" culture and morphed it into "I will come to you as you are." A community built intentionally through the power of reaching into another person's life and challenging her to engage in a deeper relationship with her challenger, and ultimately with God.

FYI - it's working. Slowly, but surely, Citywalk is finding its footing here in San Diego. And this is the community I call home. A place where "come as you are" simply isn't enough. We are challenged to be intentional about our interactions with people, not simply inviting them to come to our church, but finding them where they are, staying with them where they are, coming back frequently to where they are. And trusting that this, which is commonly called "incarnational ministry" in church circles, the way Jesus chose to live his life, will be the means of reconciliation back to the God of purpose and love for people who have been disconnected from those things.

My faith community (we call ourselves Citywalkers) loves me. There is no arrogance in this statement, it is mere truth. The people for whom I am privileged to lead music on a weekly basis, really, truly, unconditionally love me. In particular, the friend who invited me to join him on this journey to San Diego, has so devotedly lived the incarnational way of Jesus toward me that it has radically changed my perspective. I used to be Esau. Sequestered, separated, and unwanted by God. But when my friend chose to live the incarnational, unconditional love of Jesus toward me for 5 years running - despite my best efforts to sabotage, disprove, reject, deflect, or otherwise destroy that love - I couldn't help but be changed. That's just the way of love. It changes your understanding of yourself. It changes your understanding of other people. It changes your understanding of God.

I promise you, I have not made it easy for people to love me. I looked for holes in their love. I jumped at any opportunity to twist a word, action, or even facial gesture into a sign of their rejection. Rejection was familiar. God had rejected me. The church had rejected me. People I once loved very deeply had rejected me. Life as Esau made sense. Until I learned I couldn't change the love these friends had for me. Until I learned that this love was reflective of the love Jesus showed to people in his own life. Until I could no longer believe I was unwanted because incarnational, unconditional love convinced me otherwise. And I learned this from the church. Not the church of my youth - but the church, nonetheless. A group of people following the way of Jesus in community.

(For the record, Citywalk is not what some might call a liberal and affirming church. It's not a place where being gay is celebrated at every gathering. There are many differing opinions between Citywalkers in regards to moral issues such as gay sex. Some are more traditional. Others are less restrictive. But what matters most in this family is that incarnational, unconditional love that characterizes all interactions, all conversations - and believe me, there is a healthy and multi-faceted conversation within our community surrounding this issue. The point is that Citywalk does not affirm homosexuality as a rule, but neither do we, as a church, condemn anyone who is gay or is having gay sex. Not only is that person welcome, but we will go to that person, we will be in that person's life, we will return without condition time and again to where that person is and choose to love that person until she is changed - and by changed I do not mean 'turned straight' - by that incarnational, unconditional love.)

Here within a mainline Christian, American, evangelical church community, I have found my place. I've experienced healing from the wounds my previous involvment in the Christian community inflicted. I stand confident in unconditional love from people who have my back. I stand confident in the unconditional love of God for me. So when I talk about the pain I've felt, the hurt I've experienced, the desperation and despair, the solitude and separation, the anger, defiance, and defensive attitude I adopted as a result of what I confronted in the church - I am talking about the former things. The old has gone, the new has come. I am happy. I have joy. I have purpose, direction, and am surrounded by people who love me. And I'm finally free to talk about my experience, share my story, and pray that I am able to connect with other people who are experiencing what I've gone through. To pray that my story can give hope to someone who has none. To find the Esaus of the world and show them incarnational, unconditional love.

Truly, I have no use for pity. And there is no need to apologize for the grievances of the church - at least to me. I've been through that fire. If you're moved at all by my story, I hope you will choose to love unconditionally that person you come into contact with who feels unwanted and separated from God. That gay son or daughter of God who feels so overwhelmingly condemned by the church that it may take five years or more of unconditional, incarnational love to break through the lies that bind his or her life. It will break through. We can't help but be changed.

Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up - do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland.
-God through the prophet Isaiah, chapter 43, verses 18 & 19

Incarnational. Unconditional.
-M

Strip

I just walked past a nightclub on my way to the coffee shop where I'm currently sipping my iced soy chai tea latte. On the window of this club was a flashy flyer with a nearly-naked man on it. The advertisement said, "Come before midnight, strip down, and your first drink is on us."

If you ask me, that's one expensive drink. Or a seriously underpriced sexual experience. I'm in no place to cast judgment. But it makes me think, and I think it's very indicative of the cheapened sense of sexuality in my neighborhood. Sex is no longer measured in spiritual value, but monetary. And you have to admit, that's not the way things should be.

-M