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