I know it seems pretty odd to receive a letter from me, especially as we not so very long ago had the shared habit of talking on the phone at least twice a week. I miss those times, and I am sure you are somewhat perplexed as to why they have gone by the wayside. The purpose of this letter is, in part, to explain that to you.

I know you have often said that we shouldn’t write things down, since to do so is to make a permanent record. But what I have here to say is so important that I don’t want it to be lost in the distractions of an oral context. I hope this is something you will maybe read more than once, if that is needed.

The foremost thing I need you to know is that I love you. I love you so much, I cannot ever imagine, nor do I ever want to consider, life without you.

But I am scared of losing you. And I have avoided telling you what is going on in my life because I am quite afraid of you disowning me. And I can’t bear even the possibility of that happening. So I guess I opted to push myself away, minimizing our relationship, instead of risking an irrevocable loss. But I can’t do this any longer, both because I miss you so much, and because I can’t continue to hide what’s going with me. I want you to be a part of my life. And since my silence has made a de facto barrier between us, it is up to me to give you the opportunity either to finalize the break or to show me how unwarranted my fears have been.

As you know, I’m moving to Canada. Yes, there is ministry opportunity there, and yes I have been interviewed to be a lay minister at SP in —–, and perhaps to enter seminary towards a pastoral role in the [denomination]. And it is true that northern [Canada] is beautiful. But the reason I am moving, of all places, to a farm outside of a small town farther north than I’d ever considered even visiting before now, is because I have fallen in love. And I’m getting married in June.

I have been for some months now an active part of this family, which includes two kids: A (who is 15) and B (who is 12). I will be marrying a wonderful Christian woman named E, whom I have known for quite some time now. She is in leadership at SP’s, involved in developing Christian ed curricula and sundry outreaches. We spend hours every night on the phone, studying theology, reading our Bibles, praying, or learning about the history of Christianity. A calls me daily, just to hang out on the phone, or to get homework help. B calls or sends me Instant Messages (internet chat) daily. Over the months, I’ve taken on a more parental role. I’ve been up there a couple times (as you know), and E has come down here. We know each other very well, and I really think you’d like E and the kids very much.

I know your position on same-sex relationships, and I vividly remember your words to me the day you picked me up from the train station, some 21 years ago. I don’t expect you to come to my wedding or to endorse the “acceptability” of our relationship. I respect your boundaries. But I want you to have the opportunity to know a new daughter-in-law and two new grandkids. Because they are such a huge part of my life, I cannot hide them from you any longer.

I’m still the same me I have always been, only a lot less inauthentic. I have always been gay. You know how very hard I tried not to be. Every day I would put on the acceptable face, and every night, I would have dreams of being married (to a woman) and having a happy family. And I would wake up to the sadness of loneliness. For twenty years. For twenty years, mom, I’ve done all in my power to “rebuke” and shove aside as wicked—the worst thing in the world—whom God created me to be. I’ve called God’s creation evil, demon-possession, abominable. I considered myself a disease, a plague that couldn’t “properly” relate to either men or women.

It was back when R invited me to stay with her for my 40^th birthday present that I had a transformative experience with God. It wasn’t anything spectacular or even all that noteworthy, so far as flash and bang goes, but she asked me how many more years I was willing to live this way, in the closet, unhappy, self-loathing, and doing my very best to keep busy so people wouldn’t notice the deep-inside me. Putting on the happy Christian-with-no-weaknesses face. Or dealing only with acceptable problems. How many more years was I willing to self-impose isolation? And she wisely noted that I would never actually be happy until I lived congruently with who I am. Until I chose to be authentic, honest, with myself, with God, with others.

When I returned home to [Indiana], I spent a very long night in prayer. You have often told me that if we have something in our life that we don’t know the origin of—whether it be of God or not—to offer it up to God as a sacrifice. If it is his, he’ll bless it, and if not, he will remove it. For the first time in my life I got truly honest with God about my orientation. And I told God that if this was his doing, I was very sorry for calling it wicked and hating on it.

Mom, I never felt so free. Never.

You might know that from about 2002 to that January almost two years ago, I had great difficulties attending church. I couldn’t handle the intellectual dishonesty and total lack of love for neighbor I saw when I went. And I couldn’t figure out where I could go that wouldn’t be a place so proud of preaching condemnation instead of hope, violence instead of the peace that passes understanding, hate instead of agape. A place that didn’t thrill at the thought of a final holocaust that destroyed everyone we don’t agree with but chose rather to occupy until Christ returns—by actively loving those poor, hungry, naked, imprisoned, and sick among us.

I would get physically sick whenever I heard some sermon so obsessed with End Times signs and wonders that the core message of Jesus—the Great Commandment that we love God and love our neighbors (not just those we agree with) as ourselves—was utterly abandoned in all but obligatory words. What I saw was a focus on getting people to agree with us rather than loving them as image-bearers of God. So I drifted away from fellowship.

But when I risked offering this huge, subterranean aspect of me to God, it was as if a dam burst. And the surge of water that erupted through the new pathway carried me back into fellowship and ministry. Amazing what honesty does. God directed me to T (my church home here), where I found a church focused on loving the dirty, unkempt, unloved as fiercely as the well-churched, well-dressed and socially-acceptable.

When I finally accepted God’s work in my life, I was finally able to hear his direction as to where he wanted me, what sort of church would be my immediate spiritual family. It wasn’t until I came out to God and found this orientation to be a gift that I found myself capable of continuing in my walk. Yes, I said ‘gift.’ I believe it is no coincidence that 10% of the population is gay. I believe this is a yoke of sorts, a calling, to relate to the socially outcast, to love, to stick out in the church and community as a voice for the marginalized.

I can’t begin to explain how it feels to be hated by one’s (spiritual, physical) family. How it feels to pretend you’re something you aren’t, for fear of being scorned and abandoned. In my 20s, I was kicked out of children’s ministry at C [my old home church of 16 years] because I am gay, and people were terrified I’d rape or brainwash the girls on my drama team. In my 30s, I was forbidden to enter any ministerial training because I wasn’t married, even though there were a large number of other single women in that selfsame ministry program. And now that I have (carefully, quietly) come out, I have been utterly rejected by everyone at C (but J and S, bless them), everyone I loved so very much.

I’ve been demoted from sister in Christ to lost soul to abomination and reprobate enemy of God. But I’ve not changed. I’m still me. In fact, my walk with God is profoundly deeper and more challenging now that I’m being honest. And ministry doors that I always knew were there somewhere, but seemed ever elusive, have begun opening for me. I just can’t see how it would be that if something was of Satan, it would drive me closer to God, deeper into faith, and more powerfully into ministry.

I remember the Jack Chick tracts in the coffee table drawer. I read “The Gay Blade” countless times. I have it memorized. And I remember how it portrayed gays as bestial lowlifes, with some agenda to recruit, defile, and pervert innocents. I have vivid images in my head of Chick’s illustrations of gays, always garish, ragged faces. Always filled with cruelty and bitterness. Always wicked. Always subhuman.

I remember Falwell’s words about the “homosexual agenda” and the “homosexual lifestyle.” You know M and M [mom's neighbors, a lesbian couple]. What agenda do they have, other than make a decent living, have a good home, and live peacefully—what agenda that is different than any other person living? Perhaps things seem more “agenda”-like because we’d like to be freed from the “abomination before the living God” label. And what is the “homosexual lifestyle”? I know, Dobson has offered videos and some opportunistic writers have presented hair-raising and titillating stories of the outlandish and extreme antics of some people. But to label them the norm for gays is just as absurd as taking note of Mardi Gras excesses and drunken New Year’s Eve revelries and waving them around as an example of the evils of the “heterosexual lifestyle.” People can twist anything, even scripture, to justify hatred and fear, to spread misinformation.

You know how it is when certain liberal groups attack Christianity, by using extremely negative emotional language and by twisting the facts. Truth is, that this is what certain groups have been doing to gays. There are the scary ones out there, for sure, but that doesn’t come from being gay. There are scary people out there—regardless of gender, age, race, ethnicity, creed, or orientation.

I haven’t got some wicked agenda or bizarre lifestyle. I haven’t gone apostate. I haven’t lost my mind. I haven’t sold my soul to Satan or become demonized. I don’t recruit children or troll the internet for anonymous hook-ups. I am not antichrist or intent on destroying the foundation of civilization. I’m still me, trying to finish my dissertation, getting ready to be married, preparing coursework for three intense classes, and trying to figure out how to budget for the much-needed home improvements on the farm.

I didn’t expect E to sweep me off my feet. She has a similar background, being the eldest child of an itinerant Pentecostal preacher. Our friendship began over Bible study and prayer. It wasn’t until many months later that we realized that we’d actually created something much deeper than study buddy friendship between us. I don’t want you to think that she entered my life and then “corrupted” me into “reverting” into “the homosexual lifestyle.” I didn’t know anything of E when God set me on this path towards honesty.

But we have been dating now for almost a year, and we are getting married next June, at SP’s in [Canada]. And we will have a reception later, at T in [Indiana]. Both X (her pastor) and Y (my pastor) have blessed this relationship, and we will be using a marriage liturgy that was common in Europe during late Roman and throughout Medieval times—a Christian ceremony for same-sex unions. Yeah, it was a surprise to me, too, that Christians didn’t always condemn same-sex relationships. Our marriage will be legal, too, protected by the Canadian charter and, just like any other marriage, by international law.

I suppose you can now see, maybe understand, why I’ve been reluctant to share my life with you. I haven’t wanted to cause you any pain. I haven’t wanted to force on you more difficulties to deal with—you’ve had more than your share. And, to be blunt, I haven’t wanted to inflict on me any more pain than what is impossible to avoid. But since our engagement has become official, the pain of not telling you has far outweighed the fear of the consequences when I do tell you.

I’ve tried to wait until a good time, but there’s no such thing. And I’ve agonized over how to tell you. I wanted to tell you face to face, but I can’t afford to fly to [Washington], and I didn’t want you to feel ambushed. And I worried that the emotions of the encounter would bury my meaning. I briefly considered calling you, but I felt that would be more the ambush and possibly cruel (certainly gauche). I don’t like writing a letter, but my hope is that this will give you time to absorb, time to consider, time to pray.

I am not asking (nor expecting) you to change what you believe. I just wanted you to know what is going on, and maybe to understand a little bit how I have come to where I am. Of course, I have been in the process of coming out and being authentic before God for over a decade, so this short letter doesn’t begin to express it adequately. But I hope it expresses enough.

I love you, mom. And I want you in my life, if you will have me. But I now come with a family. And I hope you will not only someday acknowledge and accept them, but maybe even come to love them. I think I have a pretty good idea how hard this is going to be for you, and for this I am truly very sorry. But I don’t want to hide the majority of my life and limit my relationship with you to small talk about cats, gardens, and local places of interest any longer, if I don’t have to. I hope I won’t have to. “Safe” topics are depressing to me. I would like to be able to be real with you, too. But ultimately, I want you to know that I will respect your wishes, whatever they be.

 [flayed Hypatia]

I … would really love love love to discuss with you in some fashion what you’ve come to as to spiritual ‘doctrines’. I know you’ve said it’s been a journey, and that it’s a bit of a departure from the Calvary teachings [e.g., those of the church LS currently attends and I attended for 16 years]. I don’t personally consider that a bad thing at all — we’ve really done quite a bit of journeying ourselves too … starting … shortly after we were married. It really made me aware there was much about the history of the Church that I was unfamiliar with. So, when you’ve mentioned possibly going into the ministry, I’ve really wanted to hear more about what your beliefs are at this point. I know you’ve mentioned it, but I can’t remember the specific denomination that you’re a member of … but since I don’t consider deominations to be the full definition of a person’s beliefs, I would love to hear more from you.

Unsurprisingly, my reply was so long-winded that Facebook (the venue wherein LS sent the email) didn’t allow it. I had to break it up into thirds. Here, somewhat edited, are the second and third parts of my reply to my friend. 

    *   *   *

I have been reading a book on the Inquisition, and so, given my ginormous theological transformation, have decided to attend a Halloween party as a heretic. Yeah, giant yellow “cross of infamy” on the front and back of my clothing. Maybe I’ll even sport the dunce cap.

My beliefs have changed radically. But the primary thing to me is not *what* you believe, but *whether* you love like Christ. I believe a Christian is defined by how she goes about bringing heaven here to earth, which, after all, is what Jesus meant when he talked about the kingdom of heaven being within us. I believe we can either extend the boundaries of hell by making life hell or we can expand heaven. It is very difficult (contrary to the right-wing mocking tendencies against “love is all you need” people like me) to *act* from love, to actualize the kingdom of heaven. If we focus on doing unto others, loving our enemies, living grace, and dignifying God’s creation (all of his creation) by being good stewards and good neighbors, then I believe the dogmas we personally affirm are beside the point.

Yes, some things are true and others aren’t, but the boundaries of what these are have been fuzzy since the beginning, and there were many powerful Christians who carefully studied, for example, First Clement (a letter I strongly recommend every Christian read) and Gospels never seen by us. God is bigger than our congresses and conventions. Thus, it seems better to me 1) to follow the teaching of Paul (in the uncontested early letters, since they were the very first documents (of those we have) written), and to take them *not* in the light of the canonical Gospels (again, written before them), looking rather at his powerful understanding of grace and egalitarianism (that was ardently *not* supported by the writers of the pastoral epistles, for example).

Then I believe we should 2) follow the *teachings* of Jesus as presented by the Gospel writers. Yes, I put this second even though I put Jesus first, but I do this because I am convinced that since each Gospel writer had a different doctrinal stance and specific purpose in writing his story, we need to filter the gospels in light of Paul, not vice versa, which leads to confusion and psychotically mind-twisting claims like “we believe in relationship, not religion” so long as you follow the correct dogma and baptismal style and liturgy (even if it be terribly informal and accompanied by electric guitars). Point is, the drastically different (and legitimate) agendas of each of the writers, when one tries to reconcile them, causes much confusion. If we wish to get back to the earliest understanding (that we have) of Christianity, then, we must begin with Paul.

I am also convinced that the Bible is infallible, but *not* inerrant. I’m using the terms as defined by the church elders who wrote the first creeds. I believe the Bible is infallible to lead people to God, but not without contradiction or “factual error” (though, the notion of “factual error” is utterly incoherent, as I will explain). This inerrancy belief arose only in the late 1800s, as a response to Darwinian discoveries. It arose from the Enlightenment belief that anything “mythic” cannot possibly be *true*, whereas before the scientific revolution, truth was understand to be much larger, not limited to mere scientific facts, but including also principles and so on. Much of the Bible was written to convey mythos, not fact. The two creation stories, for example (one making humans first, the other making humans last), were never understood as factually true until a century ago. They are intended to demonstrate God’s relation to us, to show us our role in creation. The error of taking poetry as fact is perhaps more readily acceptable *as* an error when we consider that Milton’s “Paradise Lost” is the source of the notions of an apple, of Eve seeking Adam out, and of the specific names and hierarchical ranks of demons. Milton wrote the story as a study in human nature, not to convey facts of hell and the garden. So, too, the early mythos writers were recording for Israel their cultural roots and their specific relation to God.

Other things that aren’t scientific or measured in terms of fact, but nonetheless are truth-related: Ethics. Poetry. Art. Music. Love. Anything of the spirit, really.

In short, I believe human beings wrote the Bible, expressing as best they could how they related to and understood the ineffability of God and God’s love of us. It is when we misunderstand mythos as fact that we come up with contradictions as worrisome. And we tragically lose the power of the stories and their deeply profound truth when we obsess over where Noah’s ark is or how long a creation day was. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that we live as Christ, that we follow the teachings of Jesus and love the world into heaven. After this, doctrine is incidental.

My mom used to say we’d all be surprised at who was right and who was wrong when we face God. I believe this is profoundly true, and that we should focus rather on being Christlike rather than picking at each other’s eyes. Even heresy, as defined by wee little humans, might turn out to be right. Only God knows. But we can know Christians by fruit, and it says that the fruit of the spirit is Love (which is manifested in joy, peace, longuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, and so on).

Finally, I believe it profoundly important that we realize that the adversary of faith is not doubt, but certainty. You don’t need to trust (because faith is trust, not blind adherence to a belief set some community endorses) if you are certain. You *do* need to trust, even more so, when you are in doubt. Doubt tests, proves faith *as* faith. You never have to walk in faith if you know everything. And it seems to me that the certainty required by groups like Calvary (even though I love these people) hinders many opportunities for faith and limits the growth of people in depth, since it is so afraid of doubt. Dostoevsky wrote that one *must* doubt if one were to grow spiritually and authentically. But much of Christianity is terrified that doubt will cause people to leave the accepted belief set, so we are not allowed to think for ourselves (consider the Inquisition and contemporary admonitions of sinful minds—like the many times my questions as a child or teen were met with accusation of “rebellion, which is witchcraft!”). Doubt is our friend, always keeping the door open to truth, since it  forbids us to rest on something we believe forever, refusing ever to consider ourselves mistaken. Doubt is the opponent of pride, since this refusal to question ourselves is merely a manifestation of a belief that we *cannot* possibly hold a false belief. And pride, even (perhaps especially) epistemological pride, is the root of all cruelty in the name of God, the root of murders in Jesus’ name, the root of us-vs-them behaviors like church splits, antisemitism, jingoism, internecine vitriol, and war.

Perhaps by this time, you won’t be surprised if I don’t give you my personal beliefs on the Trinity, heaven as an “out there” place, the literal existence of hell, and so on. I do have specific beliefs on these issues, but I don’t think they are what matters at the core of Christianity. What matters is love, and how we treat our neighbor, and how we care for the world with which we’ve been entrusted. And good Lord, that’s enough to keep us busy for a lifetime, both in action and in meditation regarding what our individual responsibilities are.

I am a member of the United Methodist Church right now (though will transfer my membership to the United Church of Canada when I move). I heartily endorse what has come to be called Wesley’s “quadrilateral,” that is, his claim that what we believe should be *equally* determined by 1) scripture, 2) personal experience, 3) tradition, and 4) reason. “Sola scriptura” leads to bizarre cults, especially when reason is banished as so corrupt as to be unreliable. God gave us our minds. Tradition gives us perspective as to where things have come from, what errors we have overcome, and how much bigger God is than our current worldview. And personal experience keeps us from becoming nothing more than intellectual assentors, or ivory tower theologians instead of in-the-world living-it-daily Christians.

It is a sad, sad thing that places like Calvary teach that mainline denominations are “dead,” especially when I see such powerful community work, love, and devotion here. Of course, this comes from the focus on correct doctrine (orthodoxy) as far more important than correct action (orthopraxy). Sure, the mainline churches may not have electric guitars, Vineyard praise songs, and highly emotional music for a half an hour before the hour- (and-a-half-) long sermon. Sure, they follow the lectionary. But they love. And, unlike the majority of so-called “non-denominational” Christians, they have the apostle’s creed committed to memory and know what it means. Dead, indeed. It’s all wordsmithing, marking those we don’t like with negative connotations. Fallacy of emotional language, you know. If we were to truly judge by fruits, we’d see many of the so-called “dead” churches ministering to the homeless, actually letting them into their own homes, feeding the hungry with weekly meals, offering free healthcare to the uninsured, and teaching the unemployed skills to gain jobs. (Oh, and that’s just here at Trinity [the local church I currently participate in].)

But the fruits of the “orthodox” and “real” Christians (i.e., those that groups like Calvary accept)? Mission trips to faraway places, intended to minister to others who have the same belief set, or to make those who don’t believe as we do believe as we do. Sometimes nifty shows are offered to encourage people to listen to us. And sometimes we take care of their needs, but usually only as a means to get them to believe as we do. But if they never change their minds? Well, we’ll feel bad, but just let them “go to hell” (that is, we won’t actualize heaven by unconditional love, by lovingly caring for them without expecting any belief change).

And sermons from “real” Christian pulpits? What love? We sneer at, mock, judge those who are so stupid as to not see and unquestioningly accept what we do, and we joyfully anticipate a worldwide genocide that will usher in the final days when the bad guys will all be tortured and the good guys will get to judge them openly. Woo hoo! In fact, every year, we thrill to attend a five-hour-long service where all the minutiae of latest world events are sifted, filtered and examined to see exactly how soon this holocaust will come and the ones we love to hate get their comeuppance!

Yes, I’m sarcastic here, but only because I’m deeply ashamed. Apocalyptic thinking keeps us from everyday loving. What if we spent New Year’s Eve out on the streets, offering clean needles and hope instead of sitting segregated in our auditoriums alternately singing ourselves into emotional delerium and daydreaming about a third of the planet being destroyed? What if we spent our meditation time seeking out our personal responsibility to love our neighbor (and all the sacrifice and hard work that entails), instead of doing a careful Strong’s word study on some arcane conjugation that we can put down before we go off to our content little lives? What if we actually loved our neighbors?

It was, after all, those who focused on love and piety instead of dogma who were slaughtered in the second wave of the Inquisition. It never fails: jealousy and shame are masked and suppressed by violence and vitriol. Then it was the Inquisition, now it is blind and unwitting self-righteousness and misplaced focus. Mark me with the yellow cross.

Of all the constituency groups that advocate allowing gay couples to wed, none is perhaps more counterintuitive than the heterosexual spouses of gay men and lesbians.

Yet as the issue plays out in the nation’s courtrooms and statehouses, some of the wives and husbands who learned that their partner was attracted to other women or men are making their voices known in the often-polarized debate.

“We are the unacknowledged victims of the victims of homophobia,” said Amity Pierce Buxton, the founder of the Straight Spouse Network, a New Jersey-based support and advocacy group with 52 U.S. chapters. “When gays and lesbians feel they have to get married to be accepted and to have kids, that hurts not only gays and lesbians, but straight spouses and kids.”

Read the whole article here.

One exchange:

After her husband moved out, “I asked him, ‘When did you know’”‘ He said, ‘When I was a teenager.’ I said, ‘Why did you marry me?’ And he said, ‘Because I didn’t want to be (gay),’” she said.

I can so relate, as can many lesbian and gay people. I, for one, never married anyone because I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I desperately wanted to be straight, did all the “ex gay” routines, and yet couldn’t eradicate who I was created to be. But I know so many (including my girlfriend) who followed the only path to family open to them. And the soul-devouring pain this causes all involved is horrifying.

I am very happy and grateful to see this perspective, from the spouses and former spouses of frustrated and closeted gays, articulated so well here.

When I was in junior high and high school, we found it acceptable to tell “Polack” jokes, to mock “retards,” to use the word “gay” as a pejorative or a synonym with “stupid” or “tacky.” We judged each other. We did our level best to appear “in the know” even if terribly naive, not wanting to appear stupid or ridiculous (i.e., worthy of ridicule). There are countless times I chose to laugh heartily with so-called “friends” at dirty jokes I didn’t get, so as to avoid being seen as less than my peers. It was almost an instinctual reaction.

So I understand the need for kids to fit in. I understand the hierarchical mindset that dictates youth culture. But, unfortunately, this isn’t just youth culture I’m addressing.

The problem, it seems to me, is far broader. Consider: television success of “Family Guy,” “The Simpsons,” and any so-called ‘reality’ show, but especially “Survivor,” “Big Brother,” and “Hell’s Kitchen.” Consider: radio / internet success of shock jocks, pornography, and the “Fail” blog. Consider: the success among self-proclaimed “Christians” of such things as jingoism, proclamations of judgment and wrath, and sectarian superiority complexes. The success of these satirical television shows is, it is hard to deny, not because viewers are keenly appreciative of the failings in society as failings and their consequent appreciation of satire. Most have no idea that the intention is to mock bad behavior and dull thinking, not endorse it. Thus, they in fact choose to become the very thing their favorite show parodies. The success of the ‘reality’ shows relies on voyeurism, narcissism, and exclusionism as cherished cultural values. The success of shock jocks and internet porn rests on a loss of decorum and respect for the other as intrinsically valuable. The popularity of the “Fail” blog comes from a delight in seeing the errors of others and a powerful sense of Schadenfreude (transl: “finding happiness in the shame of another”) demonstrated in a thrill at pointing out the stupidity of those believed to be less than oneself.

And the success of jingoism among Christians, the prevalence of wrathful proclamations against certain groups, and the continual presence, in some Christian groups, of sectarian superiority all arise from a complete loss of the very transformation of mind Paul wrote of, a total failure to adopt the love Jesus himself declared to be characteristic of his disciples. We love to hate. We love to characterize the world in terms of “us” and “them.”

Thus, what I am addressing here is bigger than teenage Angst or the behavior of those whose brains are not yet fully formed. I am addressing a value system that has created a culture of hate, cruelty, unkindness, and intolerance in the name of justice, truth, security, and freedom.

It isn’t just insults, put downs, trash talk. It’s screaming at senators with whom we disagree. It’s willingly participating in fear mongering by passing on emails and political rumors instead of taking the thirty seconds it requires to go to Snopes or Fact Check to find out whether what we’re passing on is true. It’s over-simplifying an issue so as to “win” the debate, regardless of the plain fact that winning with words has nothing at all to do with the states of affairs we leave people in after the debate is over. It’s vilifying and mocking those with whom we disagree.

The Psalmist wrote, “happy is the one who does not walk in the counsel of the unjust, or stand in the way of sinners, or sit in the seat of scoffers.” The fact of the matter is that our society runs down the lane of injustice, stands proudly broadcasting our sin (“glorying in our shame,” it’s been described as), and sits triumphantly in the Simon Powell seat of scoffing. So are we happy?

The root of our social ill, the cancer that gnaws at us, is our lack of love. The ancient Hebrew faith taught that the community was to protect the widow and show hospitality to the stranger. Jesus wasn’t teaching anything new in his parable of the Sheep and the Goats (Mt. 25). He was reminding people of their own tradition. Our own American tradition claims that we value “all men (humans) as created equal, endowed with their Creator with certain inalienable rights.” Egalitarianism. We believe that everyone has the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness—or, in the words of French democratic values, to life, liberty, and brotherhood. Jesus said that those who are great in the kindom of heaven are not those who lord it over others, not those who set up hierarchies, but those who put themselves below others.

Nowadays, though, we Americans declare ourselves vastly superior to the French, to anyone of a Muslim view, and to absolutely everyone who disagrees with anything we say. To paraphrase our former president, right before plowing into the current war, “those who don’t agree with me agree with the terrorists; those who don’t agree with me are terrorists or terrorist sympathizers.” To iterate my own convictions even back then, who knew Switzerland was so full of terrorists?

The problem of our current state of affairs is the valuing of what one believes as far superior, thus trumping, of what one is. We are human beings. We are created in God’s image, to quote Augustine, ad imaginem Dei—for the purpose of imaging God. That “idiot” who cut you off on the interstate today is an Image-bearer. That scary-looking guy in a turban and a dark beard who lives down the street bears God’s image. The homeless and ratty looking fellow who holds up the cardboard sign by the on-ramp bears the stamp of the Divine.

Now consider how the world would be if we truly believed this. Would we not see the humor of “black” comedies (“About Schmidt,” “American Splendor,” “Pulp Fiction,” etc.) as rather quite tragic? Would we not find the disrespect and unkindness in animated satires sad instead of funny? Would we not be sickened at the back-stabbing in ‘reality’ shows, and aghast at the cruel words of those like Powell and Ramsay? Wouldn’t we, rather than love to hate them, find a need to pray for them, and wouldn’t we, rather than judge them, pity their need to be unkind? Would we enable ferocity? Would we value back-stabbing, deceit, mockery, and denigration as “talent”? Would we objectify people, making them things we do things to?

Fact is, we do not value people—we do not love our neighbor. And, to quote John, “if we hate our brother, whom we see, how can we love our Father, whom we cannot see?” We demonstrate our love and respect for God by loving and respecting his image. By loving and respecting those who are his image. And when we do this, we are fulfilling our purpose—ourselves imaging God, who so loves, who is love.

If we truly value people, if we truly believe that everyone is equal by design, that everyone has the same right to life, liberty, and happiness, then how would we act? It seems to me that my words cut. It seems to me that when I hurt another, I take from that person her happiness, that my words deny a right. It seems to me that when I mock, when I denigrate, when I insult, when I attack, I am violating the very things I claim to value. But of course, if I truly valued something, I wouldn’t violate it. Our actions betray our hearts, our true investments.

It is common among certain Christian groups to mock what is blanket termed as “being PC” or being politically correct. I had this long conversation, some months ago, with a friend who was increasingly irritated by my “failure” to call people names. Worse still, I failed to side with her in her belief that people unlike her were all worth treating poorly. I didn’t realize I was angering her until she blurted out her frustration at my inability to see eye to eye with her. It turns out, my worst failure was that I didn’t categorize people as “us” and “them.” But if we’re all image-bearers, then it seems to me there isn’t any ‘them,’ just a whole lot of ‘us.’ The problem with PC, among certain so-called “Christian” sects, is that people are not weighed according to belief, behavior, ability, appearance, or affiliation. People are supposed to be labeled and tossed into different buckets, each to be treated according to the label. When did this become characteristic of a group bearing the name of Christ? When did segregationism and judgmentalism replace “you will know my disciples for their love,” and “love your neighbor as yourself”?

No, it’s not new to our century.

But what is new is that we are increasingly glorying in our shame. We boast about how vile our language can be. We honor deceit and dissembling with a quarter of a million dollars. We memorize denigrating come backs, and laugh heartily when one is able to fire one off without thought. We spend millions of dollars on murder, mayhem and destruction as entertainment. And when somebody doesn’t entertain denigrating song lyrics (even though the song’s got such a good beat!), when somebody fails to laugh with the objectification of an image-bearer joke, when somebody refuses to share in the mockery of another, that person is seen as narrow.

But who’s narrow, really? The one who broadens the world into a giant ‘us’ category of Imagis Dei, or those who focus on themselves and those few that don’t threaten their sense of superiority? Those who jump, to use Rob Bell’s picture, on the trampoline of faith, having built no exclusionary conditions into who may come jump along, or those who build and guard walls designed to exclude? Who’s narrow? Those who respect all as equal and valuable, or those who draw tight circles around themselves?

Whatever happened to manners? And who will be courageous enough to teach them, to model them in this upside down world—to actively pursue imaging God’s love? Are you? Am I?

See for yourself.

It was a fun thread, and a number of friends, of very diverse political and theological backgrounds—from the very liberal to the very conservative—participated in good humor and great memory.

But the fun was dampered quite suddenly when one friend wrote simply, “I feel attacked.” It wasn’t even an hour later and she had unfriended me. I was shocked and hurt, since this friend was a dear discovery, a found ally from decades ago, with whom I had many shared trials and victories, a friend I treasured. That a simple list of aphorisms, outside of any usage context, could make one feel attacked in one’s faith, pulled me up short. What is it that this portends?

My concern is that an increasing number of Christians rely not on scripture and its ambiguities, not on the ineffability and mystery of a God who is greater than we can think or imagine, but on the certainties such soundbites promise. And when these soundbites are merely listed together as a set of aphorisms, they somehow fail to stand up with such vigor as do other lists of aphorisms, like, for example, the Proverbs. The soundbites, when looked at for what they are as aphorisms, even before we consider content, seem paltry and trite. But such a subconscious suggestion challenges one’s faith, if one stands on these, and not on the complexities and paradoxes expressed in scripture and those faith traditions that have endured for centuries.

The contrary to faith is not doubt and unclarity, but certainty, for when one is certain of something, one need not trust, one need not risk relying on another, need not dare to be mistaken. Faith, according to the early Christians (and Jews) is trust, not a blind acceptance of a certain set of propositions about the nature of God, the locations of afterlife existence, and the complete set of activities that constitute sin or righteousness. These come later, and ultimately don’t matter in faith. Faith is trusting God even if the truth value or content of one (or more) of these propositions is unknown or doubted by the one who trusts.

So I begin this discussion on certain soundbites, analyzing them in the light of cultural connotations, theological implications, and  scriptural quotations, in the light of what Jesus taught and what those who rely on these soundbites claim and practice. It’s sure to be a controversial ride.

Oh, and before I begin on the first one, I ask you to please, if you think of any, feel free to comment with any Christianese soundbites that you have heard.

Soundbite: Christians aren’t perfect, just forgiven.

A short meditation, here, which I would like to preface with an observation. When I searched online for image results of this soundbite, I was stunned to find that roughly one in ten links were to discussions about the ‘abomination’ of homosexuality, the evil evil ‘gay agenda’, and so forth. Of course, the inference I drew wasn’t surprising or unintended: Unlike gays, Christians are forgiven. And though Christians aren’t perfect, Lord knows we’re not as bad as those perverts. But what then, is forgiveness in the scheme of God’s activity among persons?

Forgiveness is something given freely, something offered, according to scripture and Christian teachings (except five point Calvinism), to everyone. God loved the world, not just Christians. Everyone is forgiven. Of course, what makes a Christian a Christian is simply that s/he acknowledges this forgiveness and accepts it.

Consider this in terms of the limited realm of human interaction. When one forgives another, it is often despite the other’s repeated activity. Counselers advise us to forgive even if the other doesn’t change, since the forgiveness frees us up. Now imagine a more analogous scenario. Person X has done something person Y forgave. But X feels great embarassment, maybe shame, at what X did. X might or might not know Y has gotten over it, has forgiven X. So X will behave according to what X knows about Y. Imagine X learns that Y has forgiven what X understands to be a heinous offense. Well! X will be quite different than were X to know X needed to be forgiven but maybe wasn’t. Or even if X had no clue X had hurt Y at all. If X finds out, knowing full well X needed to be forgiven, imagine the gratitude, the sense of reconciliation X would carry around! There wouldn’t be this attitude that X is better than, say, Z, because X is forgiven. X would be humbled, and to the degree X had offended (or hurt) Y, would be thankful for the forgiveness.

Forgiveness isn’t conditional on whether it is received or acknowledged. It is conditional upon whether the forgiver wants to forgive. And it is extended before it can be received. It has to be in effect before it can be acknowledged, before it can be embraced. Forgiveness is antecedent to its reception and is not contingent upon whether anyone to whom it has been extended ever acknowledges it has been offered.

Thus the problem here. This saying implies that only Christians are forgiven. But then, that would imply that forgiveness isn’t for just anyone, and that only Christians get it. Salvation by works? Certainly tastes like it to me.

Now suppose, just for the sake of argument, Calvinist doctrine is true here. Then we have that whole predestination, elect thing going on. But there is no knowing who is elect and who isn’t, no knowing whether someone, Christian or not, is in that forgiven elect group. Sure, one acts on the belief that one is among the elect, among the “forgiven and going to heaven” crowd, but the point here is, even under strict Calvinism, this soundbite isn’t accurate.

Either everyone is forgiven, or some are and nobody but God knows who is until judgment day. No matter which way you look at it, this soundbite implies and communicates poor doctrine.

I am not of the mindset that forgiveness is only for a select few. It is consistent with the Hebrew tradition (how to treat strangers, the hospitality code, etc.) and the teachings of Jesus and Paul (not to be mistaken with “pseudo Paul” or those second century writers who authored in his name) that this kindom of God is egalitarian, respecting no person over another, but offering love and forgiveness to any and all.

If this is the case, then we should consider what the juxtapositions in our trite little sayings communicate. This one implies that what makes a Christian is forgiveness. But I am arguing that this is what makes a human being, an image bearer of God. So maybe the saying should be modified: Christians aren’t perfect; in fact, we know we need to be forgiven. Changes everything, doesn’t it? All of a sudden, we don’t sound so smug, so terribly holier than thou. In fact, we begin, with such a saying, to sound, well, surprisingly Christian.

Of course, what she didn’t know at the time, but what came to be obvious as the years wore on, was that her dreams were only illusions. Her first husband was quite respectable indeed. He was the eldest son of a wealthy synagogue leader. They were to have a blessed life, as he would lead the community into purity and devotion to the Ancient of Days. And so he did, becoming so active at the city gate that he scarcely paid his wife any attention those few hours he was home. She was expected to prepare Sabbath and remain unseen when he and his important colleagues, all of whom sat in counsel for the town, partook and prayed. It wasn’t quite what she had dreamed, but he was overall a good man. It came as a horrible shock when the news came that he had been waylaid by bandits while on the road to Moriah. He didn’t survive.

Childless, she grieved for a long time, even as her deceased husband’s brother took up the responsibility of caring for her. After the required season of mourning ended, they were married. And her second husband was very a very strong man, a state of affairs she rued nightly as he beat her. And even though she had, in their brief time together, gotten pregnant, one of his outbursts of rage had so ravaged her that the child had died before birth. It was a blessing when he died that sultry August evening, when the illness that had been overtaking their town cruelly entered their own home. She herself had been very ill, but somehow, despite her weakness, cared for him as he lay soaked with sweat and (thankfully!) too weak to lash out at her.

Her third husband was very intelligent. She was so lucky that he was even kind enough to marry her. And when their son was born, he was quickly found to be like his father, so much so that her in-laws decided he should be moved in with them, where he would be closer to the highest educational center in the land. Alone together with his wife, his only son four days of journeying time away, this man soon became bored with his lot. She was no match for his conversation, and he missed the friends of his hometown. So one day, upon coming home from market, this woman found her husband and his things gone. Dropping all the produce in a heap on the floor, she ran to the synagogue, where she learned that he had signed the official writ divorcing her, and taking full custody of their son. He was gone.

Destitute, and afraid of what would become of her, she returned home, careful to study the ground in case she might find abandoned coins or other such valuables within grasp. As a divorced woman, she was shameful to the community, who believed that such a state of being was certainly due to moral depravity or some other character ailment. Yet she was resourceful, and was fortunate to have yet the house and small plot of land he had purchased when they married. She transformed the land to a small, thriving garden, and she raised a tiny flock of chickens, and thus she somehow scraped together enough to feed herself, and even, during good months, a tiny income with which she could purchase poorer quality fabrics and meal.

One day, while in the market haggling over flour, she was approached by a stranger, who seemed to her the most amazing fellow. He seemed to truly care about her lot, and he began a mind-whirling romance with her, which culminated in a storybook fashion. They were married, and she believed that this romantic fellow would give her that dreamed-about happily ever after. Of course, he had to keep himself separate from her, since she was a fallen woman, evidenced by her multiple past husbands. But he was merciful to his wretched wife, until, that is, he too divorced her, taking her house and property as his rightful due, being the head of household. Their marriage didn’t last three months.

Childless, outcast, she found herself sleeping in fields covered by straw or torn up chunks of peat. She hadn’t money to leave town, but every time she passed her own little house she was overcome with such a pang of grief, of lost childhood dreams, that she could scarcely breathe. Of course, she had to resort to panhandling or theft to survive. And then came the most awe-inspiring man. He couldn’t marry her, of course, but he would give her a place to live, a small allowance, and food, for a small price. He knew she hadn’t income, so she would clean and cook for him, and, as he desired, on occasion offer other more intimate services. She gratefully accepted.

There were consequences, but she considered them small compared to her previous lot in life—at least, she did at first. She was now considered a whore by the community, banned from synagogue. She would hear the disapproving whispers of mothers to each other, feel the occasional pebble hit her ankle or elbow as she walked past taunting children. She knew the stories they told about her. And the pain of it compounded over time. She resorted to avoiding people. She’d go to market or the well at the hottest time of day, in order to face the fewest people as possible. She remained indoors or found a little refuge in her tiny garden. Instead of being the esteemed woman of the proverbs she’d read as a girl, she was a pariah, living at the mercy of this benefactor who wouldn’t even marry her.

She was, after all, but a woman, a being with no civil rights or powers beyond those held by a husband or son, neither of which she herself had.

So it was, one especially hot and humid afternoon, that she came to the silence of the well at the center of town. She was weary, but they were low on water, and Sabbath was upon them. There would be no water for tomorrow if she didn’t fetch it now, and besides, it was so hot she knew nobody would be at the well to torment her. She found the hard work cathartic, actually. When she labored so physically, she was able to turn off her mind, to temporarily escape her unlucky world to one of simple work.

It was then a startling turn of events when she heard the voice. This man had come out of nowhere, and suddenly he was asking for a drink of water. When she looked up, she realized that this man was a Jew, one of those who traced their ancestry from the Babylonian captivity, one of those who considered themselves more fitting to be called Moses’ heirs than people like her, people who traced their ancestry from those whom the Babylonians left behind when they invaded the land. A Jew! And he looked like a rabbi, too. Startled, knowing that if he took anything from her his religion would consider it—and him by extension—unclean, she replied, “You’re a Jew. I’m a Samaritan woman. How can you ask me for a drink?” It was crazy. No Jew in his right mind would ask anything of a Samaritan, let alone a Samaritan woman!

His reply was mystifying. “If you knew the gift of God,” he said, “if you knew who it is that is asking you for this drink, you’d have asked him instead, and he’d have given you living water.”

Without thinking (darn, how silly not to stop and think!), she replied, “You don’t have anything to draw water with! And this well is deep. How could you possibly get this living water?”

After a pause, when her brain kicked in, she realized he was being somewhat metaphorical. She had, after all, listened enough times at the door during the meetings between her first husband and his friends! “Are you greater than our father Jacob,” she asked, “who gave us this well and drank from it himself, along with his sons and flocks and herds?”

The reply—”Everyone who drinks of this water will get thirsty again. But whoever drinks the water I give will never thirst. In fact, the water I give will turn into a spring within the drinker, welling up to eternal life.”

Aphorisms. Symbolism. She didn’t understand. And it was hot. But he was entrancing, and defying societal norms even to carry on such a conversation with her. Revolutionary! And no one really talked to her any more. Especially with such profundity and as if she were an equal. And what was this water, anyway?

“Sir,” she said. “Please do give me some of this water. I’d like not to be thirsty, not to have to return her all the time to draw water.”

“Ah,” he said. “Go call your husband and come back.”

Of course it would come to this. Mockery. He had to have realized that since she was here in the middle of the day, she was an outcast. She shouldn’t have made herself vulnerable. Especially not to a Jew. Well, fine. He won’t stick around town, and there’s nothing she hadn’t heard before.

“I have no husband,” she said flatly.

“This is true,” he said. “Fact is, you’ve had five husbands. And the fellow you’re currently with isn’t your husband at all. You speak correctly.”

She had to steady herself against the well. “What?” How did he know, this Jew from far away? And even though he pointed out the facts of her life, he didn’t seem to be mocking her at all. It was uncanny. Just matter of fact, not accusatory. And he had such a presence!

“Sir,” she mumbled, “I see you’re a prophet.”

Then, madly, she decided to pursue her longing for true conversation, for respect, and even for a few answers to questions that had been nagging her for over a decade. “Our fathers,” she began hurriedly, interrupting herself, “they worshipped on this mountain, but yours, yours worship in Jerusalem, and you say that that’s the only proper place to worship.”

Sitting on the edge of the well, the man looked kindly at her. “A time will come when you won’t worship the Father either here or in Jerusalem. Believe me. You Samaritans worship what you don’t know; we Jews what we do, because salvation is from the Jews. But a time is coming when true worshippers will worship the Father in spirit and in truth, for these are the kind of worshippers the Father looks for. You see, God is spirit, and his worshippers must worship in spirit and in truth.”

Well! Revolutionary indeed! It doesn’t matter to this man that he’s speaking to a woman as if she were one of his disciples, teaching like a rabbi. It doesn’t matter to this man that she’s a Samaritan, and his words sliced through the very doctrinal matter that divided Samaritans from their Jewish kin for centuries. Where we worship doesn’t matter, he said. It’s how. Is that what he refers to when speaking of this living water? It was so confusing.

“I know the Anointed One is coming,” she said. “When he comes, he’ll explain all of this to us.” Messiah would reunite ancient brotherhoods under his teaching.

“I am he,” the man said.

It was all a blur. Messiah? Now? Here in Samaria? Talking to her, the outcast, the pariah? How could it be?

Suddenly, this band of Jewish men approached, and some of them looked at her, perplexed. But contrary to what she expected, nobody said anything about her talking to this man. Nobody voiced any judgment. Their surprise seemed only that, not laced with the sectarian racism that so often marked the Jewish treatment of Samaritans. It was too much.

“Please,” she said, dropping the water jar, “I’ll be right back!”

And she ran into town where she knew many townspeople would be, taking a break from the heat. It didn’t matter how they treated her. It didn’t matter the pebbles, the gossip, the ostracization. There was here someone suggesting a new way of thinking, a way of egalitarianism, where Jew and Samaritan could stand together before the Father, worshipping equally. And this man! He claimed to be Anointed One, and if so, then this new way would erase the history of inequity, of judgmentalism, of victimization. It would raise up the oppressed and lower the oppressor, making all united before the Holy One. They had to know!

“Come and see this man at the well!” She cried.

People looked up, startled to hear the woman who said so little shouting so animatedly.

“Come and see this man who told me everything about me!”

The gossipy ones looked up. Everything about this woman?

“Could he be the Anointed One?”

Wait, they thought. Messiah? Was she raving?

She ran back to the well, looking carefree, almost. This merited investigation. And a number of the town elders and many of those who had heard her yelling in the square followed, out of curiosity, to see this man. And they were also amazed at what he said, and they came to believe that he was the Anointed One, and asked him to stay (a Jew! Staying with Samaritans!). Amazingly enough, he did, for two whole days. It was unthinkable, revolutionary, and mind-blowing.

The pariah had found the Anointed One (or, rather, he had found her). And through this outcast, he had reached out to the outcast people, showing the gentle plan of the Father, who was the God of all creation, of all peoples.

The irony of this story is, of course, how it has been carried down the centuries. Over time, connotations have arisen, suggesting that the woman was a prostitute, that she had divorced many times, forgetting the fact that no woman of that era had such rights. The irony is that the outcast has been kept at arm’s length by those who believe she was, in some fashion, a horrible “sinner” whom Jesus deigned to teach a lesson to, to correct. But no such connotation exists in the text.

Of course, my story is a fiction, a suggestion. But it is more consistent with the historical facts regarding woman’s rights and role in society. And it’s more consistent with the pattern of Jesus’s life. Jesus came to the outcasts. Jesus came to obliterate the divisions made by “us and them” thinking societies. His birth was announced by shepherds and mystics, the former being social outcasts who were considered unclean, the latter being Gentile pagans who were impossibly unacceptable to any truly pious Jew. Jesus ate with tax profiteers. Jesus touched lepers.

It was the outcast who became the spokesperson of the kindom of heaven, that kindom where there are none who lord over others, but where all stand dignified and acceptable before the Father. It still is the outcast who speaks for the kindom.

Jesus said once that the kindom of heaven suffers violence, and the violent take it by force. Many times, I have heard this interpreted, based on the King James wording, as a call to violently storm heaven in the name of Jesus. But language evolves. Words change connotations over time. There was a time when “to browse” meant “to chew a cud”—as in a cow. Then it evolved to mean “to look through”—as in a library or bookstore. Of course, now, it primarily means to do a web search. It is foolish to take contemporary connotations and place them on centuries-old texts, to assume they communicate precisely what we would mean using those words.

When translated more carefully, the meaning of Jesus’ words are chillingly opposed to that common understanding, preached from countless American pulpits. “The kindom of God,” he said, “is under siege; those who have no right to it are trying to overpower it by violence.”

The kindom of God, that family of equality and respect, is under attack by those who claim right to it, those who are invading it violently, like the Huns invaded Russia or the Goths pillaged Rome. Those who claim inequality and ostracization are God’s design. Those who set up castes and pariahs. Those who, in short, are more concerned about whether we worship on Moriah or in Jerusalem, not whether we worship in spirit and in truth.

So how about a little bit of a ridiculously-researched rant? Don’t mind if I do.

It’s been an intense summer. Achievements include finally getting a reasonable draft of a very difficult chapter in to my dissertation chair (and figuring out a better organization of the next two chapters, which condenses them into one long, but far more straightforward chapter). And I spent three marvelous weeks in Canada with my amazing gift-from-God girlfriend E and her kids. Marriage is on the table.

Marriage. Yes. Same sex marriage. That is a legal right in Canada, explicitly defended by federal law (2005′s bill C-38). Oh, and in Denmark (1989), Norway (1993/2009), Sweden (1996/2009), Iceland (1996), France (1999), The Netherlands (2001),  Germany (2001), Finland (2002), Belgium (2003), Luxembourg (2004), New Zealand (2004), Great Britain (2005), Spain (2005), and South Africa (2006)—all recognized unions, by the way, in New York, even though NY still endorses DOMA for Americans.

Of course, I’m an American, and the notion of my being able to be married to the woman I love, and to have full rights of a citizen—well, okay, resident national—it just amazes me. I wear this reminder on my wrist—1138—the number of citizen rights gays are denied in the US when they are denied federal marriage. Being able to marry and have a public affirmation of your commitment to the one you love more than any other is a wonderful thing. That you can marry in your church—available to many for years in many denominations—this is good. That you can have “civil unions” in Washington (a right being attacked right now, as fundamentalist Northwesterners take a cue from their California colleagues), that you can get married in a handful of other states, this is good. But even with a local recognition, there are still over a thousand rights denied gays merely because we are gay.

Outside of marriage, though, there’s simple human dignity, something denied gays in our former fearless leader’s beloved home state. We have DOMA and DADT, protecting the narrow-minded fears of fundamentalists. We have huge groups supporting, in their chosen ignorance (in their decision to let others think for them instead of looking up for themselves the evidence that is so ridiculously available to them in this glut of an information age), groups that endorse prejudice and ‘sexual orientation reparative therapy’ endeavours, on the assumptions that being gay is a malady, and that this malady can be ‘healed’ or ‘overcome.’ Forget what the careful research of diligent scientists and psychologists has to say (cf. APA’s 1937 study on homosexuality and this month’s publication on so-called ‘reparative therapy’ or change efforts). We have Pat Robertson and Jim Dobson.

I wasn’t going to go on this tangent (I was just going to hyperlink), but I have to. It’s relevant to my overall point of thinking for ourselves and determining whether the authorities we follow are legitimate. Promise. Consider some of the things our beloved leaders Pat and Jimmy have said.

• “You say you’re supposed to be nice to the Episcopalians and the Presbyterians and the Methodists and this, that, and the other thing. Nonsense. I don’t have to be nice to the spirit of the Antichrist. I can love the people who hold false opinions but I don’t have to be nice to them.”—-Pat Robertson, The 700 Club, January 14, 1991

• “Just like what Nazi Germany did to the Jews, so liberal America is now doing to the evangelical Christians. It’s no different. [...] It is the Democratic Congress, the liberal-based media and the homosexuals who want to destroy the Christians. Wholesale abuse and discrimination and the worst bigotry directed toward any group in America today. More terrible than anything suffered by any minority in history.”—Pat Robertson, 1993 interview with Molly Ivins

• “The feminist agenda is not about equal rights for women. It is about a socialist, anti-family political movement that encourages women to leave their husbands, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism, and become lesbians.” — Pat Robertson, fundraising letter, 1992

• “Many of those people involved with Adolph Hitler were Satanists, many of them were homosexuals—the two things seem to go together.”—Pat Robertson, “The 700 Club,” 1/21/93 (fH comment: oh, come on! What grade did Pat get in high school history? Gays were among the first to be sent to concentration camps, and weren’t released—since hated—upon liberation—or if they were, they were quickly rounded up and sent to work camps in the gulag.)

• “Why are we so concerned about the bias toward the homosexual agenda in the United States? Because it has profound implications for the well-being of our society. Any change in the traditional understanding of the family will undermine its legal foundation and render it meaningless. If, for example, marriage can occur between two men or two women, why not three men or four women? What about between siblings, or between parents and children? How about one man and six women, which reopens the polygamy debate of 116 years ago? To change the definition of marriage from the exclusive union between one man and one woman is to destroy the family as it has been known for 5,000 years.” —James Dobson, June 1998 newsletter

• “Homosexuals are not monogamous. They want to destroy the institution of marriage. It will destroy marriage. It will destroy the Earth.” —James Dobson,  from The Daily Oklahoman, Oct. 23rd, 2004

• Sponge Bob Square Pants is a part of the “insidious” agenda of radical homosexuals (as is Tinky Winky), according to Dobson

Enough on that. Let’s look at the bigger picture.

• AIDS is a homosexual disease. It’s God’s judgment on us—well, to be more careful, it’s our “reaping the consequences of going against God’s law” against us (there now, doesn’t that make you feel less evil? Don’t you feel this to be a kinder, gentler God to serve?) .

• The death of US soldiers in the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan is God’s punishment to America for tolerating gays.

• The combination of gays and Disney is evil. That’s because we’re a social ill.

• Gays are destructive to society and should be deported from the US.

• Proof of this? Gays enabled the attacks of 911.

• Homosexuality causes natural disasters like hurricanes and tsunamis and earthquakes.

That’s because our very physical being is bad.

• Homosexuality causes disease, so gays should wear distinguishing tattoos.

• Thus, gay blood is unacceptable for donation, even in medical emergencies.

• Specifically, homosexuality causes swine flu (though apparently heterosexuality isn’t frictious enough to be dangerous).

• Oh, and just because it’s interesting, Soy causes homosexuality. Just so’s you know.

I think we should just come on out and admit it. As a lesbian, I have ninja powers. I got them in a secret meeting where we all got together and mumbled special incantations that empowered us with abilities unknown to heterosexuals. We control society. We control world health. We control the weather. Don’t try to change the channel. We control the horizontal. We control the vertical. We have so much power that when God’s enraged, he is too scared to attack us, but kills American service people instead. Sure, that whole HIV/AIDS thing. But the majority of people who die of it are heterosexual. God knows better than to irk those of us with ninja gay powers. We ooze destructive capabilities. Forget Chuck Norris. He’s got nothing on the average everyday gay. We can program VCRs so that they stop blinking.

It all makes sense, when you look at it carefully. If you allow gays to marry (especially vegan gays who eat lots of soy), then they will have lots of ninja-powered gay babies and because of them the world will be destroyed by bad blood, natural disasters, and the smoking ruins of civilization.

Gays take up around ten percent of the population. Suppose, generously, that eighty percent of them want marriage. So this deluge of gays would totally overpower the eighty percent of ninety percent of heterosexuals who need access to clergy and civil servants who officiate over marriage. Gays getting married will cause the destruction of marriage. Everyone will have to get divorced. Or will stop loving their spouses. Or will cheat. Or will no longer want to get married, since gays have so polluted it. The institution of marriage between one man and one woman has been the foundation of society for 3,000 years (says Dobson, et al.). Uh, don’t count Abraham, Isaac, David, Solomon or those other guys. Gays will destroy marriage, because we’re by definition not monogamous. That’s different than the serial polygamy of heterosexuals like Newt Gingrich, John McCain, and Rush Limbaugh.

I’m being acidic, I know. But I wonder sometimes if acid isn’t what’s needed to burn through the iron bars around so many minds, keeping them confined in the narrow thoughtlessness of homophobia. If, by some chance, people see the list of accusations and consider the difference between true causal connections and hysteria, if they see the absurdity that develops when these are taken en masse, perhaps my acid here will be potent enough to burn a hole large enough for a mind to escape from the cave into the daylight of Platonic understanding.

Uh, maybe I should get back to my dissertation, now. I think I need to spend some time with value and reason.