What shirt will you wear?

Facebook reminded me this morning that I shared THIS CARTOON one year ago today.

I really appreciated this a year ago. Still appreciate it today. As the data continues to flow in, those that work to discern God's dream for the church are seeing this shift. And led by the Holy Spirit, they are living the Gospel in unique and inviting ways that are making the church healthier than it has been for some time.

However, healthy today is not the same understanding of healthy 20, 30 or 50 years ago. Our foreparents in the faith lived in a very different time and the institution that we have created (and call the church) was different for them than it is for us today.

Jesus' message is still the same. Yet, over the years, some have drifted away from that message, contorted it to meet their own needs and in turn, have hurt others and hurt the church. It's up to us, those of us who love Jesus AND love the church to live the truth of the Gospel and work to prevent those that have been (are) causing harm from continuing to do so.

Christianity is not dying.
The church is not dying.

Do you know why? Because Jesus lives! His teachings are just as relevant today as they were 2000 years ago... maybe even more relevant.

What has changed? We have. Our desire to live independently as opposed to living within community. Our need for self-gratification as opposed to caring for the needs of others. Our self-centered, self-motivated living is counter to the Christian Gospel.

And that is what needs to change. That is what needs to die.

And then our faith, our lives... and just maybe the church... will be reborn...will be resurrected!

Have we gone so far as to stop believing in the God we worship and God's ability to make all things new?

Perhaps we're content worshiping a God that is made in our image... one that suits our needs, our desires...instead of worshiping the God who created all things, the God who re-creates still, the God who made US in God's image. Imago Dei!

If we do nothing, the church WILL die. It's like the wisdom shared by my childhood dentist in regard to my teeth; "If you ignore them... they'll go away." If we ignore the church...it will go away.

My sense is that not one of us want to simply do nothing. We want the church to exist. What we need to determine is for what purpose? Do we want the church to simply exist to meet our own needs? To be our private/primary social circle? To allow us positions of power that we couldn't (perhaps shouldn't) be invited to anywhere else in the community?

Or do we believe in the institution that was created to work collectively, meeting the needs of those in the world who lack the resources for daily living that we hold abundantly?

Make a decision!

If you want to call yourself a Christian, then put on the "Christian" shirt and invest yourself, your life in living Christ's Gospel.

Or...

Move aside. Align yourself more truthfully with the organizations in the world that will meet your needs. And let those of us who trust in God's Spirit guiding us to lead the way and bring about the change in the world to which God is calling us.

Step aside and let those whose hearts are filled with the life and teachings of Jesus Christ be about the work of the church. Watch from a distance if you must. And then when/if you are ready... ready to die to self and to get out of God's way, come back and join in the ministry to which Jesus points us.

But all in all, be truthful... truthful to yourself and truthful to God.

Where do you align yourself? What shirt will you wear from this day forward?

I was a United Methodist

Growing up, I didn't have a whole heck of a lot of experience with church. My family boasted our Portuguese Catholic heritage although I recall only once attending a Catholic mass with my family. It was also the same day that we attended worship at the local Baptist church. As my mother, my step-father and his four children walked into either sacred space, I'm sure we were looked upon as a "good Christian/Catholic family." If only they knew... (but that's a post for another day)

As a youth, I naturally gravitated to wherever it was that my friends were hanging out. And it just so happened that the place they were hanging out was the local United Methodist Church, attending their youth fellowship program. So I went. I ate their snacks. I played their games. I probably even sang their songs and sat with head bowed, eyes closed as they prayed their prayers. But I cannot recall any connection... to the church, the religion or their God. To my friends? Yes! But that was the only connection.

I continued on that path for a while, attending youth fellowship and growing my friendships.

That fellowship and those friendships also took me to a United Methodist summer camp. Actually, a summer Confirmation camp. The week culminated in (apparently) my meeting the requirements of being confirmed in the United Methodist Church. Although what I took away from that week was notably far less than the camp counselors would've hoped.

But nonetheless, I was confirmed a United Methodist and became a member of that local church. Though I'm not sure I attended church beyond that point.

Fast forward a few years. I'm living back in my hometown, attending college and working at a local fast food restaurant. There I met the wife of a young, vibrant Methodist pastor that encouraged me to give the church another try. I went to worship in their church. I was even drafted as a camp counselor one summer... the summer I engaged one of the biggest struggles of my life.

It was at that Methodist summer camp where I experienced my own conversion experience. I had been struggling for some time to find a balance between the God that was being introduced to me through the United Methodist Church and the inner understanding that I was significantly different than the neatly-organized, boxed-in identities of those whom I was told God loved. I am different. I am different because I am gay.

I continue to give thanks to that young, vibrant United Methodist pastor not only for inviting me into an opportunity that led to my personal conversion experience but also for sitting down in his office with me, answering the heavy question that was on my heart. "Tell me what the church says about homosexuality."

His response, which I love still this day was yet another question. "Do you want to know what the church believes or what I believe?"

He didn't even need to go further. His words assured me that no matter what the denomination may believe or teach, not everyone in the church was in agreement. If the church taught that someone like me, created by God as unique in a system that sees anything outside of the "straight" box as abnormal WAS abnormal... then perhaps that church is not for me.

It was there that I released myself from a relationship with the United Methodist Church. As the years turned from that point forward I lived into a call from God to ministry in the Christian church and knowing that the United Methodist Church was not going to affirm me for who God has created me to be, I took a different path. And today, I give thanks to God for the United Church of Christ, for the lead we have taken as a denomination on so many levels and for affirming me in my ordination to the Christian ministry.

As more and more information comes out from the current United Methodist General Conference, my heart breaks. Those who are still within the United Methodist Church who yearn to live and be in ministry as their true selves are hurting and being hurt. I fear for those ordained members who have come out as openly LGBTQ, making themselves very vulnerable in the midst of a divisive conference. I pray for the local churches torn apart by this dialogue. And I weep for Christianity, again centered in the public eye, revealing our flaws and assuring those outside of our churches that we are truly as hypocritical as they project.

As I read the voices of those engaged in these United Methodist conversations I pray that healing can happen, that folks can be aware of God's presence in the midst of it all and that the Gospel can shine through.

Sure, I could sit back and scoff at those that are not ready to embrace the full inclusion of my LGBTQ siblings. I could go off on the ignorance, the lack of educated understanding of what is at play. I could even simply ignore it all because I am sitting in a denomination that affirms me, that has ordained me... an openly gay man. Why should I care about those outside of the United Church of Christ?

But I don't do these things. Instead I long for, and I hope to work toward a time when all who claim to follow Jesus will exist in such a way that we no longer demean those different from ourselves. I hope to work toward bringing about more and more glimpses of the kingdom which Jesus spoke of where love of God, neighbor and self prevails. I hope to raise our children in a world where these debates are a thing of the past, a world where all are valued for the person God has created them to be. That is the world of which God dreams, I believe.

So to those in our Christian family who are aligned with the United Methodist Church... God be with you. God be with you in this time of difficult conversations, this time of uncertainty. God be with you as you seek to not only speak your truth with love but also to listen intently to those, God's beloved who disagree. May the Spirit move in and through us all.

The PROBLEM with your theology is...

An Open Letter to Disrespectful “Christians”

On Saturday, our church had representation at the PrideFest in Providence, Rhode Island. We had a booth, take-aways, our banner and a variety of warm friendly faces from our congregation greeting those that passed by. As I stood in front of the booth, I would often engage with those who were reading our banner or looking at our rainbow doors. I’d start the conversation quickly as I know that most street fairs pull for our attention in a million different ways so I needed to get to the heart of the conversation as quickly as possible. “Do you go to church?” is the question that I asked followed by; “Why not?” since the majority of folks answered “no” to my first question.

The responses ranged from “I don’t know” to “I’ve not found a church that is actually as welcoming as they claim to be.” I am making a huge assumption in that those I encountered probably identified with a sexuality other than heterosexual…but I can’t be completely sure.

This exchange went on throughout the day with many folks willing to engage in healthy conversation, learning about our church and challenging me to convince them that our church is truly as welcoming as we say it is.

But then the healthy engagements came to a grinding halt.

When I asked my next conversation partners if they were part of a church, the woman laughed and said “yes” as if I was offending her for asking. She then began to question the t-shirt I was wearing. It is a red shirt with the words “Love the sinner, hate the sin” written down the front. Each of the words has a line through it… except for the word “love.” The concept of the shirt is that the phrase “love the sinner, hate the sin” has all too often been used to cause harm to members of the LGBTQ community and that by leaving the word “love” as the only focus it shows us how we are to live. We are to simply love!

This woman and her male companion continued to question my shirt, the church’s banner which claimed that “Jesus didn’t reject anyone. Neither do we” (a slogan borrowed from our denomination, The United Church of Christ). They questioned my own personal theology and whether I believed in substitutionary atonement (Jesus dying as payment for our sins). They asked if Hitler is in Heaven…why does everyone always use Hitler for that example? 

They went on and on, grilling me on Old Testament law and New Testament commandments. And I think I was doing pretty well, solid in my faith, solid in my theology, respectful in the exchange. That is until the young man said this…

“The PROBLEM with your theology is…”

And that’s where I shut the conversation down.

Up until that point I had been willing to engage with these conservative “Christians” in their little game of Christian theology trivial pursuit. I had been respectful in listening to them share their theology even though it was very different than mine. I never said they were wrong. I never said I was right. I listened and responded. Until they insulted me.

To say to someone; “the PROBLEM with your theology is…” is basically saying; “I don’t care what you believe… it’s wrong!” How does that attitude spread the Gospel?

I told the couple that I was done. Having now been insulted, I was no longer going to play their game. I gave them the church’s information and invited them to contact me to set up another time where we could sit down and have a respectful conversation. But in that moment, I was done.

What did they think they were going to prove? Did they think that I, a gay Christian man, an ordained United Church of Christ Pastor, was somehow going to change my view of our God and think that I was somehow wrong in thinking that God loves me?

Did they think that by telling me that there is a problem with my theology that I was going to grovel at their feet to be spoon-fed more of their hate-slinging?

Did they think that by trying to make me feel as if my theology is wrong that they were somehow advancing the Kingdom of God?

The Jesus that I follow is a man of respect. He challenged people in order to help them grow. He spoke the truth to power because he saw power being misused and misrepresented. He lived a life of meaning, encouraging others to discover how they could align their faith with their life. And yet he never insulted people, saying that he was right and they were wrong…end of story, no more discussion.

Jesus engaged in healthy debate, healthy dialogue. And we should too.

To claim Christianity as our faith and then to go about our lives causing harm to others, insulting them, talking behind their back, making a mockery of those trying to authentically live out their faith is a slap to Jesus’ face.

The movement that began with Jesus is one that is meant to bring people to a life-fulfilling relationship with a God who loves them. It is meant to provide a new lens through which we are to see the world… a lens of compassion and justice. The movement is meant to bring about change in the world through respect.

So to my disrespectful “Christian” conversation partners… I’m still waiting for the phone call to find a time to meet. Until then, I hope that God can find a way to enter in and crack open your hearts in a way that allows so much love and compassion to flow in there will no longer be room for hate. That is my prayer for you, for myself and for all who wish to live our lives following Jesus. May we love one another as God has shown us. And may we advance the Kingdom of God in doing so.

It's time...

It's not quite a week since Epiphany. Christmas has come and gone. The Magi's gifts have been given. Our homes have been stripped of any holiday glitter and the sanctuary is once again emptied of the decorations. There are no more wreathes, no poinsettias, no candles in the windows. Had we not been present in this Sacred Space during the Advent and Christmas seasons, we would have no idea what we missed.

But I was here. I did see the Meeting House decked with boughs of greenery and symbols of the season. I did find myself surrounded by the warm, welcoming candles. I did feel the power that this time of year presents. And now it is all gone.

The morning after Epiphany (the first day that the Sanctuary was emptied of its decorations), I sat in one of the pews and looked around.

It doesn't seem possible that Christmas is over.
It doesn't seem possible that Lent will soon be beginning.

I've just celebrated the adoration of the Christ Child and now I must prepare for what comes next...his death.

It's too soon!

I want to savor the experience of hearing the story of his birth once again.
I want to capture the brilliance of the moment when the congregation sings Silent Night.
I want to hold on to the light present in the faces of our children.
I want to stay here...safe, warm, comfortable.

As my eyes pan across the front of our worship space, it's as if a voice were calling to me. My focus lands on the cross, the symbol of our faith, high above the choir pews. It calls out to me in such a way that the blurriness of this new seasons seems to come into sharp focus.

It's time...

It's time to move beyond the wreathes and the candles.
It's time to move beyond the Advent and Christmas hymns.
It's time to move beyond that which is safe, warm and comfortable.

It's time to turn the focus from Bethlehem to Jerusalem.

Jesus will age very quickly in these next few weeks. No longer will he be the Holy Infant. No longer will he be the toddler receiving the gifts of the Magi. He will be grown and steeped in his ministry, focused on the future and working diligently to bring us all along.

It's time...

It's time to leave the manger behind.
It's time to move beyond Herod, the shepherds, the angels and the Magi.
It's time to focus on a new task.
It's time to spread the word, to share the Good News.
It's time to speak the truth to power.
It's time to overturn the tables in the temple.
It's time to teach our faith to the younger generations.
It's time to challenge the status quo.
It's time to feed the hungry clothe the naked.
It's time to release the prisoners and bring sight to the blind.

It's time to be an active part of Jesus' ministry in the world.

And then it is as if the voice calls to me once again... All that we have experienced along our Advent and Christmas journeys has prepared us for what is to come. We could not be about the work and ministry that Jesus shares had we not understood that which he represents, that to which we were witness in the experiences surrounding his birth.

And now I understand. And now I am ready.

It's time...

And then, there was silence...

When we ask our son Jacob to tell us the names of our pets he does very well to name the dogs, Vinnie and Troy, and the parrot, Gwen. But when we ask him the cat's name, a blank look comes across his face. His brain is processing the question but for some reason, he's unable to answer. Well, the reason is that our cat, Baby Girl (because I'm sure you were wondering her name) is rarely seen.

When we lived in Illinois, Baby Girl spent the majority of her time in our semi-finished basement. It was a place of safety for her, out of the reach of the ever-active dogs. She would make her bed on an old blanket or tablecloth and sleep the days away.

Upon moving to Rhode Island, we were determined to have the animals existing in the same spaces. We blocked the entrance to the basement to keep them out (and to eliminate the possibility of pet hair coming in close contact with the numerous yards of fabric in our sewing/crafting area). And the animals began to find a way of existing within the same space. Of course, if Baby Girl would come running through the house, the dogs were sure to follow. But if she took her time, quietly moving from one room to the other, she was quite often sure to pass through unnoticed.

Lately, Baby Girl has been spending a lot of time either on our bed or a bed in one of the spare rooms. She sleeps a lot! Well, she is up there in years and I believe that when I get up there in years I will be sleeping a lot as well. But something else has changed.

Baby Girl no longer is found venturing into the same rooms occupied by the dogs. She is no longer exhibiting that brave behavior of jumping up onto the living room furniture, even though the dogs are within a few feet from her. She is rarely seen simply passing through. Instead, she maneuvers primarily at night, when the dogs are in their kennels or at times when they are outdoors.

Why the change? What has occurred that has shifted the new-found, Rhode Island, kin-dom of Heaven experience?

Things seemed to be heading in a great direction, going so well. And then, there was silence...

Baby Girl has lost her hearing.

It seems as if it has come on suddenly. One day she would hear our calls to her. One day she was able to hear the scampering feet of her canine housemates. One day she was able to hear... and the next day she was not.

I know that some folks experience this in their own lives, drastic changes in mere moments... life-altering changes. The loss of hearing is a fairly common one, however most that I know have lost (or are losing) their hearing gradually. But we suffer other loss as well... loss of employment, loss of relationship, loss of friends and loved-ones. Sometimes there is a gradual movment toward the loss... but many times it comes suddenly... too suddenly.

In a way, I have grieved for Baby Girl in her loss. I've felt sympathy for her. Her whole world has changed.

She has needed to adapt. And that she has.

She now relies on her other senses to feel instead of hear. She feels the subtle (and at-times, not-so-subtle-seven-year-old-feet-stomping-and-running) vibrations in the house. She feels our footsteps, doors closing, objects being moved. And most times, she simply sleeps, oblivious to the world around her, but safe in her new routine, her new bed.

Baby Girl's transition is one to which I feel I need to pay attention. How she has adapted to this major change in her life draws a complete parallel to change that I (we) experience. I need to see that when things change, in small or major ways, I have the ability to adapt. Though change may be followed closely by that overwhelming sense of loss and grief, I must trust that "this too shall pass..."

A little extra sleep. New routines. A shift in surrounds. Doing what I need to do to take care of myself. These may make all the difference, and allow me (us) to move through the change in as amazingly healthy way.

Baby Girl is asleep on the spare bed as I write this...and I find myself filled with a new sense of joy, replacing the sympathy, as Baby Girl has shown me how its done. And she's done it well!

I have a gun...

I am thankful that when I hear/read the news of another act of gun violence in our country the image that comes to mind is not one of lifeless innocent victims and bloodshed.  Instead, my mind most often goes to the dining room of my childhood home where one wall is covered by a significantly large piece of furniture.  It’s smooth, dark wood sides and glistening plate glass doors stand in complete contrast to the killing machines that are locked inside.  

The family gun case houses a vast array of life-ending artillery.  Shotguns. Single and Double-Barrel. Pistols. Winchesters. Rifles. And two that were given to me as gifts in my younger years… a “you’re going to shoot your eye out” BB gun and my 22 caliber, semi-automatic rifle.

Growing up, I never thought too much about how odd it was to walk past this display each and every time that I entered the house.  I also never really considered what my friends thought as they too walked past this array of weaponry, proudly displayed as if they were our family’s prize possessions.  It was a part of who we were…a family that owned guns, kept them locked in a cabinet in our dining room.  There’s nothing weird about that… is there?

I guess the purpose of having them there may have been that if there ever was an emergency and we were in need of getting to the guns, simply breaking the glass and grabbing one of the many (as long as you knew which ones were sitting there fully loaded) would put us in an advantageous position against our foe.

In reality, the only time I ever witnessed these guns out of the case was when we would take a couple out to the farm and shoot tin cans off of the fence-line.  Oh, well there were those times when we would also unload the entire cabinet, putting the guns in their soft-sided cases and hiding them in the house before leaving for a vacation.  The huge empty case wouldn’t stand as a hint to an intruder that they may simply be stashed somewhere else… (look under the beds)

I remember obtaining my firearm owner identification card… as if it was nothing special.  Of course I own a gun… a 22 caliber semi-automatic rifle, to be specific… you don’t?

But I only knew the purpose of that gun in relation to tin cans and fences.  I never once considered that it could be used to inflict harm on another human being.  I never once thought to fill the chamber with its shiny bullets and then to aim it in the direction of anything that lives or breathes. 

I’m not a hunter… I guess I gave that away.  But above that… I’m not someone who is comfortable even having the guns in my past.  I have no use for them.  I have no desire to be connected to them.  And when seeing how others are using guns to kill innocent people… I want to erase the memory of every holding that rifle in my hands.

Reading about a shooting that took place today at a school in Oregon brings these memories to the surface.  I remember what it felt like to unlock the gun cabinet.  I remember the smell of finely-polished wood and carefully-cleaned steel that burst forth from the case as the doors were opened.  I remember the weight of the ammo boxes in my hand, the gentle clicking of the chamber as it took in each of the bullets, the flat butt of the gun against my shoulder, the small sight in line with my eye and the target… I can and do remember it all each and every time I hear of a senseless shooting.  

I fight hard to keep my mind focused on it, not allowing the media to de-sensitize me… oh, it’s “another” school shooting.  It’s “another” mass shooting.  It’s a shooting where one student died… oh, and the shooter (because apparently his/her death is not one that we are not to mourn).

I do not know the minds of those who unlock their own gun cabinets, load the chambers and line up the sight with the life-sustaining heart of another human being.  

I do not know the life they have lived, the influences they have had, the dreams or nightmares that may coax them to cause harm. 

I do not know the rage, the fear, the depression, the rejection, the abuse, the neglect, the injustice, the oppression… that they have endured.

Or maybe I do…

But it has not led me to go back to those memories of holding that gun, of feeling the power that existed in my hands at that moment, and it sure as hell has not led me to consider hurting or killing someone because of it. 

I also do not know what good it is to write these thoughts today.  Perhaps it is simply to keep me in the moment, to provide time to pray for those involved (the victims, the families and yes, the shooters).  Perhaps I write so that someone will read and spend the same time in prayer with me. 

Perhaps I write because I know that I must do something… no matter how apparently insignificant… to bring an end to the violence.  I join my voice with others who have lifted the same prayers, written with the same anger and helplessness.  I share my words hoping that others will share theirs… and that together we can make a difference… together we can bring an end to the senselessness that plagues our neighborhoods, our schools, our churches, our nation… our world.  

What is the answer?  How will we make our world safer?  How will we put an end to these tragedies?  

Honestly, I don’t know what the answer is…but I know what it is not.

Violence is not the answer…

Silence is not the answer…

Desensitization is not the answer…

No matter how deep the wounds are, no matter how much rage, fear, depression, rejection, abuse, neglect we have bottled up… none of these are the answer.

Maybe you know the answer…and have yet to speak the words.  

Maybe you know the answer…and feel insignificant within the enormity of the situation.

Maybe you know the answer…and the right person has yet to hear it from you.

Share it.  Speak it.  Write it.  Pray it.  Spread it far and wide… so that together we can make a difference…together we can make a change…together we can save lives.  

Together, we can work to bring about an existence where I don’t have to go back to that childhood dining room again.

"If you are a homo..."

"If you are a homo and you are destroying our society, you should be stopped," said lawmaker David Bahati (Read the full article HERE)

For those of you, my friends, who are not gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender... I'm not sure if you can fully grasp how painfully heartbreaking these words (and actions) are to me.

Yes, I live in a country where I am free to be me.
Yes, I live in a country where in many states, it is legal for me to marry.
Yes, I am called to a vocation where I am supported for who I am.

Yet, my heart breaks knowing that this type of ignorance, this depth of hatred and the high risk of physical harm and death exists... not only in Uganda, but in neighborhoods closer to home.

What are we doing to change this?

"First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out--
Because I was not a Socialist.

Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out--
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out--
Because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me--and there was no one left to speak for me."
~Martin Niemöller

We must speak the truth to power!  Who will join with me?  And how shall we begin?