Apr 15 2012
Sex and Loneliness and Jesus

"Please tell me: What was the name of that book you were talking about, about the struggle to live a celibate life, even in the midst of loneliness...?"

I got a lot of calls like this.  I'd talked about the book, Washed and Waiting, and hoped many would read it. When they called, I felt like I needed to give a disclaimer, in case someone would be offended for whatever reason.

"Just so you know: This book is incredibly relevant for everyone, but the writer is writing about his homosexuality."

And no one seemed to blink.

"Well, that sounds like exactly what I need to read, and..."

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A friend gave me this little book this week, and I read it in two sittings. Honestly, there's not much here I haven't already thought about, but I couldn't have written this book, for a simple reason: I don't have license to write it.

I'm married, sexually content, and have been since age 20. I barely remember singlehood. Sure, there are many struggles, and my own where-is-God? questions, but when I go to bed, my flesh-and-blood lover is there. So if I wrote this, you could critiicize it as mere theory. And preachy. And it might even sound like one of the recent spate of high-profile pastors, trying to out sex-talk each other to sell stuff and attract new customers. ("See?  Isn't married sex awesome, everyone? You should really have a super-sexy marriage like me, everyone!")

...yes, thanks, pastor. Problem: Most people aren't married. And many who are married can't have the awesome sex life you enjoy talking about. So there's that.

Oh, I could write this book... but I wouldn't be bleeding on the pages.

Wesley Hill did. And he wrote it in the midst of his loneliness, not on the far side of it, as though he applied three quick principles, and fixed it.

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"Faithfulness is never a gamble. It will be worth it. The joy then will be worth the struggle now. In the end, I think this is how I am learning to live faithfully as a homosexual Christian." - p. 79

Let's be honest: When most of us want something, REALLY want something, we'll rearrange our theology to get it. We'll develop new belief systems, no matter how gymnastic our thinking must become, to justify what we really want. This is one reason so many modern stories don't work: The writer presumes the evil people are the interesting ones.

That's exactly wrong. The most interesting people are the ones who align their behaviors with what they know to be true, rather than the other way around. Any great hero story involves someone doing something they don't want to do, rather than giving in, and taking the easy, or the obvious, way out. These are the stories that resonate over ages, because they are heroic.

And Hill strikes me as a hero.

He is not shying from the tough questions. He engages the relevant scriptures. He asks, how the Gospel could possibly restrict love? How could the church seriously expect people who are homosexual to abandon their deepest longings? How can these longings actually be met? Aren't the Biblical texts essentially cruel?

What is he to do, during his nights when his loneliness, and longing for sex, reaches the level of overwhelming? Why are heterosexual Christians allowed marriage, but he can't experience it, unless his orientation is reversed? How is this possibly consistent with the idea of a loving God?  

Those are just for starters. And any book on this topic that didn't address these things, for me, isn't worth recommending.

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So Wesley Hill shares his answers to these questions. No, it's not math, and it's not another "Christian" self-help book. Your struggles aren't neatly resolved at the end of the equation. But what he offers is Jesus-centric hope, for those who yearn so desperately for something that God is - I almost don't want to say it - denying them. It hurts. 

I'm not doing him justice, but these ideas are all fleshed out in a single chapter, if you want to read the book:

We all want things we can't have. Every one of us. 

God takes us very, very seriously. This is why there are consequences. Our lives matter.

In the New Testament, when the passages deal with homosexuality, the text very rapidly turns to his stunning redemptive effort for all of us.  He condemns homosexual behavior, and then, "amazingly, profligately, at great cost to himself, lavishes his love on homosexual persons."

We can't understand ANY of God's rules, apart from the greater story.

God simultaneously love us, and threatens what everyone wants, by nature. He wants to transform all of us, without exception. No one "naturally" forgives their enemies. It hurts.

Living with unfulfilled desires is not exceptional for humanity. Not even close. It's the rule. 

Even married people - perhaps most of them? - are living lives (in Thoreau's words) "of quiet regret."

God works through pain.

Having sex does not, contra our culture, make one "fully alive". Jesus is our God-example of the fully-lived life. And he was celibate. This destroys our reigning cultural lie.

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A last observation from this chapter, "A Story-Shaped Life", the one that struck me the most: If you are resigned to living a celibate life, a self-denying life, despite your loneliness, because you love God...

You WILL be rewarded.

Jesus makes it clear, for those willing to give up houses or family (and surely, Hill adds, something as profound as sex) for him.  You'll be rewarded a hundred times over for what you are doing.  And not only that, but God is actually praising YOU, and glorifying YOU.  That seems impossible, and doesn't fit our theology, for most of us, but Hill unpacks the scriptures that say so. It's a fact.

Homosexual, heterosexual, divorced, single, married and miserable, whatever: God sees you. And a heart that is turned to Him is incredibly pleasing to him. People don't tell you that enough, I'll bet. But after reading this book, I want to remind you: You will be rewarded. Your struggle against sin has a name: Faith.

I read this and thought of my friends who are gay, my friends who have left homosexual behavior behind but struggle with same-sex attraction, my friends who are heterosexual and desperately don't want to be single but are, my friends who are in marriages that are disasters, with so little seeming hope.  I know I can't relate to you on this particular struggle, not like Hill can. But reading him, I'm reminded I am part of your family, and honored to be part of it. It's a family that is transforming me, too. Meantime, you have a special status with a God who knows your name, your story, your struggle, your loneliness.  And your story is going to take a wonderful turn.

Hill:  

Slowly, ever so slowly, I am learning to do this. I am learning that my struggle to live faithfully before God in Christ with my homosexual orientation is pleasing to him. And I am waiting for the day when I receive the divine accolade, when my labor of trust and hope and self-denial will be crowned with his praise. 'Well done, good and faithful servant," the Lord Christ will say. "Enter into the joy of your master."

Apr 11 2012
Two Awesome Tips for Relating to Humans

I don't "get" non-verbal communication. It doesn't make "sense" to me. 

That said, it clearly makes sense to the humans around me, so I am willing to learn and adapt.  Here are two pointers for human-relating.

As a bonus, I've apparently made one of these videos vertical, and the other horizontal. You're welcome for this, as well.

 

 

 

 

Apr 10 2012
The Myth of Private Sin

A friend of mine did smething really, really bad a couple years ago.  Real bad.  Not illegal bad, but...bad enough it's followed him, years later. It showed up on page two of a metro newspaper, a thousand miles away from where he did it.

I love this guy. He's fun, smart, and fairly new to Christian belief.  He's accepted responsibility for what he did, and he's had to live with it every day.  He told me the other day he was sorry even I was having to deal with it now. "I'm amazed how many people this has affected.  One stupid, wrong decision I made and it keeps affecting so many people.  My wife, my kids...it just keeps going."

And so it does.

We marveled at that, and, just stood there, quietly, just shaking our heads.  Amazing?  Yes.  But not really surprising.

The older I get, the more convinced I am there is no private sin.  They don't all wind up on page two, but the surface of the pond is never undisturbed by the pebble. The ripples move well beyond ourselves, and, in many cases they radiate through generations. 

Or, another recent example:  One day, you're a minister getting in a quick ego-stroking flirt, thinking you're in some kind of private soap opera...and soon, there are 300 people in a flourescent-lit room, on metal folding chairs, discussing what you did.  And they're cautioning each other not to judge you, and then they talk some more about what you did.

And then, some little kid, one you don't even know, has to hear some stranger talking in church about how the pastor-guy won't be back, he did something called "sexual misconduct."  

Yeah, your soap opera?  It wasn't private.

Sins on the computer aren't private.  Larry Ellison, from Oracle, said years ago: If you think he doesn't know what's on your hard drive, you're kidding yourself. Like the Huffington Post wrote recently: "Google knows you better than you know yourself." Don't kid yourself. 

But even if they didn't know, the sins in your head aren't private.  Mine affect my attitude.  They keep me from being concerned about other people.  They make me a jerk, in seemingly unrelated ways.  ("Why's Brant a jerk?"  "Probably something seemingly unrelated.")

There is no "private sin". Turns out few things have done more harm than the "do no harm" ethic.  The as-long-as-it-doesn't-hurt-anyone-else construction of morality is built atop the swamp of affluence. We afford this lie, because affluence loves not only privacy, but the fantasy of it. But like the 77's said, "The lust, the flesh, the eyes, and the pride of life -- drain the life right out of me."

And then, when the life is drained out of me... I'm not the person I'm supposed to be. I'm less creative. I'm less joyful. I have less social energy. My patience is gone. I care less about my neighbors. Let me make this clear: There is no sin that affects only you.

Private rebellion.  Public consequence.  And if it seems unfair that what my friend did was so horrible, but what you or I do in our minds is somehow not so horrible -- well, you agree with Jesus. There IS no difference.

The ripple metaphor works.  There's a better one, really, for what our "private" sins do to one another, but I don't want to gross you out with a picture of a fan being hit by organic material. I have higher standards than that. Plus, I googled for a full five minutes and couldn't find one.

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