Believing in Love

Note: Some of you will read this and think, "this girl is going  to Hell; don't pass go, don't collect $200, but STRAIGHT to Hell.. Others will read this and think, "What the hell is she talking about?" Please know that I am not entirely sure, and writing usually helps me to sort it out so bare with me...

About a year and a half ago I wrote a blog entitled, Divided by Homosexuality, which was based on a panel discussion we had at Fuller during my first quarter. I read that blog now and still remember how confused I was. I approach this blog with much of the same confusion, but with more of a resolve than I ever would have been able to articulate last Spring.
Tonight I went to view a screening of "Love Free or Die" which was about Gene Robinson, the first openly gay bishop. The film was then followed by a Q&A with Bishop Robinson himself. To be honest, I had no clue who he was before hearing about this event and upon hearing about him I was interested in his life and particularly with his journey  as expressed in the film. I enjoyed the film overall, as well as the Q&A, getting to meet him, buying his book and getting it signed. But what really lead me to write this blog was not the man nor the film, but the people I was watching it with.
When I left that panel last Spring, I was convinced on my stand on Homosexuality and was just beginning to explore what that looked like as I engaged with people in community (in other words, was it truly possible for me to engage people who were homosexual without turning my back on my beliefs?) As I began to explore this further, an amazing thing happened: I made friends. Not just any friends, but friends who were homosexual, friends who were Allies (heterosexuals who supported the homosexual community) and so on. This issue that I had been struggling with was no longer an issue: it had a face and a name and I had a relationship with it. No...strike that. Those faces and names were not issues, they were friends, good friends who supported me and I them.
"Now what?" I thought. Time and time again I played various scenarios in my head about how I would react to certain situations. "What if they got married? Would I go to their wedding as support for our friendship? Would that mean that I affirmed homosexuality?" Back and forth I went; trying to figure out how to love my friends in a way that was true to the Gospel, but at the same time uphold what I believed to be Gospel truth.
Some time later, Peace and Justice Advocates invited Justin Lee of the Gay Christian Network to Fuller to talk and also to lead a panel discussion. One of the things that I really liked about this discussion and found to be helpful was the fact that they were open to people on both sides to the discussion. It allowed me to understand the possibility of exploring my position in community: that is, learning how to engage in community with others even though  I was on the "Conservative" side of the issue.
Some time after that, a good friend of mine started an organization entitled, "One Table" which supported the LGBT community at Fuller. I remember sitting with her one night as we were having our usual Tuesday night dinners among friends and asking about my place at this table of conversation. Would there be a place for me since I technically hadn't made a "decision" yet? I found that there was not only a place; but a safe space to express exactly where I was: Welcoming yet non-affirming (or at least that's what I heard it called).
This leads me to tonight, Gene Robinson, the film and all. There I was, sitting behind my friends, watching a film about a man who went through hardship for what he believed to be the truth. It was in those first 10 minutes that I thought of this scripture:
Greater love has no one that this, that one lay down her life for her friends.
If I truly believe that Homosexuality is one of  the make or break decisions of my faith; then would I be willing to lay THAT down for my friends? Would I be willing to suffer the possibility of Hell (if I believed that to be the result of my affirming of Homosexuality) to love my friends? Would my love have to be radical enough to require that of me, or was it possible to hold onto both?
It was at that point that I realized that my decision to love was more important than my decision to take a side. But would not taking a side prove me to be "lukewarm?" (I say this in the term that many Christians view this as; this is not what I believe that part of scripture to be saying, but that's another blog).This is also something that I had to confront:
Did I believe that Homosexuality was a sin because I searched the scriptures and came to this conclusion or was this simply the result of tradition and upbringing? (this question is where the "she's going to Hell" part comes in). I cannot say that I have searched the scriptures. I was familiar with the scriptures that were used in this argument of course, but did I actually read them for myself? No. I had allowed it to be something I always believed, no question. Now, I am not saying that if I search the scriptures for myself (not actually BY MYSELF, but we won't get into the nitty-gritty of context and history of the church and blah blah blah) that I would come out in favor of Homosexuality, but I'm not saying I won't either. I have found that I have to be willing to search the scripture and allow the Holy Spirit to tell me the Truth. For someone who has always believed one way, this is a very scary thing. I can say, "this doesn't mean that I will change my mind" but if I go in with that notion then I am not really allowing the Holy Spirit to have it's way. I am not really letting it go. I have to be willing to leave this at the foot of the Cross and trust that the Truth will make me free. To be honest, I am not sure what I will find. That is where the confusion still lies. But I can say this: my resolve is in love. It does not matter what I believe at the end of the day, love is still required. It is still the greatest commandment. And if the highest peak of love is laying down one's life, then I pray that no matter what the outcome, I am able to have the strength to nail this to the cross for the sake of my friends.

I welcome your discussion...

A Prayer

I've been feeling down lately. I can't seem to name it, and that does nothing but frustrate me more. A friend of mine said I should pray. I thought about it, and remembered how much I used to write prayers to God. I decided to post this one, in case someone might relate:

Dear God,
I don't think I can do this much longer. I'm as my friend would say, "on the ledge." I don't feel like I'm connecting with this stuff, and as before I feel like I'm getting caught up in the particulars (which I also can't seem to name). I feel like I'm having to struggle in all of my classes; not to simply produce good work, but to understand and wrap my mind around the big picture. It just seems like there is something every quarter that I have to deal with, and in some ways I feel like I'm reaching my breaking point.
I guess it just seems that these things are so big, with so much history, so intricately woven into the fabric of society that I can't ever possibly do anything to set a new prescient for the future. I know I'm only one person and it is not by my might or power but by your Spirit, but I feel like I'm even struggling to embody what that looks like. Your glory is too great for this broken vessel, and I am not sure that I will be able to withstand the pressure that this tasks demands.
Maybe my friend is right, maybe I do always try to carry the world on my shoulders. But, to be honest, my concept of "letting go and letting God" is changing. I can no longer sit passively and not speak against injustice. But I can't seem shake the weight that is so easily besetting me.

Lord, teach me your ways. Allow me to see the way that your Spirit is driving my very situation. It would seem that I've arrived at a point where I can't even know exactly what to pray for, and I need your Spirit not just to provide your solution, but your judgment to name the problem. Give me clarity as I approach my studies; so that I may no longer be lost in the details, but that your Spirit is always informing, always teaching, always speaking. Give me boldness so that I will not be ashamed of who you made me; even when I feel like the minority. Give me peace in knowing that your place for me is here. Give me wisdom to know when to slow down, stop, and just be still in your presence. I do not want to go through the motions of learning about you and find that I am further from you. Draw me closer to your presence; both in times of prayer and in community. Allow me to see how my own transformation is contingent on your church also being transformed (and vice versa).

May your grace and mercy be the glue that holds this broken vessel together...

a minor breakdown

My head hurts.

I cant seem to shut my brain off. I feel so bombarded by all of these negative thoughts about myself; how I should be performing, always on, never ending.

and I cant seem to stop.

I'm frustrated and I don't know what to do about it. I don't even know what brought this on really; I was fine just a minute ago. And now it seems as if the walls are closing in and I'm unable to breathe.

And my headache is getting worse.

Then I start thinking of all that needs to be accomplished. I gotta start my weeks reading. I want to be sure to put up a good post. I gotta start studying for my midterm, and what about final papers? It s just too much at once.

And I cant seem to get my brain to stop.

I just want to be silent. I don't even know what that sounds like right now.

And somehow, writing is the only way I'm keeping my sanity.

God, why did you give me such a lonely gift?

I feel so alone..so separate from everyone. I just want to belong. Be a part of something.

But I am apart of something. I do belong. Don't I?

Why won't the truth seep in? What callous have I produced that would block the community I so desperately need?

I just want a hug.

I can't do this. I'm putting too much pressure on myself and I don't know how to stop. This time last year I was having major headaches because I couldn't live up to the perfection that was demanded of me.

And now my head still hurts.

I need community. But I have community. Maybe I just need to accept it

I just want to be normal but I have to do my best and I'm scared that it won't be enough and that I'm not good enough...what am I doing here and why do people think I'm so great cant they see I'm just messed up and why can't I see whats great in me and oh how I wish I didn't feel so alone

WHY IS MY WRITING THE ONLY THING KEEPING ME SANE?

God, why did you give me such a lonely gift?

untitled

I just came back from dinner with two of my friends. It was a great dinner; I had great food and got the chance to hear great stories about people who had blessed them through love, especially during their time at Fuller.
But when I got home...I cried.
Because I didn't have any stories to share.
This is even hard for me to write this now; because all I could remember is how much I wanted to bring something to the conversation. But I couldn't.
They talked about their grandparents and how they made them feel so loved and special. I never knew any of my grandparents. My grandfather passed in November. I never knew him and he never knew me. I remember participating in a funeral of a man I didn't know but felt like I should have. It was hard hearing all of the stories of his other family and how much he meant to them. I would never have those stories to tell.
Then they talked about the amazing people who were interested in what they were doing; sending them letters and encouraging them on. And again I was silent. Because I couldn't think of one letter, or one care package, or one check, or one random word of encouragement from someone who I knew believed in what I was doing. Someone to take the time to ask "how are you?" and mean it. To actually be excited about my goals or dreams, or at least cared enough to pretend to be excited because I was.
And I dont know about you; but for me its the loneliest place in the world.
Now don't get me wrong; I have amazing friends here at Fuller and have the chance to have amazing conversations. But man I'd give a right arm to just have someone (a mentor, parent, something) to actually give a damn. To actually want to know what was going on with ME. To cheer me on, send words of encouragement, something.
I remember when I was in undergrad. I wanted so bad for my mom to send me a care package. You know, like on that Jiff commercial when the girl gets the random things from her mother (peanut butter being one). It wasn't so much about the cost or anything; just that someone took the time to know what meant something to you and showed they cared by sending it (even the smallest thing). And even though my mother lived about 15 minutes away from my dorm I waited. And it never came.
I know this is a really depressing blog but I don't know, I just want someone in my corner. One of my things to do this year was to find a mentor. And, I don't know if that's happened exactly yet. I mean, there are a couple who I would look to as a mentor, but there is still a part of me that holds back; not fully letting people in. I don't know, maybe I'm just scared that it will be too good to be true.
I guess there is no real way to end this blog except to say that I really wanted to participate in that conversation tonight during dinner. I wanna know that there are people who have been where I want to go and genuinely take an interest in getting to know me. It's one thing to have friends who are going through it with you, but I'm not sure how much longer I can make it without other aspects of community (like a coach to lead you or people to cheer you on). 

When Absence Speaks Louder than Words: A Theology on Marching

I went to the Trayvon Martin rally and march in downtown Los Angeles yesterday. Its been a while since I last participated in a march, and I missed the energy that is connected to a community of people taking a stand in the name of justice.
When I returned home, I couldn't shake the high that I was feeling; and I didn't want to. This was something more to me than just being upset about the situation (which is by far an understatement). This was different from simply posting an article on Facebook, or a note on Twitter in response to that anger. No, this was different.
This was different because I actually got up and did something.
Now, this is not to say that the use of technology isn't important to spreading the word about a cause. Quite the contrary. Technology has played a major part in not only making information assessable, but in being able to connect people from all over the world, unifying them under a single issue. Technology and social media both play a major part in showing the truth of what is happening in the face of biased media networks and other hidden agendas. Thus I do not wish to present an argument that is against social media; what I wish to do is to express is the importance of coming together for something like a march, and the lasting statement that our presence makes.

Even though it is true that I make a statement by what I put on my Facebook page, or on my Twitter account, or even on this blog; the fact of the matter is that those statements can only go so far. There is that slight sense of being disconnected that somehow prevents me from being fully committed to a status or tweet.  Now, as a writer, this is saying a lot: to admit that there is some feelings of disconnection in association to my writing. But please note that I do not mean it in that I am not truthful or do not stand behind my words. I am simply saying that I experienced a deeper conviction and commitment as I walked with others from the community on behalf of Trayvon. And I believe that conviction is deeply theological.

I have yet to read a variety of books on theology, but I am confident that the form of bodily presence that I speak of when I speak of marching has theological implications. I say this for two reasons: 1. the statement that our bodily presence makes when we come together to march, and 2. the way that our non-violence resistance rejects not only the form of oppression, but its methods.

1. There is just something about being present. Whether it is a requirement for school, or marriage, or a friendship, or a job; our presence is important. Thus when I say that our bodily presence makes a statement, I am saying that it speaks in ways that our words cannot. Think about the marches and sit-in's of the Civil Rights movement. Their presence in those diners or walking down those streets sent a message that words could not touch. You may be able to disregard my letters (no matter how eloquent they are) but you cannot ignore my body; sitting in your diner or walking down your streets. You may try to ignore my words, but you will not ignore me.

This is also evident in the bible. Let us reflect on John 1, "In the beginning was the Word...The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us." The Word (Jesus) became flesh. This is not speaking against the weight of God's Word, but there is something significant about the taking on of a bodily presence to make a statement. God did not simply speak, He came. Even if we managed to ignore His words, we couldn't not ignore Him.

2. The use of non violent resistance is extremely important in the stance against injustice. The use of non violent resistance has deeper implications than I thought before this particular march. The fact that this march was so peaceful really resonated with me (not that I expected anything else, nevertheless, it is always nice). Despite the fact of others opinions of an "eye for an eye" response, marching has a way of taking a stance against more than just the action. Marching for Trayvon isn't only about taking a stance against the fact that he was killed. Its taking a stance against the way he was killed. Marching (using non-violence as an act of resistance) doesn't simply speak  against the action but it speaks against violence itself. It says, "we will not react in the way that you have. we will be better."

I am sure there is much more that could be said about this, and I hope to be able to develop this more. I just wanted to get some initial thoughts down in hopes to spark some conversation. My hope is that we grasp a better understanding on what it means to be present. To take the time to do more than send a tweet. We live in an age where our lives can become completely outside of ourselves. We can date online, go to school online, even go to church online (that's a whole different story). Thus, we are in danger of being assessable yet not being present.

I encourage us to reflect on what we mean when we post, or tweet, or blog. Hopefully we will be willing to show up when necessary. Lest our absence begin to speak louder than our words...

A heavy heart

I'm writing this because my heart is slightly heavy today.  I cannot exactly pin-point the purpose for this; maybe this is what lead me to write. Maybe these words are similar to crates one would throw off a ship when you think it's sinking; only to realize that the very thing you needed to survive was locked up in the crates you threw over in an effort to calm your panic. Maybe this effort to write these words here will reveal the key that unlocks the crate that contains exactly what I need in order to understand what weighs my heart so. Maybe that's what all of these blog entries have been.

Or maybe not...


Maybe I'm just kidding myself.

But whatever the reason the fact remains that my heart is slightly heavy today.

I went to a meeting and sat in on a discussion about the treatment of human rights.  I found the discussion fascinating  and very informative. But I also found myself in the same place I was when I wrote Unqualified Participant; that is, 5 steps behind. I thought by now that this would no longer be the case for me as I have felt a lot more confident recently, but there I was; actively listening, trying to gain some knowledge on a subject I knew nothing about, only to be too slow to even articulate questions of clarification.

What's wrong with me? Why is it that I have become consumed with my own doubts; allowing what I think I am not dominate who I know I am? There is nothing wrong with engaging in a discussion if you don't fully understand it's contents. If you have a teachable spirit and are open to learning, then these discussions can be very fruitful indeed. It is only when you allow your ignorance to trap you, your pride to silence you, and your doubts to enslave you that you become unable to participate in what can only be beneficial to everyone involved. This is what I do time and time again. It's pathetic really, an attribute that I am not proud of, nevertheless it is there; and I must contend against it if I am to be of any use or benefit to that which I have been called.

In the discussion we thought of ways by which we could treat others as humans and resist the culture by tying ourselves to one another; thus using our visibility to shed light on those who have been invisible, bringing their stories to the forefront to speak to political powers; demanding that those in power repent of the way they have treated them. I believe that this is true; we need to hear those stories not just for the repentance of political powers, but for ours as well.

As an African-American educated woman; as a seminary student; as an artist; as a Christian; as a human, I believe I have that visibility and thus the responsibility to tie myself to those who do not. That being said; what is having visibility if you have nothing to say? How can I uphold my responsibility for others if I don't even take the time to know who they are and how our world affects them.

Maybe that is why my heart is heavy; partly with the burden of my brothers and sisters, but mostly with the shame of living a life that disappoints them; because I've failed in being the voice they need. Maybe my heart is heavy because I want to be that voice so bad, and have become frustrated in the process. Either way, I know I need to be more aware, informed and active. But until then, my heart will be slightly heavy.

Rising of the Prophetic Scribe Part II: Releasing the Hero within

I was planning on writing a blog entitled, “Death of the Super-Saint” and I was very excited about it. 

VERY EXCITED. 

Cause, see, I figured it out. There is no such thing as a Super-Saint. We are not called to be these super heroes who shoot red beams out of our eyes or anything like that. I was personally sick and tired of hearing pastors talk about taking over the world or being heroes or being perfect. I’m not perfect; and to be honest, I didn’t want to be. I just wanted to be me. I just wanted to be normal. 

For pretty much my entire life, I’ve been told that I was weird. Teased because of it even. Now granted, I was not your average kid; I didn’t run outside as soon as I got home to ride my bike with my friends (that I didn’t have). I didn’t even ask for a bike for Christmas until Jr. High (to the extreme shock of my mother). And I barely rode it (I don’t even know if I can still ride a bike!). All I did was come home from school and read books. Lots of books. I read so many books, and yet I can’t seem to remember most of them. Cause I never read them for the context; I read to escape the fact that I didn’t feel like I belonged. Needless to say, I was a nerd in a family of creatively cool singers and rap artists. It was pretty obvious that I didn’t fit in. Even when I did start to get involved in the arts, it never seemed to be good enough. The nerd label had made a permanent place on my forehead and no amount of extra-curricular activities could cover it up. So, I decided that I would not be considered weird anymore. I wanted to be normal. I wanted to be like everyone else. So, I gave up taking accelerated courses in school and took the normal classes. I stopped doing homework. I sat in the back and didn’t care what the teacher said. 

And I still got pretty good grades. 

Which meant I still got teased by my brothers and sisters. 

Don’t get me wrong, there were some points of sanity. I still had a deep love for the arts; but after being a part of drama, dance, chorus, speech and debate, and entertainment marketing for independent study with no real support from my family; I decided to take a hint. I never finished what I started because a part of me didn’t want to do it without them. I just wanted to feel like I was a part of something; and excelling at things was (in my mind) a hindrance. 

Looking back, I would say that the never ending fight to suppress greatness began. If there was a poster child for Marianne Williamson’s poem “Our greatest fear” it would be me. I was always afraid of greatness because greatness said, “hey, look at her, she’s different.” I had enough of that for one lifetime.

Yet when I stared going to church and hearing about how Christians were supposed to take over the world and such, I thought that maybe this was my chance to be a part of something. To belong; to fit in. So I put everything I had into that concept, and you know what happened? I got burned. A lot. Used, mistreated, discouraged, you name it. After a while I begin to realize that I was back in that same place again. No, scratch that. I was in a worse place.  Because this time, it seemed as if God Himself was pointing the finger, laughing and saying, “hey, look at her, she’s different.” It was at that point where I made the decision to do whatever it took to be normal. 

Which leads me to the excitement of this death blog I was planning to write. Like I said before, I figured it out. Our Christianity was not to become some super heroes that save the world, but we were supposed to live in community and deal with our flesh. Didn’t Jesus come in the flesh? Then why do we believe that we are supposed to by-pass our flesh to some supernatural place where there are no problems and we suddenly become perfect and rich and blah blah blah? I was sick and tired of it! I couldn’t live with the pressure! I’m just one person, what can I possibility do to change anything? Leave me alone!!!!! 

Then a friend gave me a book entitled “Wide Awake” by Erwin McManus. I was only interested in reading it because he was an artist. But the first few pages started to talk about being a hero and I started to lose count of how many times I rolled my eyes. Not this again. I don’t want to be a hero. Why can’t I just be normal?

But as I begin to read more, something started to happen. It was like something on the inside was pulling on me. But I can assure you that my stubbornness was not going to go down without a fight! Chapter after chapter I found myself in a tug-o-war between my stubborn desire to be normal and the desire to give into the words on the page. 

“You’re trying to be normal” 

Yes I am!

“You’re settling for less”

So what?...

“You should expect more”

You don’t even know me Mister!

“I may not know you personally, but this I know about you without question-there is a hero within you waiting to be awakened”

...

What kind of normal person argues with a book anyway?

Last night, I stayed up past midnight simply because it was New Year’s Eve. As I lay in bed wide awake, I began to try to reflect on things I wanted to do in 2012.  I couldn’t seem to shake this whole hero thing…I felt as if the spirit was saying,

“When was the last time you lived a normal life?”

As I begin to think about it, I couldn’t honestly remember when. I don’t even think I know how to be normal. 

“What is normal?”

Normal: Conforming to a standard; usual, typical, or expected.

“Well, is that what you want?”

Of course I don’t want that. No one wants that! But I didn’t want to be the butt of anyone’s jokes either. Or try to explain something only for people to look at me like I’m crazy. Or to be used again. And if it took being normal to avoid that then I was willing to do it. 

Then I remembered that poem…

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others

.

It was in light of all of this that I remembered the blog I wrote about being a prophetic scribe. I can still remember that feeling of excitement I get when I think about it. 

And that’s when I realized that I will never be normal. 

I will always be different. 

My brothers and sisters will never stop teasing me.

But if I can really take a step out and really believe in who God has called me to be, then I can possibly change someone else’s life. 

So I guess heroes aren’t dead after all. Yes we are called to live in community and deal with our flesh and with real life, but it’s how we live that makes us heroes. Just because Jesus came in the flesh and died in the flesh doesn’t mean he didn’t conquer it. To deny the hero within is to deny the fact that of Jesus’ resurrection, and thus my own. Because he rose, I can live an extraordinary life. I can be a hero.