How do we walk with integrity as Side B people? Must it include a wide-scale coming out, an authenticity of the external matching our internal selves? Which experiences have defined our convictions and courage to follow Jesus as we’re doing? Join Tom, Aaron, and Will for this discussion on YOB’s fifth value, including the origin stories of incorporating more Jesus into our content as well as determining our symbol for integrity: cairns on a path!
Vulnerability is uncomfortable, even scary, so why do we value it so highly in our community? Sharing our story, including our sexuality, may have once felt like the most daunting or impossible task. And yet what would have been the cost to our lives had we not been vulnerable? What if we had stayed silent, closeted, cut off from such a significant aspect of ourselves with ourselves, God, and other people? Indeed, what if vulnerability that feels like weakness is actually strength – especially when practiced in a community?
While I have had many wonderful, supportive Christians in my life, I find many more who just do not want to meet me where I am with my sexuality. Instead of being a great cloud of witnesses encouraging me onward, some act as a voice of the enemy telling me I have no place at God's table.
Many conservative Christians don't believe I've ever really tried to change. Those with this position assert that my goal must be to become heterosexual, that God wants nothing less than that for me – and from me. Thus, if I haven't received this orientation change yet, then my faith must not be strong enough, or I haven't ever truly wanted this change.
Many of us with same-sex attractions have experienced that well-meaning friend or family member who feels the need to "love us well" by telling us, "God made you gay, so how could marrying someone of the same sex be wrong?" I appreciate not being cast out by said people because of my sexuality, but they also seem unwilling to believe that I've actually given my sexuality some thought.
More than anything, though, what struck me about this year's retreat was a deep sense of unity. As I looked around the room of forty brothers, I considered how what unites us all is our crazy decision to make Jesus our everything – not just to follow Christ in a church on Sunday, but to take a devotion to Him into every single second of our lives.
There is no one group that is "for" my existence as a celibate SSA Christian, nor is there a specific group "against" it. It can feel like I have no clear place to turn to in the Church, because every place is equally likely to attack some part of who I am or what I do. Meanwhile, all I strive to be is a sold out follower of Christ.
Whatever the reason, this is where I find myself: apathetic toward the Church, God, and disciplines like reading Scripture and prayer. I'm not angry at the Church -- just apathetic. And in that apathy I feel ordinarily strong convictions weaken.
The latest song to get me spiritually musing is "Dear Younger Me" by the band, MercyMe. The premise of the song is thinking through what one would tell his younger self if he ever got the chance. Would it be some cheesy speech about enjoying every moment to its fullest? Would he warn himself of all the mistakes to come, even though those mistakes are now inseparable from the man he became? What would he say? What would I say to a younger me?
Rather than blindly following Him, Jesus invites us to do a little spiritual preparation to ensure we are committed to seeing our faith walk through. As I look back on my own faith journey, I realize just how important this reflection and preparation has been in spiritually working through my sexuality.