First things first tonight ... I am now a seasoned flyer, yep, yep, I am. Over the last week or so, I traveled on four different airplanes as I made my way to Canada and then back to Kansas. And yesterday, I decided at the last minute as Brad and I waited in the Edmonton airport to board the plane for the first leg of our flight that I was not going to take the medication for anxiety. Yes, you read that correctly ... I got on an airplane yesterday without the help of drugs, two planes actually, because I didn't need to take the medication for the second flight either. The second flight, I might add, that was aboard the smallest of all four of the planes we traveled on. And listen to this ... the second flight yesterday was only about half full, so Brad sat across the aisle from me. Yes, you read that correctly ... Brad wasn't sitting right next to me on the second flight; in fact, I even scooted over to the window seat as we flew into Kansas City last night so that I could see the lights of the city on the ground. And ... and ... and ... I was so relaxed on both of the flights that I read a book, well, two-thirds of a book, but you can bet I'll be finishing it this week. Yes, you read that correctly, too ... I read two-thirds of a flipping book on the airplanes yesterday. I did experience some intense ear pain during the descent and landing on the first plane but other than that and a teensy tiny bit of agitation when we hit some turbulence, I was golden. The only words that seem to be even remotely appropriate to express how I feel about my flying experience yesterday are, "Booyah! Booyah! Booyah! eh?" Now that you have a deep appreciation for my air travel prowess, on with my post for tonight.
A while ago, someone gave me a book and told me I should read it ... that's typically why someone gives you a book, eh? (yes, I'm still digging the Canadian "eh?"). The book was written by Timothy Kurek, and it's titled "The Cross in the Closet." My curiosity was sparked when I read the quote from Brian McLaren that is printed on the front cover ... "A one-of-a-kind book with unforgettable moral impact." I've tried to sit down and read the book several times, but I've been incredibly busy for the last couple of months so I never got farther than the first 20 pages or so. My inability to read the book had nothing to do with the book itself; in fact, I was hooked after reading the foreward page ... especially the last line of that page that said, "This could be your year of living and loving dangerously. Just like Timothy did. Just like Jesus did." The minute I read those words, I thought about the words of a friend typed to me back on the first day of January ... "A whole new year, T. A whole new year for you to live."
Timothy Kurek was raised in an ultra-conservative church in Nashville, Tennessee, and he was taught the gospel of separation from a very young age (his words, not mine). Upon graduating from high school, he attended Liberty University and was on the fast track to become a minister. Through a series of events that included witnessing the excommunication by the church and family of a close friend who confessed that she was gay, Timothy began to question the extreme doctrine of hate he had been taught. In his desire to truly empathize and understand his friend's anguish, Timothy decided he could only fully experience her pain if he walked in her shoes ... in the shoes of the very people he had been taught to condemn and shun. That decision became a year-long journey for Timothy, a journey in which he "came out" to his family, his friends and his church, and pretended to be gay. The book is controversial to say the least. But the book is also a heart-wrenchingly truthful recounting of one man's quest to find Jesus in the margins of life. As I read the book yesterday on the airplanes, more than once my eyes brimmed with tears as I read words that I well could have written myself ... words that resonated within the very core of my heart ... words that at times I read aloud to my son Brad ... words that spoke to me and made me feel less alone in my personal quest to find and follow Jesus in the margins of my own life.
Though there is so much I could say about the book, I've decided the best way to close tonight is by doing two things: quoting some paragraphs from the book, and encouraging you to read the book ... read it before you judge it. And then maybe read another book ... you know the One ... the One that has a whole, whole, whole lot to say about whom and how we are supposed to love.
From the chapter titled "coming out, into the closet"
"I never anticipated that coming out would feel this raw, this emotional, this terrifying. It isn't a fear that life won't go on; rather, that life won't resolve in some way. The questions and the stereotypes, and fear for all of the relationships I might lose, consume me. I don't want to lose my friends, and I don't want my family to hold me at arm's length. I do not want to be the black sheep of the family, or the different gay brother or son. I want to be me. But having been raised in a conservative religious home, I know these hopes aren't reasonable. Living in the culture of the 'Bible Belt' makes the prospect of feeling simultaneously normal and gay likely impossible. I cannot imagine what coming out would be like if I were really gay. One year may seem like a long time, but a lifetime ... that would be more than I could ever adjust to, more than I could ever live with.
"My heart breaks for those who have actually lost family and friends after coming out of the closet. I cannot imagine feeling this vulnerable only to be abandoned by the people who are supposed to be there no matter what. Anything that incites the kind of fear that I've felt this day requires courage to overcome. I had never believed coming out was an act of courage. Until today, coming out as gay has always represented cowardice and a sense of giving up. I believed it was an easy out for people who didn't want to overcome the perversion and sin in their lives. But if today has shown me anything, it is that the act of coming out itself and risking the life you have always known is a courageous thing, an act worthy of respect."
From the chapter titled "not in kansas"
"It is difficult to describe the range of emotions I have felt thus far, but loneliness is the most acute. My phone no longer rings with calls and texts like it did only a short time ago. I have been preparing myself for numerous conversations about my revelation, but so far most 'friends' seem to desire only distance. It is that distance, I think, that has pushed so many people over the edge, the excommunication from believers, friends, and loved ones who disagree and disengage. My news spread like a plague, but I was the only real casualty."
From the chapter titled "the mirror"
"Experiencing the other side of prejudice is more painful than I anticipated. Worse, I feel as though I am constantly being faced with my own face in the mirror: the image of a Pharisee who has not thought to look past labels and orientations to see people for who they really are. Had I not gone through with this experiment, I probably would have always believed the lie that I really am better than the other, and my life would have been characterized by a shallower understanding of humanity. At least now I can see what I really look like, and, Lord willing, I may yet change the image staring back at me."
From the chapter titled "it's hard to be gay in spring"
"I always wondered what it would be like to suppress my attraction to such an extreme degree. As I attempt it, I realize I have to suppress more than just physical attraction. I have to suppress myself to live within the mentality of the closet. And the closet is so much more severe than its name would have you to believe. It is not even closet-like. It is a self-imposed exile from the reality of who you are. It is a roadblock to anyone trying to have any semblance of a normal life. Being in the heterosexual closet means I have to try to monitor every action and reaction before it becomes external, deciding whether it will give me away."
Let me say again ... the book is controversial. But the book is also a truthful recounting of one man's quest to find Jesus in the margins of life. And you know what? It's the people who live in those margins that He came to save ... people like you and people like me.
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