They Love God, Too

Though I have little to no musical talent or ability, I truly, truly love music. From the days when I would blast my turntable record player as loud as possible and jam out to the incredibly awesome tunes of The Partridge Family or Donny and Marie Osmond to tonight as I thumb through my iPod to find just the right music for this evening's writing time (I settled on an instrumental guitar selection of old hymns, by the way) ... I've always loved music. I've often thought that music can be likened to a treasured friend ... a friend who's always been with me ... a friend who's never left my side ... a friend who's soared with me over the mountaintops ... a friend who's refused to allow the depths of despair to consume me. Yep ... that's what music is to me ... a friend who's always there to inspire me, to soothe me, to challenge me, to move me, to speak to me, to carry me, to make me soar, to pick me up when I fall ... a treasured, trusted, time-tested friend.

One of the things I miss most in regard to church is the music ... I miss the upbeat worship music and the old hymns and the heartfelt special music selections; heck, sometimes I even miss the harmonies of a good old-fashioned Southern Baptist choir (belting out songs while fully adorned in their choir robes and sashes that were color-coordinated so as not to clash with the carpet and the curtains in the sanctuary, of course). I always looked forward to the music when I spoke at women's events for various churches ... so many different songs and styles and voices and instruments and venues and people. Hmmm ... different songs, different styles, different voices, different instruments, different venues, different people ... all united in praise and worship of the same God. From mega-dollar suburban sanctuaries to rundown inner city gathering places to rustic outdoor campgrounds ... different songs, different styles, different voices, different instruments, different venues, different people ... all united in praise and worship of the same God.

Last week, two friends whom I've known for many years invited me to attend a farewell concert for the minister at the church they attended when they first met. My friends are incredible singers, and when they told me they would be singing at Saturday evening's event, I immediately said I would love to go. I must admit that I was more than a little nervous when my friends arrived at my house to pick me up ... I'm always more than a little nervous in social settings these days ... but as we laughed and talked, my nervousness was replaced with the comfort that comes with being in the company of old and dear friends. The concert lasted a little over two hours, and tears filled my eyes time and time again as I sat in awe of the talent before me. Nope ... that's not entirely true ... yes, the talent of the singers was amazing, and yes, tears filled my eyes more than once, but what awed me most ... what inspired me most ... what touched me most was the tremendous faith of not only the singers on the stage before me, but of the folks seated in the pews all around me as well. Hands were lifted ... hallelujahs and amens were spoken ... different songs, different styles, different voices, different instruments, different venue, different people ... all united in praise and worship of the same God.

Now it's time for me to honor my statement in my previous post regarding writing about the things I feel compelled, moved or led to write about. As I think about it, perhaps it's more accurate to say it's time for me to write about the things I feel convicted to write about ... to write even at times like tonight when I'm shaking in my boots as I type. (Actually, I'm shaking in my Converse shoes ... my black and white Converse shoes, to be exact .) The concert last Saturday was at a church in downtown Kansas City ... a church that is primarily made up of people from the LGBT community. I know how many of you feel about "those kinds" of churches ... I know how many of you feel about "those kinds" of people ... trust me, I know very well how many of you feel. In fact, as I sat in the church Saturday night, my mind was flooded with the words many of you have written to me over the last year. But as I listened to the different songs, different styles, different voices, different instruments in a different venue surrounded by different people, one thought ... one all-encompassing and pervasive thought ... filled my mind and spilled over into my heart. "They love God, too ... they really and truly do ... these people here ... they love God, too."

If you know my story, you know how much I've struggled to accept who I am and you know how deeply connected that struggle is to my faith. If you know my story, you also know that I've encountered a bit of judgment and condemnation from some other folks of faith over the last year. But as I sat in that church last Saturday evening, I knew ... I knew that those people loved God. As I sat in that church surrounded by people who know what it is to be labeled the greatest of all sinners ... I knew ... I knew more than I've ever known anything in my whole life that no one ... no one ... no one ... not one person on the face of this earth has the right to judge any other person's relationship with God based on his or her sexuality (or anything else for that matter). Only God ... only God can judge a person's relationship with Him ... not me, not you, only God.

Last Saturday, I saw hands lifted ... I heard hallelujahs and amens spoken ... different songs, different styles, different voices, different instruments, different venue, different people ... all united in praise and worship of the same God. Amen, friends ... amen indeed.