Oct 20, 2012
What I see. What I hear. What I feel.
Today, we come to a close on DDT's study of sexual diversity. If you've made it this far, then I thank you for reading. You and I live in a era filled with hate. Christians label anything secular that seems to go against conservative dogma as "wordly"; but from what I've witnessed on too many occasions, they themselves are creating their own world. As I said before, many fundamentalists have an "us versus them" mentality, and this is how it gets started. If you fear something you don't understand, and choose ignore it, shame it, and blame it, then you dig yourself into a hole.
Earlier last week I received a phone call from my mother with news that my grandfather (on my step father's side) was taken into the ER. His battle with leukemia was coming to an end, and cancer was winning. He had lasted more than three years, always fighting, always staying strong. When he was first diagnosed, my step father asked him the toughest question he had ever had to ask of anyone: "Do you believe in Jesus?" My grandfather answered with a resounding Yes.
He never went to church, but he often read his Bible. He was a believer in a loving and merciful God; but never bothered to know the god of modern Christianity. Jerry Jones stuck to the basics. He was a loving father and grandfather, a handy man all around, a chef behind the grill, and an honored and decorated Marine. He passed away only a few days ago, peacefully in his sleep.
After receiving the phone call from my mother with news that his death was near, I talked to my flight sergeant and requested emergency leave to see my grandfather one last time. We talked, and he was genuinely interested in the tough ol' cowboy from East Texas that was my granddad. When I began telling him, he concluded: "So, he's a certified bad ass." I laughed. My leave was granted immediately and I took four days to spend with family; two at home with mom and my two younger brothers, and two in East Texas with my grandparents as soon as my step dad came home so we can all go together.
As an Airman (and a Warrior Airman at that), I've prepared myself mentally to face death. I know what it looks like, how miserable it sounds, how spine-tingling its presence is. I know that at any moment, my life might be taken by the enemy, or I might have to take his. When I saw my grandfather lying there in his death bed, fragile and tired, I saw death. But what I also saw was a man that lived a full life; with little regrets, possibly none at all. He was ready to leave this world; be gone from his suffering and his misery in his days. His heart was prepared.
I came to him one last time, wearing my dress blues. I wanted make him proud of what I had accomplished. He was a Marine, and I am an Airman. We are both soldiers; one old, one young. And though he was lying down, and I was standing tall; we both held great pride. It wasn't a sinful pride; not the kind that is puffed up, boastful, or distasteful. It was the certain kind of pride that let's you know you're worth something in this world. It's a pride that is blessed and sacred; because just as he stood right next to and in front of the ones he protected when he served, so I do now; just as Christ stands right next to and in front of all of us.
Christ has no prejudices. He does not discriminate against the ones that come to Him, the ones that He protects. Similarly, I do not discriminate against the ones that I watch over on my base. When I stand at the gate, or take up a security post, or patrol the streets, I am tasked with making sure that my fellow Airmen, their families, and their dependents, are all sleeping soundly at night. They can be black or white, of a foreign nation or American, male or female, child or adult, active duty or retired, guard or reservist, gay or straight, ignorant or educated, Christian or not.
While I was there, I was surrounded by a side of my family that is very conservative. They had been taught to not question what they believe in. My mother, after we got out of our cars and walked up to the house, even said to me, "No politics." It went back to a discussion between my step father and I the day before we left to visit my grandparents. We had talked about the election, and things like voter registration laws and gay marriage. He learned that I was voting on the Democratic ticket this year, and he saw for the first time just how "liberal" I had become.
I was quite annoyed when the first of many conversations I heard in the house was a political one. Just about every relative there, save for good ol' grandpa, talked about the election and current events. I suppose one shouldn't be too surprised considering voting is just around the corner. But I respected mom's wishes and stayed out of it. Besides, why tarnish a blissful one-sided conversation with my liberal agenda?
"Have you read the YouTube comments lately
'Man that's gay'
Gets dropped on the daily
We've become so numb to what we're sayin'"
-Ben Haggerty (Macklemore), Same Love
A single word though just about made me snap. "Twinkle-toes". One of my aunts and a woman I hardly knew, were talking about "those gays". If I wasn't sure before, it was made quite clear to me then that I was completely alone in that house; a foreigner, an outcast. I wanted to dive into the conversation right then and there, instantly lash out with everything that I know, and throw the Bible right back at them.
But I stayed silent.
When it was time to leave, I held my grandfather's hand and we talked for a bit. I joked about how the Air Force won't let me pour wax down the inside crease of my dress blues pants to keep them crisp and sharp. He laughed at that, remembering what he wrote to me in a letter one day before I left for BMT, passing on some trusty Marine advice. We talked until he could no longer stay awake. The tired old man allowed his eyes to flutter close and his mind rest.
I remained there for a moment, wondering what he was thinking about. Was he dreaming; or did he have anything left to dream about? I finally turned away and walked quietly out of the room, allowing him to rest. I wondered how much longer he had left. Hours? Days? A week at most? I question many things. I question time, dreams, dogma, scripture... God.
When my step dad and I walked out to my car, he asked me if I said goodbye. I replied, "I didn't, actually. There's no need to."
I managed to hold back the tears. I wanted to cry; but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I guess I had prepared my mind too much to handle death. Am I numb to it now? Was it inhuman of me to not cry over my grandfather passing away? I've always cried over things that have hurt me. I've cried over things that have hurt others. But I didn't weep that time, and I think I know why. Grandpa Jones lived his life. He had two kids, many grandchildren, a wonderful wife, a successful life, and a peaceful retirement. I didn't weep because he lived. I didn't weep because he was happy.
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Look around you at the world that conservative Christians have created for themselves. A world of ignorance, fear, and hatred. They pay no mind to the facts, ignore evidence, demonize science and education, and adhere to a strict, literal interpretation of Biblical verses that support their traditions. They speak of "light", but live in the darkness. They preach "love one another", but they take to the streets with signs that say "GOD HATES FAGS!". The Bible says to "pray in private", but their politicians are trying to amend the Constitution to "save marriage".
I've lived in the town I'm in now for the last two years, and I still haven't found a church that I like. All of them are far too conservative and old fashioned for me to feel comfortable or feel truly loved. If you say you love me because there's nothing wrong with me, then do you really love me? I doubt it. It's easy to say that word, but a thousand times harder to mean it. That's why so many LGBTQ persons won't dare to come out of the closet. They fear rejection, and rightfully so. It can seen, heard, and felt all around us; and it's coming from the very same people that are supposed to be standing up to fear and hatred and rejection. The one's that Christ commissioned to "go forth and make disciples" are the ones turning away gays at the doors of their church, and then slandering their names.
Riddle me this: Which is greater? God, or the Bible?
Just yesterday, I dared to venture back onto Facebook to check my private messages. I cut myself away from the social networking site because of all the drama and comments that made absolutely no sense. When my eyes glanced at my news feed I saw a status update with a political cartoon about "putting God in a box". It was posted by one of the youth at the church I attended before joining the military. I understood what they were trying to say, but I felt pity for them because they didn't understand the meaning behind it all. What are they being taught? I wondered.
Is the Bible so inerrant that it rules out the possibility of God having a say on something? If John 1:1 tells us that "in the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God," then how is a modern day version of the New Living Translation by Tyndale Publishers, Inc. God? Especially if God, the Word, is constant; "He Who Was, Is, and Is to come" (Rev. 1:8)?
2 Timothy 3:16 asserts that all scripture is God-breathed; but that doesn't mean it's 100% God-spoken. The Bible was written and rewritten by the hands of man, and it is tainted with the bias and bigotry of its many authors and voices. Don't believe me? Then why is the word "homosexuality" (a word not even conceived until 1869) pasted into some versions of the Bible to condemn both gay men and women, for verses that originally only speak of male-male intercourse?
It's a game of money and politics. If publishers started making "liberal" versions of the Bible, their sales would tank because the majority of Christian conservatives wouldn't dare pick up a version that implied "gay is okay".
Most people will never change their minds about what they believe. Even the most stubborn minds will not admit to their faults in the face of a heart wrenching tragedy. There are parents out there who have lost their children to suicide, and to this day believe they are burning in hell because their "lifestyle choice". There are others who grieve over the loss of their child and wish they had listened, or tried to understand, or was there to stop them and simply say "I love you".
When and where does unconditional love end? Does it end in the face of sin; or perceived sin? Does it end when a child goes against his or her parents' wishes?
"I will always love you, no matter what." That's how most parents say it. They look their children in the eyes and tell them face-to-face. But when a certain kind of "what" comes to light... the love runs dry.
This study was never meant to be for those that are too stubborn to open their minds; because I know that no matter what I say, or what evidence I present, or what facts I bring up, they will continue to shut down and say "no, no, no...". This study has been for those that are open minded enough to seek out truth, and for those that need some reassurance that there is absolutely nothing wrong with who they are and whom they love.
4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
-1 Corinthians 13:4-7 NIV
