Breaking Into Peace

Earlier today I read through the entire Declaration of Independence. Quick quiz: How many words are in the Declaration?

1,320.

This is an approximation since different versions vary by a few words. But think about it, papers written for school (double-space, 12-point font) have about 250 words per page.

The Declaration of Independence is a roughly five-page essay, more than a paragraph or two. It seems more about creating a new government than trumpeting individual liberties, although individual liberty is baked in.

We seem to have forgotten this as a nation. People on both sides of the aisle trumpet their rights, often neglecting to consider the other person’s rights.

Individual liberty is an American value, but it is inextricably intertwined with communal life and responsibility. You cannot have a healthy manifestation of one without the other.

I do not deny there are significant imbalances of power and opportunity embedded in our country, but I invite us to reflect more deeply on how we can live together as a people, pursing the goal of unity in our diversity.

Doing this is not easy, AT ALL. We have a broad range of opinions regarding various policies and laws; my friends range from libertarian to socialist, and everything in between. Each person has a slightly different perspective of how we are governed and should govern one another.

The division seems to be growing stronger and stronger. Certain corners of social media have turned into cesspools of inhumanity and hatred. Debates are fought with tweets and posts. Bumper stickers, T-shirts, and flags say things like “F*uck (insert politician here)” and degrade those who might disagree with them.

This shit needs to stop. (I apologize if you’re offended by that word, but I can’t bring myself to type anything less strong.) We are destroying our country, spreading the cancers of hatred, disrespect, and vitriol at an unbelievable rate.

Taking the cancer analogy one step further, we are nearing Stage 4. Public discourse offers the aroma of a county fair and the ways we treat each other often make middle school hallways seem like an etiquete school. We are killing ourselves.

We will never be able to resolve any of these issues until we can begin by treating each other as human beings. We need each other. Humans are a social creatures; community is central to our existence.

Our nation is not decaying because we have different views about economic systems, social safety nets, who gets to marry who, how much people pay in taxes, what clothes people of any gender wears, or even immigration. There are certainly disagreements about all of those topics and how they impact our nation, but they are not the core issue.

We will always have disagreements. I often disagree with what I believed years ago; how can I expect 350 million people to all agree with me at the same time? The question is, how will we treat those we disagree with?

Let’s not be hateful to each other in the process of discussing those differences while still standing up for what we believe.

Clearly stating our opinion? Yes.

Fighting injustice? Yes.

Civil disobedience? Yes.

Political activism? Yes.

Protesting? Yes

All of these, and more, are crucial elements for our continued development as a society. Speak up and speak loud, but in a way that values the humanity of your adversaries.

I have Christian friends who will post a meme on social media about Jesus and follow it up with a meme demeaning and degrading anyone with a different belief or opinion. Sorry, that doesn’t track, at all. Those two are not compatible if you claim to follow Jesus of Nazareth. As Jesus says in Matthew 7:5, “first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your neighbor’s eye.”

Maybe you’re not a Christian; you’re still a human being. Wouldn’t you agree the idea of treating others with common decency might be a good place to start?

If the world is going to change, it will start with you. Treating someone with kindness doesn’t mean you agree with them or even like them. It means you are extending to them the basic dignity due every single person.

As we enjoy hot dogs, fireworks, and time with friends and family, let’s remember that one of the greatest threats to independence is failing to remember, honor, and embody our interdependence as fellow citizens of this nation and this world.

As Pride month comes to an end, so does this series. If you have read this far, thank you for staying with me. If you are just happening upon this final installment, I invite you to find Part 1 and work your way back to this point.

Over this month, I have received many kind messages and comments. Please know the love and support are deeply appreciated. There have also been a few (and it has been very few) unkind responses.

Several people have asked why I wrote this series. Their questions did not carry a judgmental tone, but a curious one. (A subtle nod to Ted Lasso.)

This series was birthed from a few desires, both personal and comunal in nature.

Selfishly, I wanted to tell my story. We all want to be seen, at least most of us do. After hiding this part of who I am for fifty years, there was a desire to share this part of me.

One of my mottos is, I don’t care if you know my story, as long as I am the one telling it. This is a way to lean into that mantra.

However, the primary purpose for writing this series was for anyone else who needed to hear its message. Messages, comments, and conversations confirmed what I already suspected; there are many people out there who have had similar feelings and experiences.

None of them probably look identical to mine, but the themes explored here echo through the lives of countless people.

These words are first and foremost for them. If you have wrestled with or struggled through or triumphed over anything you’ve read here, you are not alone; you have at least one supportive companion on the journey.

If this hasn’t resonated with you, I’m fairly confident it has with someone you know and love. There may well be someone in your life carrying similar hidden parts of who they are, fearing to step into the light for fear of what might happen.

If you are offended, upset, or disgusted by what you have read, first of all, thank you for sticking it out and finishing. I appreciate your willingness to follow along in your discomfort.

I also welcome you to continue the conversation. Find those you disagree with, grab a cup of coffee, and invite them to share their stories. Share yours, too.

The goal here has never been to change anyone’s mind. Rather than convincing someone I am right, my intent is to offer my perspective. What someone does with it, that’s their prerogative.

We should be continually growing and changing; that’s part of life. Today, I am one day closer to the end of my life than yesterday, and seeing the next sunset isn’t guaranteed. Taking another step towards death is impossible to avoid. But, taking one step closer to living more fully is a choice.

Today, I make that next step, seeking to bring kindness to those I love, those I struggle against, and those I’ve never met.

If I’ve learned anything from my journey of exploring my sexuality, it’s that life is more rainbow than black and white, and the more we learn to see the diverse, expansive spectrum of colors life offers, the more fully we can embrace all of its wonder.

Imagine walking down a hallway and seeing two doors before you.

The sign on one door says: “Beyond this door is a place where you can be safe. People will like you, admire you, and few will dislike or judge you. But in exchange for this, you will suffer silently on the inside, never able to fully express or maybe even accept your true self. You will sacrifice authenticity for acceptance.”

The sign on the other door says: “You can be your true self, but it will not be cheap. Some people will judge and reject you, possibly including some who are very close to you. You will experience rejection, disdain, and maybe even outright hatred, even from people you thought liked you.”

Which door would you choose?

For years, I chose the former, selecting safety over self, acceptance over authenticity. Fear of abandonment birthed in my childhood and exacerbated by pre-teen trauma held me captive. Partnering with a belief my value was directly tied to academic and professional performance, these demons caused me to hide for half a century.

When my world fell apart and little was left to lose, things changed. Much had been lost; all that remained was me. Feeling naked, nearly all the facades ripped away, my journey into self-discovery began in earnest.

That journey produced many self-realizations, including fully embracing my bisexuality. Along the way, communities have been lost and gained, the LGBTQ community being one of the latter. It has proven to be incredibly affirming and welcoming.

Like most communities, it is far from perfect. However, like many groups who have been marginalized, demonized, and told they are “less than,” it has developed a special kind of solidarity and camaraderie birthed through struggle.

I discussed in an early post about the ways our sexual orientation is likely determined. This post is not planning to revisit that argument, but consider if millions of people around the world would really just “choose” to live in a way that brings rejection, persecution, and in some places, death.

Reflecting on how some are treated, would most people would choose to be treated how members of the LGBTQ community are often treated? Would most “choose” to seek relationships with people it was illegal to marry until only recently? Would most “choose” to be attracted to someone when they could be kicked out of a church they belonged to for years? Would most “choose” to date a member of the same sex if it resulted in being ostracized by their family?

One of the biggest barriers for me deciding to come out was the likely negative consequences when people found out about my bisexuality. I’m grateful there have been only a handful of direct negative reactions, but many relationships seem to have been negatively impacted by someone pulling away or ending the relationship altogether.

I don’t think I would have “chosen” to be bisexual, not because it’s a bad thing—I love who I am—but due to the rejection, judgment, and harm which regularly occur.

For years I chose what seemed to be the path of least resistance, denying and suppressing my sexuality in the process. Time has taught me it was quite the opposite. Being dishonest, especially with myself, ended up being the path of most resistance, keeping me from experiencing an abundant life, one overflowing with peace and joy.

Therapy has been transformational. For the last eight years, it has been central to my growth and healing. During countless hours spent in counseling, one of the most frequently discussed topics has been relationships.

Reflecting back on those sessions, an interesting shift emerged over time. Early on, there existed a tendency to blame the other person for many issues in relationships. Lately, conversations usually involve directly addressing the impact of my behaviors.

A key lesson has been learning I can only control my own behaviors, not anyone else’s. Trying to control someone else’s behaviors can quickly evolve into manipulation or intimidation. When no change occurs, resentment, anger, and other unpleasant emotions almost certainly follow.

One reason controlling others was such a struggle for me for so long (and still is at times) has been a deeply rooted fear, a bonfire stacked high with logs of emotional abandonment, shame, lack of trust, fear of rejection, and self-hatred. Over time it became more clear my sexuality and how I viewed it, consciously and subconsciously, poured additional fuel on the fire.

My bisexuality, along with other aforementioned causes of fear, contributed to not fully showing up in relationships most of my life. While most evident in romantic relationships, this impacted every friendship of the first five decades of my life. Until the last few years, no one fully knew me.

That’s on me. No one else is to blame. I am solely responsible for relationships where I didn’t bring my whole self.

For those I hurt in the past, whether in a romantic relationship or friendship, please hear me.

I apologize.

I apologize for the ways I didn’t fully show up and bring my whole self. I apologize for the times I was dishonest or not fully present. I apologize for moments I was controlling or manipulative, when I tried to have things my way at your expense.

I also apologize for the times I lacked good boundaries and allowed myself to be manipulated. I apologize for not having the courage to speak up or leave a relationship earlier, when my fears trumped what was best and I remained silent or stayed too long.

Relationships are only as strong as the weakest person in a relationship. This is not meant to be judgmental or disparaging, but simply a reality. Often, I was that weakest person. It pains me to look back and see how many people were hurt along the way because of that.

This awareness has revealed how frequently this is happening around me. The pattern appears painfully similar, surfacing in relationships where people don’t bring their full selves. The bonfires all burn a little differently, the logs vary from person to person, but the fire rages nonetheless.

If these words speak to you, please reach out for help. I hid for decades, causing deep internal pain which burdened me and leaked onto those around me. I wish I had opened up sooner.

A word of caution. I can almost guarantee it will feel worse before it feels better. Fully revealing yourself to another is scary as hell. I don’t know what your fears are, but I know mine. It has taken years to arrive at a place where they didn’t dominate thinking and behaviors.

It will be hard work. We can order something off Amazon and have it a day or two later. That’s not how this process works if you fully engage with the work, trust me. Depending on how much work one needs to do, it could take years. Reading one book, attending one seminar, or praying one prayer won’t get someone there. It requires determination, dedication, and courage.

Speaking of courage, psychologist Susan David, in her book Emotional Agility, writes, “Courage is not the absence of fear but fear walking.” I used to believe courage was sucking it up, pushing it down, and moving forward. I call BS on that.

David is right, courage is fear walking. It is about learning to be vulnerable and transparent, facing your fears with wisdom, help, and radical honesty. It is gaining the ability to have healthy boundaries while also letting in those who earn trust. It is about learning to fully love yourself.

For all the girls and boys I’ve loved before, but didn’t love with my fullest, best self, I hope you can forgive me. While the past cannot be changed, I hope forgiveness has or will remove some of the pain I created without throwing away the good stuff. I remain thankful for the wonderful memories, positive experiences, and lessons learned along the way.

I’m currently in the healthiest romantic relationship of my life. This is not throwing shade at previous partners; I have dated some incredible people. This is the result of finally bringing my best, fullest self into a relationship. My current partner fully loves and accepts me for who I am, but that was never going to happen until and unless I fully loved and accepted myself and revealed that self to another.

I regularly tell students, don’t look for the kind of the person you want in a relationship, be the kind of person you want in a relationship. Once you pursue that, you will attract the kind of people you seek and won’t settle for anything else.

Nature or nurture?

This argument comes up around various topics related to people’s characteristics. Was someone born that way or did they become that way based on environment, upbringing, and other factors?

With apologies to Lady Gaga, when it comes to sexuality, I don’t believe we are completely “Born This Way.” (For the record, I still really like that song!)

However, let’s take a deep breath before we run to the other end of the spectrum saying sexuality is something we choose and based completely on our environment.

It’s likely a mixture of both. While there isn’t room here to discuss all of the factors at play, areas of study such as genetics, epigenetics, and brain development support the idea that sexuality is determined by nature and nurture.

Numerous books have been written on the topic. A significant study was published in Science on the subject a couple of years ago. Throughout nature, there appears to be a lack of clear-cut, black and white heterosexuality in countless species. I am not attempting to layout all the scientific evidence here, but to discuss the intersection of my learning and my life experience.

But life is more than biology. While there are genetic aspects to families and personality traits, environmental influences are just as important. This made me wonder, how does sexuality show up in my family and why? A cursory glance seems to reveal a significant number of people who identify as LGBTQ+ in my family. Nature or nurture? I don’t know. Probably both.

I wonder how homophobia in my immediate family might have caused suppression of my sexuality and contributed to the shame discussed in a previous post. Much of my life, a need to please my parents was a strong underlying, unconscious motivation. I am convinced this shaped how I viewed my sexuality both consciously and subconsciously for decades. Years of therapy and several “conversations” with my parents at the cemetery allowed me to confront and work through this.

Some have asked if my sexual abuse at the hands of a man created my attraction to men. I asked this for a long time myself. While life is a never-ending journey of discovery and learning, my response to this question now is a confident “no.”

I believe my sexual abuse, intertwined with the aforementioned homophobia (both in my home and the broader community) pushed my sexuality deeper in the closet. Environment didn’t create my sexuality, it distorted it, making part of who I am seem unacceptable. This created blind spots which took years to bring into view.

Reflecting back on my childhood, same-sex attraction seems to have been present prior to my sexual abuse. Memory is a tricky thing and our recollections of the past are, at best, a glimpse back through foggy lenses, but it’s all we have. Video recordings of our entire life or a novel-like written record of everything we felt and thought isn’t available.

The first attraction to a boy I recall occurred in fifth or sixth grade. I remember finding articles about him in the local paper, cutting them out, and hanging them on my wall in my bedroom. Looking back, this and other aspects of that friendship resemble a typical pre-teen crush.

I recall other hints of same-sex attraction from that season of life. That was the first time I encountered pornography and remember feeling attraction to and interest in both genders while watching. While seeing these images helped inform my identity, pornography also proved to be a destructive force in my relationships with men and women for years.

There is a vague memory from late elementary school of kids making fun of me on the playground and calling me “gay.” There is no recollection of what prompted this, but those comments have remained seared in my memory for decades. Sometimes I want to go back and learn more; other times I am glad I can’t.

None of this fully answers the question of nature or nurture; we may never know for sure. People cite studies, Bible verses, and even their own opinions, feelings, and biases to definitively state it’s one or the other. I am comfortable sitting in the tension caused by the lack of certainty while continuing to seek further understanding.

Sometimes I wonder what my parents would say were they still alive. Would they accept me, condemn me, or sit there in shock? Don’t think I haven’t thought about this more than once. For a while it was a source of great discomfort and pain.

While the question still haunts me at times, the reality is, my parents’ genes, behaviors, and family background strongly impacted me, including my sexuality. Whether they would support me or not, there’s no doubt they contributed significantly to who I am.

My feelings toward them cover a spectrum of emotions, but extending love and forgiveness, even where there has been hurt, has proven to be the only pathway to peace and healing. This not only holds true with my parents, but with myself and others, regardless of their thoughts and feelings about who I am and how they treat me.

I remember, my body remembers, the shame my earlier beliefs caused me to feel. There was a pain deep in my bones for years and years. Our sexuality is part of who we are; when a dissonance exists between key aspects of our identity—such as faith and sexuality—it creates massive internal disruption.

I don’t believe people “choose” to be homosexual or bisexual or even heterosexual, a position I plan to address in an upcoming post. For now, let’s focus on this reality: when we believe our sexuality is bad, we likely believe we are bad. That is the essence of shame.

Brené Brown, in her TED Talk on shame, says, “Shame is a focus on self, guilt is a focus on behavior. Shame is ‘I am bad.’ Guilt is ‘I did something bad.’”

When someone believes they are inherently bad, shame will likely result. Shame is one of the most destructive forces on the planet. It can lead us to do things we would never imagine doing and cause intense self-hatred. Over time, it wears us down, making us feel less than human, closing us off from the world, and even ourselves.

I’ve been there, spending decades of my life caught in a shame spiral, an out of control, internal storm which caused me to withdraw into a relational and emotional shelter where no one—not even those closest to me—really knew me. More on that in a subsequent post.

Shame started in childhood, growing up in a home where homophobic slurs were common and homosexuality was discussed in, shall we say, less than favorable ways.

My teen years coincided with the AIDS pandemic of the 1980’s, a time when homosexuals and bisexuals were told this disease was a punishment for being gay.

This was all exacerbated by my childhood sexual abuse (I wrote about this several years ago). While I remember that one episode of abuse, questions have lingered about other vague memories. Since sharing my story, several childhood friends shared their’s, including one which caused me to pause and reflect.

Seeds of shame planted just below the surface, these factors were watered by puberty and sprouted as I grew into adolescence. My first experience with another man occurred when I was in college, but I did not openly discuss it with anyone for twenty years. In the meantime, shame continued to grow.

Shame upon shame upon shame, it continued building a tower of weight upon my heart and soul. This hidden secret weighed on me like an ever growing pile of bricks, making it hard to breathe. Meanwhile, other bricks were used to build walls of protection from the outside world, keeping everyone at a safe distance, afraid if anyone knew the real me, no one would want me.

Eight years ago, I couldn’t bear it anymore; the shame had gotten so heavy. I walked into a therapist office, made an appointment, and brick by brick, began dismantling the castle I had built.

The work continues and a handful of bricks remain. This season of deconstruction has lead to reconstruction, repurposing bricks to build bridges, connections to others. A few have used those bridges to hurt me, but most have been welcoming and kind, creating points of deep connection.

Brené Brown defines connection as, “the energy that exists between people when they feel seen, heard, and valued; when they can give and receive without judgment; and when they derive sustenance and strength from the relationship.” That is precisely what I have begun to experience.

One great irony is how I offered connection to others for years without engaging in it myself. In and out of ministry, I offered space for connection and received others, but never felt safe enough to step into that space myself. I cared for others while dying on the inside by not allowing anyone to fully see me.

Therapy, spiritual direction, journaling, reading, and a host of other practices, have allowed me to work all the way down, removing countless layers of shame. My work is far from done and will never cease; this is the human experience. But I have experienced tremendous healing and found wholeness along the way.

Guilt is good, an alarm reminding us we can do better. But shame is a weapon of destruction, a false narrative telling us we are inherently bad. While we all make mistakes, and need guilt to help us grow, we are all inherently good.

The creation poetry of Genesis 1 & 2 speaks of a Creator who looks upon creation and says, it is good, it is very good. When YHWH breaths life into us, it comes with inherent goodness. Do we make mistakes along the way? Absolutely! But it never changes who we are at our core, the imago dei, the image of God.

Part of my work in deconstructing my shame castle has been coming to understand my sexuality is not bad and does not mean I am bad; it is part of my imago dei. Shame has no place here. Who I love and who I am attracted to is part of who I am and has been a part of who I am since I was born. It has at the same time likely been impacted by my life experiences. More on that next time…

In this journey of exploration there arose an apparent conflict which had to be addressed, one between sexual orientation and my faith. Sorting this out has proven to be a challenging and enriching journey.

It seems some who find their sexuality doesn’t fit into cultural norms, especially in the Christian community, have simply left, either abandoning Christianity for another faith or leaving religion completely behind. Others, especially in more recent years, have left one religious tribe and joined a different, more affirming one. The number of LGBTQ+ affirming churches continues to grow. While some say it is because they are simply catering to culture, I would disagree and will offer a few reasons why later in this post.

Having both bachelor’s and master’s degrees in ministry and deeply enjoying the study of theology and spiritual practices, I felt the need to take a scholarly deep dive into the matter at hand and had no intention of leaving the Christian community. While I have come to believe that the Creator shows up in a variety of unexpected religious communities across the globe, Christianity’s worldview continues to be home for me.

I have experienced several seasons of “wilderness wandering” over the last decade, initiated by experiences which caused me to question my faith in the church while also pushing me to keep moving forward. I did not want the pastoral malpractice and religious abuse of a few to drive me to abandon the God revealed in Jesus of Nazareth.

Along the way, my journey involved many practices: reading the Bible, prayer, meditation, reading books and articles, listening to podcasts, times of reflection, and conversations with my therapist, my spiritual director, and friends. I journaled, walked prayer labyrinths, screamed at God, cried to God, and experienced what St. John of the Cross calls “the dark night of the soul.”

After living with decades of cognitive dissonance and deep pain, hidden from the world and often myself, this was a journey to discover inner Shalom, peace for my soul.

In the past, I lived in a world of certainty, where the Bible said what it said. I belonged to a religious tribe whose beliefs resonate with the following: “God said it; I believe it; that settles it.” I was trained in that mode of thinking and it aligned well with my need to be right. (That’s a whole different conversation which required hours of therapy to unpack.)

The more I l learn, the more I realize how much I don’t know. Today, I try to make less statements and ask more questions. I have come to believe my understanding of the divine is like having taken a weekend course in Spanish before traveling to Mexico, knowing enough to get around, but having only scratched the surface.

Did I reconcile my faith and my sexuality? Completely? Partially?

Before getting to that, let me address something I have been told or read a few times in recent years: You are just interpreting the Bible so it confirms what you want to do.

Can we be honest for a minute? Don’t we all do that to some extent? We come with our preconceived notions, our biases, and our colored lenses. None of us come to the Bible, or any other religious writing for that matter, with the ability to be completely neutral or unbiased.

I realize I went to the Biblical text seeking resolution of this tension between my understanding of what the Bible says about same-sex attraction and what I had felt inside, and often repressed, for decades. I acknowledge my biases in that regard. But I also admit I wanted to be scholarly and honest about this journey; my desire has alway been to remain faithful to the Creator and the Kingdom.

What I discovered was fascinating and enlightening. While I could share dozens and dozens of books, articles, and conversations, I am only sharing a couple here.

I needed to address the handful of passages in the Bible which seem to condemn same-sex attraction. In his book, Unclobber, Colby Martin examines these passages through scholarship and personal experience. His findings resonated with other things I had found and further expanded my understanding. While I have read a number of books and articles on the subject, Martin’s work has been one of the most accessible and relatable.

Did you know that the word “homosexual” was first used in an English translation of the Bible in the year 1946? I didn’t know that until I attended a viewing of the documentary 1946. This film included significant research, interviews with Biblical scholars, and a touching personal story involving a lesbian and her father, a well-known preacher in his conservative denomination.

Some who have read this far will still disagree with my conclusion that same-sex attraction is not sinful. Are there destructive behaviors in same-sex relationships? Of course, just like there are in heterosexual relationships. For the record, I am not here to debate with anyone, simply to share my journey of discovery and some things I have found along the way.

There have been plenty of discussions with people who agree with me and those who don’t. Many, but unfortunately not all, have been cordial. Some have shared their concern about my salvation. I am at peace with who I am, all of me. I am at peace with God. I have experienced salvation in ways I never could have imagined a decade ago. I could say much more, but my evolving understanding of salvation, heaven, and eternal life are well beyond the scope of this post.

The journey has not always been easy and at times the shame inherent in my past beliefs rears its ugly head. In those moments, I lean into YHWH’s chesed, the steadfast loving kindness of the divine, which envelops me in grace and mercy.

As Pride Month approached this year, I felt a nudging to share some thoughts about my own journey in discovering and embracing my sexuality. While I have been aware of my bisexuality for some time, only in the last year have I fully embraced and accepted this part of who I am. Part of the motivation for sharing aspects of my story here is to encourage and support those who might find themselves on similar journeys.

I recognize the risk inherent in discussing my bisexuality more frankly. Since I have become more public about my sexuality, a number friends have noticeably left my life, some abruptly, others gradually, many with little to no conversation. The responses from those in religious communities I have belonged to have been mixed. Whether out of kindness, confusion, or something else, many have simply said nothing.

For those who find my sexual orientation sinful, perverse, queer, or just plain wrong, I strive to maintain a stance of openness, kindness, and love towards them. There was a time I intellectually shared some of those views, even as they caused tremendous internal turmoil. If I have ever projected my own frustration, anger, or self-hatred on you along the way, I apologize.

I don’t have a dramatic coming out story; my coming out has been as much an internal conversation as external one, a gradual–sometimes painful–grappling with who I am, where I have been, and how it all fits together. While I consider Sandusky Pride 2022 my coming out party, a moment when I more publicly shared this part of me, the road traveled there was anything but smooth or straight (pun intended).

Every story, every situation, every person is different. I do not offer my experiences as a template for what it means to be bisexual. My hope for those reading these words is that you develop further understanding, compassion, community, and maybe even healing.

If you know little to nothing about the LGBTQ community and kept reading this far, welcome to the conversation. If you identify as part of the community, publicly or privately, I see you. Whether you are an ally or disagree, I am thankful you are here. May we all gather around the table and share our stories. True love and community only thrives when we welcome, respect, and listen to one another with open hearts and minds.

I look forward to sharing more over the next few weeks. (There is a place on my blog page to subscribe to receive notifications of new posts by email.)

Pardon the slight alteration of a well-known slogan, but stick with me.

For many, probably most of us, ego is one of our biggest barriers to growth.

You might stop me and say, “Wait, I’m not egotistical.”

Maybe not, but that’s not ego’s entire identity. On a deeper, broader level, the ego is, to borrow the words of Fr. Richard Rohr, “that part of the self that wants to be significant, central, and important by itself, apart from anybody else.”

We all—if we take a deep, honest look in the mirror—have an ego residing inside us. For some it may be painfully apparent on the outside; for others it lurks under the surface, working in more covert ways.

I struggle with my ego regularly. Those who know me well could likely list a variety of ways they have seen it action. There are countless other ways it works behind the scenes or manifests in more socially correct forms, hidden in plain view.

Counseling, medication, silence, spiritual direction, journaling, and other self-work have continued to open my eyes to the ways my ego has often controlled me. For years, it fueled shame, enflamed unhealthy desires, drove aggression, impassioned judgmental attitudes, and otherwise made me an unpleasant person to others and myself.

Those practices also opened a stream of self-compassion, a space where the ego could be welcomed, embraced, and loved. That space allowed the shadow side of ego to encounter the light of grace and mercy. This tension guided my soul towards healing and wholeness, a journey which continues to this day.

I am still not the man I want to be, but by the grace of God, the love of Jesus, and the work of the Spirit, I am no longer the man I used to be.

One of the most interesting aspects of this journey has been learning how offering hospitality to the ego actually makes it easier to let go of it. Gaining the ability to lovingly welcome that which holds on to us allows us to loosen our grip on it. This lessens its power and loosens its grip on us.

I would not wish the darkest chapters of my story on an enemy; I would wish the healing I have experienced for them. Enrolling in this lifelong course of letting go of my ego has guided me to a place of healing, hope, and peace which once seemed unreachable.

Writing the words on the final page of this chapter of life titled 2022, I reflect on the experiences and lessons these 365 days have offered.

These moments have been built upon the foundation of years past, failures and triumphs, grief and joy. This year proved to be no different, with many opportunities for growth along the way.

People have come into my life and people have left. Others continue to journey with me in a variety of ways. There is gratitude for the many ways my community has exhibited encouragement, support, challenge, and love. While the nature of some relationships has changed, the value of those individuals has not.

There have been new relationships as well, including one which has taught me new levels of vulnerability, transparency, risk, and love. While not the only new relationship, it has been uniquely transformational.

My relationship with the divine has grown as well. God has continued to transform me and invite me into deeper communion with herself and all creation, helping me see the divine in all people and the world.

We often cheapen love with cheesy Hallmark movies, surface-level niceties, and other discounted versions of this complex aspect of life.

Love we witness in romantic movies and simple acts of kindness are definitely part of what love is, but not the entirety of its essence.

In learning to love, I am learning to forgive, to challenge, to look in the mirror, and to lay down my armor. Jesus challenged us to love our neighbor as ourself. Part of that work means we must speak to ourself the same way we speak to our closest friends.

For years, that was not my reality. I would be incredibly hard on myself, saying things about and to myself I would never say to anyone, especially those I care about most. This is still a struggle, but something which happens less and less.

The interesting thing about learning real self-love is how it teaches us to love our neighbor. Often—if not always—our hatred for our “enemies” is projecting self hatred on an “other.” It’s usually easier to demonize another person or group than to sit with our own imperfections and failings.

Life—the ultimate teacher and classroom—invites us to learn. If we are willing to do the work, the lessons are endless, a vast array of opportunities to evolve into a better version of ourself and become more and more human.

In the creation story, God is described as creating human beings in their own image. We are made for community and for love. We are made to build one another up and work as agents of creation. Jesus came to show us what that should look like.

It means we welcome the stranger, the outcast, the oppressed. It means we lay down our ego and take up our cross. But it also means we learn to love the parts of ourself which feed self-hatred.

Learning to love the ugliest parts of ourself leads to the growth of grace, mercy, healing, justice, hope, and love deep inside our soul. That kind of internal transformation can’t help but change how we engage the world.

May we learn to love ourselves more fully that we might learn to love the world in ways which align with the divine’s dream for wholeness, justice, and peace.