White Fragility vs. White Shame

That phrase: white fragility. For a white liberal dude like me, it cuts to the quick. Shields up! Engage defensive counter-attack!

Here’s the deal though. White fragility exists, and it is toxic. When a person of color declares that black lives matter, white fragility insists that all lives matter. When a person of color makes a statement about the murderous abuse of power of a police officer, white fragility insists that blue lives matter, most cops are not like that, etc. A response given from a place of white fragility silences the messenger and the message that we need so desperately to hear and absorb.

Here’s my opinion: white fragility keeps white people from going through an honestly painful but necessary phase toward wholeness and racial reconciliation. This necessary phase is the inner work one must do in order to get past the fragility and the defensiveness and the toxicity. To put it simply, we need to identify and address our white shame.

Don’t misunderstand. I am not advocating that we combat this shame with denial or uplifting pop psychology. Quite the opposite. It requires courage, clear eyes, open ears, and a commitment to change. Dragons don’t go away; they must be slain.

Brene Brown, a Ph.D. and an extensive researcher on shame, has said that one can’t talk about privilege without talking about shame. Most human beings have some measure of privilege, but white people in North America and Europe are born with a lot of it. White privilege and shame are similar in this important way: we have white privilege and we have shame not a result of something we’ve done. In a sense, shame is the shadow-side of privilege.

In its most negative usage, shame is associated with wrong that has been done to us. We feel shame because we’ve been abused, neglected, mocked, or otherwise traumatized. This kind of a shame is only a distant relation to white shame (or any shame borne of privilege), but it does help shed light on why it stings and why it must be overcome.

When we get defensive about someone calling out injustice and respond accordingly, we are denying our shame and surrendering to white fragility. We close our ears and harden our hearts. Interestingly, Brown’s extensive research has shown that this type of response is the opposite of what is needed in order to overcome shame.

What is required is vulnerability.

It means stopping a minute and feeling whatever it is you are feeling. It means taking in the horror of the murder of a fellow human being. It means reaching for empathy. It mean facing the injustice of it all and truly and bitterly mourning its reality. And yes, it means feeling culpability for being white. Notice: the fact that you are white does not mean you are culpable in the death of black men and women. But until you admit the shame exists, you’ll never get past it. You’ll be stuck in a shame cycle, incapable of nothing but navel-gazing.

Also? I can’t stress enough that I believe this is a (necessary) phase on the journey to wholeness and racial reconciliation, but not somewhere to dwell. And like the hero’s journey, it’s often one we have to walk alone. We can’t rely on people of color to educate us, to tell us “you’re one of the good guys!” and to comfort us when we’re in the midst of our inner work. They are too busy trying to navigate a hostile world. The sooner we can abandon our coping mechanism of white fragility and courageously face our shame, the sooner we can effectively join the effort to end systemic racism.

Hate

In 2016 I will be 43 years old. Come November, I will vote for President of the United States for the 7th time in my life. (I have a 4-2 record, with a 4-election winning streak. Yes I voted for Bush twice and for Obama twice. Some might say I’m 3-3, but that’s not the point of this post.)

Hard data and a scrupulous, thorough study of American history would probably tell us that the divisiveness currently plaguing our political system and electorate is not new, nor worse than it’s ever been. However, with age, and with the onslaught of traditional and social media, it certainly feels like rage, fury, and hatred toward political opponents, methodologies, and world-views are at an all-time high.

As a progressive, I absolutely loathe the candidates who are running on the Republican side. Trump and Cruz, the current front-runners, make me wistfully nostalgic for John McCain (minus Sarah Palin), Mitt Romney, and even George W. Bush (minus Dick Cheney).

Loathe is really another word for hate. I find myself hating these people. In fact, I find myself feeling hatred for not just right-wing politicians, but also:

• Outspoken same-sex marriage opponents, like Kim Davis and the Oregon bakers
• Radicalized left-wing Marxist Christians who have a strong and vocal critique-heavy community on Twitter
• Strong pro-gun proponents such as the NRA and much of Congress
• LGBTQ activists who doggedly police language and are cruelly intolerant of would-be allies who truly want to learn and grow
• People who denounce the Black Lives Matter movement and call it “racist”
• Black Lives Matter activists who label all those who don’t subscribe to their tactics and ideology as “white supremacists”
• Young, affluent, attractive, privileged A-list gay white males who dismiss women, people of color, and the less attractive
• The New Atheists
• Anyone in social media who is stubborn, arrogant, unkind, and lacks empathy and critical thinking skills

I could go on, but you get the idea: I carry a lot of hate. It is way, WAY too much for me to carry. I find myself being consumed by feelings of fury and helplessness. The only thing positive I can say about this is that I’ve never been tempted to act out any of these hateful feelings in a violent way. But you know what? If something doesn’t change soon, who’s to say that violence will still be off the table?

It’s a terrifying thought.

This year, I’m going to do something about. I resolve to rid myself of hate.

I will not hate Donald Trump. I will not hate Ted Cruz. I will not hate Kim Davis. I will not hate Suey Park. I will not hate Wayne LaPierre. I will not hate Richard Dawkins. I will not hate _________________. Fill in the blank.

I can’t do it anymore. I don’t like being an unsafe, unpleasant, unkind person. And honestly, I don't have the energy.

Filters That Distort

PLEASE NOTE:

This post is a very personal reflection on depression, spiritual abuse, and filters through which we process information and interactions with others. It is not a critique of how people engage online or in person, nor of anyone else's spiritual journey, theology, or behaviors. My experiences should not be universalized and should not be used in an attempt to silence or critique others.

I’ve been feeling really depressed lately.

Oh GREAT! Another blog post talking about depression. Another crybaby looking for sympathy. Another white dudebro complaining about how hard life is for him. BOO HOO. WANK WANK.

Be that as it may, if I can’t be honest and vulnerable about my own personal and spiritual journey, what’s the point writing and sharing anything at all?

You don’t get it though: your pain doesn’t matter. Jesus doesn’t love YOU; you are too privileged. He came to save those who are oppressed, not those who already have easy access to power. Sure, you may be gay, but let’s be honest. In terms of oppression, white gay men are the least oppressed of all oppressed groups. Hell, straight white women are more oppressed than gay white men. So fuck you and your "pain."

Why I do tell myself these things? Why do I filter every direct criticism—and every criticism toward anyone that looks like me—into a criticism of my worth as a human being? Why am I so threatened, personally, by even indirect criticism?

Because you are used to being coddled in society as a white male, and any threat to your power means that you will feel threatened. Embrace the discomfort, you asshole.

I actually think that is true. But I think there are two other reasons at play; for me, anyway.

The first reason is that I suffer from depression. I hate to admit it, because it sounds like an excuse. But it’s true. I’ve been taking medication for depression for over 20 years. I now take two separate pills for depression and another pill for anxiety. I’ve experimented with not taking the pills, and the results have been bad. Physically, it feels like a thick, heavy sludge of hopelessness.

Even when I take the medication daily, the heavy sludge comes and goes. When it comes, I don’t know how to get rid of it except to just wait it out. The sludge is sitting there right now.

OK fine, you’re depressed. So are people who have had to struggle against so much more than YOU. People who don’t have access to healthcare like you do. People who have no supportive family or friends to help them through. You don’t get a cookie for admitting your mental illness. Shut up about your own problems and get to work in the Kingdom of God, you piece of shit.

The second reason is that I’ve suffered years of subtle spiritual abuse. Now, to be clear, I have a loving family who never, ever abused me spiritually, physically, mentally, sexually, or otherwise. Spiritual abuse occured because of the systems in which I grew up—the Christian churches and schools and universities and workplaces. I heard the message loud and clear: you are not OK. I heard and internalized this message even before I knew I was gay.

To make things more complicated, I was both blessed and cursed with an especially keen sense of what other people wanted. This awareness became my coping mechanism. Using this awareness, I shaped my thoughts and actions to match up to what I thought was expected of me. I was a quick learner. The more I got the affirmation, the more I craved it. I was more “OK” when I received that affirmation, so I molded my thoughts and actions to match up to those who were willing to give the affirmation.

Coming out was the most subversive and courageous thing I’ve ever done in my life, because it went against every coping instinct I had. It opened the door to a journey of healing and wholeness. That journey is taking me to a place where being OK, despite criticism and non-affirmation, is possible. It’s allowing me to dive deeper and find my true self, instead of hiding behind the masks that I manufactured according to others’ specifications.

Unfortunately, I’m far from there. I’m still coping. I’m still manufacturing masks. I’m still threatened by criticism.

Of course you are. Another idiot male threatened by criticism. You’re just using these arguments to garner pity for yourself. But you know what? You don’t deserve pity. You don’t deserve being loved and affirmed. White men are loved and affirmed every day for merely existing. Just shut the hell up.

And I’m still haunted by voices. Today, though, as I try to make sense of and integrate a Christianity that is focused on social justice, the voices use different words. They have different priorities and expectations. Unfortunately, the voices still sound the same—and the thick, heavy sludge is still there.

I know these aren’t the real voices. The voices I hear and the things I read are filtered through my experience, my pain, and—yes—my mental illness. I understand this from a cognitive distance. It doesn’t help the way I feel. And at this point, I don’t know what to do about it.

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Crushed by Sin

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Like other white Americans, the murder of Michael Brown in Ferguson shocked and angered me. It then reminded me of past injustices, left me feeling and acting defensively, and finally left me broken.

1. I was shocked that an unarmed man was shot and killed.
2. I was angered that such injustice and violence continue to happen against people of color.
3. I was reminded that this type of violence and oppression is a devastating reality of U.S. history.
4. I became defensive—how could I be responsible for sins of the past? Why are people of color angry at me and others who are only trying to help?
5. I was left broken, feeling cursed with the "sins of the fathers, visited upon the third and fourth generation." Intentional or not, I participate in this oppression in ways I’m only now beginning to understand.

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This morning, my brother-in-law and I were discussing the concept of "sin." He mentioned how sin in the Bible is almost always characterized by a path--a path to destruction--rather than specific actions. Jesus, in contrast, is described as the path of Life, or simply The Way. Repentance from sin is a turning away from that path of destruction to The Way of Life.

Framing sin and repentance in this way, the concept of sin becomes so much more apparent and real. Somehow, white-centered Western Christianity became obsessed with individual "sins" and behavior modification. The fight against sin has been waged against flesh and blood, rather than what Paul describes in Galatians 6:12 as "principalities and powers."

When it comes to racial inequality, it makes sense when the Bible talks about the inevitability of sin ("for all have sinned")--both sinners and the sinned against. This helplessness against sin also makes sense when we realize that we live with the consequences, namely the "principalities and powers" that were constructed before we were born. But, as the Bible teaches, it doesn't make us any less guilty. Thus: sin truly is a curse.

The concept of sin being passed down is also illuminated in the Genesis creation myth. The writer of Genesis provides a metaphor for a sin committed in the past, dooming not only the ones who commit the sin, but also all of their descendants. The theological tradition that I absorbed was one of sin being passed down individual to individual, almost like a genetic trait. However, I now view sin as inherited oppressive societal structures, which are solidified by each generation that continues to ignore it.

At this realization, how can we not help but feel powerless? How can we not help but feel crushed by the weight of the sin of past generations, not to mention the sin that is perpetuated daily by its denial? How can we not feel crushed by our own intentional and unintentional participation? No wonder the origin of sin in the Bible is said to be a serpent—a wily creature that confounds and deceives.

I share these personal epiphanies about sin with you, not because I am the first person to come up with these ideas. (Far from it!) I share this with you because it is where I find myself: broken and unable to fix the problem. For me, it is the time for mourning, sackcloth and ashes, and lament. It’s this utter helplessness that brings me back to the concepts and teachings of Jesus, and the hope of the goodness and wisdom of what the Bible calls the Holy Spirit. Finally, I am driven to listen closely to the prophets of this and past generations, who have led and continue to lead us to fight the principalities and powers that violently and heartlessly tread on the least of these, and eventually curse us all.

Listed below are a few articles from modern-day prophets that I've read recently. Required reading for those of you who want to know more!

• The Other Lie by Lisa Sharon Harper
• Beyond a White Privilege Model by Drew G. I. Hart
• The Case for Reparations by Ta-Nehesi Coates
• Every post in Christena Cleveland's blog

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The past 12 months have been a year of upheaval for me. There have been significant changes and challenges at work that have prevented me from writing and engaging as much as I’ve wanted to online and on this blog. I also haven’t felt the same spiritual energy and excitement I found a year ago. I’ve stopped attending church, in fact. I’ve also decided to take a year off of competitive tennis. And on Twitter and Facebook, I have been at times frustrated, infuriated, apathetic, defensive, and vindictive with people. I lost the thread of my story and the path of my journey.

Through various conversations at work, at home, and online, it finally hit me: I have no vision.

A vision is not meant to describe a current state of being. A vision is meant to stretch, challenge, and lead the way forward. Lacking a vision, is it any wonder that I feel confused, fearful, defensive, and reactive?

At the moment of realization, I started thinking about such a vision. I dug deep, beyond thoughts, into what I was feeling—both negative and positive. I wrote a draft, talked through it with my partner. I asked for guidance from friends. I lit a candle and sat in silence (this is how I pray). I made more edits and finalized both a vision and guiding principles. This is how I want to engage with family and friends, at work, in my community, and online.

I want to be very clear: the vision and guiding principles listed below are mine alone. I do not and will not expect others to live up to my vision and guiding principles. There are so many moving parts in the Body of Christ. It would be unfair and foolish for me to judge others on the basis of my own call.

Vision

Listen. I will open my ears and heart to actively listen and respond to those who share their journeys, challenges, struggles and cries for help, giving precedence to those who are marginalized by oppressive structures and systems in society and in the church.

Amplify. I will amplify the voices of those who are marginalized. I will not use those who are marginalized to amplify my own voice.

Speak. I will actively seek my personal hero’s journey. I will follow the path of this journey whenever and wherever I find it. I will speak up and share this journey in order to encourage and empower others, and to enable true connection.

Do Better. I will continue to grow and move forward by applying that which I have learned by listening, amplifying, and speaking. I will learn from my mistakes rather than give up because of them. I will be willing to change.

Guiding Principles

Honesty. I will be honest about my story and journey. I will be authentic in my engagement with others, including (and especially) when we disagree. I will honor (not deny) my thoughts and feelings, and communicate them using the other guiding principles.

Kindness. I will be kind (not necessarily “nice”) in my interactions with others. I will see God’s image in each individual before engaging. I will have compassion for myself and others.

Humility. I will be willing to accept and admit error. I will not engage with arrogance nor with negative humility (i.e., false modesty).

Patience. I will have patience with those who ask questions honestly. I will have patience with myself: I will not panic if I have nothing to share—the sharing will come eventually by following the journey.

Courage. I will not be afraid to stand up to those who use power to abuse and silence others. I will push through fear and tell my story.

Receptiveness. I will assume positive intent. I will be open to criticism and disagreement. I will be willing to engage when asked or challenged. I will not take disagreement personally.


Do you have a vision and/or guiding principles that have helped you? I’d love to hear from you in the comments or on Twitter/Facebook!

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Between God and You

© Cristina | Dreamstime Stock Photos

God is loving you when you try and fail.
God is loving you when you get angry and lash out.
God is loving you when you get it so, so wrong.
God is loving you when you are misunderstood.
God is loving you when you realize they were right about you after all.
God is loving you when you give up.
God is loving you when you try yet again and fail.
God is loving you when you are mocked for trying.
God is loving you when you are confused.
God is loving you when you get it right, and forget why you did the right thing in the first place.

God is loving you when you hate God for not being who you thought God was.

Between God and you there is nothing but love.
There is no space for anything else.

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The Hero's Journey

"Neither shall they say, See here! or, see there! for, behold, the kingdom of God is within you." - Luke 17:21

Last week, I took a much-needed vacation. Because I live in Northwest Oregon, I didn’t have to go far to "get away from it all." Those of you who live here or who have visited know the breathtaking views of the Columbia Gorge, Forest Park, and Mt. Hood. Packing water bottles, beef jerky, granola bars, a Hikes Near Portland guide, and the book Awakening the Heroes Within by Carol S. Pearson, I was ready for a week of hiking and solitude.

If you are interested, you can view some highlights from these hikes!

The peaceful, live-giving atmosphere was the perfect setting to dive into Pearson's book. In Awakening the Heroes Within, Pearson asserts that every human being is capable of taking the "hero's journey." Simply put, the hero's journey is the call to true Self. Pearson describes twelve archetypes that have been coded into humankind's mythology, history, literature, art, and culture since ancient times. These archetypes give us a roadmap for the hero's journey: to go beyond Ego, find our Soul, and bring this treasure back as true Self. It is when we discover our true Self that we are able to transform our world.

What a great book to take on a long, beautiful hike! The physicality of walking the rocky, steep paths further solidified the concept of journeying. Pearson’s book was also the perfect follow-up to Speak, by Nish Weiseth. In Speak, Weiseth reminds us that each of our stories matter, and that we find true connection only when we share and listen to each other’s stories. The story is the journey.

II.

A key element of the hero's journey is the slaying of dragons. Today, there is a real evil--a dragon--that lives among us and breathes fire. This dragon is the structural oppression that has come from years of a patriarchy that values certain people above others. Like many mythical beasts, this dragon is cunning, vicious, and seemingly impossible to slay. Like the Hydra, it has multiple heads: racism and sexism are perhaps the strongest, most well-developed "heads." The dragon is cunning in that is convinces people it doesn't exist. It often uses otherwise well-meaning people to achieve its ghastly destruction. It enslaves us, and turns us against each other. Even those of us who are aware of its existence disagree on how the dragon should be slayed, and the dragon gleefully uses this confusion and dissension against us.

The ideas from Pearson and Weiseth are so vital, because they prepare us and encourage us to take the journey we ALL need to take in order to gain the wisdom to collectively slay this dragon.

We are overcome with contradicting voices: from family, friends, co-workers, employers, community, social media, news media, church, advertising, and from within. You must do this! You mustn't do that! You must speak up for the oppressed! You must be silent and allow the oppressed to speak for themselves! You aren't good enough! You are focused on the wrong things!

This is where I find myself stuck recently; and, if I’m honest, where I’ve found myself stuck over and over again: paralyzed by the din of conflicting voices.

Growing up and throughout my twenties, I was told that a core part of my identity—my sexuality—was broken. I was given this message directly by the church, and indirectly by society as a whole. The voices discouraged me from taking my journey. However, I could not HELP but heed the call to the journey. It was either that or die.

The voices may be well-meaning; they may even be speaking from their true Selves and from the wisdom they have gleaned from their own journeys. However, in the end, you must take your own hero's journey. If you do not, you will not have the ability to transform your world and slay the dragon. You will not have the discernment needed to filter through voices that come from hurt, malice, or opportunism. You must first find your story, live your story, and then tell your story. Taking the hero's journey not only gives you the ability to find, live, and tell your story; it also allows you to do what's most important: listen to other peoples' stories, connect with them, and build with them. Here is where true solidarity, true connection, and effective collective action can be achieved.

To that end, I must find, live, and tell MY story. Anything different would be powerless against the dragon.

In a later post, I want to provide a visual to flesh out these ideas more fully. In this visual, I'll show what a hero's journey can look like, what archetypes are at play, and what archetypes can be most helpful to those on the journey.

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An Opportunity Missed

Recently, TIME published an article from Sierra Mannie who asked white gay men to stop appropriating the culture of black women. While some understood and agreed with the overall message of the piece, many others (including some of my friends) took offense to it. As you might guess, the blogosphere produced a number of passionate responses of agreement and disagreement.

For me, I cannot think of a more perfect introduction to intersectionality, a term developed by law professor Dr. Kimberlé Crenshaw. I’ve always found the term to be awkward and overly "academic," but the concept behind it is a good one. If you are unfamiliar with the term, I would suggest starting with the Wikipedia page and then read a couple of excellent articles here and here.

In Christian terms, it’s a practical tool to help us follow the Golden Rule.

Christena Cleveland, a social psychologist, author, and speaker, puts it this way:

"But when we only pay attention to and promote stories that we personally find relatable and affirming, we blind ourselves to the ways in which we are cutting ourselves off from, silencing and marginalizing others. It's easy to think that only überprivileged people need to think intentionally about connecting with and creating space for marginalized voices. But those of us who straddle the line between privilege and oppression need to be equally vigilant in this area. We can be blinded by our single-minded vision to raise our own voice and in doing so, ignore and oppress those who have even less of a voice than we do."

I believe that is the concept (and opportunity) that many white gay men missed: while being oppressed in their own right, they are at high-risk for being blinded to others unlike them who are also oppressed. Instead of listening to this woman’s story and experience, many simply responded in defensiveness. An opportunity for learning, connection, and a step toward reconciliation was missed.

While I have experienced some significant marginalization in society and in the church (I am a gay man), I also have an enormous amount of privilege (white, cis-gender male, U.S. citizen). Additionally, the acceptance of gays, lesbians, and same-sex relationships has increased and gained momentum in the U.S. in the past decade.

As someone with this mixture of privilege (a lot) and marginalization (some), I feel called and equipped to be a bridge between the two. Let me provide an general example. Often, those who are only just coming to terms with their own privilege have a lot of questions and experience a mild-to-moderate amount of shame, distress, and panic. Those who are marginalized often feel bombarded by the same questions and concerns by these folks. While the person of privilege may have honest questions, the onus really isn’t on the marginalized person to provide soothing words of comfort! However, some of us, including myself, have the experience to be a bridge between those so marginalized that they do not have a significant voice in our society, and those who are struggling to understand their own privilege and the existence of significant systems of oppression. To put it more simply, I do have the time and the energy to answer these questions, to provide education, and to amplify the voices of the marginalized to the ears of those more privileged than I am.

I think a lot of the angst and tension between activists and bridge-builders can be explained by this misunderstanding of roles. Activists are marginalized people and their allies standing in solidarity, moving the conversation forward in the public sphere, and challenging the status-quo. Bridge-builders are marginalized people and their allies providing the way forward for those who are willing, yet still searching, questioning, and integrating their own experiences and shadows. Because we are equipped for different roles, we experience disagreement in methods, tone, strategy, and even purpose.

In the end, we are all reliant on the Holy Spirit to guide us in love. May we listen to the Spirit’s voice and follow with courage. May we trust the Spirit to work in others as well, even if it looks strange and unsettling to us. May we always be open to critique, and may the Spirit give us discernment. And may we not miss another opportunity to celebrate our intentional diversity in the Body of Christ.

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Guidelines for Being an Ally

I have always craved structure and rules. Rules gave me targets to reach in my Christian and academic pursuits. If I could read my Bible and pray for 30 minutes a day, then I would be a good Christian. As early as elementary school, I learned how to study and take tests in order to obtain the highest grade, regardless if I actually learned the material or not. I was that kid who scowled at the other kids who were less than respectful to the substitute teacher.

Soon, though, life got messy. By the time I was in high school, I was asking questions like: How does this Holy Spirit thing actually work? How am I supposed to live in the power of the Spirit and not the flesh? Should I just go limp like a marionette and let the Spirit pull the strings?!

To what end am I reading my Bible and praying for 30 minutes a day?

What is the actual moment of “saving faith”? What moment in time was my name written in the Book of Life? And if God predestined my soul to its eternal fate anyway, why does it matter if I do the quiet time routine?

As a young man coming to terms with being gay, I tried to navigate all the rules about sex and sexuality. Praying in a locked bathroom: I’m sorry God, I promise this is the last time. Then, later: Please don’t let me be gay, God. PLEASE. Still later: Help me to find my fulfillment in You as I sexually abstain.

Eventually I abandoned the rules of evangelical theology and the rules of evangelical behavior. There were too many questions and inconsistencies, and it was too hard to live up to the expected behavior. Abandoning these rules was important not only for my mental health, but also for my spiritual growth.

These days, I look toward the person of Christ and rely on the Spirit of God in a very non-rules-oriented way. God is too big; creation is too complex; human beings who bear the image of God reflect this complexity. I find value in the practice of Christianity through the teachings of Christ regarding love, justice, and mercy.

Lately, though, I’ve feel like I’ve been bumping up against a new set of rules. I’m not talking about guidelines for ethical behavior, such as the Golden Rule (or the Platinum Rule, which I believe is implied in the Golden Rule). No. I’m talking about hard and fast RULES of thought and behavior. Rules that dictate language. Rules that dictate discussion and interaction with others. Some rules are simply understood; others are explicitly recorded and practiced.

The best example I know regarding this type of rule-based practice is a chart titled Rules for ALLY CLUB (found here). This chart is intended for those who wish to support the marginalized and oppressed, to communicate the need of lifting their voices and letting them be seen, rather than taking center stage as an ally.

I understand the intention. I also understand that hyperbole can be used as an effective teaching and communication tool.

It still bothers the shit out of me.

So I decided to do something about it. I have created a companion piece Rules for ALLY CLUB called Guidelines for Being an Ally. As a gay person, I need people from all walks of life to not only be supportive, but knowledgeable about the struggles facing the LGBT community, and how these struggles intersect with other marginalized people and groups. I believe the Guidelines below communicate a more reasonable (and kind!) approach toward those who wish to support, learn, and love.

Rules for ALLY CLUB	Guidelines for Being an Ally
You do not talk in ALLY CLUB.	Actively listen to those who are marginalized and oppressed.
You DO NOT TALK in ALLY CLUB.	Amplify the voices of the marginalized and oppressed.
If a marginalized person says STOP, the argument is over.	When there is disagreement, do not continue to debate the point of disagreement if the marginalized person does not wish to do so. The voices of the marginalized should take precedent.
Ganging up on marginalized people and/or their blogs with a bunch of your privileged buddies means you’re out of ALLY CLUB. If marginalized people come after you in droves? YOU’VE FUCKED UP. APOLOGIZE. DON’T EXPECT TO BE FORGIVEN.	Be ready and willing to apologize if a marginalized/oppressed person takes offense, even if you feel misunderstood. Be willing to hear stories, frustrations, complaints, and challenges with thick skin and open heart.
If you ping a bunch of marginalized people with the same bullshit “honest question, guise!” then you’re out of ALLY CLUB and automatically inducted into TROLL CLUB.	Do as much education and research on marginalization and oppression as you can before asking questions. Reserve your questions for those with whom you have established trusted relationships.
No “what about me,” no “but privileged people don’t have perfect lives, either.”	Wrestle with your own privilege with trusted advisors later; when acting as an ally, focus your attention and energy on the marginalized and oppressed.
If you fuck with marginalized people you do not get to say when the argument is over. It’s over when the marginalized people you fucked with say it’s over.	If you’ve deeply hurt a marginalized person (intentionally or unintentionally), actively and willingly listen to the reasons why.
If this is your first time reading a social justice blog run by a certain group of marginalized people, DO NOT SUBMIT SHIT.	Always favor listening and learning over speaking and teaching, especially if you are new to a community.

We need strong, uncompromising voices to lift up the marginalized and oppressed, and we need those who will listen and amplify our own voices. But I truly believe we ALSO need to understand that human beings are complex. There is a time for anger and powerful action, but surely—SURELY—there is also a time for patience and kindness.

What do you think?

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How to Protest Same-Sex Marriage

To: Christians in the United States who oppose same-sex marriage

As legal barriers to same-sex marriage continue to topple, I thought about the term "marriage" and what that word means to you. Having once been a conservative Christian, I can empathize with the angst you feel as this instituion you hold as sacred is subverted by our federal and state governments.

But...wait a minute. Why is a sacred institution--some of you would say a sacrament--certified by secular government anyway? Should Christians with a traditional view of marriage even care how secular government defines marriage?

With this in mind, let me offer you a form of protest that would go much further than hunger strikes, political activism, or online petitions. Or even better than refusing mail that has a stamp with the photo of a well-known gay activist.

If you are married, immediately divorce or have your marriage annulled. If you are single and plan to get married someday, don't bother with a marriage license. Get married in your church in the eyes of God.

I'm not kidding. If you wish to show those who disagree with you that you are serious about your commitment to traditional marriage, do what I suggest above. Separating your marriage from any involvement with the State immediately sets you apart from what the State defines as marriage.

Another benefit to this form of protest is that it shows your opponents that you do not care about government entitlements to married people. It shows that you are willing to sacrifice your own comfort for the sake of your principles. It's one thing to tell same-sex couples not to marry because it is sinful. It's quite another to be willing to walk in their shoes by denying yourselves the rights that you currently hold.

Protesting same-sex marriage in this way wouldn't change my mind on the topic, but you would earn my respect. It would show me that you are willing to live out the principles that you believe, and that your commitment to Christ and his kingdom (as you see it) far outweighs your rights and privileges as a straight person in the United States.

Sincerely,
Kevin

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The Saturday Christians

"Don't speed through today to get to Easter Sunday. Allow the work God does in and through the darkness to get done." – Scott Emery

Saturday is the day of Holy Week I can relate to the most. It’s the day after everything falls apart but before the happy ending. For me, Saturday represents the Shadow of Christianity. Even though I believe the God of Love exists, the reality on the ground still devastates. There is so much evil, so much injustice, so much horror, and so much non-love.

Throughout history, there have been institutions and people who identify as Christians binding the wounded and shining light in the darkness. But that Shadow—damn. Just as often (dare I say more often), they have been silent or have enabled or have perpetrated the very evil that Christ came to overcome.

The Problem of Evil contributed to the gradual death of my childhood faith. It was an earnest faith, but it was one that I sought to control. Eventually, I found myself wrestling not only with the Problem of Evil, but also my sexuality, scientific data, and the dark side of church history. I lost the wrestling match, and limped away like Jacob. All seemed lost. I was a loser of the faith, one of those types of seeds in the parable that didn’t make it to full growth.

Still, I cling to hope. Hope that all is not lost. Hope that Love exists and grows and expands. Hope that the God of Love is there. My hope is nurtured not when I hear loud worship or fiery preaching or persuasive theology. My hope is nurtured when I see moments of human vulnerability, kindness, empathy, and tenderness. At this point in my journey, faith looks a lot more like hope than belief.

When hope is all you have left, then you are a Saturday Christian. Good Friday is over. Sunday is yet to come. But as Scott Emery implies in the quote above, we need to travel through this darkness. Put another way, we need to have our immature faith wrenched from our white-knuckled grip. Only then can resurrection come. As a Saturday Christian, that is my only hope.

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Bridges over Troubled Waters

In Portland, Oregon, twelve bridges span across the Willamette River, which divides the city into East and West. Portland has many nicknames (City of Roses, Stumptown, Portlandia, Rip City) but one of the more common ones is Bridgetown.

My first memory of Portland was when my partner and I drove into downtown via the Burnside Bridge. It was around midnight, and we were finishing the third full day of driving from Ohio. We were exhasted and cranky, but I'll never forget seeing that neon Made in Oregon sign with the throwback font and the galloping white stag.

That move to Portland is symbolic of my own spiritual journey: over the years I've transitioned from a conservative evangelical worldview to a much more progressive Christian agnostic worldview. The symbolism doesn't end there, however. More importantly, that vivid memory of crossing the bridge reminds me of my specific calling as a bridge builder.

What exactly is bridge building? First of all, let me emphasize what it is not. Bridge building does not mean compromise. When you build a bridge, you are building a bridge to a person. You are saying: I may disagree with you on x, y, z, and more, but you and I are more than our opinions and ideas. We are both image-bearers and bonded together in our humanity. It means finding a connection. Common ground. Bridge building is one of the many incarnations of Love.

But I realized something, just recently. In the greatly diverse and mysterious Body of Christ, we are all bridge builders. Personally, I feel called to bridge the gap between progressive Christians and those who I call "potential allies" - those who have honest questions, doubts, and fears regarding faith and sexuality. But those I who I would label progressive activists are actually bridge builders too. They are building bridges with people that no one else could reach--they fiercely stand in solidarity those who are marginalized by society, by the church, and by other power structures that most of us struggle to see. Still others build bridges with those who have suffered horrific abuse from family members, church authorities, spouses, acquaintances, and strangers.

Recently, there has been talk of many Christians abandoning the "evangelical" label once and for all. As someone who abandoned that label years ago, I welcome this news. However, as necessary as it may be to leave the label behind, it still leaves many others feeling caught, abandoned, even betrayed. It takes someone with a unique calling to build bridges across this divide.

Across the spectrum of what we label as Left and Right there are multiple divides. I believe we each have a unique calling to stand in one (or more) of these multiple divides. I also believe these divides are symptoms of our world's Chaos, rather than the cause of it. Divides are inevitable and often necessary. But as we struggle againsts the "principalities and powers" of this Chaos, let's not forget our own specific calling to build bridges to people across the divide we find ourselves. In that sense, the church can be a spiritual Bridgetown.

What about you? Do you feel a specific calling as bridge builder? If so, to whom?

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Not Enough

I haven't written in quite a while. I haven't gone to church in quite a while. I find myself ill-equipped to climb the Mountain, which seems to get steeper and smoother, with fewer footholds available.

The Mountain represents the person I want to be, or at least the characteristics I think I need to have in order to be a person of worth.

There are plenty of voices that cheer me on. But the chorus of voices who tell me that I'm Not Enough have all but silenced the other voices. The Not Enough chorus, although their voices come from a variety of locations, chant in unison. The phrase "sphere of influence" is apt, because the voices come from every conceivable direction. From the Right (conservative Christianity), from the Left (progressive Christianity), from above (privileged white American men), from below (the marginalized and justly angry), and every other 3-dimensional direction. It's eerie how such disparate voices can combine so effortlessly to say the same thing loudly and clearly: you are Not Enough.

*****

Another Sunday morning. Another day skipping church. Another day not writing. So I decided to try something.

On a piece of paper, I wrote down as many Not Enoughs as I could. Then I cut each Not Enough into a small strip of paper. From the kitchen I grabbed a bowl, a big glass of water, and some scissors. Finally, I grabbed the color-changing Glade candle I use when someone asks me to pray for something. (I don't really have it in me to pray anymore. Instead, I think of that person and light a candle for them.)



I lit the candle, and placed the first Not Enough strip into the flame. At first, the paper burned too quickly and once or twice I almost burned my fingers. After about the fifth or sixth try, I was getting the hang of it. I placed the strip of paper not into the flame, but very close to it. The paper ignited quickly, but the flame danced across the strip of paper slower than before. It gave me a chance to reflect briefly on the Not Enough that was burning up.



I'm not going to pretend that it was a life-changing experience, or even that I felt all that better afterwards. But it was something. It was church for me today.



*****

Next Sunday I want to try it again. Next time, I want to think about each Not Enough a little longer before I burn it. I want to reflect on why I think I'm Not _____________ Enough. I don't want to give up trying to be _______________. But I want to give up feeling stuck because I'm not ______________ enough.

My Not Enough list: not kind enough, not loving enough, not empathetic enough, not smart enough, not brave enough, not strong enough, not intersectional enough, not Christ-like enough, not queer enough, not talented enough, not giving enough, not forgiving enough, not good-looking enough, not muscular enough, not thin enough, not athletic enough, not thick-skinned enough, not hard-working enough, not open-minded enough, not quiet enough, not successful enough, not calm enough, not patient enough

In what ways do you feel you are Not Enough?

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Margi-Privileged

 Driving to work, I caught my reflection in the rear-view mirror...

The dark circles, the wrinkles, the blemished skin, the almost completely-gray hair. Well, at least I HAVE hair. In fact I have an over-abundance of it. On my back, shoulders, and...well...everywhere. Oh well. Another year older. But am I wiser?

I don't know if I'm wiser, but I have learned a lot this year by blogging and interacting with readers and other bloggers on social media. There are too many takeaways from 2013 for me to list. The one that has stayed with me the most is the concept of privilege.

I have wrestled with this word. It makes me uncomfortable. I don't want to own my privilege, because that means I have to be more vigilant of my words and actions. It compels me to be aware of those who have less privilege. It sheds light on injustice, oppression, and abuse. It makes me sad, and who wants to be sad?

The struggle with owning my privilege has been similar to the stuggle with owning my sexuality. As a gay person, I felt the need to guard my words and actions. Now that I am in an environment that is affirming and loving, I don't feel the compulsion to hide.

Here is the irony: part of owning my privilege means that, once again, I am being asked to guard my words and actions.

So, how does someone who has experienced marginalization--someone who has fought a lifelong battle to be open and honest and unashamed--deal with this ironic twist of also having a great amount of privilege? Ah, the plight of the margi-privileged*!

I don't have the definitive answer, but I can share my techniques and experiences with you. Maybe it will give you some ideas.

Don't get hung up on others' anger, tone, or "lack of grace."
When I first came out, I felt like a wounded animal. I had exposed a very deep part of myself to people that I knew would have a problem with it. Although all responded with good intent, some of the less careful responses hurt horribly. Because of the vulnerability I felt, I lashed out in anger. I know that my angry words hurt them, but I needed them to know how their words, however well-intentioned, hurt me. Most people were critical of how I responded, which hurt even more. Now, just imagine how someone who has been a victim of abuse feels when they lash out at their abusers, and are told that their response was "unhelpful."

Remember critique is not the same as personal attack.
I've had to tell myself this over and over again. For example, even though I wasn't involved in the NALT project, I felt that the critique given by some queer Christians (and non-Christians) was harsh. I internalized their critique; I felt that they were criticizing ME because I thought (and still think) that NALT is useful and helpful. But...I have come to understand that they aren't attacking me by disagreeing with me. They are offering an honest critique. Instead of telling people how to critique, the best thing I can do in this case is to (1) urge the people at NALT to listen to the words of their critique, (2) get involved to make positive change, and (3) offer encouragement to them.

If told to "check your privilege" or something similar, check your marginalization as well.
I truly believe that some of the conflict I experience around this issue is that when I'm given a critique, experience disagreement, or feel attacked, I am reliving my own marginalization. So, when this occurs, I check both my privilege AND my marginalization. Am I being marginalized because I do not fit a societal norm? Or, am I getting pushback from someone who is feeling marginalized by me? Could this person be experiencing anxiety and/or pain due to past hurts?

Be the change you want to see.
This has become my mantra. For all the talk this year of fundamentalism, post-modernism, grace, truth, oppression, abuse, tone, privilege, marginalization, and so many others, I can't control other people's reactions, responses, or critiques. The only person I can control is myself. I'm commanded to love; not to instruct others on the way I think they should love.

Use it as another opportunity to run to God.
Often I have felt deflated, depressed, discouraged, and disillusioned with what I've learned, seen, and experienced on social media and blogging. I've often wanted to give up on Christianity altogether. However, I can bring all of these conflicted emotions--including my disgust for Christianity--to God. I bring both my marginalization and my privilege--and all associated feelings--to God.

I can't emphasize enough that these techniques are what I'm trying to do in my OWN life. I don't want to give the impression that these techniques are the solution to conflict, disunity, dealing with abuse and oppression, etc. If anything, I'm writing this to those who are privileged and find themselves confused or frustrated with pushback from those less privileged. Remember that "to much is given, much is required." Remember Jesus, who gave everything--even his life--for all of us. Remember the Kingdom of God, where the first is last and the last is first.

What do you think? Critiques welcome here! I've much to learn.

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*Thanks to Karla Keffer for coining this term!

Blessed Are They That Mourn

"Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted." - Matthew 5:4

When I was living and working in Toledo, Ohio in my mid-20s, I often had lunch at this large, cafeteria-style restaurant downtown. Patrons would load their trays and sit in a large atrium filled with tables, booths, and a lot of potted ferns. The food was lousy, but the big plants surrounding each table made it an ideal place for conversation.

That atrium is burned in my memory. There, I confessed my crisis of faith to my pastor. It’s where I almost came out to who-knows-how-many people. It’s where I sat listening to co-workers talk about “hot girls” and dating, while I parroted the expected responses and tried to change the subject. It’s where I sat alone unable to think straight (let alone pray), mind swirling with doubt, confusion, fear, and disillusionment.

One particular lunch I remember sitting with my friend Charlie, trying to explain those paralyzing feelings of doubt and confusion. I felt safe with Charlie. Charlie was in his early 40s, a handful of inches above 6 feet, bearded, loud, passionate, and extremely kind. He listened to my awkward explanation, and then said: “Do you know that verse ‘Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted’”?

"Yeah."

“Mourning means to get on the outside that which is inside,” pointing to his heart.

“Um, OK. What does that mean exactly?”

“I’m just saying that’s what you are trying to do right now. You are in pain, and you are trying to identify and express it.”

Charlie’s words rang true. Part of me wanted to keep those emotions buried, to pretend everything was alright, and to keep playing the part of Kevin Shoop, mild-mannered evangelical Christian dude. But I couldn’t. His words encouraged me not to “rest in the Lord” or stop struggling, but to keep digging.

I struggled internally, in part, because I was wrestling with my sexuality. I knew I was gay, but I was taught it was open rebellion against God to succumb to the temptation. The “temptation” was not only to act on these sexual desires, but to identify as a gay person. So, I slogged through various ways to change my sexual orientation and/or commit to a life of celibacy (fervent prayer, ex-gay therapy, workbooks, Bible meditation, etc.).

During this time of struggle, Charlie’s words would come back to me now and then. “Blessed are they that mourn....” Years later, as I began to understand and embrace my sexual identity, it dawned on me: coming out is a form of mourning. Blessed are they that get on the outside that which is inside.

*************

There is loss when someone decides to come out: family, friends, old belief systems, well-worn masks. We mourn all these losses. We also mourn "lost time"— compassion for the child/person who genuinely thought they were broken and desperate for change. But there is comfort in becoming more whole and authentic. Genuine growth and healing are possible.

Please note: Coming out is no easy task. In no way should an individual be forced or shamed to come out before they are ready. Some must choose between coming out and physical/economic safety. Please see this post for more on this topic.

Today, as a gay man no longer caught up in that specific internal struggle, I’ve had more energy and clarity to focus on oppression outside of my own story. If one is able to open one's eyes and ears to the real suffering caused by social and economic injustice, one cannot help but mourn. We mourn the horror on the daily news. We mourn for the church—for evil done in God’s name in the past and present. We mourn the jarring inconsistency between Jesus’ description of the Kingdom of God and the reality on the ground.

A friend of mine recently demonstrated this type of mourning. A woman he knew shared her concern that some Christian churches were beginning to affirm same-sex relationships. She told him, "I'm glad you and I see it the same way, at least." He didn't say anything to confirm or deny her statement, and afterward felt awash in sadness, guilt, and weariness. He was mourning not only his inability at that time to say something, but also the widespread view that so many Christians have about same-sex relationships. Feeling that pain—mourning it—becomes similar to that other beatitude: to hunger and thirst for righteousness. Mourning moves us to cry out to God in our weakness. Hunger and thirst drive us to right the wrongs we mourn from day to day.

I'm convinced that mourning is a discipline. It’s what we do when we have true empathy; when we begin to see with the eyes of God those who are oppressed. Holy mourning inevitably leads to a hunger and thirst for righteousness. It drives us to work toward Kingdom ideals. It also drives us to seek refuge, relief, strength, and courage from God.

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God Questions

These are my core questions about God and Christianity:

1. Is God an actual person like you and me? Or is God more like a force? OR, is God more like a collection of all of us, perhaps of all existence?



2. The Jesus who lived on earth over 2,000 years ago: is this same Jesus actually alive today?



3. Is the Holy Spirit a person? Should it be toward the Holy Spirit that I concentrate my thoughts, energy, and devotion?



4. To whom or what (or what member of the Trinity) am I praying when I pray to God?



5. What's the deal with the Bible? How much can we rely on it to be holy and authoritative?



6. Is Hell, a place of unending conscious torment, a real place?



7. Will we have individual consciousness after death? That is, will I be conscious as "Kevin"?

How do you answer these questions? I'd love to hear your thoughts. Feel free to share in the comments or send me an email!

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NALT, Activism, and Bridge-Building

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the tension between LGBTQ/intersectional activism and bridge-building.

Well, not really thinking about the tension. More like deeply feeling the tension.

Ever since I wrote the post about this tension, I’ve experienced more and more anger toward those who I consider activists. My anger comes from three specific frustrations:

1. Not understanding the benefit to activists’ critiques of the NALT (Not All Like That) Movement
2. Feeling unheard by these activists
3. Feeling like these activists are speaking for me and others

The first frustration is something I have to accept. Deep down, I know there are different roles within the body of Christ. I’ve seen the benefit time and time again, both short-term and long-term, of uncompromising activism. Being someone who is conflict-averse, someone who values kindness and patience and bridge-building, I don’t usually like many activists' methods of engagement. I get angry and frustrated and sometimes I act that out. And that’s OK. It’s just a part of being in community with people. They don’t need my approval in order for the Holy Spirit to do good work through them.

This post is an attempt to address frustrations number 2 and 3. My hope is that these activists will understand my views on the issues of alliance and advocacy; that they will understand that bridge-building work is also something that the Holy Spirit uses to do good work; and that others who are doing bridge building work understand that the critiques of activists—while painful—can be extremely useful. At the same time, I want them to know that there are others within the LGBTQ community who know that so many are benefiting from your work. (These phenomena can exist simultaneously, in tension.)

I.

In order to get my own thoughts clear, I created the chart below.

The Welcoming Line divides the sections. The groups to the right of the line welcome the LGBTQ community unconditionally and are moving in the right direction regarding full LGBTQ affirmation and equality. The groups to the left of the line show an increasing level of hostility toward the LGBTQ community, and individuals are not welcome unless there is at least some admission of brokenness or sin. These groups are moving in the wrong direction regarding full LGBTQ affirmation and equality.

Additionally, there is a box below each group that describes (generally) the level of affirmation offered to LGBTQ folks. “Utopia” is where all power structures have been obliterated, and there is no need for one group in power to welcome/affirm another group. All are equally regarded as members in the Kingdom of God.

Now, from this chart, one can see that activists can have valid critiques of each other group, both to the left AND to the right of the Welcoming Line. However, is there another way to view each group?

II.

The image below shows a number of different “audiences” toward which the welcoming groups direct their message and actions.

Each group could speak to each audience in a different way. Realizing the difference in audience, focus, and purpose is where I believe activists could benefit from a bridge-builders perspective.

I realized a while ago that the Marin Foundation is not for me. I don’t actively support or give money to them, because I feel they should be more fully affirming. But in this case, it's not about me: I'm not their primary audience. Their purpose is to build bridges with potential allies, and to show those on the left of the Welcoming Line how their stances and policies hurt individuals and families. They have a different focus than the activist. Most importantly, they can reach and persuade people that the activist cannot.

The same is true of the new NALT movement. NALT goes further than the Marin Foundation in that they are fully affirming of LGBTQ individuals and their relationships. Dan Savage of the It Gets Better movement has used his huge platform to partner with affirming Christians in order to reach LGBTQ youth and other individuals struggling with their faith and with hostility from other people of faith.

I’ve seen much criticism of NALT from activists. Much, perhaps even most, of the criticism is valid. The emphasis is probably too much on making Christians feel better about themselves. There is a lack of diversity in the outreach and leadership. This is a lack of queer influence and leadership. It makes sense, and I hope and pray that those within the movement have thick skin and open hearts. I also hope that activists will become involved in more than just critiquing the movement, but also creating something themselves: whether it be a video, an offer to educate further, or a similar movement. At the same time, try to understand what an amazing step this is and how far we’ve come. My frustration (and my fear) is that so many critiques will demoralize those who are truly allies, and chase away those who are potential allies.

Having said all this, I know that activists do good, important, necessary work. I just wish they understood that others do, too. In the meantime, I hope all of us can find a way to live in this tension of loving each other well despite our differences. I feel like Paul: of sinners (those who do not love well in the tension), I am chief. If you feel my finger pointed at you, remember I am pointing four fingers back at myself.

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Fundamentalism Mad Libs

Using this pre-argument template, you’ll be able to label all potential criticism as invalid!

Probably the most controversial and rejected position we have at {organization/institution/website/etc.} is {belief/opinion/manifesto/etc.} It is even more vehemently opposed than {another belief/opinion/manifesto/etc.} Both of these positions we have are a threat to the trophies of the name of the {opposition/competition/etc. used as adjective} agenda, so the rejection we receive is always emotionally charged and ends up insulting, since once explained logically, the opposition runs out of substance and is only left to hurl insults and presume and misconstrue this practical wisdom into some {ironically-used adjective/quotes optional} evil.

*Template taken from the good folks at Fix the Family.

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The Decision to Forgive is Personal

Forgiveness is a tricky concept. Similar to coming out of the closet, forgiveness is an extremely personal process. Just as no one can tell you when to come out, no one can tell you when it’s “time” to forgive.

I’m beginning to suspect that one of the next steps for my own healing and wholeness from years of closet-living is to forgive those who inadvertently kept me there—perhaps even forgive those who still wish I was inside that closet.

Again, I can’t help coming back to the notion that forgiveness is extremely personal, and therefore takes on multiple meanings for different individuals in different situations.

Forgiveness is a word that is vaguely defined and haphazardly applied. What does it really mean to forgive? What is the scope of forgiveness? Does it include reconciliation? How does forgiveness look, practically speaking? It seems kind of empty to merely say the words “I forgive you.” There needs to be something transformative about it for the person forgiving. Ideally, it should also be transformative for the person being forgiven.

Unfortunately, those who have suffered physical, sexual, emotional, or spiritual abuse—even as a child—are often told that in order to heal, they need to forgive their abuser. One might as well say to a person with a compound fracture in the leg: “Don’t just sit there crying! Reset your broken bone, grab some needle and thread, sew up your wound, and put a plaster cast on your leg.” These may be the steps needed to heal the injury, but it is completely impractical and non-empathetic advice, not to mention absurd for the person to try to follow these steps on their own.

This metaphor, while helpful, doesn’t capture the complexity of the healing process for those who have been abused. A physical injury like a compound fracture can be treated in a straightforward manner by a doctor, and the injury will heal. The healing process for an abuse victim is much more complex.

Various authors of the Bible talk of healing for those who are oppressed and downtrodden. Jesus and others reference taking care of “the widow and the orphan.” Jesus teaches about the Good Samaritan who helped a robbery victim. The prophets in the Old Testament rage against the injustice toward the oppressed in Israel. In all these situations, the directive is toward helping and healing those who are abused, oppressed, and victims of injustice. The directive is NOT toward the widow and the orphan, NOT toward the oppressed, NOT to those who are ill-treated! We need to stop demanding forgiveness from victims of abuse, and tend to their needs instead. Forgiveness toward their oppressors and abusers, if and when it comes, will be personal and will occur as a part of their own healing process.

NOTE: See David Hayward's post about The Anger Clock for more on this strange emphasis on the abused "getting over" their anger.

At this point you may be saying: oh, but Shoop. Didn’t Jesus say to love our enemies? Didn’t he say to forgive those who trespass against us? Didn’t he say to forgive, time and time again, those who do wrong against us (i.e., 70 x 7 times)? Yes, but in all these instances, Jesus is describing life in the Kingdom of God. I believe one has to balance the Bible’s teaching about the oppressed with these Kingdom of God directives.

Being a white, cisgender male living in the United States, I have a lot of privilege. Luke 12:48 records Jesus himself saying: “From everyone who has been given much, much will be required.” Understanding the thematic context of justice and healing for the oppressed throughout the Bible and Jesus’ teachings, isn’t it absurd to spend so much time telling the abused to forgive their abusers? Much more is asked from those of us who have so many cultural and situational advantages.

Where does that leave those of us who are privileged and haven’t suffered abuse? Jesus is looking at us, straight in the eyes, and telling us to forgive and to model forgiveness. To have thick skins and open hearts. The good news is that Jesus tells us to do this because we ourselves are already forgiven. As I grow older, I realize more and more that my “sin” rarely has to do with the things I do. It’s more often the things that I don’t do. I don’t do a hell of a lot to feed the hungry, help the oppressed, comfort the emotionally distraught, befriend the friendless, or advocate for justice.

These convictions move me to act in three ways: They bring me back to God in order to ask for help and guidance. They move me to find ways to do the things I’ve neglected to do as a Kingdom chaser. And finally, they encourage me to forgive those who have wronged me by their acts of omission.

To be completely open with you, readers, I have held much anger and bitterness toward members of my own family who haven’t pursued reconciliation and relationship with me after I came out to them (about 4 years ago). One of the primary reasons I came out was to have a more honest relationship with them; happily, this has occurred with many family members, including my parents. Still, many familial relationships remain strained.

I’m at a point in my life where I want to forgive those who haven’t accepted and affirmed my relationship with my partner. However, as I mentioned earlier, this decision to forgive is extremely personal. I could never and would never encourage anyone to “stop being angry and just forgive.” I am still figuring out what forgiveness actually looks like for me. I don’t want to force it. But I am curious to see how it works and how transformative it could be.

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Smashing Oppression...Together!

I'm wary of the Bible. When you've been clobbered with something for most of your life, it's only natural to mistrust it. I've been able to revisit the Bible, in part, by focusing on the major themes of love, justice, and the Kingdom of God. For example, I was always taught that Ephesians 6:12 was a verse about spiritual warfare.

"For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms."

One could perhaps interpret the last part of the verse as battling against spiritual forces, but what about the majority of the verse? The more obvious interpretation is that those who follow Jesus are battling against the kingdoms of this world. These kingdoms are the systems that exalt one group of people over another: patriarchy, racism, homophobia, etc. We don't battle against flesh and blood; we call out oppressive systems because in the end, these systems oppress us all, even the ones that benefit from the hierarchy.

There is talk that the church is dying; perhaps the reason it is dying is because the church is concerned with inconsequential minutia instead of the business of kingdom building (and oppression-smashing).

The author of Ephesians implores the chruch to put on the “full armor of God” in order to be able to wage this battle successfully. Besides the armor of God, there are three other helpful Biblical metaphors regarding Kingdom building: the body of Christ, the gifts of the Spirit, and the fruits of the Spirit.

When I think of the body of Christ, I think of the church doing the work of Christ here on earth. In order to do that, the church needs workers with a variety of skills. And voilà, we are given these skills via Spirit gifts. But what gifts do we see being used? Here's what I've been seeing:

Activists
Speaking truth to power

Allies/Advocates
Walking alongside those who are oppressed

Educators
Bringing awareness and knowledge, both generalized and highly-specific

Healers/Helpers
Healing those who are oppressed; helping oppressors stop the cycle of oppression

Prophets
Speaking and demonstrating unpopular truths both inside and outside the church

Bridge Builders
Bringing other people along who are stuck in the cycle of oppression


Some of these gifts overlap. Many people have more than just one gift. Also, although these gifts are not in opposition to each other, they can often feel that way. For example, someone who is a bridge builder may see an activist as being too forceful or strident. The activist may see the bridge builder as compromising. That's really OK. They don't have to be best friends. However, both are missing an opportunity for growth and connection if they despise the other (iron sharpens iron).

How can we tell, then, if someone's actions are "of the Spirit"? I believe one way we can tell by using the fruits of the Spirit metaphor: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Of course, the "fruits of the Spirit" concept has been used as severe behavior modification by those in power and authority. For example, I always mistook kindness for niceness. Being kind doesn't always mean being nice.

I realize that my view of the body of Christ is probably more like a body part of Christ, like the elbow or the chin. My thinking of God and the body of Christ tends to be too small. What other gifts do you see on display in the church? Also, how do you tell the difference between mere disagreement with a fellow Jesus-follower and disagreement with a "false teacher" (see Matthew 7)?

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