Bridges Burnt, Briges Built

If you asked me in casual conversation why I'm going on the Equality Ride, I'd probably tell you any number of true things: that Christians need to be shown the true consequences of their beliefs; that real people are really suffering every day from not being able to talk about this stuff; that it's an amazing opportunity to be proactive in the fight for LGBTQ equality and acceptance.  I might even say that it will be a good story to tell the grandchildren one day.  I'd say it, and I'd mean it.
But there's more than that, of course.

Really it comes down to this: I love Jesus.  Like, a whole lot.  He's angry, and messy, and compassionate, and vulnerable.  He really puts it on the line for folks on the outskirts, for people who know what real pain is.  He does everything he can to help them know they are normal, and that they are loved, and that they are going to be okay.  He's got something quieting and calming that radiates from him that the rest of us find elusive in ourselves. And he connects people to each other in this bizarre, irrational, beautiful way, as if he sees life like some great romantic comedy with actual depth.  He builds bridges.

I have always thought Jesus was awesome.  From the time when I was a very small child, barely old enough to even know who he was, I have loved Jesus.  He was my very best friend.

Here's an example of how Jesus was my best friend: When I was about twelve years old, I took over my older brother's neighborhood paper route (this was way back in the days when kids could still have paper routes).  My parents thought our neighborhood was safe and we were lucky enough for that to be true, but that truth didn't stop me from being scared while riding around the pitch-black streets by myself at five o'clock in the morning, approaching strangers' doorsteps.

So, when those morning shadows moved just a little bit too strangely for a twelve-year-old boy to know what to do with, I comforted myself the best way I knew how:  I sang songs I learned at Bible camp.  Songs about following Jesus, and knowing he was there for you, and believing no matter what.  You know what?  I felt better.  And eventually, despite my adolescent body screaming at my insistence at waking it so early, those mornings alone with me and Jesus became the most peaceful part of every day.

Jesus did that for me.  He turned my fear into peace.

Then I got a little older and started to realize I was different from other people, that I was gay - and those strange morning shadows came back to life as a fear of others responding to my true self with rejection.  When I came out and those fears proved to be prescient, I could certainly not have been blamed for beginning to feel differently about Jesus.

But for whatever reason, that never happened.  Not when my Christian friends said gay jokes in high school, not when my college friends prayed earnestly for "those homosexuals" to be healed, not when I lost friends who just couldn't understand, not when my church suggested I find another place to worship, not when my family couldn't talk to me, not when I messed up in some really big ways and thought he couldn't possibly want me anymore.  I had a lot of fear as all this was happening, as all my bridges were burning.  Yet throughout it all, Jesus was there for me, a still, small voice turning my fear into peace.  And so I made it through.

Which is not to say I am not still afraid.  Like the child whose burns taught him not to touch the flame, I will probably always be afraid of church, and Christians, and the Bible, and anybody else telling me who I am or who God is or what is best for me.  I don't think you can unlearn fear.  Just overcome it.

And so while I may say that I am going on this journey because there are people out there who are hurting and alone, and because there is a lot of education that needs to happen, and because it will be an amazing road trip, and all of those are partly true, my main reasons are much simpler, and much more selfish.  I am going on the Equality Ride because I need peace.  It will probably be pretty messy sometimes.  But I am choosing to believe Jesus will be there for me, no matter how the shadows may move