"Friendly Fire"

Photo by Igovar Igovar

Dredging Up the Past

Have you ever dealt with something and just wanted to forget it even happened?

During one of my sessions with my therapist, which has been helping me deal with my panic attacks associated with me being assaulted, she threw out this statement:  "I think you're also dealing with PTSD associated with how The Salvation Army treated you, too."

Red warning lights went up. My brain immediately said, "Don't go there!"

And I knew it was true.

I experienced "Friendly Fire" from the only Army that boasts to have no weapons.

The Warnings

Before I became an officer (a pastor) in The Salvation Army, I had two people pull me aside and warn me against it. One had been a missionary to Germany, like I had been, and told me that the field in Germany was extremely difficult and was filled with a lot of heartache and loneliness.  The other was my mother, who, herself, was (and is) an officer. She warned me that I didn't realize how hard and difficult it would be for me.

This was right before I entered our seminary, which is called the College for Officer Training.

I wish I had listened to them then.

What was the Abuse?

Lack of Personal Time

It was little things that sometimes developed into bigger things. As an officer, my time was not my own. When I lived in Germany, it could often be counted on that I had at least one day off per week. Usually this was Monday. When I came back to the United States, this was harder to figure out. I would try to take Saturdays off, but invariably Salvation Army events would be planned for that Saturday where I was required to attend.

With no days off, I got burned out quickly. My work day was rarely 40 hours per week. It often was more like 60 hours, if not more.

No Legal Standing of Employment

As an officer, I was compensated with an allowance, but I had to sign a legal document stating that there was no employment relationship between The Salvation Army and me. Rather it was a "spiritual" relationship. Looking back on this, I realize now how terrible of a situation this was and the fallout from my termination as an officer left me with no legal recourse, even if I wanted to pursue one (which I didn't).

When I was terminated, my pension, home (which was a parsonage), transportation, etc., were all taken away.

One might say that I voluntarily signed up for this. Yes, this is true, but it still led to a very abusive relationship with The Salvation Army.

No Freedom of Thought

My divisional commander (which is akin to a bishop) would monitor my social media posts. There was one point where I voluntarily agreed not to post anything that would seem to negatively speak out against The Salvation Army. I abandoned the group I had formed for Progressive Salvationists and curtailed my social media to just photos of my family and talking about my jogging. My divisional commander even monitored what articles I read and what I "liked." In my termination papers, he stated that he didn't think I had really changed because of what I was liking on social media. (They wanted to see whether or not I was still progressive.)

My personnel secretary (akin to an HR director) called me a heretic for stating that the Bible is rarely clear on matters of sexuality.

No One Holds Them Accountable

When I was going through a divorce, which triggered my termination as an officer, my defense had to be submitted to a nebulous Officer Review Board, which I was not allowed to meet in person because they were made up of my peers. Any appeal I made had to be submitted to our International Headquarters in London, which is not an easy task to accomplish.

I gave up.

It's Not All Black and White

To characterize The Salvation Army as totally evil would be a misrepresentation of the facts. They are not completely evil. They do a lot of good work, which I was a part of and which I will always cherish as some of the best things I ever did. They formed the spiritual foundation of my life and gave me a love of music that I hold dear to this day.

But . . .

When I became different to them, when I was outed as a bisexual person, I was tossed to the side.

As a soldier (layperson) of The Salvation Army, I found no welcome in my local congregation. I had to fight to become a member.

At that point, I knew that if I had to fight to become a member, then I really don't belong any more.

Little Things Trigger Me

I just realized at how upset I get when I am confronted with anything Salvation Army related in my day-t0-day life. I saw a notice that the Chicago Staff Band would be doing a concert near me. There are many progressive Salvationists in that band, even an openly gay member, but I don't know if I could feel at ease at all watching them perform.

A report about The Salvation Army in Lexington, Kentucky, whose congregation I attended as a college student, recently gave a horrible anti-LGBTQ sermon. I saw that and was furious.

I will drive by a thrift store and see that red shield, and I'm reminded again of what was done to me.

What happens now?

I will continue my therapy. I will seek help through this as I work through the trauma I underwent. I doubt The Salvation Army will ever apologize to me. As a top-down hierarchy, it is very difficult to enact any change, unless it comes from the top. The current general recently said some unsavory things towards the LGBTQ+ community. Several letters of complaint were sent to him, as well as a petition, but there has been no response from the International Headquarters.

I'd love to forget everything that happened to me. That would be such a gift.

Forgiving is even a harder thing to do, especially when the other side believes they did no wrong.

I will keep on living, taking one breath at a time.

Maybe that's all I can do.

The Assault Revisited

Write About Scars, Not Open Wounds.

Photo by Nick Swaelen

This was the advice I have often heard when dealing with blogs/podcasts/vlogs, etc. Don't write about something you are currently dealing with.

But what if it's a traumatic event? What if that wound never heals?

It's been seven years since I was assaulted and five years since I wrote about it. Traumatic memories are not like normal memories. They are stored in a different part of the brain. As such, they come unbidden and fresh.

About a year ago I was talking about the assault that happened to me. All of the sudden I was transported in my mind back to that moment. I suddenly felt the arms of my assailant around my neck. My breath was restricted. I felt my neck muscles bulge as I tried to get his arms off of me. I heard him scream about how he was going to beat the homosexuality out of me.

Back to the present:  I locked up. My breathing became rapid. I was almost hyperventilating.

I was having a panic attack. It was my first ever. I shook it off, realizing what it was and actually curious that it happened to me. Then I realized that it was to be expected and not my fault.

Happening Once More . . . 

I have become more open about discussing my past and my sexuality. It has been freeing, but at the same time, jarring. When I tell people that someone strangled me because of my sexual orientation, I often notice a look of shock on people. They cannot believe it happened to me and then they ask me if I am ok. Normally in the moment I am ok.

Recently however I have been having more and more of these panic attacks. They come unbidden, mostly at night, and when my mind is tired. I realize that my brain has been repressing those thoughts and memories from that night. 

I used to be reluctant to seek out mental help. When I returned back from Germany to the United States, I ended up in a deep depression that affected my work and my marriage, ultimately leading to a divorce. I sought help, but at the moment that I sought help, I felt that I was an ultimate failure.

Now I realize that seeking help is a sign of strength.

So once again I have sought out the help of a therapist. She has been absolutely wonderful with me and I am on a new journey of healing.

But because I am bisexual . . .

Most of the recent terrible things that have happened to me have been because of my orientation. So many people, above all Evangelical Christians, treat me with contempt because I am bisexual. Sometimes an Evangelical Christian I have never talked to before will block me on social media. More often friends and family members have taken the time to like pictures of my sons and me on social media, but when there are pictures of my boyfriend and me, those likes are conspicuously absent. Then there was that Evangelical Christian who physically assaulted me. It has come to the point where I feel as if I am done with the animosity.

Sometimes the worst animosity comes from people who want to be nice, but throw out the phrase, "Hate the sin, but love the sinner." I was recently talking to an acquaintance who asked me what I thought of people who are trying to respect me as a person, but just disagreed with my "lifestyle."

What is it about my lifestyle that they actually disagree with? Is it how I go to work? Is it the food I eat? Is it the shows I watch or the games I play?

To be blunt:  It's not my "lifestyle" they object to. It's who I have sex with that they have the most objections. Even celibate people in the LGBTQ+ community experience this discrimination because of their sexual orientation.

I am disgusted and fed up with the bigotry towards the LGBTQ+ community.

The man who assaulted me was drunk and a white Evangelical Christian. Many people will sometimes use the excuse of "he wasn't a real Christian if he did that."

To be polite:  That's bovine scatology. It certainly wasn't Christ-like what he did, but he was/is a Christian.

Many Christians I know aren't very Christ-like. Many non-Christians I know are more Christ-like than myself.

Where does this leave me?

Right now I am continuing my therapy. Probably one of my biggest helps is my boyfriend. When the panic attacks happen, he is there to help me breathe through them.

I still go to church. I worship with them. I feel at home there. They have recently asked me to lead a small group for LGBTQ+ people. I nearly cried when they asked me to do this.

Do you know what's worse than being an LGBTQ+ person who left the Church? Being an LGBTQ+ person who stays in a church that rejects them. (Let me be clear:  This is definitely NOT my current church. They are wonderful.) I have more arguments with people who question my identity as a Christian because I am bisexual. It would be a lot easier to walk away from Christ altogether, but that is not the pathway Christ has shown me to follow.

There is a song I dearly loved when I was in the Salvation Army. It was written by the late General John Gowans. I actually had the privilege of singing this song in front of him when he was a special guest in Hannover, Germany for the German Salvation Army's congress there. One of the verses, which always brings me to tears, from his song, "I'll Not Turn Back" goes like this:

If tears should fall,

If I am called to suffer,

If all I love men should deface, defame,

I'll not deny the one that I have followed

Nor be ashamed to bear my Master's Name.

This is who I am:  a Bisexual Christian. I do not deny this. I follow God because of this.

Day of German Unity

Photo by Ingo Joseph from Pixels

 Tag der deutschen Einheit

Today is the Day of German Unity. It's the national holiday of Germany. It celebrates the reunification of East and West Germany after being separated for several years during the Cold War.

In 1997 I served with the Missionsteam Hamburg with The Salvation Army. They were made up of mostly young Germans doing their mandated civil service (if they were men) or doing a gap year. I knew that holiday was approaching. So I asked a friend of mine how Germans celebrated this day. He looked at me puzzled for a few seconds. Then he said, "All Germans stand naked at their front doors, wrapped in a German Flag, with a beer in the hand and singing the national anthem."

I knew he was joking. Germans don't really celebrate on this day. There might be some official event in Berlin, but other than having the day off, they don't celebrate it at all. Germans have an understandably difficult time with patriotism. I remember when the World Cup was in Germany in 2006, commentators actually discussed whether or not it would be appropriate for Germans to finally be proud to be German.

Returning to the US

When I returned to the United States, I came at a very interesting time. I left before the attacks on the 11th of September. When I returned, I came back to a place filled with American flags. In Germany, one would only see German flags at Federal or State buildings or at soccer matches involving the German team. Seeing American flags at gas stations and restaurants seemed absurd and over the top. It reminded me of the Nazi propaganda from the 1930's and 40's. I even saw tattered plastic fags, fluttering from car windows.

Then I remembered that just like Germany, America was guilty of genocide:  the Native Americans here. Just like Germany, America had concentration camps for Japanese-Americans. Just like Germany, Americans conquered countries not their own. Even worse, America set up puppet regimes around the world when governments appeared to be "too communist," settling for dictators (Guatemala, Iran, Grenada, Vietnam, etc).

I became uncomfortable with the nationalistic jingoism that came from all politicians. 

Even worse . . . 

Americans have incorporated worship of America with worship of God. They worship their country during their church services, including their patriotic songs in their hymnals.

This was one terrible thing I could never ever sing in Church. I still remember as a teenager having the song, "I'm Proud to be an American" during church services around the Fourth of July.

Renunciation

So much to the chagrin of most of my family members, I refuse to say the Pledge of Allegiance. When I was married, my vows meant more to me than my country, but I never said my vows every day. I don't like singing the national Anthem, especially when one of the verses glorifies repressing slaves.

I love the beauty of my country. I do not despise the people in it. I will not leave it because of the terrible politics here and the syncretism that exists with the Christian Nationalism. I will struggle to make it a better place to live, putting my faith in God, but not this country.

The Freedom to Offend

Satanism - What is it?

One of my best friends, Stephen Long, is a Satanist. Does he worship Satan? No. He doesn't even believe Satan (or God) exists. When he meets people, he often describes himself as a non-theist, which, according to him, is an atheist without the superiority complex.

Satan for Satanists is an archetype, a role model, especially patterned after Milton's antihero portrayal of Satan:  Someone who stood up against the majority, even knowing it would fail in the end.

What really upsets Satanists is when they are compared to a troll religion, something akin to the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster. Yes, they do engage often in politics and in the legal realm, but they definitely consider themselves a religious organization, with tenets, meetings, dogma, etc.

Blasphemy

Stephen recently wrote a very good article about "Satanic Blasphemy." In it he describes three different types of blasphemy that Satanists normally find themselves in:  "Reactionary," "Transcendent," and "Natural."

Blasphemy is an interesting concept and is one of those hot-button topics that release a lot of preconceived ideas and notions.

What is blasphemy? Merriam-Webster defines it as "the act of insulting or showing contempt or lack of reverence for God" and "the act of claiming the attributes of a deity," which is what Jesus himself was accused of (see Matthew 26:57-67).

Stephen doesn't use this latter definition, but he tends to gravitate towards the first. He describes the Black Mass, which, in my own definition, is a cathartic antithetical ritual to the Christian Mass, renouncing that which previously harmed the people celebrating the Black Mass.

The Black Mass

Once in his Patreon only podcast, Stephen had described the Black Mass in depth to me. It actually had me crying at the end. I do not exactly know why the description of the Black Mass had such a reaction in me, but maybe it was for two reason.

First:  I had come into a new state of acceptance as an out Bisexual Christian male, who was free to be who he is and celebrate worship with other likeminded people. The Black Mass, in comparison to that, was a slap in my face.

Secondly:  Since the Black Mass is a ritual designed to renounce Christianity specifically, I find it truly depressing that such rituals need to be made to renounce what should have been a lifestyle of peace. Christians are perhaps some of the worst people when it comes to dehumanizing and degrading other people, which is exactly the opposite of who Jesus was and is.

Living in a predominately Christian culture, surrounded by and inundated with Christian messages, when one steps out and says they are not Christian, there will be backlash.

But . . . 

It isn't blasphemous to not be a Christian. Jesus certainly wasn't a Christian.

The "blasphemy" that Stephen describes for the most part really isn't blasphemy. It's simply stating "I am not a Christian. I do not worship like you do. Let me be myself."

Unfortunately, being in a predominantly Christian culture, this rarely works out for the best, even when one lives in a country that supposedly espouses freedom of religion.

And the second "but" I have is with one of the Tenets of the Satanic Temple. I have heard the tenets described as being better than the 10 Commandments. That's like comparing apples to oranges.

The Fourth Tenet states that "The freedom of others should be respected, including the freedom to offend. To willfully and unjustly encroach upon the freedoms of another is to forgo one's own."

Maybe it's just me, but I do not like this idea of the "freedom to offend." The sentence in and of itself is paradoxical. At one point, they uphold the idea of having the freedom to believe what one wishes to believe, but at the same time authorizes people to offend others. This is hardly conducive at all to forming peace with everyone, but at the same time, most Christians haven't been the best at "loving your neighbor" either.

There is probably a very nuanced hermeneutic to that tenet, but if it is so nuanced, then this tenets isn't expressed very well.

Conclusion?

So, is Stephen the Satanist a blasphemer, worthy of being stoned, like that wonderful scene in "The Life of Brian?" Adhering to its strict definition, no.

Is he a heretic? Well, yes, but so am I. It has become an axiom of mine that we are all heretics to someone else.

Pride and Acceptance

Quote from Harvey Milk/Artwork by Maddi James

I have a strange relationship with Pride Month. Since being out as bisexual, I hadn't always felt comfortable celebrating Pride. Perhaps it is because I am still learning to love myself and to be who I am despite others' perceptions. Be that as it may, this year I want this Pride to be special for me.

I often drive for Uber and Lyft on my free days. I recall one conversation I had with a passenger. I had just picked him up from a gay bar and he needed to unload a lot of frustration with me. He had just seen someone in the crowd who had sexually assaulted him a year ago and needed to vent to someone about it. He was unable to reach his friends on his phone, so he asked if he could share with me. During our conversation, I had mentioned to him that I myself was bisexual, but my story of coming out and who I am was totally different from his. My passenger interrupted me and said:

"But it is still your story."

That it is. I will never forget that.

Pride has nothing to do with exalting one's self for being queer. Pride means accepting yourself for who you are, no matter what people think of you.

Acceptance

That's really the key to it. Isn't it? I am perhaps a different type of queer person. I am a queer person of faith. Not too many queer people can say that because often times the Church is at the forefront of homophobia and shows little love, except when it calls it "tough love," which in reality is shunning and exclusion.

However, the Church that I attend is markedly different. Every Sunday at the beginning of worship, these lines are spoken:

We come from many different paths to gather here for wide is God's welcome and you are welcome here. If you are young or old, you are welcome. If you have brown skin, black skin, white skin or any color skin, you are welcome. If you are married or single, you are welcome. If you are sick or well, you are welcome. If you are straight, gay, lesbian, or bisexual you are welcome. If you are male, female, trans, intersex or nonbinary, you are welcome. If you are an immigrant, you are welcome. If you are a refugee, like Jesus was, you are welcome. If you cannot hear or see, you are welcome. If you are fully-abled, disabled or a person of differing abilities, you are welcome. If you are happy or sad, you are welcome. If you are rich or poor, powerful or weak, you are welcome. If you believe in God some of the time, or none of the time, or all of the time, you are welcome . . .

There is something powerful about these words. Recently, I had invited a gay friend of mine to come with me to my church. His faith is ambivalent and he grew up in a strict fundamentalist church (which he likes to call a cult) and had an awful experience with this church. I had told him my church was different and that we are affirming, but I don't think he actually believed me at the time. That is, until one of my pastors read those words of welcome, I turned to look at my friend and the tears were silently rolling down his cheeks. Afterwards he told our pastors that he felt as if the whole service had been geared towards him especially.

Acceptance is powerful. Acceptance is so close to love that for many people the two terms are virtually synonymous. If I may be so bold, this brings new meaning for me to the words of Jesus:

"I give you a new commandment:  Accept each other. Just as I have accepted you, so you must also accept each other. This is how everyone will know you are my disciples, when you accept each other." (John 13:34-35) Now, of course, the words of Jesus were actually:  "Love each other."

So, for my cisgender, heterosexual friends, accept your queer acquaintances. Don't try to change them. It never works. Let your friends be who they are.

For my queer friends:  Accept yourselves. You are beautiful and loved. You are accepted and loved by God for who you are, just as you are. You do not need to change.

Happy Pride!

Dealing With Doubt

Image by chenspec from Pixabay 

Being Vulnerable

Judging by the readership of my blog, I shouldn't be too concerned with being vulnerable. My blog has mostly been for my own benefit and not for others. I am, of course, happy when others do read the blog and it has surprised me at just what sparks everyone's interest. I have discovered that what interests me most tends to be uninteresting for others and what I consider to be innocuous turns into a huge blaze of controversy.

So maybe I'm not the best judge on these issues.

Still . . .

I have been plagued with doubts:  doubts mostly dealing with my faith. I miss being certain about what I believe.

Evangelized by Mormons

I once read an article by the philosopher, Peter Rollins, who hosted something he called "The Evangelism Project." It is a unique take and perspective. Instead of going to other communities to evangelize, one goes to a community to be evangelized. I found the concept fascinating. Instead of telling other people what is wrong with the world, we listen to them tell us what they like about the world and what they think of us and what they can bring to us.

So I did this on my own and allowed myself to be evangelized by Mormons. (Apparently they don't like being called Mormon anymore after their prophet gave them a new revelation.) These young missionaries came to tell me about their views and their beliefs and what they think God would have them do. They were openly candid about their belief in the pre-existence of the soul and that they did not hold to a trinity they way traditional Christians do. They asked if I had any questions for them. I asked them what they thought was wrong with this world and how their Church could help. I asked them what they thought was right with this world. I asked them for their favorite scriptures passages from the Old Testament, the New Testament, and the Book of Mormon. Then I asked them why they were part of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, besides being born into it.

What I discovered was that these were young men who really hadn't been tried in their faith yet. They were extremely friendly, but seemed uncertain as to some aspects of their faith. Their faith hadn't been tested yet. There's nothing wrong with that. I admired their commitment to the faith and their willingness to say they didn't know the answers to some of my questions (especially when I brought up the controversy surrounding their Book of Abraham).

Then I realized that I was probably no better than them when I was their age. I was all sorts of arrogant in my preconceived notions.

What am I doubting?

I am perhaps going through a crisis of faith right now. This is to be expected.

I reach out, trying to touch God, to somehow feel God through prayer and meditation. Nothing happens. I feel nothing.

I watch a friend slowly die of cancer, desperately clinging to his faith, but in the end still dies, having to be sedated to relieve his pain. He prayed to God to heal him, but he wasn't healed of his cancer and succumbed to death. I heard many people give out platitudes, saying his suffering is over and he's no longer in pain, but he's also dead and died in pain. That death had no beauty in it for me.

Is God even there? If God is there, I certainly don't believe that God is all-powerful (omnipotent) or all-knowing (omniscient). As someone who subscribes to panentheism, I can have some hope that God is everywhere (omnipresent).

History repeats itself.

Growing up I often heard the phrase, "History repeats itself," and "no one listens to their elders." So I thought, "What would it be like if we actually did listen to our elders?" So I tried it out. Often times this worked out quite well, but I also lived quite a bland life. The only "outrageous" thing I did was bring my Bible to school. I rarely dated. I went to few dances and had actually very few friends.

Maybe it was because I risked nothing and tried to learn from the mistakes of what previous people did.

I love the TV series, "Star Trek: The Next Generation." One of my favorite episodes is called "Tapestry." In it the main character, Captain Picard, has a life threatening injury that damages his artificial heart. He got the artificial heart when he was a foolish and brash young cadet, who got into a bar fight. Since then he regretted that bar fight and had to live with the consequences of those actions. While unconscious, he is given the opportunity to reverse that decision and go back into time to that bar fight. When the time comes, he avoids the fight altogether and it warps his future. Instead of being a captain of a starship, he is a junior grade science lieutenant, who never advanced his career and never took risks. Although he avoided getting the artificial heart, his own life become a life of mediocrity.

I often think about that show when thinking about my past. I rarely took risks and ended up with a life of mediocrity. It was only when I took risks that my life experienced challenge and excitement.

What does that have to do with anything?

As I think on all this, I realize just how risky it is to doubt about the existence of God, to doubt about eternal life, immortality, and what happens when we die. I am scared to think that God doesn't exist. I am frightened when I think of dying and no longer existing in consciousness. I am afraid to confront the evidence of the non-existence of God.

Some people who are more secure in their faith criticize me for this. That's fine. They can do this.

There are times when I do see the divine, rare as it may be. I try to recapture it, but it is elusive, fleeting, temporal.

I felt close to God when I was meditating by doing a body scan. It was mind-bending, overwhelming, and left me filled with wonder. When I tried to re-create that scenario, it wasn't quite the same as before.

I felt God at the birth of my children, feeling an overwhelming sense of love that overcame any other sense I had known. It is hard to describe the love for your child unless you have had that same experience before.

I often saw God in unexpected places, just like the story of the Good Samaritan, in non-believers:  in atheists, agnostics, and Satanists. I saw God in the devoutness of a Muslim praying at the break of dawn, or whirling in a Sufi trance. I saw God in the tattoo of my friend, which only held coordinates of a Buddhist temple he once meditated at for 4 hours.

But then I saw hate . . . 

I saw hate in the message from a superior in my former denomination, who told me that he stalked me on social media, seeing which posts I like to determine just what type of Christian I was.

I saw hate in the message from my former pastor, who told me I could worship with them at his congregation, but not be a member.

I saw hate from a group of members of my former church, who felt it was their duty to gossip about me and felt it was their duty to weed out undesirable people in that denomination. They certainly succeeded with me.

I saw hate in the drunken eyes of the man who choked me for being bisexual, who wanted to "beat the homosexuality out of me" like a "dog in a cage."

I saw hate in the words of my termination as an ordained minister of The Salvation Army, stripping away the identity I had.

The vast majority of reasons I have for not believing in God come from those who say they love God. It is that hypocrisy I cannot stand. They say they love God, but then shun a whole group of people because of their orientation.

They say they love God, but then call for the death of other people because of their belief system.

They say they love God, but worship a Flag in God's place, pledging allegiance to a country that murders millions with the push of a button.

A friend once told me that he and I don't worship the same God. At first I was saddened because I thought of this man as a brother in faith, but then I realized that in some way I was glad. I didn't like his God, who would condemn the vast majority of humanity to eternal conscious torment for not believing in the right way. What use do I have for a God like that?

My Mantra

Anne Lamott has this quote I have mentioned before and has become a mantra for me:  "The opposite of faith is not doubt, but certainty."

And while I see the truth in this statement, sometimes it brings me no comfort. The anguish remains and the doubt plagues at my heart, unforgiving in its relentlessness. The loneliness of this world in the paradox of social media overwhelms me sometimes. 

I don't have a happy ending for this blog. One thing I do realize, though, is that if my faith and the practice of my faith does not make this world or myself any better, then that faith is useless. It is totally worthless and a sham.

My doubt is part of my faith. I don't think I would have any faith without it.