It was a beautiful spring week when I decided to go to the porn store.

I'd been on the edge for a while, watching a campus ministry go through its death throes (or at least the death throes of what it had attempted to be), and I was living alone, under no one's supervision for the first time in years. My first introduction to porn came not long after I moved to my apartment, actually--it was an erotic DVD I bought at FYE called "A Housewife Named Fran" that had been sitting among the action DVD's for several weeks. I bought it and watched it in July 2004, at a point when I was (spiritually and emotionally) at my lowest ebb, and my immediate reaction (after, of course, my biological reaction) was, "What the hell?"

Pornography at this point seemed . . . over the top.

However, it was also liberating.

To know that I was finally able to enjoy something that had been banned from me most of my life through the prohibitions of parents, Christian colleges, churches, and friends was, I felt, a release of biblical proportions. I was free, I was doing porn and exploring my sexuality, and most of all, I was (finally, I felt) doing something I wanted to do.

I never could get over the "over-the-topness" of porn, though. Bad acting, horrible directing, and even worse cinematography didn't exactly appeal to a man who has been trained to lift his eyes on the best and the most sublime in art and letters. And worse, it was expensive--porn DVD's cost exactly the same as any regular DVD's, and often, there is no such thing as a "sale price" for porn. I wasn't thrilled with the expense (or the weirdness) of the genre, but I was thrilled with the personal freedom I was exhibiting, so I continued my obsession.

That spring week in 2005, I looked in the phone book and saw an ad for a store located tens of miles northeast of Fort Worth that sold adult videos, and after a night's fitful sleep decided I would go there the next day. I hitched a bus downtown, then hitched another bus (an hour ride) to the farthest point I could go in the direction of the porn store, after which I walked along a busy highway for 2 hours.

I made a day of it. I ate at the local Applebee's, remembering all the wounds I had been given by organized religion over the previous 2 years (and then some)--the fights, the name-calling, the dissolution of a student ministry I had loved, and the hateful words I would hear over and over not only by people at my (then) church about each other, but by a very malevolent personality I had gotten involved with at TCU about me.

Christianity, as I had encountered it over the previous 3 or 4 years, didn't seem to have anything to offer me but pain.

However, I did pray that day, and I did commune with God.

I got up from the restaurant, continued my walk, held my ears at the screaming of Air Force jets practicing dogfights overhead, and finally reached the place I was looking for. The store was a stereotypical 1960s-style dive, complete with flashing neon signs and a dinky parking lot that looked as if it could house trailers for prostitutes as easily as a sex store. I gritted my teeth, thinking, "I am such an idiot for even doing this," and walked inside.

The store managers (a couple) were very . . . normal.

I had expected some sort of hard sales pitch or sexy talk from the woman at the counter, but none of that happened. It was clear to me as I left my backpack at the counter and started browsing their holdings that to them, this was simply a store, and they were simply engaged in the enterprise of (what appeared to be) a family business.

I spent hours looking over videos before I chose 5 of them for purchase.

The purchasing was as normal as it would be at any other store.

I picked up my backpack, left, and began the 2 hour long trek back to the bus stop.

When I got home, I popped in one of the videos, envisioning a night-long orgy of sexual pleasure. However, my reaction at the end was just the same--"What the hell?" The acting, the directing, and the cinematography were far worse than they had been in "A Housewife Named Fran" (and that DVD wasn't exactly Casablanca).

I threw the 5 videos away, as I had thrown away "A Housewife Named Fran," irritated at myself for wasting time with unartistic nonsense. I had been unsatisfied by organized religion, and I was (clearly) unsatisfied with porn . . . where was I to go?

In the wake of this day, my relationship with God became very deep, very personal, and very unreligious.

As those of you who read my blog this summer know, I was (and still am) very heartbroken over the carnage that took place in the Middle East this past July--and even more heartbroken at what seems a cultural inability (or perhaps an emotional and spiritual inability?) on the part of the United States and its people to respond as I would hope any human being would to tragedy--with compassion.

Our President, Senators, and Congressional Representatives still jockey amongst themselves for the title of "Israel's most fervent supporter," and utterly missing in our current political climate is any sense that the war was wrong, that our position on the war (prolonging it) was wrong, and that we have (in the eyes of the world) lost a great deal of our honor because of our refusal to see the broader situation of the Middle East for what it is.

The following is an article that reminds us that no matter what our position may be, wars have faces:

Survivors in Lebanon: 'What am I going to do?'
POSTED: 6:54 a.m. EDT, August 30, 2006
By Arwa Damon
CNN
TYRE, Lebanon (CNN) -- In a village not far from Tyre, mine-clearing teams worked to destroy unexploded bombs, mortars and other weaponry scattered across the landscape.

"Do you think there will be another war again?" a young girl said as she ran up to me, her pink sunhat flopping in the breeze.

Her mother smiled dryly. "See what even the children are saying?" she said. "Their innocence is gone."

More than two weeks after a cease-fire in the 34-day conflict between Israel and Hezbollah, the effects of the war are seen in everyone here in Lebanon, in their faces, their expressions, their voices. Even their smiles. (Watch a young boy tour his devastated home -- 2:47)

In Nabatiye, I spoke with a group of men talking about the Hezbollah-Israeli conflict just meters away from a flattened building. The men said that no matter how many civilians were killed, no matter how much was destroyed, Lebanon would rebuild.

But that optimism is not echoed across all of Lebanon, not even across all the south, as people are forced to deal with all they have lost.

Just down the street was Ahmad Failaili, a 75-year-old women's clothing shop owner and dressmaker. His hands were covered in thick dust as he cleared away bits and pieces of his shop -- his livelihood reduced to a skeleton of a store.

He explained it is the fourth time he has had to rebuild. "This is the worst," he said.

His shop was not targeted, but severely damaged by the multiple bomb strikes nearby. The clatter of machinery clearing the devastation made it hard to hear what he was saying. (Watch Lebanon try to rebuild -- 2:57)

"You know, a young woman died over there," he said. Then he paused and looked at me: "She was maybe about your age, looked like you, she was just having coffee with her friends."

Stuck in traffic with a coffin
Standing on a hilltop in Qana, we watched 65-year-old Salim Amer survey what was left of his home -- a crater.

In the rubble he found traces of the life he and his family once had there. "I built this home for my children," he said. "I don't know what I am going to do next."

Even if he rebuilds, his view is now the newly built memorial for the 29 civilians killed in Qana, wooden planks temporarily stuck into cement. If he builds a new home, his children and his descendents will look at that memorial and remember the war.

At a makeshift crossing over the Litani River, traffic was clogged because the main bridge had been bombed. A woman named Madlene cried over her grandmother's coffin inside a hearse stuck in the traffic.

She paused to talk with us for a few moments, expressing her grief, apologizing for her sorrow and inability to articulate all that she wanted to say.

"The children, don't they (the West) see the children, the families?" she said in English. "When you see what Israel has done, then you understand why Hezbollah made what it makes."

The traffic started to move, and she turned and walked behind the hearse, her shoulders hunched, up the dirt hill that is now a crude passageway across the Litani.

'Be strong for the children'
Just outside of Marjeyoun, there was a surreal sight. Bright blue and purple camping tents were pitched, the kind a child would use to play pretend camp in the backyard. Only here they stand out amid the rubble.

This is now home for the Yassin family. The tents are pitched on what is left of their front patio. Five-year-old Mehdi seemed jubilant as he took us on a tour of his former home.

"Come see my room," he said as he scampered over bits of rubble, broken glass and collapsed doorways. He found his stuffed Tweety Bird, which was almost as big as he is. It was under one of the beds among the debris of his bedroom, but he discarded Tweety almost instantly.

"Look, here and here and here," he said, pointing out all the other devastated buildings around him.

His father, Mohammad, was still in shock. "What am I going to do? How am I going to feed my family? I spent all our savings on a hotel in the mountains," he said, as he carried 2-year-old Ali on his shoulders.

His wife, Raiya, stared at her old living room as her eyes filled with tears. "We are trying to be strong for the children," she said. "But inside we are dead."



(This article was taken from CNN's website (cnn.com) this morning.)

I realized that a few entries back, I said that this past summer was one of unprecedented change and growth for me.

Well, I didn't want to leave you with some vague ex-soldierish (adopting deep withdrawn voice), "I've changed some," so I wanted to share just a few fruits of the changes that have happened in me this summer (all of them positive).

1. I eat much healthier than I had. Fruit, vegetables, whole wheat bread, water, and peanut butter are now staples in my apartment. (And ladies and gentlemen, I've noticed I have a lot more energy and (yes) a great deal more mental, spiritual, emotional, and sexual clarity as a result.)

2. I exercise more than I had. Calisthenics in my apartment morphed into heavier walking (when the heat became oppressive enough that I had to spend time resting after getting home in the evenings), and now that I've started working at the TCU Center for Writing again, I'm going to engage in a much harder workout program involving a combination of aerobics and weightlifting. (I was going to weightlift today, but unfortunately, I rather stupidly forgot to bring my workout clothes and a towel, so I engaged in a 30 minute hardcore aerobics session instead.)

3. As I mentioned in an earlier blog entry, no more videos and DVD's. Not that I don't think movies are good, but to me, it's better to watch them in the theater (which requires me to go out and interact with my culture) rather than in the empty solitude of my apartment. Besides, given my dissertation woes, I no longer have the time, energy, or inclination to waste in anything but reading.

4. I spend a regular amount of time exercising my vocal chords via song. (I'd been rather negligent of this side of me for a while, and Jessica and I decided it was time for me to get back into it.)

I have a great deal more energy and vigor than I used to (thank God), and I don't crumble in the face of difficulties and/or attempt to escape reality.

I'm not saying, "I'm a new man"--actually, I'm very much the core "me" again--but I am a great deal more energetic and focused, and this improvement will help me more quickly bounce back whenever I'm faced with bone-crushing setbacks in the future (which I've asked God not to allow until I can handle that sort of thing well again--after all, I've had more than my fair share this past 6 or 7 years, I think ;)).

Now that I have told a little of my story, I suppose it falls to me now to provide a synopsis of lessons I have learned from the experience, ways in which I've grown, and so on . . .

I wish life were that simple.

The fact is, ladies and gentlemen, that (as my lover can attest) I am still dealing with the repercussions of a failed church, a failed student ministry (see one of the blog entries I posted last spring about my experiences with a student ministry at TCU that went belly up), and a dismally failed relationship.

The biggest issue I struggle with as I recover my sense of self is a deep, gnawing feeling that the path I am embarking on now--regardless of the prayer, soul-searching, and the many conversations I have had with loved ones--is a step away from God.

It is a sad fact that the words we speak--whether true or false--have a lasting effect on those they touch, and one of the worst depredations of organized religion is its use of words. A choice to participate in a church project becomes a "calling," a choice to marry or not to marry (or a desire to marry a particular gender) becomes a matter of "the will of God," and a departure from principles one no longer holds dear becomes . . . "backsliding."

Those of you who have experienced the things I have experienced and who have reacted the way I have know that the first response of a church, a ministry, or a pastor to those who, out of conscience, leave organized religion (or, "worse," abandon places of leadership within organized religion) is often to play the role of the father in Jesus' tale of the Prodigal Son. It isn't simply a lifestyle choice or a decision of personal conscience--it is, in their eyes, a betrayal of God and of everything he stands for. As the "perpetrator," one is then subjected to a bevy of frenzied attempts to "stretch out a hand of compassion and mercy" and "win the runaway soul back to the Lord."

I don't believe that what church I attend, how many meetings I go to, or what political preferences I adopt matter nearly as much to God as whether or not my heart cares for others. Perhaps that makes me a religious misfit or a heretic, but so be it. It is my life, after all, and a matter between God, myself, and whoever I choose to marry . . . and no one else.

And I hold the same to be true for each and every one of you who reads these blog entries. I am not an evangelist--or an anti-evangelist. I am simply telling my story in hopes that a suffering soul may stumble onto this weblog, find comfort and solace in knowing that he/she is not alone, and learn, as I have, that the design of God and the will of God are, at their essence . . . personal. We are all unique, all created with singular interests, talents, and callings, and it is not for us to determine the callings and destinies of people who are not ourselves.

I know I have not betrayed God. In fact, I have grown far closer to God than I ever had before.

But just as importantly . . . I have not betrayed myself.

In the first two weeks after my church's last service (which I felt was more like going to a funeral where the participants refuse to mourn than the celebration the leadership wanted), I was an emotional wreck.

I had been talking to people I had met online at a place called theooze, who comforted me and helped me as much as they could, but ultimately, I was left with the shattering realization that 6 years of my life, and the friendships I had developed in the Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex as a result of my church, had been for nothing. I spent the first week of churchlessness in shock, staring at my bedroom window most of the time, and binging (after several months' discipline) on x-rated dvds. I didn't go to church the next Sunday, and the day after that, my shock gave way to something else . . . self-destruction.

I mentioned something about this in an earlier blog entry, but to make a long story short, the fact that I am alive today (given all the means I considered, and attempted to use, in order to kill myself that first full week of September 2005) is a miracle. I went to church the second Sunday (September 4), and after 6 years of memories regarding song ministry, I couldn't sing without crying. At the end of the service, a guy who didn't know me from Adam (or anyone else, for that matter) walked up to me and invited me to his small group. (My first thought was, "What the hell?")

That small group meeting was the most wonderful experience I had ever had in church. The people were exactly the opposite of what I expected--they were warm, friendly, they liked being together, and most of all, they were open, vulnerable, and real. They didn't put on a facade--no ridiculous platitudes, no irrelevant allusions to Christian literature or songs, and no "admonishing" of those in distress. They prayed together, and they cared about each other--it was the first time I remember being in a church setting (other than my parents' church) where I could actually feel the power of love.

Through the compassion and friendship offered by the men and women in this group, as well as a Sunday School class I began attending afterwards, I began to realize that the God of the Bible was a God I knew very little, if at all, during the previous 6 years, and I began a long journey toward healing.

This journey included a friend of mine whom I had met on theooze a few months before my church closed its doors, who has now become something more. Through message board posts, email correspondence, and IM's, we bonded in a way that two people seldom bond--as soul mates. We've been together for several months, and it has been the most wonderful relationship I have experienced in my life. She and I grow together, challenge each other, and carry each other when we're weak.

All of these steps forward didn't come without costs--those friendships I'd had before went by the wayside as I decided to create a new life for myself--but I am glad to say that I am better, not worse, for the experience, and with the help of a new church family, Jessica, and God, I am beginning to see that losing a church isn't (and doesn't have to be) the end of a dream. If we are honest, vulnerable, and willing to move on and forgive whatever took place in the past, it can be . . . a beginning.

In a few days, I will be celebrating the one year anniversary of my former church's demise.

When I came to Fort Worth, I came as a secular agnostic (although one to whom God had been speaking loudly for years), and given my sexuality issues (which I shared with no one), and my interest in living life on my own, I wasn't very interested in attending church regularly, if at all, after I moved here. My parents, however, had other ideas, and as they were Mennonites--and as the Mennonite denomination is very small--they were able to hook me up (against my will) with a congregation that met in a rented Seventh Day Adventist building not far from the city.

I was shanghaied. I didn't have a car (I had totalled the one I owned shortly before moving--and yes, it was purely by accident :)), so the congregants enthusiastically volunteered to pick me up on Sunday mornings and drive me to church. I wasn't happy with this arrangement, but I couldn't say anything about it, because word would have gotten back to my parents that I wasn't attending church anymore, and my phone conversations with them would have become very unpleasant.

I knew I needed Christ, and the only thing standing in my way was . . . me. I didn't like what I'd have to reveal about myself, about my issues, and about my past.

However, God has a way of getting through even the surliest of church attenders, and eventually, I realized my need for God outweighed my desire to keep secret and do whatever I wanted. I came to Christ in fall 1999 (mid-October, in fact), and began a new spiritual journey that, while extremely difficult at times, blossomed into a spiritual rebirth that continues to this day.

I wish I could say that I was without issues afterward (I'll leave that to future blog entries), and I wish my experience with that church was always so pleasant.

I was aware of tensions within the congregation, and of what seemed to be rather vicious factional infighting. I didn't know what was going on--but in January, after I had come back from a month-long vacation with my parents, I received a notice in my mailbox that the pastor and his wife and family were leaving.

I went to church on what turned out to be the final Sunday of its existence, and learned that the pastor was starting a church of his own, which I decided (knowing that the church elders who didn't like the pastor probably wouldn't continue the congregation after he left) to attend.

It became a whirlwind experience--a brand new non-denominational church meeting in a hotel room, depending on students from Christ For the Nations Institute for much of its musical worship and ministry needs--and before long, I found myself going to prayer meetings, participating in the worship team, and attending a Sunday night Bible study that eventually morphed into a Sunday night outreach (oh, and I almost forgot--I was part of the drama team as well). It became a major conflict with my graduate studies, not only on a functional level (conflicting schedules) but on a fundamental level as well--I found my faith (as I knew it and as it was being taught) increasingly at odds with my status as a graduate student and my interest in truth and knowledge.

Also, because of my issues, I never felt right about talking with people openly about my life--and I always felt on the edge of a death sentence, dancing between a full disclosure that would humiliate me and end any role I had in the church . . . and the death of my soul as a result of my not coming forward with the issues I really had.

The factional infighting continued, heedless of the fact that a new church had started, and those who left in anger were described as runaways or even as turncoats (and not just turncoats to the church but to God himself), which just perpetuated the cycle anew. I found myself being asked more and more often to serve a role I wasn't prepared for--as the "glue" holding the struggling congregation of 20 or so people together. Meanwhile, my status as a grad student suffered, not only because of my congregation's constant demands and infighting but because of some very stupid personal decisions I made during that time as well, and I increasingly found myself hoping our congregation would die.

On August 5, 2005, the announcement was made: our church was going to close its doors on the 28th.

I'd like to be able to say I was glad, but the fact is . . . I was more shocked than anything else.

I remember the way the announcement was made--a very bitter memory to this day. The pastor stood up and made the announcement at the end, in a very sarcastic manner, saying that "I know this will probably make some of you mad, some of you glad, and some of you sad, but . . . " and continued on, blaming 2 church attenders who had left for causing him ill health and saying that while he had tried to make one young man's departure as pleasant as possible, he really didn't understand it. He then made some remarks about an attempt to position one of his sons as a new pastor for the church "not working out" and stated that he had been told by his doctors that he just couldn't be a pastor anymore, not if he wanted to recover.

To me, it was like watching a train wreck.

I spent the rest of the day at home crying, and the next week basically staring at my bedroom window.

The congregants tried to end things on a good note--the last service was on August 28th, a commemorative service that previous attenders who had left were encouraged to participate in, but to me, it was all whitewash. None of these people, I realized, even wanted to be in the same room with each other, much less a church, and I also began to see how illusory their dreams of evangelizing the larger Dallas-Fort Worth area for Christ had been. What I had been going to, in short, was a make-believe church, not a real congregation where people were interested in each other and in the larger community where they met and worshipped.

It was not a church at all--not in the sense of people coming together in common purpose and love.



I want to end my blog entry today on this point, because I know that my story, in many ways, is representative of the experiences that many Americans are having, and have had, with church . . . and for many people, the story ends right here, with disillusionment, pain, and bitterness.

However, this is not where my story ended.

I just re-read my previous post, and one thing that surprises me is how quickly I resorted to religious language when describing that First Baptist church's firing of a longtime female Sunday School teacher. In particular, I was struck by my use of terms like "agreements made with the full blessing of God" to describe what most people would normally call "contracts made in good conscience."

What bothered me yesterday wasn't the beliefs of the pastor (or of the congregation) (or, for that matter, the beliefs of the First Baptist denomination as a whole, which are in my experience fairly solid), but the fact that suddenly, a woman who had labored under the impression that her church felt it was perfectly okay for a woman to teach Sunday School classes was told, quite abruptly, that it wasn't God's will.

My question is this: Did God change his mind?

Does God decide to do one thing, then do its exact opposite?

One of the things the Bible tells me about Christ is that "no lie was found in his mouth." Doesn't it then behoove people who want to be like Christ to be sure that no lies are found in their mouths as well?

Why in the world I felt compelled to use seminary-style language to make that point yesterday, I'll never know. :)

And just when I thought the human race couldn't get any lower . . .

Sunday school teacher dumped for being female

Monday, August 21, 2006; Posted: 10:43 a.m. EDT (14:43 GMT)

The First Baptist Church dismissed Mary Lambert on August 9 after she had taught there for 54 years.

WATERTOWN, New York (AP) -- The minister of a church that dismissed a female Sunday School teacher after adopting what it called a literal interpretation of the Bible says a woman can perform any job -- outside of the church.

The First Baptist Church dismissed Mary Lambert on August 9 with a letter explaining that the church had adopted an interpretation that prohibits women from teaching men. She had taught there for 54 years.

The letter quoted the first epistle to Timothy: "I do not permit a woman to teach or to have authority over a man; she must be silent." (Watch Church Lady say her dismissal came without warning -- 1:43)

The Rev. Timothy LaBouf, who also serves on the Watertown City Council, issued a statement saying his stance against women teaching men in Sunday school would not affect his decisions as a city leader in Watertown, where all five members of the council are men but the city manager who runs the city's day-to-day operations is a woman.

"I believe that a woman can perform any job and fulfill any responsibility that she desires to" outside of the church, LaBouf wrote Saturday.

Mayor Jeffrey Graham, however, was bothered by the reasons given Lambert's dismissal.

"If what's said in that letter reflects the councilman's views, those are disturbing remarks in this day and age," Graham said. "Maybe they wouldn't have been disturbing 500 years ago, but they are now."

Lambert has publicly criticized the decision, but the church did not publicly address the matter until Saturday, a day after its board met.

In a statement, the board said other issues were behind Lambert's dismissal, but it did not say what they were.

This story came over CNN's website.

What bothers me isn't the "literal interpretation of the Bible" bit (I've heard that before), or even the bit about women not teaching in the church (I've seen women refuse to teach in the church because they believed they shouldn't teach men, and I respect their convictions), but the rather bald-faced breaking of fellowship and contract with someone under the guise of "maintaining biblical standards."

I don't remember reading any verse of the Bible that says you can break an agreement you made with someone under the full participation (and blessing) of God, and whatever this church pastor believes, it doesn't give him the right to violate Christ's equally biblical command to his disciples: "Love one another, even as I have loved you."

I wish more people became interested in the concept of love than in the minutiae of misquoted verses taken out of obscure portions of the Bible to prove equally obscure points. I'm sure my avowedly conservative Christian readers may villify me for, in their minds, "not taking a stand," but you see, the fact is, I am taking a stand. I just refuse to involve myself in issues, battles, and struggles that are, in the larger scheme of things, unimportant.

Jesus and his disciples lived in an age in which paganism, shrine prostitution, pederasty (that is, sex between male teachers and their male students), and rampant legal, economic, and political corruption were common. Do you see Jesus fretting about any of these things in the Gospels?

I wonder who Jesus would fellowship with now--who the Samaritans, tax collectors, lepers, and prostitutes of our day would be?

Gay and lesbian couples? (married or not, with kids or not)
AIDS patients?
Crack addicts?
Welfare mothers?

I could go on, but the important thing is not who the people are, but what we do when we meet them . . . isn't it?

I don't understand life.

Why do things happen the way they do? Why does my life always seem to be this great roller coaster qucikly accelerating into a series of twists and turns that leave me feeling breathless and at the mercy of physics?

Where does meaning come from?

As we lurch along in an age that seems to be progressively growing more unsafe, more chaotic, and more unstable by the moment, I wonder if any of us has the ability to stop and look at ourselves--and more importantly, at where we are going.

I talked to my mom last week about the just-finished war in Lebanon (which seems likely to start up again after what happened with the Israeil commando raid yesterday), and she mentioned the battle of Armageddon. I don't know if I'd quite go that far (then again, my reading of John's revelation on the isle of Patmos leads me to completely ditch the dispensational nonsense preached in many American churches today), but I would say that winds of change are in the air, and their sound is ominous.

I am afraid that we are, each one of us, about to be caught up in something greater than ourselves--and while I don't know what that something is, it is enough that the dread of it is strong inside me, the kind of dread that keeps a man awake at night. I don't know what's coming, but whatever it is . . . it will test humanity's character and mettle like no event in our history ever has.

I grew up with apocalyptic movies (and apocalyptic fiction). I wish I could say all of it was good (the recent movie Pulse--which I had the misfortune of seeing in theaters yesterday--is a classic example of the genre's most rank badness) (come on, a monkey wrench wieldin' guy who somehow during the end of the world manages to have all the answers and get rhrough every scrape without so much as mussing his hair?? ladies, please tell me this is not your view of men), but it does have 2 prophetic themes which, sadly, hit the mark when it comes to our species.

1. We are our own worst enemies.

2. Once our self-destructiveness is unleashed, it will consume everything in its path.

Our history shows us to be wonderful survivors, but not very good at building legacies worth remembering. The greatest military project ever attempted--the Roman Empire--became one of the world's worst catastrophes, as did our advances in medicine (witness gas and germ warfare through the past hundred years), our various religions, and our attempts to subdue nature, even down to the smallest atom.

And once our mistakes are unleashed, they have the capacity to consume our entire world.

I believe that God would have us be responsible caretakers of the world--and the lives--he has given us, and that he would have us understand the gravity of that responsibility. Our mistakes have the ability to hurt others more deeply than we can imagine--and maybe it's time for those of us who claim the name "Christian" to stop prattling on about our love for God . . . and start loving each other.

Yesterday as I was waiting at a bus stop, I ran into (by far) the weirdest individual I have ever come across--and if you've read my blog for a while, you should have some idea how weird that is (given the people I have normally met and hung out with).

This guy was hanging out at the bench (at the bus stop) and nervously flipping through things in his backpack--I kinda had a "sense" about him that there was something afoot that I shouldn't get anywhere near.

Unfortunately, as usually happens, my curiosity got the better of me . . .

The second he noticed me standing there making eye contact with him, he began what I can best describe as a 30 minute monologue (I mostly said "yeah" and "I understand" the whole time) that covered his life expectancy (which he said was approximately 8 years, according to a doctor), his material aspirations (wanting a private hotel out in Nevada, if I remember correctly), his life aspirations (wanting to be remembered as a great artist and having his works hung in one of the nearby museums--while he was still alive), his various government and mafia connections (I have no idea who this guy is--sorry, Homeland Security readers), and his intent to set up a pornography website geared toward voyeurism (he asked if I knew what he meant by "voyeurism"--I almost laughed out loud).

During this 30 minute monologue, he never asked for money (which was the one thing I was expecting him to do).

When he left, I exchanged quiet grins with the others who had gathered at the bus stop and were standing by listening to our "conversation." My first thought was, "What the hell?"

I'd like to be able to say I had a clue what that encounter was all about, ladies and gentlemen, but frankly, I'm just as glad that I don't know.

As of today, I am officially financially secure (for the next year or so, at least). This summer has been a long, difficult road for me, and one that involved a lot of prayer and a lot of sacrifice on my part in order to make it through.

I sold all of my videotapes, all of my DVDs (those which weren't already used when I got them), all of my graphic novels, all of the comic books I had collected during the past spring (when I needed a way to replace porn as a source of entertainment while I was in the process of becoming more sexually healthy), and almost all of my Christian books (and a few non-Christian paperbacks I had bought during the spring).

When you spend 3 months worried about whether or not you're going to be able to eat next week, your perspective on money changes. I am really amazed at how much I took for granted this past summer, and the ways in which I abused my body, my mind, and my soul with things I not only didn't really need, but which in many cases were outright poisonous.

I wonder if I had become so accustomed to living in a society where people surround themselves with distractions, noise, and unhealthy input that I didn't even see what was so obviously hampering my energy and my progress as a student, an intellectual, and a man.



I learned a great many lessons this summer--about myself, about God, and about the ways in which I can (and should) conduct myself in this world. I feel stronger, better, and more confident in myself as a man--and as a spiritual person--as a result.

I'll begin to write more regularly (and more daily) next week, but for now, all I can say is that in the wake of this past summer, I now have at least some small idea of why I am here, and what my mission in this life really is.

I live in a very poor neighborhood, and I see people struggling to make ends meet every day--yet the university I attend is a very wealthy institution that caters (more often than not) to very wealthy students and families. For the past year, TCU has been in the process of constructing a gigantic apartment complex on their grounds--a facility complete with its own parking garage.

Most of the people who ride the bus with me smile when they see the apartment complex and say, "Boy, those are gonna be nice when they're finished, hih?" Some even think about moving there (after all, apartments are just that--apartments--whether they're on a university campus or not).

I don't have the heart to tell them that TCU is planning on charging at least $900 a month for rent.

I'm not a fan of capitalism, never have been. People say it's an economic system of freedom, but it seems to me that if one wants to start a business, one needs to have money first. And if one wants to buy a house or lease a multi-room apartment or raise a family, one has to have a decent job with decent income.

More than that, I see in my neighborhood how capitalism actually inhibits freedom. Most of the people who live where I live are African-American, and it seems that a lot of African-Americans just aren't catching the same kinds of economic breaks that whites in the area have. And the more I talk to people and see how things are played out here (in a community where it seems that people can't manage to move up from poor working class to some semblance of middle class status), the more I understand that the current economic system in the United States generally hurts as many people as it helps.

I wish I could say, with the certainty of an Upton Sinclair, that the solution for this problem is a socialist economy, but the fact is, governments have shown just as much (if not more) capability to conduct themselves callously or incompetently as private corporations have. Also, given the previous century of social, political, and economic upheavals (and our own apparently weak economy), I can't say I'm a fan of sudden broad-scale socioeconomic changes, unless they are changes that redress long-term injustices, such as slavery or Jim Crow.

I'm not sure exactly what the solution is, but I do know that capitalism's most endearing trait is its dependence on buyers. If one begins to make socially conscious decisions (such as not shopping at a store that treats its employees like slaves), and encourages others to do the same, it is, I think, a beginning.

It's August 14, my school is in intercession (between summer and fall) and an episode of (in my mind) unparalleled stupidity between Israel, Hezbollah, Lebanon, and . . . everyone else in the region has ended, at least for now.

All I can say is . . . it's about damn time.

Earlier in my blog, I had talked about a relationship that began a few months ago with someone who had become very special to me--and I also talked (from the first post of my blog onward) about some very deep-seated issues regarding my sexuality.

Jessica is a very special person--the kind of woman I never expected to meet in my lifetime. So pure, so thoughtless of herself, so honest and humble, she is the kind of woman who, in my estimation, is worth dying for, and is worth sacrificing everything for. She has brought more healing into my life than I ever thought possible--especially into my sexuality . . . and the kicker is, we haven't even met in person yet. :)

Yesterday during an IM conversation, she called me "pure" in the area of my sexuality. I had to be convinced. :)

My sexuality, as you can see in reading my first few posts, was for many years an area of deep, intense personal pain for me. Because of a mentality in the church that I'd grown up with about sexuality that labeled experimentation (especially for men) as dirty and shameful, I engaged in a secret life of what I can only describe as binging and purging. I would masturbate like crazy (imagining God knows what) and then spend the next day or two throwing myself into something (usually schoolwork) and pretty much avoiding sexuality altogether. It became a cycle where I'd begin to hold interested college co-eds at arm's length, because I was ashamed to show my sexuality to them.

Somehow, Jessica got through all of that--my barriers, my defenses, and (frankly) my lies ;)--and saw the real person inside me, and she wanted that man badly enough to peel through all of my "covers" to get at him.

She has restored my faith in God (this I've told her several times), but she has also restored my integrity. And for that, I think no "thank you" will suffice short of spending the rest of my life with her.

Well . . .

Israel evidently lied about their 48 hour "lull" in the fighting (as we saw yesterday), and now they have apparently lied about not wanting to invade Lebanon. Meanwhile, Syria's president is heightening his army's state of readiness, and to date (according to cnn.com's latest tally) 557 Lebanese and 51 Israelis (most of them civilians) have died in the conflict.

And where, may I ask, is our President?

I would like just one supporter of the President's line about not seeking a "premature" cease fire to explain to me how the hell two opposing sides in a war are supposed to be expected to negotiate a truce when they are still shooting at each other.

Two days ago, I made a call to fellow bloggers to start a nationwide call to stop the violence. Today I make that call again.

I realize some of you out there would like to see Israel continue its offensive (such as it is) in Lebanon, but while you're cheering them on, consider this: while Israel's neighbors may not have the military firepower to stop the IDF from doing what it wants, they do have the economic power (as members of OPEC) to halt oil production and make nations like the United States squirm.

Do you want higher gas prices? Higher inflation? Higher homeless rates? If you do, I suggest you support this war, because even if OPEC doesn't decide to engage in an oil embargo against the United States, a regional war (which seems more and more likely as a result of the President's refusal to act) will severely disrupt oil production, not the least because it will probably involve weapons of mass destruction (or do you think Israel would actually trust Iran not to use nukes by the time it got that far?).

It is time for people in the Middle East (and apparently for our President as well) to realize that actions have consequences, and if you stand by and support the destruction of an entire country for no reason, you are not noble--you are irresponsible.