The secret to spirituality...
and some of my secrets.
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Last week, I took a quick business trip to Kentucky — and happened to pass through the little town of Asbury. You might recall that Asbury University made national headlines over a huge “revival” that lasted for weeks. People from around the world flocked to the gorgeous campus, knelt in the grass and overwhelmed the town. The two coffee shops certainly felt the Holy Spirit!
I remember those days, grasping for God at my Christian college (now defunct). Powerful energies are afoot when people come together for a common purpose. Christian songs are written in particular chords to strike at the heart and champion a lifelong dedication to Christ. It’s very seductive.
March on, victorious! Broken, broken, broken.
When I stopped for a smoothie break, the first thing I noticed were empty storefronts. Like most drive-through towns, there was an Asbury, and then there was an Asbury. Whether the Holy Spirit was still there, I couldn’t say — but a hologram flashed while standing outside the shop. Born-againer, amplified and focused. Chapel. Gospel Team. Prayers that the New Age store would close. Lesbian. Tarot reader. Writer. Unreligious.
Asbury could have easily been my old college town. You can take the girl out of the church, but you can’t take the church out of the girl. Hallelujah!
But I’ll tell you a secret from that time. I carried a distressing unhappiness, despite a solid commitment to a devotional life. It was pushed aside as lack of faith, the enemy’s test, God’s test, low blood sugar. Being faithful meant following the rules: you will be straight, you will marry a man if you choose, you will follow the path and become a member of the church. You will not doubt and if you do, your brothers and sisters will hold you accountable. You will not cuss, have sex outside of marriage, drink, dance, listen to secular music. You will be modestly wealthy, humble and never brag. You will listen to men, submit to their authority and never preach.
I tried. I really did. So did all of the gay kids. We didn’t want to be ostracized or hated. We tried to find our place in a monotheist religion that had no room for the feminine, let alone the freaks.
Two simple choices: hide and marry the opposite sex. Admit who you are — and leave the church for good.
If you think that the modern evangelical church has room for gay people now, you are sadly mistaken. In fact, I respect churches who hold a hard line with the (mistranslated) Bible verses, rather than weak-willed pastors who don’t commit to a view on gay people. At least they walk their walk.
It’s not like I have to show up at 11am on Sunday ever again!
I used to hate Christians after leaving the church. I hated their smug intolerance. Their delight in hurting others. Their reductive views on God and the cosmos. Their joy over innumerable gay men (including a college acquaintance) who died of AIDS. Their lack of respect for Nature. That’s present day. We won’t get into the mass slaughter and power plays over the centuries of the Catholic/Christian churches to keep their flock in line.
I hated them, because I hated myself. And yet . . . my heart was broken.
It took a long time to heal from the wounds given by Christians. Well-meaning, malicious, blind Christians. Decades of therapy. I stopped talking to God because the God of that church didn’t want me. Relationships came and went — but taught valuable lessons. There was always the choice to come back to the flock, if I was willing to be straight or a celibate gay. The door was open, if only I would see the light.
But I knew the truth, even then. I knew who I was and wouldn’t submit. Never. I was not a lost sheep. No crying out to be saved.
I would tell the truth — my truth. That was my power. To reveal.
Yet each time an outmoded belief was cast aside, fear bubbled up.
God won’t be happy. You’re in trouuubbbble!
A palm reader pointed to a diamond shape in my left hand a few years ago.
If you hadn’t been protected, you see this? Terrible suffering. You would have committed suicide by the time you were 40. Possible sexual violence, too. She pointed to a line on my right. That slash indicates how you made a dramatic turn and changed your life.
The secret to spirituality is finding a way — after all the pain — to like yourself. I won’t even say love. You must find a way to look in the mirror and say, No matter what, I’ll never leave you.
Love can come later. Even GOD can come later.
Because at the end of this particular persona, we either die and that’s it — no consciousness — or we continue on, conscious.
Who comes with you? You.
The you. The great You. The you who survived and carried on. The you who loved and hated and messed everything up, then laughed and said, It wasn’t real anyway.
Just you.