The Church Failed Me

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[TRIGGER WARNING: This post contains references to suicide which may be triggering to survivors.]

I have a distinct memory of that night. It was a muggy evening in mid-August. The crickets and the frogs were orchestrating their North Carolina summer night song, and the mosquitos flitted about in the dull yellow glow of the church parking lot lights. As I got into my car, my hands were trembling too badly for me to put the key in the ignition.

I had just finished teaching the high school Wednesday night Bible study class. I had been those kids' unofficial youth minister for a couple months. I was used to talking with them about uncomfortable matters, but this night was different. During our lesson, someone brought up the topic of homosexuality. Instantly, question after question started pouring in. They wanted to know what I thought about it. They wanted to know what our church thought about it. They wanted to know what God thought about it. 

As they each struggled to talk over one another, I took a moment to gain my composure. My heart was racing. My stomach was churning. I felt a sheen of sweat beginning to form on my forehead. I had been doing my very best to keep up my image. The good, "Godly" young lady. The "brave" young woman who stepped up to be the youth leader after our pastor died. An inspiration. A role model. I didn't feel much like a leader in that moment, being bombarded with the kids' slew of questions. I was absolutely petrified. How could I say anything to these kids about homosexuality without giving away the fact that I was queer?

I was desperately tempted to yank the blanket off of the back of my chair and hide underneath it. But as I looked around the room, at each of those kids' faces, I could see their sincerity. This was something that was clearly important to them. They had friends who were queer. They had family members who were queer. Heck, some of them may have even been questioning their own sexuality. It did not matter how afraid I was––I owed it to them to talk about it.

After several failed attempts to start a sentence, I finally closed my eyes and just took a breath. God, I prayed, please just help me say the right thing. I opened my mouth and, though my voice did shake, I spoke. The more I spoke, the more easily the words came. I admitted to them that I didn't have a concrete answer to each of their questions, but I could tell that they simply appreciated being able to talk with someone about the subject, without being silenced or having their thoughts and concerns glossed over or diminished. I could not believe it. They really got it. There was no screaming of Bible verses. There was no promise of damnation. They simply listened and exchanged ideas, and it felt as though everyone walked away with a better understanding of one another.

When that Bible study was over, I was scared to death. Not because we had talked about homosexuality, but because it left me with a strong feeling in the pit of my stomach that I could not ignore. That night, I truly felt called to teach the Christian Church about homosexuality, from the perspective of someone who was experiencing it first hand. When I left church that night, I was afraid, but I felt empowered. I felt like I had finally found my life's purpose.

For a while, I attempted to follow that purpose. I studied every single day. Biblical scholars, university professors, renowned scientists and psychologists, and spiritual leaders––I read every scholarly source I could find on homosexuality. I was passionate and dedicated. I had hope that I could truly make a difference in the church.

It did not take long for that hope to fade. I soon began to feel I was fighting a losing battle. I remember looking into the eyes of the people who would argue against me. There was such anger, such fear, and such absolute disgust. It was very difficult not to take that disgust personally, when I knew that, deep down, I was "one of them."

I did my best to stand by my belief that homosexuality was just a natural part of who some people were, but my spirit soon began to wither. Every single day, I was plagued with the fear that I was going to be damned to hell for all of eternity. My anxiety eventually grew so strong that I had to step down from my position as youth minister. A few weeks later, I ended up in the hospital for attempted suicide.

That point in time was my rock bottom. I felt so terribly alone, and I was surrounded by dozens of other people who felt just as terrible. I talked with them. I learned their stories. Person after person opened up to me, telling me about what had happened to cause them to end up in that place. And every single person I spoke with had a story that revolved around one central theme: feeling unloved and unaccepted. My heart broke for those people. We laughed together. We cried together. We held each other's hands. We did our best to help each other repair the damage that had been done to us by an unkind world.

That hospital stay changed me forever. It was in those gray, listless hospital halls that something inside of me died. It was in that quiet, dark hospital room that I endured those painfully long nighttime hours, in which I desperately tried (and failed) to ignore my roommate's muffled cries. It was as that dingy, stained ceiling stared back at me that I realized the prayers I prayed didn't feel real anymore. It was in that rigid hospital bed, underneath that scratchy beige blanket, that I lost all of my faith in Christianity.

To the church leaders or church members who may read this and think, "But I don't hate gay people!", let me challenge you to take that a step further. It isn't enough to just think there is nothing "sinful" about the LGBTQ+ community – you must speak up. I've got news for you: the overwhelming message that the LGBTQ+ community receives regarding the Christian Church is not one of acceptance. What we experience in the news, across social media, and via most personal interactions is disgust, condemnation, or, at the very least, discomfort. So, if you are one of the "different ones" who does truly support our community, for God's sake, please share that sentiment. If you want to bring more people "into the fold", you absolutely must speak up. It is your responsibility to properly represent the message of God to the world. It isn't enough to think it. Church leaders, especially, I urge you to share your feelings of acceptance with your friends, loved ones, and congregations. And if you're too afraid to share it publicly, at least be willing to share it privately if someone comes to you asking for guidance. There are lives hanging in the balance. All it may take is one word of love and acceptance from you to keep someone safe from suicide.

Here I am now, several years later, and I am happy. I mean, really, happy, in a way I have never been happy before. Happy I didn't die that night. Happy I trusted my gut and finally embraced who I was. And happy I will never have to feel that burden of religious fear again. I am long gone from Christianity and although I usually don't say "never", I know I will never return. "The Church" lost me because of how it treated me as a queer woman. I desperately wanted to hold on to the faith that was deeply important to me, while still being able to be true to who I believed God had created me to be. But the Church failed me, miserably. By the time I realized there was a growing number of churches out there that didn't think I was going to burn in hell for eternity, it was too late. The damage had already been done, and I had such a bitter taste in my mouth that any possibility of me ever being able to reconcile my "faith" with who I was as a queer woman was ruined.

That being said, it is refreshing to know that religious folks' minds are beginning to change. It gives me hope that maybe future generations of religious queer folk won't have to pick between their faith and their sexual orientation or gender identity. Maybe, in the future, our queer folk will have a place they feel like they truly belong – not a place where they are simply tolerated, but embraced. Maybe, future generations of religious folk will not just talk the talk of being "Christ-like", but actually walk the walk as well. I have hope that, one day, us queer folk will be cherished for all of the precious gifts and unique perspectives we have to offer.

If you are thinking about suicide, or have a loved one you are worried about, The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is available 24/7 across the United States. Please call 1-800-273-8255.

If you are a young LGBTQ+ person in crisis, The Trevor Lifeline offers a safe, judgment-free place to talk. Please call 866-488-7386.

If you are looking for a Christian church that will be accepting of you no matter your sexual orientation or gender identity, try looking for Presbyterian, Evangelical Lutheran, Episcopal, or United Church of Christ churches in your area. Many churches of these denominations are affirming congregations. If you are looking for a spiritual community not directly associated with one specific religion, try looking for Unitarian Universalist churches in your area. Virtually every UU church is affirming. Gaychurch.org provides an Affirming Church Directory™ which is very helpful for finding such churches near you.

I Will Not Apologize

Photo by Tiduckman

If I asked those of you who know me to describe me with one word that sums up my nature, I wonder how you would respond. I imagine most of you would say “passionate”, “dramatic”, or perhaps “tough”, “assertive”, or “unabashed”. And while I would instinctively consider each of those terms a great compliment, you would be wrong. Don’t worry, it’s not your fault. To most of you who know me, that is how I present myself to you - loud and proud, unapologetic, and tenacious. But, oh, how I must tell you, I am an actress - an out and out fraud. That seemingly unwavering vigor you see on a regular basis is simply a thick skin I wear to protect me from the outside world. Underneath, there is nothing more than a tender, weary little girl whose spirit is so delicate its a miracle she’s still alive.

I am too soft for this world, and I learned that as a child. This world did not make sense to me. Everything was too fast, too restrained, too austere. I couldn’t understand why everyone didn’t get misty-eyed from a gentle sunset, or fall apart at the slightest sight of suffering. But I quickly discovered that people who did do those things would never “make it” in this world of ours. They were too frail, too easily stepped on or overlooked. I learned that I had to be tough to fit in. I turned my tender heartache into biting sarcasm and dry humor. I carefully concealed my fears, pain, and fragility, and only allowed it to come out occasionally in a poem or a painting, never to be shared with another soul. I transformed my sorrow for the world into a passionate outcry against injustice. As the years went by, I became a master at adapting my wispy, sentimental heart into something more acceptable in the eyes of our world. And I have done this so much so that I have almost completely lost myself in the process.

Out of nowhere, it just hit me this morning, and it has left me utterly breathless - if my inner soul saw my outer likeness, I don’t think the two would recognize one another at all. Nothing has changed internally since those many years ago. My heart still breaks at the slightest touch. All it takes is a beautiful morning sky, a moving story, a clichéd love song, or an adorable animal, and I’m in tears, sometimes for hours or even days. My soul is as gentle and fragile as the wing of a butterfly. And what is so terrible about that? I have been so ashamed of that for so long, because I have been worried that people will write me off as weak or acquiescent. But what I have missed in the process is that being sensitive is my most precious gift. That sensitivity gives me doorways into worlds that many people will never be able to even catch sight of. To continue to stifle that vulnerability would be a grave injustice to myself and the world. Yes, our world needs those loud, brazen people to break through barriers and blaze trails for others. But this world needs us sensitive flowers just as desperately.

Photo from Times Higher Education

To borrow a metaphor used so often by a dear role model of mine, Glennon Doyle, we are the canaries in the coal mine. Our sensitivity to the more subtle, emotional facets of life can help others become more gentle, and more connected with one another and with all of the universe. I am finally beginning to see my true self as something to be nurtured and cherished, not concealed and altered. To hell with “fitting in” with the “real world”. That is not who I am.

I think my heart was just meant to break. Instead of fighting against that, and trying to be something I am not, I must boldly hold up that broken heart in my trembling hand and show the world: This is okay. There is nothing wrong with being soft. There is nothing wrong with being different. Even just writing these words it feels as though an enormous burden has been lifted from my shoulders. So, I take a vow today to start gently peeling away the layers of hardness I have worked so long to pack on. Today, I make a promise to myself to stop apologizing for who I really am, even if it means I “fit in” less with the world. I challenge you to do the same.

~Ember

"You don't LOOK sick."

Since September 28 - October 4 is Invisible Illness Awareness Week, I felt it would be an appropriate time to share my own story.

About three years ago, I began having digestive problems. I would be very hungry, but when I started to eat, I immediately felt full. My stomach hurt most of the time. I had heartburn after almost every meal. Numerous doctor visits left me with nothing but frustration. I kept being told I was "fine", but the way I felt told me otherwise. I sought out a gastroenterologist. I was given ultrasounds, MRIs, and upper endoscopies, but all of the results came back "fine". My gastroenterologist told me I had acid reflux and prescribed me with an antacid. When I asked my gastroenterologist about why I was experiencing other symptoms that are not caused by acid reflux, he said to me, "Oh, that's just your anxiety." Mind you, the only reason he knew I had anxiety is because I had mentioned it on my patient form. I wonder what he would have blamed the symptoms on if I had not told him I had anxiety.

I felt crazy. I knew something was wrong with me, but well respected doctors kept telling me I was "fine". I took the prescribed antacid for almost a year––all the while, not having heartburn, but still having virtually all of my other symptoms. I eventually had to quit taking it, because my insurance stopped covering it and I could no longer afford it. Just a few months later, the symptoms began to get bad again. I figured there was no point in going to a doctor because they would just dismiss me, so I just dealt with it. I would numb out the pain with various substances, but I knew something was still wrong with me.

After I graduated from college in May of this year, I moved to Colorado. Just days after moving, the same old symptoms started kicking in, hard. I got to the point where in the middle of every single meal, I would start having severe stomach pain, feel really full, get clammy and lightheaded, and run to the bathroom to throw up. I knew this was not "fine". I talked to my boss about what was going on and she suggested I go see a local naturopathic doctor. I was skeptical but, at the same time, I figured I had nothing left to lose. Going to that doctor was the best decision I could have made. She was attentive, compassionate, and very well educated. She listened to me as though she actually gave a shit about what I was going through. After speaking with her for an hour about my symptoms and struggles, and running several tests, she diagnosed me with Gastroparesis.

The word "Gastroparesis" means "paralyzed stomach", and that is exactly what it is. Part of my stomach is paralyzed, which makes it very difficult for my body to digest food. The food I eat just sits there for hours, or even days, which causes a lot of pain, nausea, and lethargy. Very little is known about this illness because very little research has been done on it. Gastroparesis is often claimed to be "rare", but it actually affects 1 in 25 Americans. 80% of those with Gastroparesis are young women. The causes of Gastroparesis vary, but most of the time, the cause is unknown.

I almost started crying right there in her office. It felt so good to just know that I actually had something––that I wasn't crazy. The best thing about my naturopathic doctor was that she gave me options. She did not just prescribe me a pill and send me on my way. She suggested a diet plan for my illness. She explained to me several different natural remedies for managing the symptoms. I decided to give the bitters and digestive enzymes a try. After a couple of weeks, I really started to see a difference. My stomach was only hurting a few times out of the week, instead of every day. I could eat without feeling full. And, most importantly to me, I was not throwing up.

I am very grateful for my doctor in Colorado, because I would likely still be debilitated if I had not met her. Nonetheless, Gastroparesis is an incurable illness. It is something I have to deal with every day of my life. I try to keep a smile on, as much as I can, because I think it helps me not focus on the pain. But sometimes, the pain is too much. It may not visible to the outside world, but it is there. All it takes is eating something that my stomach decides does not sit well, and I am doubled over in the fetal position on the floor, crying. Since my body cannot digest food properly, I lack many of the nutrients I need, so I have to take a boatload of vitamins. That still does not solve everything though, and I am gradually losing weight because of it.

It is difficult to look in the mirror and wonder if my face looks even thinner. It is difficult to ignore how loose my clothes feel. It is difficult to have to cancel plans with people because I do not have the energy to get out of bed. It is difficult trying to decide if I should tell the person I am hanging out with that I am in pain, or if I will just annoy them with my complaining. It is difficult to have to constantly rely on my girlfriend to help me because I am in too much pain to do it myself. Don't get me wrong, I am getting much better at learning how to cope, but this illness does not go away. It is always there. It plays a part in every decision I make. I think about it every hour of every day. Most days aren't too bad. But then, every once in a while, it is almost crippling.

That is why I want to share Invisible Illness Awareness Week with you. If you do know someone with a chronic illness, try to remember that they are doing the best they can. It means the world to have people in my life who are patient with my struggles. Be that person to someone. And remember, you may have no idea of the kind of pain someone is going through. Try to be kind.

Check out G-PACT and consider donating to research and development for this chronic illness.

Also, check out Suffering the Silence, an online community for patients, friends, and family to share and witness the true living experience of chronic disease. On Instagram @sufferingthesilence .

An LGBTQIA+ Woman's Responses to the Conservative Christian Marriage Equality Panic

As you already know, unless you have been under a rock for the past several days, the SCOTUS ruled same-sex marriage legal in all of the United States. Unsurprisingly, this has caused quite a stir among the Conservative Christian community. I have seen a few posts showcasing some of the Conservative Christian responses to the SCOTUS ruling. So, without further ado, here are an LGBTQIA+ woman's responses to the Conservative Christian marriage equality panic.

1. Your freedom of religion is not "under attack."
No one is forcing pastors to hire LGBTQIA+ people, no one is forcing pastors to officiate same-sex weddings, and no one is forcing Christians to attend same-sex weddings. Your right to believe what you believe has not been taken away. You can continue to believe whatever it is you believe. If you don't think that same-sex couples should marry, fine and dandy. But that doesn't mean you can keep it from becoming law, which leads me to the next point.

2. The United States is not a Theocracy.
This country is not a church. This country is not a bible camp. This country is a country. Believe it or not, the "Founding Fathers" of this country did not set out here to establish a "Christian nation." Quite the contrary, in fact. The United States of America was founded on the principles of reason, not faith. This country was founded out of a strong desire for freedom, which, like it or not, actually means freedom for everyone, not just you. Not everyone is a Christian. That is kind of the whole point of religious freedom protections in the First Amendment, which states that establishment of a national religion is forbidden. By demanding that the U.S. follow the "laws of God," you are, in fact, violating the First Amendment and infringing upon other non-Christian Americans' rights.

3. There is no such thing as "traditional marriage."
Since the institution of marriage has been around far longer than Christianity, I feel the first and most obvious point to note here is that marriage does not belong to Christianity. What's more, when we take a look at history, it is quite clear that marriage did not begin as a a voluntary act of devotion and love between one man and one woman. To focus for a moment on the religious text that "traditional marriage" proponents so often use to defend their position, it is important to note that even the bible itself does not clearly establish one true definition of marriage. The bible gives several varying definitions of marriage, including polygamy, union of a rapist and his victim, as well as giving the husband the go ahead to have his wife stoned if she cannot prove her virginity. Not to mention, the most common biblical "family unit" is a polygamous one. So, to try to use the bible to give us one clear definition of marriage is, quite frankly, pointless.

Marriage has been around for so long that to try and pinpoint the specific time and place that it began would be impossible. However, it is safe to say that for a long time, marriage was about property, ownership, and practicality. It was an arranged, legally binding contract in which the participants had little say. It was not until recent years that marriage became focused more on love than on legal contracts and practicality. However, even today, the concept of marriage for love is vastly different within various cultures. Furthermore, there are still many cultures whose understandings of marriage means something other than one man and one woman (polygamy, polyandry, etc.).

No matter the specifics, it is certain that marriage always has been, and always will be, an evolving entity. This step to bring LGBTQIA+ relationships into the fold is just one more step in that evolution. I can assure you, it will not dismantle all of modern society. (I can also assure you that the probability of same-sex marriage opening the doors for marriages of beastiality and pedophilia is slim to none. There's a big piece missing there, called consent.)

4. God is not going to "send judgment" upon the United States because of this ruling.
This concept that God will send judgment upon a nation because of its wickedness (plucked straight from the tales of the Old Testament and packaged nicely with a big, flashy, fear-mongering bow), only works if you actually apply it to all of reality. In case you had forgotten, the United States is not the only place that exists. According to the typical Christian belief, God created the entire world, and therefore, I am assuming, God would judge the entire world––not just the U.S.
Since Germany was not consumed by a lake of fire after the Holocaust, and all of the U.S. was not wiped out after the abhorrent disgrace that was slavery, I think it's safe to say that the U.S. is not going to be swallowed up into a black hole of despair because I can now marry my girlfriend in any one of the 50 states.

5. If you continue to shut people out, your churches will die.
For most people, rejection hurts. When one is turned away for something that is a very part of their nature, that hurt is increased tenfold. Now, most pastors and church members I have talked with have said, "We do not turn anyone away from our church! Our doors are always open to gay people." Let me let you all in on a little secret. Just because you do not physically turn LGBTQIA+ people away from your churches, does not mean you aren't turning them away. Let me tell you from personal experience, being told that you "love me" but then immediately following with aggressive "suggestions" on how I can "ward off my sexual immorality," does not make me want to walk anywhere near your church doors. I do not want to be told about what needs to be done to "fix" me. There is nothing wrong with who I am. There is, however, something profoundly wrong with a place of "community" that only accepts people upon the premise that they will be "fixed" one day. How about showing a little bit of love, like Jesus did, and just accept people as they are?

A poem

Just a little something I made from blackout poetry in the newspaper.

I drew something to go along with it (at the bottom of the page).

____________________________________________________________________

Yes, I lied

My long distance winter dream–

it was wrong

Began to see

I was on

the edge

Feels like coming full circle now

Do not give up

I care – really, I do

My biggest challenge

Reminding you my conflict

is within

I think the spirit

can be repaired

I am not better – 

but you are best

You are strong

When it comes to moving our mountains

I first must change,

I know

But telling our story to filmmakers,

that's what we will do

Ignite – energy – life

Sweetheart, my angel

I can't believe how much

I love you

Effortlessly–

always

Just two little words

The words always stick a little in my throat.

"I'm gay."

Do I hesitate because I am ashamed?

Hell no. I am magnificent. I love every single little piece of my puzzle. 

No, the reason I hesitate - aside from the fact that I feel a little uncomfortable because there is no real label that feels right when I try to apply it - is because there is always that question in the back of my mind: How will this person react?

Will there be a long, uncomfortable silence?

Will they start telling me about their third cousin, twice removed, who they all thought might have been "that way"?

Will someone tell me how they could never possibly be attracted to someone of the same sex?

Will someone tell me how this or that religious text says I am a violation of nature?

Will a woman say, "We can still be friends...as long as you don't try to get in my pants!"

Will a man say, "Sweet! Can I watch?" Or even worse, will he say, "Oh, you just haven't had the right man yet. I can be the one to change that."

How can two little words generate such a loaded response from nearly everyone who hears them?

You would think that who I am attracted to, who I have sex with, and who I love would be no one else's business. In fact, you would think it would be of little importance whatsoever in the grand scheme of things. 

After all, in what world would I be denied entry to a restaurant or a store because I happen to like women?

In what world would it be okay to ask me if I was molested as a child, because that would "explain things"?

In what world would it be okay to ask if you can watch me and my girlfriend be intimate because you've "never seen anything like that before"?

In what world would it be acceptable to subject a child to harmful "corrective practices" because he liked other little boys instead of girls?

In what world would people be able to legally decide whether or not I get to marry to the woman I love?

In what world would a man be murdered because he was attracted to other men?

In what world would I be considered less than human because I am in love with another woman?

Oh, yeah, that's right...this world. This world, where who turns me on is more important than who I am. This world, where we care more about what is going on inside someone's bedroom than what is going on inside oh, I don't know, our nation's government, for example. That's the world we're living in, just in case you hadn't realized. 

To Put God in a Box

I was sixteen years old. Sitting in my car, scanning the yard to make sure no one else was around, I turned up the volume and sang along to these words:

You are my desire

No one else will do

'Cause no one else can take your place

To feel the warmth of your embrace

The words belonged to a then-popular contemporary Christian band, no doubt referencing what they deemed as the comfort found in God's presence. However, I wasn't taking part in an act of Christian worship. I was apprehensively singing the words while thinking of her...my first real "girl crush" (think dramatic, unrequited high school love). My heart was pounding. I desperately kept pushing out the word that threatened to invade my consciousness: blasphemy. Not only was I thinking about the words of a Christian song in reference to something other than God, but to a forbidden, homosexual lover at that. I distinctly remember saying to myself, "You're going to go to hell, Danielle."

Flash forward five years. My mom, my sisters, my girlfriend, and I were at a mega Christian conference, geared specifically towards teenagers. It was time for the first speaker of the conference and the topic he was bringing was a doozy: "Being Truly Committed to God in a World that Has Fallen Under the Rule of Satan." As the speaker began, the lights dimmed and the air in the auditorium gradually got cooler. I halfway expected thunder sound effects to start playing in the background. As I rolled my eyes and tried to stifle a groan, I peered down the aisle at my youngest sister, who was twelve years old at the time. Her eyes were wide, her lips tight, her brow furrowed––I could tell that the speaker already had her full attention. This, of course, worried me but I decided to see how things played out. About two-thirds of the way through the "sermon"––as I was starting to taste blood from biting my tongue so hard––the speaker caught my attention. He practically shouted, "You kids these days are so caught up in your own interests that you have neglected God." Then, the low blow. "All you girls care more about One Direction than you do about God!" My heart sank. I looked to my sister, a hardcore "Directioner." Her face immediately went pale and her lower lip began to tremble. I had a "déja vu" moment, seeing in her eyes the same fear I had felt in my car five years earlier: blasphemy. A few uncalled for, melodramatic accusations later, the speaker wrapped it up with the classic "altar call," beckoning all the teens who needed to "make God number one" to close their eyes and pray the "sinner's prayer."

God, I am a sinner.
I know I deserve punishment but Jesus died
on the cross to save me from that.
Now I ask Jesus Christ to become my personal
savior and lord of my life. Amen.

I listened to hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of teenagers recite that prayer. I glanced over at my sister and saw her repeating the words with tears streaming down her cheeks. My face flushed and my jaw tightened. After the prayer was over, the speaker prompted everyone who had prayed that prayer to come to the back and speak with a counselor. My sister, bless her heart, who was crying so hard she had the snuffles, began walking that way. Naturally, I followed. I stayed with her and let her talk with me. As I held her in my arms, she cried to me, saying, "I'm sorry I love One Direction so much. I don't want to go to hell." The genuine remorse and borderline terror in her trembling voice was positively heartbreaking. How dare someone make my twelve-year-old sister feel contemptible and terrified because of her simple fondness for a boy band? To make matters worse, a couple of counselors essentially kidnapped her from me, forbidding me to come with them because they needed to "be alone with her" to get her "real story."

I was absolutely livid. As I stood there, fuming, my girlfriend rubbing my back in an attempt to calm me down, I watched the dialogue taking place between the counselors and my sister. I couldn't hear what they were saying but I watched her expression morph from afraid, to confused, to defeated. After they finished talking, she walked over to me, her shoulders slumped.

"What is it?" I asked.
"I have to get baptized," she mumbled.
"Do you want to get baptized?"
"Not really," she admitted bashfully. "But I guess I have to."

I spent the next two hours trying to repair the damage that had been done to my sister's understanding of the Divine, assuring her that she was not a horrible person because she liked One Direction, and that there was absolutely no reason why she should get baptized unless she genuinely wanted to.

Recently, I have read a couple of pieces that served to partially inspire my thoughts on this subject. One was, "A Baptist Meets the Buddha, Part One," by my friend, the Reverend Dr. Marc Boswell. The other was "After God's Birth, Play," by my friend and former professor, Dr. Hollis Phelps.

In Boswell's piece, he discusses the perpetual internal tug-of-war he has faced since young adulthood between his Free Will Baptist background and his proclivity towards the teachings and practices of Buddhism. Boswell reflects on the feelings of shame and anxiety that he experienced when he first discovered his appreciation for the Buddhist tradition, as well as the ways in which he has come to reconcile that tension, now finding "spiritual sustenance provided by these Buddhist traditions."

In Phelps' piece, a commentary on LeRon Shults' Theology After the Birth of God, he considers, among other things, what it looks like to explore religion and theology creatively, suggesting that we should "play with religious and theological concepts the way that a child plays with a disused object, without regard to where it came from and for what it was/is originally for."

I can deeply relate to both Boswell's and Phelps' sentiments. I have often found far greater solace in the Buddhist tradition than I ever found in Christianity (at least, that is, the brand of Christianity to which I was exposed). I was long afraid to embrace that solace for fear of retribution from the unmerciful and exacting God to whom I had been taught to fully submit. What's more, I believe that very fear stemmed from the skepticism with which Christianity had taught me to regard my creative exploration of the Divine. Why do so many religious traditions do this? Why is striking fear into our children through guilt and threats of damnation our method for teaching them about the Divine? Why have so many of us been taught that when it comes to dealing with the subject of the Divine, we should mistrust our imaginations and immense capacity for creativity? In teaching this, we rob our children (and ourselves!) of the full richness and beauty that spiritual creativity has to offer. Imagination is, I think, the very essence of theological and spiritual thought.

A guy in my neighborhood has a bumper sticker on his car that says, "God is too big to be confined to one religion." I agree, but I think it must be taken even one step further: God is too vast, too enigmatic, too complex, to be perceived in an unimaginative way. To put the Divine in a box, to over-define it, to reduce it to one solitary, fixed perception, is to do ourselves, the Divine, and all of Creation a grave injustice.

It is my sincere hope that our society will strive to break down the abundance of barriers that imprison the imaginative nature of the Divine. In doing so, we can move towards a spirituality that expands our minds, fosters a sense of community and a respect for diversity, and galvanizes us to be revolutionary pioneers of love and justice.