Faithfulness is being beaten to a bloody, messy pulp and still saying, "God, I trust you." Faithfulness is f–ing hard s–. And it has hurt me deeply this year – deeper than I ever imagined possible.
Twice within the span of a year, my passion and my future was taken from me. The future I strove for changed without my permission. The ways I influenced and encouraged others – stolen.
I am fallen. Identity in Christ aside, I am still in a body of sin and death, as Paul said. I fight a fallen flesh every single day. How can I be good? How can goodness be a fruit of mine?
What if kindness as a fruit of the Spirit simply meant your unconscious approach to others – and even to yourself – was to help instead of judge? What if kindness manifested itself in the simple idea that when you see someone in need or hurting or broken, you desire to care for them before you desire to know how it happened?
I feel my Christian community lacking and also the LGBTQ+ community lacking. What is one supposed to do? I think we Christians who are LGBTQ+/SSA can and must push a more compelling narrative – one rooted in the Bible. The church is for all who are repentant, not just the straight ones who are repentant.
I desire so greatly to be in heaven in the presence of my God and Savior. Yet I still wait. And wait. Every day with a reminder of my imperfections through a fallen world, broken relationships, and a scarred gender identity. Every day I long for Christ's return. Is this how I live out patience as a queer man?
Being LGBT+ means that I am often in a turbulent place. Either I am around other Christians who don't understand my identity, or I am around other LGBT+ individuals who don't understand my convictions, or I am around people who cannot grasp either thing.
While I often complain about a lack of community, I also keep people at a distance. Only during this socially distant time of coronavirus have I realized something: maybe my community felt lacking because I wanted it to solve all my problems. And finding a community that felt authentic, one where I could be vulnerable, couldn't exist because I wasn't connected with Jesus.
I don't feel like having peace. Peace won't give my family income. Peace won't solve the financial burdens of two massive ministries. Peace won't cure the coronavirus or bring back canceled jobs or put food on the table or anything. Peace won't do anything I want it to do right now. So, what good is it?
The Covid-19 pandemic has become something of an "isolation equalizer." People everywhere are living in tension and isolation with businesses closed, services restricted, and life as we've known it ground to a halt. We are, all of us, isolated. And yet there is tremendous opportunity to unite in our shared isolation.