"God has placed us together for a specific reason — that the times, stories, and experiences we share are beneficial for each other," she said. This led to discussion about how community requires vulnerability. Even with a wide open invitation, I remained a silent listener in the community.
When the call came, it wasn't that I couldn't hear it; it was that I had no interest in obeying. For Jonah, that call was Nineveh. For me? It was coming out. My "solution" for my sexuality was quite simple: I'd tell no one, become straight, and then move on with my life. A secret I'd die keeping rather than ever share; I could hardly admit it to myself, let alone another human.
The voices flooded my mind. How useless am I not to protect the females on the team? I am so weak. I am nothing like the other guys on the team. What am I even doing here?! With all that had been going on, my team director decided to have a chat with me.
Did I want to be in leadership, or did that role need to be filled? I felt inadequate. To lead. To be an example. To show my non-Christian roommates Jesus and love. To be a good friend.
Intimacy is scary, and intimacy is vulnerable. Intimacy can be shared or rejected. Intimacy is special and sacred, and intimacy is everyday. Intimacy is sexual and emotional, physical and spiritual. Join Tom, Ryan, and Jacob in the first of a two-part deep dive into intimacy. The brothers define intimacy, likening it to a fire, discussing the differences and nuances between intimacy and vulnerability. They also talk about their first forays into intimacy many years ago and what the cornerstone of their most intimate relationships has been.
This Lent, I'm giving up masturbation. And I realize that might sound really wrong or off or like I clearly didn't grow up in a liturgical tradition and have no idea how this Lent thing even works. But regardless. I'm doing it. I'm not masturbating for the next few weeks. It may not quite be a "fast" by technical, theological terms. But it's a necessary refocusing.
How was I to respond to my friend's declaration? After everything that had happened in France, I felt even more confused about relationships and sexuality. My faith seemed in limbo, without much support from my summer community, so I didn't know where to put my friend in my life and understanding of faith.
Whenever I struggled, I sent my friend a message and he encouraged me. By all accounts, I started doing better with my depression. But that's how codependency can look at the start -- a "healthy" accountability relationship.
The guilt was overwhelming. How would I tell anybody what I had done? What would they think of me? Beyond other people, how would these events impact my faith? Where was Jesus during all of this?
I don't wonder to myself: Have I, as an adult, ever embraced another man shirtless like this before? This isn't that kind of intimacy.