re-building broken faith

(hat tip to Peterson)

When I was young, in college, I was totally involved in the Jesus Movement. I was so happy to find other friends who believed TOTALLY in Jesus like I did. I got involved through those friends with a group known either as the Glory Barn or Faith Assembly (of near North Webster, Indiana). (Both titles are sometimes interchanged, but are actually separate groups with the same people in each one. I know that is confusing, but it verifies that I know what I'm talking about.)

What did I believe? Specifically, I want to share what I understood about communication between myself and God.

To start, I believed that God would speak to me, personally. Sometimes it occurred through the Bible. While reading ancient texts, I received personal messages that I accepted for my daily "walk." I also believed that God could speak to me through other people, as they "heard in their spirit" what God was leading - through personal "prophecy," or intuitive leanings. And most personally, I believed that if I prayed, God would lead me. I always knew that God would speak, if I listened, and answer my prayers. And once, I even knew that God told me, "You belong together," and I heard this in a real, audible voice.

Who was God speaking about? Well, I was praying about the love that had grown between me and a very special young man. I didn't want to keep building up my hopes for a future with him, if, in fact, it wasn't God's will that we should marry. And in my simple faith, I heard that voice. I always told others, because it was a great story, that I looked up through the leaves of a tree outside my window, and as the moonlight streamed in, all around me, I heard it. And I knew it was not the voice of either a man or a woman, but a strong, yet gentle, clear, voice from heaven. I knew I had a message of direction.

That was in July of 1974, and Ray and I were married in March of 1975.

For nearly 30 years I never doubted either the love or the direction that our lives had taken. And then Ray told me that he was gay. I've shared so much of that story, but I have not been able to share how much that affected my faith.

How do you deal with it when you realize that a cornerstone of your faith is shattered? I've said before that no word can describe how that felt. Not only was I doubting the love I'd always felt, but my very faith didn't even make sense. I'd heard God speak! I'd been taught that God never changes! I've been faithful to God, and I'd been taught that if you live for God, God honors that!

I went in mental circles trying to reason it out. For months I couldn't concentrate, and I even had trouble praying. Nothing added up any more to make a whole anything. And now, we were no longer going to be together! Didn't I always know that God had led me, led us? Not only was I having to face that it was better for Ray to leave, but the center of how I'd known God to lead me, was now broken. How could I possibly, ever, pray or believe? How could I possibly, ever, love?

How?

Was it possible?

To Believe?

It was in my mind that I should run away. I tried to keep steady in day-to-day life. I had a lot of responsibilities, and I kept putting one thing ahead of me at a time. I was constantly re-organizing my self-concept, my beliefs, my view of how the world worked, and how God was or was not there for me in this troubled time. It took time - and I had help by things other people had written, said, and a very few, a small handful of friends.

And gradually I learned that I still had Ray. He had not changed, but he was finally open and honest with who he was and how God made him to be. In all, our love has not changed, and I thank Ray for that. Even though we divorced, I'd never have made it this far if it was not for him.

And I also couldn't get away from my faith in God. Despite a broken heart, a lost marriage, and the changes in EVERYTHING about my life, I still knew that for some reason, God really had spoken to me all those years ago, when I heard: You belong together. No, it's not the same, and it surely isn't what I expected when I first heard those words, but there's a purpose in what I do now. My faith is changed, and how I understand God's direction. I've been through the worst, and, thankfully, I still believe. There's been no damage just because I have questioned God. God is still leading and I'm re-building my faith.

When I watched this video that I found on Peterson Toscano's blog, I knew I wanted to share it. I've been where this composer wrote from, and from where the character sings...

I'm standing up, saying: Enough. Gay people are dying. It's wrong.

(this is an excerpt from a longer essay)

In 1975 my husband and I had become full-Gospel, charismatic, tongue-talking, Bible-carrying believers, and we thought that Jesus was the answer to everything. We had faith, and faith was the key to everythng: health, prosperity, happiness. We knew that if the Bible said it, it was for us to "claim." We "claimed" for ourselves verses like Mark 11:22 "...Whoever says to this mountain, 'be removed and be cast into the sea' and does not doubt in his heart, but believes that those things he says will be done, and he will have whatever he says."

Our preacher, Dr. Hobart Freeman, as well as many other charismatic teachers of the time (that we eventually were told by Freeman to disregard because they didn't show "true faith"), taught us what it meant when in Hebrews it said, "Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." We were to have faith not merely for salvation, but for ALL things that we needed: a home, an income, a family. And medical needs, including home-birth deliveries of our children. And a nice car, maybe even a Cadillac like Freeman himself drove. For the men, a full beard. Clear skin for the women. Broken bones were to be neither straightened nor set except by way of prayer. No need for a doctor but sometimes you could use a dentist. And you must only use real butter in your home-made cakes. Women were not to work outside the home. Insurance showed that you didn't have faith. Only certain jobs were "approved." Don't wear glasses, because Jesus died for your "healing." And the legalism extended on and on - to the clothing, the brand of shoes, and whether or not ears could be pierced and still hold on to your salvation.

As faith was applied to serious illness like cancer, natural childbirth without the aid of a doctor or licensed midwife, and when chronic diseases were ignored in favor of "faith for healing," people began to die. A friend, Alice, as well as her unborn baby, died after she labored for days without medical treatment. Judy's full-term baby was stillborn. One baby died due to the fact that it would show "lack of faith" to suction the mucous from the baby's nose and throat. One report says that there were as many as 52 deaths associated with Faith Assembly and Freeman's teachings.

In the fall of 1975, six months after we married, and when I was pregnant for our first child, we packed up our stuff and left in the night, telling almost no one, and we moved to live nearer our parents.

Meanwhile, with all the peer pressure of that group, Faith Assembly, neither we nor anyone else ever stood up to Freeman or his circle of ministers and said, "Enough. People are dying. It doesn't work. You're wrong." For all the good intentions and spiritual goals, for several years mothers giving birth continued to die needlessly, babies and children suffered with treatable illnesses, and others were orphaned when their parents wanted to be healed by faith at ALL costs. Finally Hobart Freeman himself died, yet I think there are still devout followers who hang on the the illusion that it was the people who erred, not Freeman himself. How wrong and how sad because many even turned from God altogether - they'd suffered enough. My descriptions cannot show how badly families deteriorated as the direct result of this cult of "faith." Many were left in the wake of cultish behavior, and it was all in the name of Christ.

Fast forward to the present. The group I've described seems way-out and out-of-touch. It's seen as legalistic and radical to think that to show your faith it is required to disregard medical treatment. Whether or not you wear a certain brand of clothing does not prove anything about your spiritual walk with God. And surely we have moved toward women taking full advantage of the opportunities and career paths.

And yet today, Christians are still trying to apply principles of faith to something that does not work: they think faith can change the sexual orientation of gay people. Despite medical and psychological evidence, first-person accounts, and the witness left by the suicides of so many, why is it that so few Christians will STAND UP to say, "Enough. Gay people are dying. It doesn't work. You're wrong." Having come out of that cult of faith-mentality, it still applies to this area, and I'm standing up, calling it wrong. I see it as the same thing - and I'm not so timid as I was when I left in the night!

Just like at Faith Assembly where people needlessly died because they believed so desperately, there are young people (and old) who feel that being gay is a sin and their solution is death at their own hand. Let's not let more young people die over this!

Even more, groups today like Focus on the Family, who have hypocritically turned away from Ted Haggard and his family, yet put out negative information about the movie, "Prayers for Bobby," think that any opposing evidence will hurt their cause. Many churches, where I've heard them say that it is the "gay lifestyle," that causes suicide, will not accept that really it is the alienation, depression, and hopelessness that a gay person feels from their Christian family, church, and from their friends. They are even told that it is God that rejects them.

My question is this: When will others in church stand up and say with me, "Enough. Gay people are dying. It's wrong. Your "cure" doesn't work."

In the same way that I, as a Christian, (one who grew up into faith in Jesus, and who wanted it to be evident that I trusted in God), finally had to put off the myth of a legalistic and super-spiritual cult, I now must stand up for my gay and lesbian friends. It means I am not the same as the fundamentalists that helped frame my Christian life. It means that I have to stand on the principles that Jesus taught: love and forgiveness, rather than the fundamentalist assumptions of my old friends. It means that I'm a straight ally of people like Bobby Griffith, who committed suicide because he was gay, and the late Harvey Milk, and all others that have come out in the last 30 years.

To look back from my years in the pew of a country church, to church camps, and to coming out of the cult, all the way to where I am now, a lot has changed. In another 30 or 40 years, I wonder what else I'll look back upon and see as my journey evolves. I know this, that I'm still a follower of Jesus. It means that for those who are trying to just live their lives, I am standing with you.

(to the right is a photo of Bobby Griffith and his mom)

Who is my neighbor?

When the young pastor started his sermon, I wasn't excited. I prefer the "other" young minister, and I'm just plain prejudiced about it. So when Adam began, I just sat in my seat waiting for the end of the message: "The Good Samaritan," and "who is our neighbor?" What more could he say that would be different than any other sermon I've ever heard, in my life, about that story. And he began...

"...and the man was left half-dead, bleeding...But the good Samaritan, more than the religious leaders who passed by, stopped, gave him oil for his wounds, wine to drink, and left him in the care of an innkeeper..."

And Adam posed the questions: Who among us have been left, by the church, half-dead? Who among our neighbors are the ones we reach out to? The ones who have been left, by us Christians, bleeding, and uncared for?

And it all hit me. Among so many, I see the gay, lesbian, bi-sexual, and transgender people, left outside the churches. They are outcast by US, the people who call themselves by the name of Jesus. And I knew - I want to be the good neighbor, the good Samaritan.

It takes us all to be Jesus to the hurting, and I want to be, at the least that one person. I don't care if it is only one at a time. I don't care if others think I'm a fag-hag or crazy or whatever. I want people to know that I care and that I'm just like them - loved by Jesus.

It has not been easy to accept what has happened to me. Many times I've been angry at God for the loss of my marriage (and so much more). Often I don't want to go to church, don't know the absolutes of my upbringing and don't feel confident in my faith. But I felt God's healing THAT day when we closed with, "How marvelous, how wonderful is my saviours' love for me..." I felt that I've been loved enough to come through this journey, to be shown things I'd never have considered if not for the difficult road, where I was bleeding and half-dead. I felt that somehow there was a purpose and maybe I can make an impact on someone else that hurts and feels like they are left on the side of the road, forgotten by most everyone.

Could it possibly be ME, who can pour in oil for wounds, share a meal of fellowship, and offer healing?

Anyone else want to be a good neighbor?

(p.s. Thanks, Adam! I'll love you forever!)

Heart talk

Our hearts are fragile things, and all of us have one. I'm not talking about medical issues, but those intangible feelings that make or break us - love, heartache, loss, pride, happiness, peace, anger, forgiveness.

Today I realized that I have recently signed two comments on my friend, Peterson's, blog, with the closing, "my heart goes out to you." I was responding to another wife, like me, of a gay man. She, like me, had all of the emotions to deal with when this deep secret was revealed. I can't know how best to help this woman, but I knew that I could identify and share what has helped me. By closing in the way I did, I hope that she knows that someone else has been where she is today, and I lived through it.

Somehow I have made it out of my Christian fundamentalism, and the misconceptions of homosexuality that I had previously known, to a bigger understanding of gay people. My faith has been shaken, but it is still there. Without sounding presumptuous, and I surely don't have all the answers to so many questions, I have grown more than I even thought or dreamed possible.

Many things have helped me in the past [almost] four years, and there are ways that hope has entered my life and my heart. I hope that I can offer that to other wives of gay men, and perhaps to my friends who read this, too.