Communion

Despite attending church on a fairly regular basis over the past six years, I have never participated during our monthly observance of communion.

Communion was a very rare occurrence in the Holiness church I grew up in. I would be surprised if we observed it more than once in a five-year span, and it was typically accompanied by foot-washing. Because they were dispensed so infrequently, the sacraments were considered extremely sacred by our congregants.

Before the unleavened bread and cup of grape juice were presented, a preacher would deliver a sermon about the significance of what we were getting ready to do. These sermons always included the following verses from 11th chapter of 1 Corinthians:

23For I received from the Lord what I also passed on to you: The Lord Jesus, on the night he was betrayed, took bread, 24and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, “This is my body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of me.” 25In the same way, after supper he took the cup, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood; do this, whenever you drink it, in remembrance of me.” 26For whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.

27So then, whoever eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be guilty of sinning against the body and blood of the Lord. 28Everyone ought to examine themselves before they eat of the bread and drink from the cup. 29For those who eat and drink without discerning the body of Christ eat and drink judgment on themselves. 30That is why many among you are weak and sick, and a number of you have fallen asleep. 31But if we were more discerning with regard to ourselves, we would not come under such judgment. 32Nevertheless, when we are judged in this way by the Lord, we are being disciplined so that we will not be finally condemned with the world.

We were told in no uncertain terms that we would damn ourselves if we partook of the bread and juice without being worthy. Although I might have participated in the ritual as a child, I have no memory of ever receiving communion. I simply never felt worthy.

I stopped attending church sometime around the age of twenty, and didn’t start again until 2006. The church I later joined offers communion on the first Sunday of each month. Sometimes it is passed out to the congregation on silver trays; other times it is given by intinction and recipients must line up the center aisle to dip their piece of bread in the cup.

Our communion is open to everyone, and although I have been warmly encouraged on several occasions to partake, I never have. Fear holds me back.

I suspect I hold myself to a higher standard than most, because I have seen several people treat it with little reverence. Some talk and laugh to the person beside them as the elements are passed. I even watched in dismay after one service as a woman ripped off a piece of leftover communion bread from the altar, said, “I’m hungry,” and shoved it in her mouth.

Even though I realize that no one is ever worthy of Christ’s mercy, I am surely no less worthy than they. I just can’t seem to overcome the mental hurdle, most of which is a result of those childhood sermons. The rest are my own hangups about being homosexual. Even if the jury is still out on whether homosexuality is a sin, I’m pretty sure we have a clear verdict on fornication. But then it’s not like we have the option of getting married in Kentucky.

I have accepted the fact that I may never receive communion as long as I live, and I’m okay with that.

Janis Ian: Married in London

Married in London
by Janis Ian

We’re married in London
But not in New York
Spain says we’re kosher
The states say we’re pork

We wed in Toronto
The judge said “Amen”
And when we got home
we were single again

It’s hard being married
And living in sin
Sometimes I forget just
Which state I am in

Thank God I’m not Catholic
I’d be a mess
Trying to figure out
What to confess

My passport in Sweden
Says I’ve got a wife
Amsterdam tells me
I’m partnered for life

But back in America
Land of the free
I’m a threat to the
National security

If I were a frog
Here’s what I would say
It’s hard being green
It’s hard being gay

But love has no colors
And hearts have no sex
So love where you can
And f*ck all the rest.

That was so 30 years ago

One thing gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people have to say, [is that] maybe 30 years ago you could get some points for being personally nice to us while you were opposing our rights. We’re beyond that. That’s over.

- Congressman Barney Frank

This is exactly how I feel. Don’t pretend you’re my friend to my face while you privately consider me a second-class citizen who doesn’t deserve the same rights that you enjoy.

Source

My thoughts on the Chick-Fil-A controversy

I can’t get the Chick-Fil-A thing off of my mind. I suppose it affects me more than most because of my sexuality. I actually liked their food and would often recommend it to others in my area, but I have now made up my mind that I will never EVER eat there again.

What bothers me the most is that I probably know people who went to a Chick-Fil-A yesterday. There were probably members of my family who took time out of their day just to go, just to show that they will never support marriage equality. No matter what they claim, the throngs of people who showed up at CFA restaurants yesterday weren’t there because of freedom of speech; they were there to show their disdain for the LGBT community.

What about all the gay and lesbian youth in this country who watched the news footage of hordes of anti-gay “Christians” standing in line to get a chicken sandwich? Don’t you think they are affected deeply knowing those people are their family members, friends, church members, etc? Don’t you think that will just drive them deeper into a place where they feel unloved? How many of those kids will ultimately take their lives as a result?

What about the poor employees of Chick-Fil-A, gay and straight, who had to deal with eons of comments for and against bigotry. Imagine how many of those employees are just trying to make a living. Imagine how many aren’t anti-gay, but have LGBT friends and family members they love. Imagine having to remain neutral in your interactions with people who are passive-aggressively complimenting your place of work for their homophobic business practices.

I’m still confused as to why people get so bent out of shape over marriage equality. How does allowing more people to participate in something lessen its value? No one can “weaken” or “destroy” the institution of marriage as long as there are people willing to enter into matrimony with any level of seriousness. No one can destroy a marriage except for the two people who are in it.

The same people who pretend to be so upset over “freedom of speech” are the same ones willing to spend their time and money restricting the freedoms of others.

It’s a sad, sad world.

A new understanding of coming out

I am currently finishing up a book titled Boys Like Us: Gay Writers Tell Their Coming Out Stories by Patrick Merla. What struck me the most while reading is how coming out as a gay person means something different to everyone. The accounts written by older gentlemen explain that “coming out” simply denoted the time and place they had their first same-sex experience. Today we worry about acceptance by others after revealing our sexuality, but back then accepting yourself as homosexual was the ultimate goal in a world where being openly gay wasn’t an option. As the book progresses into newer stories, the definition of “coming out” begins to evolve into what we understand today – revealing an often taboo secret to those around you.

Even though I am homosexual and came out to my family and friends many years ago, I found the short stories in the book offering a new perspective on what it means to be openly gay. Some men took years to overcome their fear of being ridiculed and marginalized by admitting their sexual orientation. Some grew up confused about what was happening within themselves. Some knew right away.

Perhaps I am one of the lucky ones, because I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t gay. Being straight was just never an option. From around the age of five, I can only remember being drawn to the same sex. There were a few girls that I liked during elementary and middle school, but never in a physical way. I was more interested in emulating their penmanship or mannerisms than holding their hands or kissing them, yet I understood society expected me to have a girlfriend.

I constantly had crushes on boys. If a moderately attractive guy showed me the slightest amount of attention, I was a goner. Although I was technically a virgin until the age of 20, I had made love to many different men in my head by that time. There were several instances of fooling around with the same sex throughout my childhood and teen years, but never with someone I cared about in a romantic sense until twenty. Unlike the older gay men in the book, I never viewed my first same-sex encounter as “coming out.” That was something I did when I told my sister I was gay one night over dinner. A week or so later, after my parents left for church, I placed a handwritten note on the dining room table and went to my sister’s house for a few nights.

Even though that event marked the most important and gut-wrenching coming out experience I’ve had to date, I have found coming out to be a never-ending process. I constantly find myself in situations where I am revealing my sexuality to people – necessary or not. Maybe it’s while talking with my hairstylist about her lesbian stepdaughter. Maybe it’s when a healthcare provider asks if Honey is a family member or a friend. Even though it happens frequently, I still get a mixture of feelings; anxiety that it might not be received well, and pride because I get to present myself and my relationship with complete honesty.

So, while coming out might mean different things to different people, the one common vein running through it is the ability to accept yourself. Much like the saying “You must love yourself before you can love others,” we must accept and appreciate our own uniqueness before we can expect others to understand it. Knowing that, it is easy to see why so many still choose the security and anonymity of the closet.

The short stories in the book are chock-full of details and downright confessional at times, but they express the complexity and beauty of what makes each of us human. One day I hope to write my own story without censoring myself or worrying about what others will think; a brutally honest depiction of my experiences so far, a new “coming out” story from a guy who came out almost twenty years ago.