Dear Reader,
After wandering in a dark wood, you come to a clearing where four people are gathered around a fire. They’re laughing and seemingly defying the shadows all around them. They hear you approach and turn in your direction. One of them, a bald and bearded man in his thirties of garden variety European ancestry greets you. “There is a space for you right here if you’d like to join us! Here’s a blanket you can use as a cape, and this is the perfect stump for sitting or standing, whichever you’d like.”
You're drawn in by the group’s presence and sit down on the stump the man had gestured to. One of them hands you a blanket. The man starts again, “We’re telling stories, singing songs, and, well, bringing the imagination of our friends to life.” The man looks around at his companions and then back to you, “You see, we’ve been called many things—Jesters, authors, poets, and dreamers. Yes, clowns and rabble rousers too. We come from those margins in town where people stick us out of fear of what we can do. But we’re excited you’re here and can join us, because we think we can be of service to you.
“My name is Chase, I’m a border stalker or Liminarian whichever you prefer. I sit in darkness and care for those who wander in. You came at just the right moment, Johana-Marie is making s’mores!”
You see a large brown-skinned woman with long locs which are just beginning to gray in the front. She is kneeling close to the fire, retrieving a wire tray of s’mores. She burns her fingers trying to move them from the still hot tray without using the tongs that Chase is trying to hand her—a possibly wiser approach, but she gets them off and onto a plate in the end. She hands them out to the others around the fire and when she gets to you, she smiles ruefully. “‘Scuse my fingers, would you want one? They’re still hot and melty and the marshmallows are just a tad bit burnt, the perfect way to eat them.”
You take one of the s’mores and are surprised at the complexity of the flavors. Johana-Marie notices that you appreciated her choice of chocolate and adds, “The chocolates came wrapped in foil with messages about the ideas and emotions of the chocolatier as they were making each batch: I'm sure this one has something to do with beauty and bitterness…vindication, maybe?”
She takes a nibble on her own s'more and nods slowly. “It makes me think of Leah and Hagar, from the Bible you know? Of imperfect women caught in others’ machinations with their own agendas and hopes and fears and the way God meets them in the middle of the mess that is human sexuality.” She pauses for a moment. “Maybe that’s a lot to get from a s’more, though.”
Before you get a chance to ponder more, another voice comes to the fore. “I even brought some vegan versions if that’s your thing.” Shelby pipes in from across the circle. “I always come prepared! They aren’t as poetic but they are tasty,” a brown skinned woman with a smile on her face greets you. She is wearing her favorite LL Bean blue and green flannel and her hair is in sensible braids. She is seated in a part of the circle that is easy to escape from, never wanting to be seated for too long before moving around. “I guess I can introduce myself too.”
“I love talking about life stuff. I like thinking about questions and trying to answer them. Like how do I maintain my friendships while also being open to others? And I wonder how the Connecticut Sun are going to do this year? How do I talk to my Mom about hard stuff? How can I continue to connect with her when it feels like our lives are now on two separate tracks? How do I think about my finances as a single person? Should I really go on that vacation this year or should I be putting even more into retirement cause I got to plan to be self-sufficient as I get older? How do I hold onto God’s love when I can feel like the church doesn’t care?”
Shelby pauses for a moment and shifts her seating position, sparks erupt from the fire as a charred log falls into the coals. Shelby continues on. “Life as a celibate gay Christian creates so many questions. I’m interested in the answers to them. Like yes, I can talk theology and Paul’s meaning in Romans whatever. But, the real thing that excites me is thinking about what a resurrection shaped life looks like for a person like me. That’s why I’m glad you are here. I don’t have all the answers, just ponderings and I am eager to hear yours.”
Your shoulders begin to relax and your breath is steady and deep as the s’more you’ve been savoring, mixed together with the company around the fire, immerses you into a state of peace.
“Well, it’s your turn Grant.” Chase says to the last person in the circle. “Come on! Don’t be coy!” Grant chuckles and rolls his eyes at Chase and then turns to you with sincerity and begins.
“That discovery I made as an evangelical thirteen-year-old—that I was drawn in some mysterious, indescribable way to my own gender, in a way that differed from most of my peers—propelled me not only into a closet, but also into a years-long journey, a search for my place in the world. I set out as an intrepid explorer onto the vastness of the internet (a difficult terrain, to be sure), typing the phrase “gay Christian” into the search bar and stumbling my way into a handful of online spaces. I found a wealth of hard-won insights, observations, suggestions, and tried each of them on like clothes; some fit, others did not. Slowly but surely, I began to build a way of life for myself.” The other three companions nod along in agreement, a sense of shared experience.
“Looking back, I was longing for a Voice who would answer some of the deeper questions I could not bring myself to ask—a Voice I could trust. A Voice who would assure me I was good, that my life was worthwhile, that I could find a measure of happiness. I have followed this longing wherever it led (at times distracted by lesser longings, or distressed and dispirited, but always taking the journey up again eventually). Years later, this longing has only deepened, and I have come to see more clearly that this longing surpasses the ability of any merely human relationship or community to satisfy. It is, ultimately, a longing for the Voice of the divine.”
“That’s beautiful Grant,” Chase says. And then turns back to you, “Well we’ll be here for a while, so settle in if you like, and rest your weary head.” Chase then turns to Johana-Marie, “Hmm, I see we are out of s’mores, yet I did not get one.” The trusted gentle teasing continues throughout the night, and you find yourself at ease as your heart takes courage among the company of friends.
Our hope for this collective is that it provides a multitude of voices out of which the reader might discern more and more clearly that Voice of faith, hope, and love. We hope that we might be able to provide some of the raw material out of which the reader may be able to build their own lives. None of the writers in this collective can speak authoritatively on behalf of this Voice, but all of us have spent long years on the journey, and heard whispers in the words and works of others. What we have, we offer to you.
I feel like I’m in an RPG and we’re about to begin a quest. 🧙🏼🧝🏿♀️🧝🏼🧙🏿♀️ I’m excited to see what’s next – to find out what hidden powers each of you (us?) has in Spirit-dwelling – and what enemies, allies and dynamic characters we will face.
P.S. I deeply resonated with the vacation vs. retirement financial dilemma.
I literally feel and smell everything. Wonderful and can't wait for the next installment.