One of the earliest messages that I heard from my parents, Sunday School teachers, and pastors was the importance of truth and honesty. This message was driven home through storybooks, skits, and numerous Bible passages. I remember being told that lying made God sad. Being the little pleaser that I was, I could imagine few things so devastating as making God sad.
As I grew a little older, I heard consistent warnings from pulpits that the eyes of God see everything and nothing can be hidden from him. This was typically in the context of curbing behavior deemed inappropriate. I heard about Ananias and Sapphira who lied to the Holy Spirit and were struck dead. The thought of being killed for lying induced terror in my little impressionable brain.
I had a very sensitive conscience and would often go to my Dad and confess when I had done something that I perceived to be wrong. I was always filled with fear at the thought of confessing, but I held even greater fear if I should hide what I had done.
But as I got older, a paradox developed. On the one hand, I was told to speak the truth, but then I saw how that those who shared their realities were often ostracized, manipulated, or ignored if their reality didn’t fit “within the box”. One of my siblings in particular was full of inconvenient questions and I saw the condemnation and judgement he received which confirmed the reality that what I heard wasn’t actually what was meant.
I heard that questions were welcomed, but I learned that safe and easily answered questions were welcomed.
I heard that we were seekers of truth, but most people who sought truth outside of our church movement were labeled as deceived or compromisers.
I heard that the most fundamental truth was that I was unconditionally loved, but I found that the degree to which I experienced that love was based upon my performance.
I heard that the most fundamental truth was that I was unconditionally loved, but I found that the degree to which I experienced that love was based upon my performance.
It all came to a head when I could no longer suppress or deny the reality that I was attracted to guys. It was such a great irony because the very person who tried very hard to be honest now had one massive secret with one massive problem.
My massive problem? The very people who taught me to speak the truth would now rather me hide. I was to remain out of sight and out of mind— except I wasn’t to be sent away, I was to be silent.
If no one knew, then they wouldn’t have to deal with an inconvenient question of how I could be both honest about my sexuality and also be a deeply devoted follower of Jesus. Some of the most scathing responses I’ve received since coming out have been from pastors and you want to know why? “Because now our young people are going to have questions.” One pastor went so far as to ask me to no longer call myself a Christian because it was “too confusing” for those in his church to comprehend.
Not only would they rather me hide, some would actually rather that I lie. They would rather me say that I am a heterosexual man who is “tempted by same-sex attraction” than to admit that I am gay. Instead of reading the dictionary definition or asking me what it means to be gay, they cling to their ill-informed stereotypes and social conditioning. Some would actually rather that I live with self-hatred and self-loathing than to accept the story of my life.
But I can’t point the finger too much at one group of people because the reality is that I do not like to face inconvenient truths. It’s a reason why I like to bunker down with my tribe. I always seem to have clear vision of what’s wrong with others, while ignoring my own prejudices.
I believe that one of the primary reasons we are uncomfortable with inconvenient realities is that we tend to live in a state of fear. We often live with walled up exteriors to defend ourselves from the pain and danger of the world. We are constantly on the guard for what is coming around the corner.
The reality is that it’s very hard for defensive and fearful people to hold space for questions that challenge our perceptions. When we are living with a mindset that we are always being attacked and that we must always be on guard, then every shadow becomes a monster. Every unfamiliar story becomes dangerous. We draw our lines closer and closer, and build our walls higher and higher. But the reality is what we build to keep us safe becomes the chamber that eventually suffocates us.
We draw our lines closer and closer, and build our walls higher and higher. But the reality is what we build to keep us safe becomes the chamber that eventually suffocates us.
So how can we hold space for inconvenient questions?
I believe that the way we are prepared to deal with inconvenient truths is when we fully believe that we are unconditionally loved. When I come before God and embrace my belovedness that is based upon His Goodness and not my performance, my heart starts to crack open. Defenses start to crumble because they simply cannot stand in the face of divine love. When I am at rest in the presence of Love, my outlook is transformed and I can offer that same unconditional love to others.
They may not agree with me, but I can still love them. I can hold space for paradox and mystery when I am entranced with the mysterious and majestic love of God. I can look for the divine spark of love in everyone around me and find that God often shows up in the most unexpected places.
I can hold space for paradox and mystery when I am entranced with the mysterious and majestic love of God.
When I was in the throes of coming to terms with my sexuality, I met Rachael through opening my home for a weekly Meetup for lonely people. I was a conservative Christian from the south, she was a liberal, cussing red-headed Bostonian who dabbled a bit in every religion. Yet, as one dinner turned into another and then another, we became family. When the church that nurtured me grew silent and distant, she showed up with chips and dip. We never agreed on much, but we loved each other as siblings. On Christmas Day 2019, she asked if she could pray before dinner and she prayed one of the most loving and special prayers that I’ve ever heard. She unexpectedly passed away a few weeks later, and I felt the loss deeply. As I handled her affairs and hosted her memorial service, I could see that God revealed his love to me through this person who was so different from me.
If I were to have fostered a spirit of fear, I wouldn’t have opened my life to her. And I would have been the one to have missed out. Though she was nothing like me, I needed her in my life. My life was richer because she was a part of it.
Brene Brown says that vulnerability is the birthplace of connection. If that is true, then holding space for inconvenient truths may be the most vulnerable and yet the most connective risk we can take.