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by Atticus Shires Making a conservative, evangelical, Christian college become my home has been quite the ride. I have had to live, li...
Opening the Blinds
I’m looking outside my window. My view is
obstructed by the slats of the blinds—I can glimpse only fragments of grey sky
and back-lit palm trees, the cars and the side of my dorm building. I can’t
see the whole scene. This makes me feel uncomfortable, but I don’t get up to open
the blinds, because I am nicely settled in my chair.
I
feel like we often see people the way I’m seeing the view right now—not
holistically, but full of blank spaces and grey areas, and we settle for that. But why?—Fear? Insecurity? Pride?
We are all brothers and sisters in this
huge dysfunctional family. We are called by our Father to love one another and
I really believe that means to see each
other holistically, with all the
mess and inconvenience that entails. We’re called to embark with one another, for one another, on this journey of reconciliation
and relational healing.
Last semester God gave me a deep yearning
to love on people, to make them feel the warmth and weight of His embrace and
see themselves as intentionally pursued and chosen for that love. I was the
excited Biola freshman who visited each table at the University’s ministry fair,
and eagerly put my name on almost every email list. When I walked over to
NakID’s table, I had no idea what to expect. I was surprised by their openness
and boldness. Questions later, I shared my heart with them: the relevance of
the issue in the world today, my desire to love on hurt people, my need to
understand much better and my wish to be a listener in this arena. They
affirmed my desire and assured me that NakID would be a genuine and safe environment to ask question and engage in healthy discussion, so I embarked.
Spring semester rolled around a month and
a few rainy days ago, and I’ve had a lot of new questions. I’ve been looking
inward a little harder and outward a little more critically. There’s so much I
don’t know, and I’ve been relatively okay with that for most of my life, but recently there has been a shift in my soul
and I’m wrestling with questions.
In thinking about this piece and beginning to write, I keep coming back to two
main questions: How active of a role
should we play in the mission of reconciliation and relational healing in the
lives of those around us? And, does
everyone have to care about hurting people? (And the underlying question, does
everyone have to care about those in the LGBTQ community that NakID seeks to
provide a safe space for?)
I feel heaviness in my soul as I ask these questions. I look around me at other students—thriving, laughing, or just trying to survive—and I wonder, do they need to open their eyes and hearts to this conversation? Do they actually need to reach out or is that just me projecting my calling onto them?
We do not simply live in our own little
worlds but are members of society. The way we treat those around us, and whether we choose to see
them holistically or not affects the whole community.
I think we all should be asking, "How
can I be a part of making this a place where people feel safe to ask questions
and safe to be themselves as they
participate in community?”
So let’s not gloss over our wounds. Though we are not solely
shaped by our heartache or margins, we cannot truly know someone or truly love
humans well until we are willing to acknowledge every part of who they are, as
we pray for them, see them, and love them. For us, that means cultivating a
spirit of understanding and vulnerability by creating a safe space to ask
questions and be loved holistically.
Loving people has a domino effect—when you love someone well they are able to love others well in turn. I dare you to embark on a journey to love
relentlessly, with a love that is bold and full of expectation.
Tag :
Brook Rulison
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When I Came to Biola
I just want to say that I did not sign up for this. I’ve
been among the Church my entire life, but my biblical knowledge had only been
stretched as far as: “Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so…” So
when I came to Biola, I had no intention of finding the most controversial
topic on campus, grabbing it by the horns and dealing with it head on. The last
thing I wanted was to be at a school that has a tendency towards homophobia, to
have one of my best friends at Biola identifying as bisexual, and realize that
God was calling me to stop hiding behind the scenes and start speaking up for
people who have been thrown in a closet and told they can’t come out until they
change.
Before I really had a notion of what God was calling me to
do, He broke me. I felt like I was going insane. I was crying around three or four
times a day, I was constantly pissed at people, and I had no idea what to do
about it. After some time I found out there was someone on campus that could be
a great help to some of the crazy ideas I had floating around in my head. I had
lunch with Atticus, and even though he was still mostly closeted at that time,
and I happened to be a naïve, straight, baby Christian, we decided it was time
to do something on Biola’s campus.
On that day when Atticus and I decided to start this
ministry, we embarked. We began a
journey that we only had a vision for; we had no experience or true
understanding of what we were attempting to undertake. We were both scared. To
begin something so controversial—and for me, having such a young walk with the
Lord—I felt like there was no way I could do this. And really, I’m straight. How does this even impact me?
So I would try to walk away from it, and through many strange circumstances I
was shown that I really had no choice. My brothers and sisters were hurting; I
had to be someone who was willing to try, even if I didn’t have all the
answers.
As we planned this semester, I am overwhelmed by how God has
prepared me to be a leader in this ministry. Sure, He still hasn’t given me all
the answers, not even close. I have spent many a night rattling my brain and trying to answer the toughest questions out
there. But I find no rest there. I do, however, find rest in a community where
we work together to be the body of Christ. But this takes each person resisting
the temptation of letting fear grab hold of them, and instead, willing themselves
to embark with the rest of us. It takes courage to be a part of and commit to a
community of sinners. You have to be humble and be willing to look at your own
sin in the face. But you also get the opportunity to find the kind of
acceptance we all desire, just for being a human made in God’s image. So I am
asking you, whoever you are, to step out in faith and know that we are a
community that seeks Truth in love.
Embark
with us.
photo credit: Emily Weisbrot, OhYouDog Photography
Tag :
Shea Davis
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“Teaching” Healthy Sexuality: The Church's Harmful Narratives
by Shea Davis
It is extremely hard not to generalize the past of the
Christian Church and its approach of teaching sexuality. Unfortunately, there
tends to be only one message the Church seems to make very clear in regards to
sexuality: You must wait until marriage to have sex. There are no ifs ands
or buts. And unfortunately this leads to feelings of being lesser or out of God's love for those of us who
have fallen short.
 |
| In other words, "If you didn't wait, you didn't love." photo credit: juicyecumenism.com |
Some of us have been blessed to hear or experience a more
positive narrative of the blessing that sexuality is. However, some of us have been told that sexuality is something to squelch
instead of foster. We have been told that it is not something beautiful,
and, if not experienced in the confines of marriage, will lead to shame and
guilt.
And don’t get me wrong; I am not saying that some of the
things the Church teaches are incorrect. I fully believe that sex should only
be experienced in marriage. The problem isn’t with the Truth of God’s Holy Word
and what it commands of Christians; it’s the way the Church then takes the Word
and applies it.
The Church has hit the Abstinence message home. I am pretty
certain that most young Christians in the Church have an idea that “sex before
marriage is wrong.” But do they know why
sex within marriage is so good? Why sex before marriage falls so short of
the kind of intimacy and fulfillment sex within marriage can provide? Do we
hear how stewarding our sexuality (not killing it) makes us more human and more
connected to God and others? No. And
why is this? Because the only people who speak on sexuality are either
lecturing us or telling us this deep testimony where they climbed out of the
dark hole of sexual sin and through the blood of Jesus Christ they have been
purified once again. And the church can then grab them by the hand is say, “To
everyone out there, this is an example of why we don’t have sex before marriage.”
Don’t get me wrong, those testimonies are inspiring, and relatable to so many
of us, but there has got to be another message. There has got to be something to look forward to.
We need to create a community where married people and singles can come together and speak truth, encourage, love, and support one another. We
need to be raising and building up sexually healthy Christians — Christians who
aren’t afraid to speak of S-E-X; Christians who know the consequences of sin,
but also know the blessing of living the life they were designed for.
For those of us who have been hurt by the Church or fellow
Christians, we need healing. Some of us have to change the way we look at
ourselves. We are no longer the people we were before Christ entered into our
lives. We became a new creation (2 Corinthians 5:17). We are forgiven
(Ephesians 1:7). We have every spiritual blessing (Ephesians 1:3). This list
goes on and on. And though many of us hurt, we no longer need to be bound by
our past, because through Jesus we have freedom.
Tag :
Shea Davis
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Misconceptions the Church Puts On Me As an Unlabeled Gay Man
by Atticus Shires
Making
a conservative, evangelical, Christian college become my home has been quite
the ride. I have had to live, literally, with people who not only misunderstand
me, but also decide to let their misconceptions script how they act around me
and how they see me (or not see me, rather). When people act according to my
“gayness” instead of my humanness, it leaves me in a state of feeling
disconnected, misunderstood and very unloved and devalued. I don’t want to be
seen for what’s between my legs or whom I prefer there.
But I do want to connect with my fellows.
I want to be known by them, and I want to commune with them.
 |
| photo credit |
::
(Misconceptions
are in bold & italics; my comments are in plain text) ::
I’m
gay therefore I lust. While
lust is my preferred sin of choice, it has nothing to do with my sexual
orientation (to which sex and gender I’m sexually attracted). Do you have lust
problems because you’re straight? We
lust because our humanity is defective, and sexuality in general is defective. Lust
is a malfunction of biblical sex; a thievery. Lust strips and blanches that
which God calls good (Genesis 2:25).
You
have a penis therefore I want it. Rather, you have a soul therefore I
want to see and know you. Men, do you
have the desire to pounce on every vaginal human life form that breathes? Of
course you don’t. As a matter of fact, it’s likely that the most sexual thing
you first notice about a woman is her hair or her curves, not her clitoris or
how fertile she is.
I
think guys are hot therefore I think women are aesthetically repulsive.
Rather, I have very few female friends who I do not find physically attractive…
Let’s think about today’s celebrities; there are many adorned and beautiful men
and women that walk the red carpet. We find (or don’t find) them attractive; we’re
drawn to certain beauties in certain bodies of certain sexes. How wonderful!
—Seriously. How magnificent is it that we can appreciate and value beauty, and
that what we find beautiful will be different from what your roommate or
partner or little sister finds beautiful? …The fact that I may be vocal about
who I find attractive doesn’t have to do with the fact that I’m “out and
proud,” but more to do with that I’m comfortable and confident in expressing
delight in the human form, male and
female, and send that praise to the Father.
“Don’t
be naked around Atticus; let’s encourage him by making sure we aren’t stumbling
blocks to him.” You are not just a sex object, nor am I incapable of
refusing to objectify you as a piece of ass. Your body is not a “stumbling
block” to me, but rather you trip me up when you misunderstand me, failing to
see me as fully human. You no longer hold safety in the eyes of my trust-abused
soul. Learn what nudity means to me; be curious and ask questions; ask me what
your body means to me.
Jesus, people. Jesus—allow him to come into your
thoughts before making assumptions. Curiosity did not kill the cat; but
assumptions kill Gospel-minded conversations.
 |
| photo credit |
I
hate gay jokes. Rather, if I have a problem with your humor or banter
of choice, it’s likely because you’re dehumanizing and victimizing the
marginalized, not because it involves “gayness” (Hint: it can be a gay joke,
for example, but it can be any form of social injustice or public pain that you
choose to satirize.) Not all gay jokes are dehumanizing. Last week, a dear
friend and I ventured to the music building on campus. In previous years, I
could get into the building anytime I wanted; this is the first semester I’ve
been denied card access to the locked building. Tim and I walk up to the door,
and, alas, it’s locked. We both let out a sigh of frustration and
disappointment. Tim, with an impeccable sense of understanding and dry humor,
says, “I can’t believe they deny card access to gay people. That’s just not
right.” I looked at him. He looked back, waiting for my reaction. We laughed.
In that moment, I felt sympathized with that I was “discriminated against”
because I’m not a music major (thus not allowed card access), to which the joke
referred. But in that moment, Tim was also saying that he’s comfortable with
who I am, and that being gay is not just part of my life that contains hurt or
difficulty, but my sexuality is also something to delight in and enjoy. I felt
known and cared for when Tim expressed mutuality with me — frustration and
simultaneous enjoyment.
There are many more misconceptions that constantly tear apart the sexually marginalized from those who misunderstand them. Perhaps there will be a Part 2 to this article, but for now, what are your thoughts on these misconceptions? Can you think of any others? Do you disagree? Let's create a safe place in the comment section below for all voices to be heard and respected. I look forward to the ensuing dialoge.
Tag :
Atticus Shires
,
Struggles and The Miracle-Gro Church
by Atticus Ford Shires
I wanted to start out this article with a bunch of single-word sexual buzzwords to make it Look. Really. Dynamic. But I couldn’t think of enough to make it work, and the ones I thought of weren’t that great. Except for one — Struggle.
I wanted to start out this article with a bunch of single-word sexual buzzwords to make it Look. Really. Dynamic. But I couldn’t think of enough to make it work, and the ones I thought of weren’t that great. Except for one — Struggle.
Ah,
yes. We all know and loathe that word.
With it connotes thoughts and realities of failures, unmet expectations,
secrets, addictions and any onomatopoeia that resembles the feeling of blech. When we think of sexual holiness,
“struggle” is usually the first word on our why-I-can’t-achieve-sexual-holiness
list. I can’t achieve sexual holiness because I struggle with porn. I can’t
achieve sexual holiness because I can’t stop masturbating. I can’t achieve
sexual holiness because I like guys. These are just hypotheticals, of course…
Often,
sexuality as a whole is considered to be in the shameful/don’t-touch category
when it comes to sexual holiness, which is quite ironic considering we’re
talking about sexual holiness. We are told we can’t be sexual and sexually holy. We can’t possibly
look at a woman or man’s body with delight and be practicing sexual holiness.
We can’t wrap our minds around the concept that the act of self-stimulation
might be something that can garden sexual holiness. And a young man with
undeniable same-sex desires has only one option if he is to live in sexual
holiness: deny the undeniable, reject the desires and live in spite of them.
Well,
these things work about as well as telling a horny, teenage Christian boy to
carry a stress ball, find a hobby, or pray for a once-in-a-blue-moon wet dream
to relieve the sexual frenzy going on inside his chemically imbalanced body.
Sweeping our sexual desires under the rug
or in the closet or beneath the fig leaf is not the answer to achieving sexual
holiness. It’s the problem.
This
is a why I have a huge issue with the ever-popular Christian narrative for
modesty that goes something like this: “Omgosh, Stacy, I’m so proud of you for
wearing that one-piece. And don’t worry; if your boyfriend truly puts Jesus
first, he won’t think it’s frumpy at all,” or, “Ugh, look at Stacy. I can’t
believe she would wear such a slutty two-piece to a church pool party.”
Chances
are, Stacy doesn’t struggle with modesty issues, but rather Miss
I’m-a-better-Christian-than-you has a serious, fear-based people problem. My
high school was riddled with these Jesus freaks, where martyrdom meant sacrificing
your soul for the sake of status, and honor meant covering up—in every sense.
Cover your passions, cover your personality, cover your soul, and you sure as
hell better cover your body and your struggles. Ain’t nobody wanna see all
that, okay? Nobody. I mean, my god, this is church. Put a freaking cardigan
over those, Stacy.
It’s
ironic and sad that the very shackles of shame Jesus’s ministry sought to
destroy are the same legalistic pre- and post-requisites we place on people of
the Church.
The church many of us grew up in told us
that sexual holiness is like a report card, and God was your angry dad who
would neglect you if you didn’t make straight A’s. So when you’re a B
student with ADHD like me, you’re screwed. So to speak.
But
Jesus tells us that sexual holiness is a growing seedling that must be gardened
with time. It’s normal to go through drought seasons; it’s okay when occasional
frosts stunt blooms from budding. But
gardening never ceases, and neither does the love and perseverance of God.
The sun always melts away ice and dries up monsoon floodwaters.
The
church tells us that chastity and virginity are the utmost achievements of
sexual holiness, which will one day be rewarded with a perfect husband or wife
who is also “pure”, with whom you will have 2.1 children. So keep that wedding dress
white, okay, ladies? But
Jesus was single, and he never married! He didn’t tell single people to buy a
Match.com account, nor did he see married people as pedestal elites. He saved a
woman who was stones away from being clobbered to death just because she was
caught having an affair. I doubt this Jesus would tell Stacy to cover up her
midriff. But Lucy Whinealot might
have some ‘splaining to do.
The
church tells us that our struggles are parasitic evils that we need to
exterminate fast. The faster you break your porn habit, the more sexually holy
you are. But you’re still not as good as Timmy, who hasn’t ever looked at porn.
So even if you do quit fast, you’ll still be a B student. Just wait until your
father gets home.
But
Jesus says that sexual holiness is a growing seedling. I don’t care how much
Miracle Gro you put on that little sprout; it takes time, Jesus says.
It takes a lot of time. Gardening never ceases.
Even for you, Timmy. So,
when it comes to “struggling”—and we all struggle—we need to stop listening to
spiritual abusers and ignorant church-y traditions, and start listening to the
daring, cross-cultural, sexually revolutionary, provocative and untame:
Jesus—sexually holy and Gardener of souls.
Tag :
Atticus Shires
,
An Introduction to Our Belovedness
by Katelyn Skye Seitz
A reconciliation needs to happen.
We have pitted our sexuality and our spirituality against each other and a reconciliation needs to happen. I invite you to take a step back with me, back from all the confusion, all the hurt, all the lies and all the tension that has informed so many ideas we have been given about sexuality. This step back we're about to take is not to escape our sexuality, but to get a fuller look at it.
The avoidance narrative has taught us that sexuality is, well, something to be avoided, that our ignorance implies our holiness and that our sex drive is something to silence. This is an effective narrative because it uses an effective instrument: shame. In her book, Daring Greatly, Brené Brown states, “shame derives its power from being unspeakable”. If any subject has been silenced by shame, it’s our sexuality.
A reconciliation needs to happen.
We have pitted our sexuality and our spirituality against each other and a reconciliation needs to happen. I invite you to take a step back with me, back from all the confusion, all the hurt, all the lies and all the tension that has informed so many ideas we have been given about sexuality. This step back we're about to take is not to escape our sexuality, but to get a fuller look at it.
The avoidance narrative has taught us that sexuality is, well, something to be avoided, that our ignorance implies our holiness and that our sex drive is something to silence. This is an effective narrative because it uses an effective instrument: shame. In her book, Daring Greatly, Brené Brown states, “shame derives its power from being unspeakable”. If any subject has been silenced by shame, it’s our sexuality.
We have been asked to "stay virgins until marriage". But I believe this is asking too little of us. I believe this standard does not do any justice to the beauty, depth and intricacy of what it means to be a sexual being. Healing from the damage shame has caused will take grace and it will take courage; but it ushers in celebration. And that is what I would like to introduce into this conversation: grace, courage and celebration. Grace for ourselves, courage to believe in our belovedness, and celebration as we live into it.
Now prepare to re-enter into this conversation with a new narrative — one in which the protagonist is our belovedness. That is what this conversation needs to be about. Sexuality was never meant to get in the way of spirituality. Something Amy Frykholm adeptly communicates in her book, See Me Naked, is that the body is a vehicle of the holy, not a barrier to the holy.
This narrative says God created us as sexual beings on purpose and He believes it is a good thing. Whether we own this or not determines how we engage in our sexuality. As Jonathan Martin explained in his book, Prototype, “It turns out that knowing how loved we are by God makes all the difference in the kind of people we will become”.
This narrative refuses to be colored by fear — fear of our bodies, fear of our desires, fear of vulnerability, fear of mystery, fear of connection, fear of tension. Our humanity is deep enough to hold such mystery; it is capable of thriving in tension. It is made for connection, lost without vulnerability and comes alive with desire. God is found in these.
Yet, in this inherited and cultivated shame of sexuality, we have curtailed ourselves from much beauty, truth and goodness meant for this sacred embodiment. Being a sexual being is wild and vulnerable and mysterious, and that can be scary. Scary, but not worthy of shame.
Nothing God created and called good is worthy of shame.
I think it's time we allow our belovedness to reclaim this conversation. We have watched shame inform our view of sexuality for long enough. It's time we hear what God has to say. Turns out, there is no script for stewarding our sexuality. If this comes as a disappointment, go read the array of books on sexual purity giving you lists upon lists of the “do’s and don’ts” and get back to me when you are tired of these lists failing to engage the entirety of your humanity. We are aching for something that dignifies our desires more than rules to manage them.
One thing I have found is that seeking wholeness in my sexuality looks a lot like just becoming a healthy human being. The skill of knowing oneself requires intentionality, reflection, self-compassion, grace and belief in our own belovedness. And it is when we allow others to do this alongside us, when we believe in their belovedness, sexual stewardship will flow from this place. This will take courage, but most things worthy of our humanity do.
In posts to come, we will look at some of the places where we have been living according to a shame-based script and we will consider how these have been holding us back from stewarding our sexuality. But for now it is enough to breathe in our belovedness. If we do not start here, we will get nowhere. From here, as Amy Frykholm puts it, we can begin "to learn to grant to one another, in the Body of Christ, an opportunity to speak truth in love and to forge ahead toward wholeness." Reconciliation needs to happen.
This narrative says God created us as sexual beings on purpose and He believes it is a good thing. Whether we own this or not determines how we engage in our sexuality. As Jonathan Martin explained in his book, Prototype, “It turns out that knowing how loved we are by God makes all the difference in the kind of people we will become”.
This narrative refuses to be colored by fear — fear of our bodies, fear of our desires, fear of vulnerability, fear of mystery, fear of connection, fear of tension. Our humanity is deep enough to hold such mystery; it is capable of thriving in tension. It is made for connection, lost without vulnerability and comes alive with desire. God is found in these.
Yet, in this inherited and cultivated shame of sexuality, we have curtailed ourselves from much beauty, truth and goodness meant for this sacred embodiment. Being a sexual being is wild and vulnerable and mysterious, and that can be scary. Scary, but not worthy of shame.
Nothing God created and called good is worthy of shame.
I think it's time we allow our belovedness to reclaim this conversation. We have watched shame inform our view of sexuality for long enough. It's time we hear what God has to say. Turns out, there is no script for stewarding our sexuality. If this comes as a disappointment, go read the array of books on sexual purity giving you lists upon lists of the “do’s and don’ts” and get back to me when you are tired of these lists failing to engage the entirety of your humanity. We are aching for something that dignifies our desires more than rules to manage them.
One thing I have found is that seeking wholeness in my sexuality looks a lot like just becoming a healthy human being. The skill of knowing oneself requires intentionality, reflection, self-compassion, grace and belief in our own belovedness. And it is when we allow others to do this alongside us, when we believe in their belovedness, sexual stewardship will flow from this place. This will take courage, but most things worthy of our humanity do.
In posts to come, we will look at some of the places where we have been living according to a shame-based script and we will consider how these have been holding us back from stewarding our sexuality. But for now it is enough to breathe in our belovedness. If we do not start here, we will get nowhere. From here, as Amy Frykholm puts it, we can begin "to learn to grant to one another, in the Body of Christ, an opportunity to speak truth in love and to forge ahead toward wholeness." Reconciliation needs to happen.
Tag :
Katelyn Skye Seitz
,
