First of all, before I begin this essay (I know not what else to call it) I wish to warn my reader(s) that it may be considered objectionable to many.  It discusses my personal views of sex, sexuality, sexual orientation and sexual activity.

I delve in to areas which more conservative persons, persons by the way whom I love dearly, my find highly offensive and which find root in what many may pejoratively describe as radical Christianity… a "radicalness" which may be just too "over the top".  I would encourage my reader(s) to proceed with caution, but with an open mind.  Should such a thing as a ratings system exist for blog writing or at least for this style of writing, it is highly probable that censors might consider this to be rated X, or at the very least, NC-17.  If you feel that your sense of outrage or offense may be too great, I encourage you NOT to proceed.

Secondly, what follows does not flow as well as I would like.  It is filled with "asides", comments made to flesh out what I’m writing about.

With that in mind, if you have the time, and more importantly the inclination and stomach, please read on!

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Over the past few weeks I have come across three or four related "items" on the internet that have either not set well with me, or have caused me to think… and that’s always dangerous!  I wish to address these "items" individually, and in no particular order.

Is Love Profane?

This morning, I was visiting a friend’s blog.  On it, I found a picture: two shirtless young men engaged in a sweet embrace, kissing; behind the young men hung a crucifix.  tumblr_l92yseAF041qdslmho1_400-211x300[1]The picture was captioned "The sacred and the profane."  It gave me pause, for the caption bothered me enough that I actually looked up the adjective "profane" in the online edition of Merriam Webster’s Dictionary.  Looking under the usage for the adjective the first definition of the word does, indeed, fit the caption, and in and of itself really shouldn’t have caused me any reason for discomfort.

But, taken in the context of all 4 definitions of the word "profane" I find it far more difficult to dismiss my discomfort over the choice of words.  When viewed together the four definitions for "profane" certainly convey a negative meaning, as if somehow, unless something is imbued with religious or spiritual overtones (and is therefore "sacred") it is necessarily less than desirable.

I find the picture of two men, perhaps in love, perhaps not, but behaving in such a manner as to imply love to be perhaps far more sacred than the picture of a crucifix, the image of a person hated and despised and hung to die.  Perhaps the ultimate profanity is that image of a crucifix, while the ultimate sacred act is the two people in love.

If my readers are still reading this after that last paragraph, let me hasten to point out that the image of the crucifix portrays an extremely important event, one with perhaps the penultimate act of sacred-ness in our Christian tradition.  (And less you wonder, for me the ULTIMATE sacred act is the Resurrection.) It was a necessary event, but one that had to happen only so that the next event could take place.  This article is not to, in any way, denigrate the series of events that form the basis of most Christian theology, but rather to lament that we should find two people in love being somehow a profane thing.

How is it that we come to perceive demonstrations of love to be profane?  If one accepts that God is love, and that the primary message of the Gospels is one of love, both of God for humankind and also the importance, perhaps even primacy of the need for one to love one’s neighbor (and remember who Jesus said our neighbor was) is the portrayal of an action depicting love somehow less sacred?  Love, in this context, and in my opinion, is sacred and can in no way be profane.  (To my friend who may well read this, please do not read in my words a condemnation of you in any way – I think I know you well enough to know that you did not choose the word for its negative connotation, but rather for its primary use as "secular".)

Is Sexuality/Orientation Good or Bad?

Another of my online friends writes a blog which I attempt in some small way to support financially, as I consider it to be an important contribution to society.  This friend writes from a definitely non-mainstream perspective, and is therefore one of the most refreshing voices I currently encounter online.  Nor is she all that radical (sorry, Kitt!)  Perhaps to those of a particularly conservative Christian point of view she may be viewed as such, but I do not perceive her writing overly radical.  Just perhaps a bit… queer!

Kitt’s posts are all about, in my humble opinion, the extravagant, redemptive love of God.  One of her methods is to look for and write about saints that may be relevant exemplars of that love for the LGBTQI community.  Perhaps to my family, seeing articles about "Gay (or Lesbian) Saints" may be problematic, but these are highly relevant to those of us seeking to live and perceive ourselves in positive light in the face of a church that until recently has painted us in very negative light indeed.  Many of us (certainly not all) struggle still against the self hatred and self doubt imposed upon us by the churches of our childhood and youth, many of which today have taken up very active combat against us.

Yes, Kitt writes about LGBTQI Saints, and serves as a news source to us on the writings of theologians who write from a queer perspective or artists who depict things of a religious/spiritual nature in the rainbow lights of a queer perspective.

In the second "item" I encountered, a commenter to Kitt’s blog rebuked Kitt for writing about a particular, possibly lesbian, saint, and said, in summary, that Kitt should focus on the best of this saint – namely those attributes for which the saint in question was canonized – and not the worst of this saint – namely the possible orientation of the saint.  It is as troubling to me that one would perceive one’s orientation as being either the best OR the worst of a person, as it is to see a picture of two kissing lovers labeled in such a way as to elicit (at least in myself) a negative reaction.

We are who we are, by God’s Grace and by God’s gift.  God gave us all, straight or gay or otherwise, the gift of our sexuality, a gift to be used in many ways.  Sexuality was not given us merely to serve to create children, though in that service it is certainly beneficial and good… and indeed sacred.  Sexuality was also given us to nurture our love, one for another, and as a means of expressing that love… a service that is of no less (and of course no greater) value than that of procreation… and is therefore sacred. Sexuality also was given for our pleasure, and I see this as no less sacred.  I’m sure others can do much greater service to this discussion and add ways in which our sexuality can be put to use.

Can sexuality be bad?  No, I really don’t think so.  Can SEX be bad.  In general, again I say I do not think so.  There are, however exceptions to this latter.  For me, there is one single criterion for determining the "goodness" of any sexual behavior or activity.  Is the sexual behavior/activity mutual, entered in to with mutual and informed consent.  Here’s where the "slippery slope" argument loses, in my opinion.  It is often opined by some on the right that if society accepts homosexual marriage and behavior, where will it all end… they point to the requirement to then accept such things as bestiality and pedophilia and all manner of horrors.  And yet, none of these can be entered into on a mutually acceptable, informed and consensual basis.  I don’t really intend to develop this thought beyond this.  Maybe some other day.

There is, in short, to my way of thinking, no way in which mutually informed and consensual sexuality and sex can be used in a negative manner.

In fact, I should finish my reaction to this comment by saying far from being the worst aspect of this particular saints’ life, her sexuality is perhaps among the highest and best qualities of her life, that which makes her particularly worthy of emulation for those who identify with her.  For it is her devotion and love for the one who may have been her life-partner that is most worthy of emulation.

Queer Thoughts.

The final comment, that which is actually first in time of this trilogy of troubling experiences for me, also pertains to Kitt’s blogs, one which reports on new theological writings from a theologian in New Zealand.

Here, another "aside" is called for.  We find ourselves living in what many refer to as the "Post-Modern" era.  It is an era in which scientific study, discovery and theory have tossed out what has become for many of us a "comfortable" theology.  It is an era in which society is no longer homogeneous.  Our society is heterogeneous, we live amongst all sorts of people of all sorts of racial, national and religious backgrounds.  We probably include amongst our friends a varied collection of all sorts of peoples from all corners of the globe.  In reality, this post modern era with its focus on scientific discovery and theory makes it very difficult to reconcile our theology with what is known about the world around us.  Because of this, I tend to consider theology that serves to reinforce old, comfortable ways of thinking as being, for me, largely irrelevant.  I WANT what I read about theology and spirituality to discomfort me, to cause my stomach to churn, to force my brain to think.  I want it relevant and irreverent, theology should trouble, not soothe.  For me, this is good, this makes me alive, forces me to consider God in ways that I never heretofore would have.

This particular theologian about whom Kitt writes, posits a different Jesus from that portrayed elsewhere, reads the Gospels in an altogether new, and erotic fashion, and fashions a Jesus that makes virtually everyone uncomfortable… a Queer Jesus.  Now, if my readers are STILL reading after all of this, I owe you an apology.  This writing is already becoming uncomfortably long to me.  And so, I cannot justify explaining in depth the word Queer in the context in which I write here.  Do not think of Queer solely in its modern sense, a pejorative and denigrating word referring to LGBTQI people.  Consider its’ original meaning, of something outside the norm, odd, unusual.  Numerous books have been written about this new/old use of Queer to refer to modern theological efforts, among which are considerations of "Queering the Bible", "Queering the apostles", etc.  If you ask, I’ll attempt to provide a bibliography of such.

In his writing about Jesus, his "Queering of" Jesus, if you will, he makes reference to Jesus walking along the seashore and calling out to various fisher-folk to leave what they are doing and follow him.  As we know, numbers did… and we refer to them today as apostles.  Peter, James & John come to mind.  But this writer sees Jesus, not out walking, but "cruising".  And it is to this that the second comment (my third "experience") is addressed.  The individual who commented on this writer’s use of cruising seemed to take great umbrage at this.  I have to admit that my initial response was one of queasiness.  But the commenter’s offense really caused me to step back and look at the passage again.  Whereas the commenter was offended to think of Jesus out cruising (a word with almost universal sexual connotation) I was struck by how (if I accept the writer’s portrayal) what might have started out as a "crass search for casual sex" instead resulted in deep relationships, lasting a lifetime… and millennia.

I guess what it comes down to is this.  I reject the notion that sex is in and of itself a negative.  I find, instead, that sex is primarily and fundamentally a positive, good "thing".  To personalize this, my own relationship with my husband began as an act of "cruising".  It has become for me, and I firmly believe, in the eyes of God, a most wondrous and beautiful expression of who I was, who I am, and who I am becoming.  I categorically and emphatically reject the supposition that cruising is in and of itself bad, anymore than any expression of sexuality is bad.  In so doing, I also recognize that I am categorically rejecting any teaching of any establishment which portrays sex, sexuality, sexual orientation or sexual activity (at least those that do not fall into the categories I defined earlier) as being immoral.  What is immoral is precisely that negative portrayal of these gifts of God in our lives.  And to the degree that institutions seek to portray these gifts as immoral, I see those institutions themselves as fundamentally immoral.

2010-09-03 18.08.35

Hi.  This is my Dad.  My Dad is, in my not so humble and objective opinion, the greatest father in the world.  Always has been, always will be.  That’s just the way it is!

He looms large in all my memories, going back 50 years.  I remember standing out by the curb, holding his hand on a summer evening waiting for Mom to come home… from something.  I remember being sick at home, something that happened with almost clockwork timing every October and January, and Dad coming home.  I hear his voice, chatting with Mom, knowing he was kissing her hello, then his foots on the stairs coming to my room, and sitting with me.  He’d ask about how I was feeling, what I’d been doing, then he’d pull out “the board”  It was a big 2 foot by 2 foot piece of wood with a rubbery surface that we only used when I was sick.  He’d place it on my lap and we’d play cards.  Or, he’d put my homework on it, and sit with me while I did my homework.

I remember when Dad came around the corner the day I was practicing starting a fire for my Cooking Merit Badge… I’d gotten tired of the kindling not catching and so had added a little gasoline… not knowing there was a spark still lingering… He looked at my face, now red from the burst of flame, without eyelashes or eyebrows, and with significantly shorter bangs, but otherwise unharmed and asked “So, what’s up?”  “Nothing.”  “Okay, well, just be careful!” and then walking away.

I remember Dad dutifully taking me to baseball practice and games and trying to teach me how to catch and throw baseballs.  Or to football practice and football games and patiently trying to teach me how to play football.  Or the soccer.  Or the judo.  He gave up on me and sports when it came to basketball!  And I remember him giving the football coach what for for his treatment of me… even thought maybe I might just possibly have to admit that perhaps the coach was right… In fact I’ll concede the coach was right… even if he was a total asshole, who deserved being given what for by the worlds greatest Dad.

I remember Dad coming back from the lake after a day of fishing with my grandpa Yates, and then taking me fishing, or admiring the huge (maybe 4”) blue gill I’d caught from the dock.

I remember Dad ever so patiently trying to help me with Algebra when I was in high school… and his patience when I’d lose my cool because I “just didn’t get it.”

I remember him taking me to the huge parking lot at Ak-sar-ben to teach me how to drive (how many generations of Omahans learned to drive there?  Now that monstrous parking lot is a shopping mall.)  Or driving the old dirt road that 108th was back then (it’s a 4 lane today) to Papillion and forcing me to put the car in to a spin on the gravel so I could learn how to pull out of a spin when the time came.

I remember spending time with Dad at the beach in California, just walking along the rocks and watching the waves, as Dad talked to me about what it meant to be a man… by which we meant a mature, responsible human being… while Mom was at a wedding shower for a cousin.

I remember the pride with which Dad gave me my first salute on the day I was commissioned a 2nd Lieutenant in the Army.  Even more, I remember the pride and the tears in his eyes.

I remember Dad and I driving the interstate between Washington DC and Fort Eustis, VA, when he came to see me shortly after my divorce, and stopping for a piece of cherry pie and a cup of coffee.

I remember the love Dad always had for us boys.  I remember that Dad was the Rock of Gibraltar, that like most men of his generation, “The Greatest Generation”, and of his background (German/Swedish), his emotions were never anywhere near his sleeve.  But that he never hesitated to tell me he loved me.  I remember the first time I saw my father cry, as my older brother Bob pulled away from the curb in his (green, I think) Volkswagen beetle, as he set off for his new life in California.  I remember being late to school that day because it took a while for Dad to regain his composure.

I remember us boys excitedly greeting him when he came back from a trip of some nature when I could have been no more than 5, ladened with presents for us boys (I think mine on this particular trip was a model tiger – or maybe it was the tiny stuffed tiger I still have, somewhere in my boxes.

I remember the man my Dad was, the man who wouldn’t give in to our juvenile demands for stories from the war, preferring to keep those hated memories to himself, rather than glamorize the grisly horrors he witnessed.

I remember the faithful man, who never once lost his temper with my Mom, not even in her declining years as she slowly lost her battle with Alzheimer’s, who patiently staid ever by the side of “my Bonnie”, even as he began his own slide in to this damnable disease which robs one of one’s dignity and sense of worth.

I remember the man my Dad was, as I look at the man my Dad has become.  The man with Alzheimer’s who gets so frustrated trying to say something, who can’t remember what he did 30 seconds ago.  Who meekly looks at me and acquiesces to my decision making  on his behalf, and admits sheepishly that whatever I decide is fine with him.

I was going to tell about the past two weeks, but I think I’d rather just remember the man I loved, and who I could never imagine not being in my life.  And I think I shall just remember the man I remember whom I still love dearly. My Dad.