Dear Friend,
I was thinking about you today, as I often do.
And as I did (as with each time you come to my mind) I once again remembered.
I remembered how difficult and disorienting it was just being a teenager, enduring all the changes and the pressures and the uncertainty each day brought with it, how uneasy I felt in my own skin as I stumbled through. I remember feeling so very insecure and so easily wounded, how translucently thin the line often was between me and complete despair. I recall too many times being sure that I was unworthy of love for no reason at all.
And every time I remember, I wonder how you now carry all of that, along with the hateful words and the taunts and the threats and the condemnation you receive every day—and I am in awe of your strength.
I try to imagine how you manage to keep going given what supposedly religious people say to you, what they do to you, how they treat you, and all in the name of God.
That you have joy or faith or compassion at all is a miracle to me. That you still love and hope and forgive is a testament to your goodness.
You see, even now I struggle to hold onto to all of these things myself, without the added burdens of being continually told that I’m an abomination, that I am despised by God, that I am bound for Hell simply because of how my heart works.
I hear the horrible things they say to you and about you in your presence, how they talk around you within earshot; all the incendiary sermons and callous jokes and vicious insults. I see the anger they speak over your life on a daily basis, how incessant and cruel and unprovoked the attacks are from both complete strangers and from your own flesh and blood. I see how frequently you are used by preachers and Christian politicians to rally their shrinking bases.
I imagine it must be so very painful. More than that, it must be a living hell to be injured at the hands of so many self-appointed righteous judges who seem driven to hurt you and to call it love. I bet it makes you wonder whether God is even there, or just what kind of God would create this kind of hatred. Watching them sometimes makes me wonder too.
And because of all this it may not mean much coming from me, but as a Christian and a pastor and a father I feel like I need to tell you something about those who mistreat you in Jesus’ name:
They are wrong.
I plead with you not to listen to the words of the bullies or to let those words define you, not to allow their voices to become the loudest ones in your head. They don’t deserve that kind of importance. They don’t get to tell you who you are. Your identity is beyond their jurisdiction. Simply refuse to wear the labels they fashion for you or to absorb their bitterness.
I realize this is all easy for me to say from where I safely stand.
I can’t at all know what it’s like to be in your shoes, to feel what you feel, to know the depths of your pain. I’d never insult your journey by assuming I can understand it fully now or that I ever will.
All I can tell you is that I care, that I am in your corner, that I am for you.
I proudly stand alongside you, and if you need it or ask me to I will gladly stand in front of you; between your tender heart and those who hurl insults and damn you and wish you harm, all the while claiming they love you.
I want you know that your life is beautiful, that you are beautiful—as you are. You do not need to change or be fixed or to pray away your inclinations to love, because they were not your choice, they are not changeable, and because God has placed them there.
Some people, raised their entire lives in a theology of fear, will continue to twist a handful of lines written thousands of years ago; ripping them from their context and original intent to try and validate their mistreatment of you, to justify the story about you they so need to be true—but don’t for a minute believe they speak for God.
And they don’t speak for all Christians either. You need to know that. There are millions of people of faith who believe that you are as God intended, and that both the world and the Church are better because of your presence. There are Christians you don’t need to hide from or prove yourself to. I am one of those Christians. And while I have breath and a voice and a community of faith I call home, you will have a home as well.
Now, I’m not pretending that any of this makes your life any easier.
I know these words can’t really shield you from damage. I know they can’t undo the wounds you’ve incurred. I know they can’t erase from memory, the looping monologue that plays in your head about who you are and what you deserve. I know they can’t bring wisdom or kindness to those who generate violence toward you.
But maybe these words can be a friend when you need one, an ally when you feel vulnerable, an embrace when you feel alone, a defender when the attacks come from within and without, a sure reminder of God’s love for you when people of God cause you to forget it.
Maybe these words will be a light just bright enough to get you through a very dark moment when hope is difficult to see, and they will keep you going. You should keep going. You deserve to see the days that are in front of you; to live and breathe and find joy in them.
My friend, you are not an abomination. You are fearfully, wonderfully made and you are dearly loved.
Know that you are not alone in this life, and be greatly encouraged today.
Get John’s book, ‘Hope and Other Superpowers’ HERE!
