he's so gay

Ray Boltz, a super, duper popular Christian contemporary music star came out of the closet a few years ago. I only just found out about it because, you know, I don't really follow that scene anymore.

He was one of my favorites as a kid. His lyrics were poetic and usually told a beautiful story. I absolutely loved him. My dad loves him too. Boltz is either his favorite singer, or in the top 2-3.

I hate to admit this, because it's kind of mean-spirited, but goddammit, I'm like a kid at Christmas! I cannot wait to tell him. Why? Because it'll irk him. He may even get rid of his CD's. But most importantly, I'm excited for my dad to think about this. I want to bring up a conversation about it that isn't initiated by him being bigoted and me trying to keep quiet while still defending the LGBT community.

Boltz very much still believes in Jesus. His blog features some of his newer music, very LGBT centered, because he's finally free to admit it, and also because most Christians/Christian radio stations shun him now.

Here's my favorite of his new songs:



I think it is absolutely an amazing story. He was married to his wife for 30 years. They had kids. But he started feeling like he couldn't hide anymore. And now he's a better person. That's really an inspiration to me, especially seeing a Christian be loving, honest and not an asshole.

How will I bring this all up to my dad? I'll probably tell him the news and then ask him to sit down and watch For The Bible Tells Me So, a documentary exploring and challenging fundamentalist Christian's view of homosexuality.

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live life loud

Life life loud, live it unapologetically. Life fiercely.
Take the moment; grab it by the neck and squeeze every ounce of enjoyment out of it.
Don't look around you and wonder what people will think. Don't let others opinions of your actions stop you.

Go ahead.
Twirl.
Head bang.
Sing the "Singing in the Rain" song in a downpour.
Hell, even twirl one of those ridiculous yellow umbrellas around. (You know you want to! Where would one buy a yellow umbrella, anyway?)

If we lived our lives wondering who's watching and what's running through their heads, our lives would be normal.
And who likes normal?

Normal is everyday; it's mundane. . . it's boring.

If it doesn't go against your morals and it wouldn't go against others (stumbling block) do what your heart demands.

I've been known to break into song in the middle of grocery stores. It drives my best friend crazy, but you know what? She's loosened up since I met her. The first time I did something like that near her I thought she was going to have an anurism. Thank God, she didn't, and now she kind of appreciates me for my crazy weirdness. I don't think she'd want me to be normal. I think she'd be bored.

Most of all, I'd be bored.

I was normal once. And, God, did I hate it.

Now? Now it's great. I can dance around the house in my underwear and my parents don't even notice anymore (unless it's a thong, then they notice). They almost expect me to say something silly. I swear there are these ultra-awkward silences that follow anything anyone says in my household. My theory: they're giving me time to respond.

Like after my dad said something about how it's not a "butt" it's a "rear end" and I told him "Fine then, would you please scootch your arse?"
Believe it or not- he laughed. The man laughed.
I don't think I've heard him laugh at anything but knock-knock jokes. Ever. Especially something "crude" like that. It was great. I actually felt like his daughter for once.
Once.

Live life loud. Make people notice. Whether your cause is the environment, how Bush was really a great president (shout out to my best friend) or like me, love, make yourself known. The world isn't changed by people who sit back and hope that someone else will say something they agree with on tv- it's changed by those who speak to their friends, their family and any general public who's there to witness the soap box.

Come on now, people. You aren't dead yet! Live like it. Sometimes I wonder if people in the church haven't been slipped a little sedative before walking in. I wonder if I'm the only one who disagrees with the pastor. I wonder if they believe in anything at all.

Most of all, I believe in a loving Jesus. No matter what religion or deity you believe in I'm sure that somewhere deep in your heart your wish is that Jesus does truly love you.

I met someone a couple months ago who has become one of my dearest friends. Her name is Emily. She smokes more pot than Bob Marley did, recently got her nipples pierced and is bisexual. Emily has an eating disorder and claims she hates Christians. They made fun of her in high school for being bi. She says she'd never want to be one of us.

You know what? Neither would I.

Emily believes in Jesus though. She tells me she reads the Bible and that she likes the Jesus she sees in there. She sees a contrast, though, between the one that's in the Bible and the one we preach and supposedly emulate.

She's absolutely right.

We've come so far, they say. Yeah, we have. In the wrong direction.

I'm not saying that Jesus would pat Emily on the back for liking girls and liking sex. I'm just saying that Jesus wouldn't make a girl cry, even if that girl sinned.

Everywhere in the Bible I see Jesus comforting, loving and healing. I don't see anyone with a right heart being turned away.

We've come a long way, baby. Now we turn people away at the doors, refusing them entrance into God's house because of how they look. What would God say?

If I ever start a church, I'm going to go find the "scum of the earth" and bring them in. Be they prostitutes, transvestites, gays, lesbians, televangelists that look like Barbie on speed, self-injurers, anorexics, murders, liars, cheats. They'd be part of Jesus' church too, if He started one here in the United States today. You know why? Because when He sent the invitations out to all the preachers and deacons and Episcopal priests they were all busy.

They were all working on their ticket to heaven. They were all wearing their golden crosses that just kept their neck weighed down and their eyes cast to the ground. They were too busy to come see the true Jesus, just like most of us Christians are too busy now.

So Jesus sent His servants out to the wayside to find guests for His party, didn't He? He got the homeless and the dirtiest. And I bet they had a blast. I would have given anything to go that party. Because it was real and honest.

I bet there was a lot of rejoicing going on there. A lot of healing. They probably never got around to the fattened calf.

Can you see Him? He's surrounded by people begging to be healed of their sorry sins and their ravaged hearts. And He's healing them all because they are broken.

Come on, people. Wake up. Jesus wouldn't hang out at our churches. He'd be down at the corner of 5th and Capitol at that abandoned Lutheran church drinking coffee with the homeless. He'd be drying the tears of a prostitute. I'm thinking He'd only step into our churches to tell us we're like the white-washed tombs. We might look nice on the outside, but inside- we're dead and rotting. We're stinky.

I don't wanna stink. Especially when I finally meet Jesus. I wanna smell good!

Philippians 4:18b

Your gifts are a soothing aroma, a sacrifice that God accepts and with which he is pleased.

How do you smell to Jesus? Minty fresh? A little B.O.?

Living life loud means standing up and being counted.

Let's live life loud, and let's release a good fragrance unto the Lord.

(When did I turn into a black preacher?)

I, for one, renounce Christianity completely. I don't want to be part of this social club. I want someone who heals hearts, and that's not the white Jesus with the beard I see as the head of today's churches.

I'm waiting for the Jesus who's dirty and ragged and who was bloodied for me.

Nope. I'm not a Christian. I'm just a lover of people.

Can I get an Amen?

Ready, set. . .

Go.

So, I know I blog sporadically, but my non-new years resolution is to blog at least twice a day. . . or maybe once a week, because it takes deep emotions for me to get motivated to write, and deep emotion is usually blocked, if I can help it.

But, for now, I'll post some of my older blogs, both from Facebook and Myspace, that I like and that other people like.

Here's a mini one for what I'm feeling now (it may end up being longer, I dont know):
I sat outside in the dark today, trying to see the steaks I was grilling in the gas-lit flame, and wondering if I was really a vegeterian. I mean, I didn't really feel like eating that meat, and I was just grilling it for my parents, but. . I could eat it.
I was thinking about other things, too, like how I fall in love too easily.
Oh, not always with boys or anything, but mostly with ideas, and hope, and music, and the wind. I want to follow those things forever, no matter what, and then I wait for a while, and I become appathetic again.
And I wonder if love is all it's cracked up to be.
I hear it is.
But no one has ever shown it to me. . and I'm not whining. . . I'm not really pleading, just sort of, without really saying it.
I'm not even sure the love I give is 100%, or if it can be. I want it to be. I want to love without reservation or pre-concieved ideas or notions. . .
But is that possible?
Maybe in an environment other than mine.
But is that an excuse?

I want to fall in love with Jesus.
Not Jesus with the blue and white robe.
But Jesus who spit into the dirt to make mud and then rubbed it on the blind guy's eyes to give him back something considered irrepariable.
Or the Jesus that didn't mind loosing some of His power through the hem of His garment. He healed her.
Can He heal me?

The Jesus with dirty feet and dirty hands who hangs out with prostitutes and homeless and the "scum" of the earth who know the meaning of real love.

Maybe if I hang out there too, I can find out what that meaning is.