I recorded a song. It’s a little story that my wife Becca came up with. We were biking up the hill coming home and we saw a balloon hovering over someones yard. Becca immediately started rapping the opening line. When we got home I set it to music.
Enjoy!
When I got up today, I discovered a wellspring of poison. It’s called charismanews.com. A friend of mine posted an article from one of their opinion writers, Michael Brown. In his article My Response to Your Inaugural Speech, Mr. President, he spouts the familiar fundamentalist rhetoric. The author is a particularly outspoken member of the anti gay movement. He warns,
“what was once associated with the extremist views of radical gay activists is now as American as apple pie.”
If you’re into reading the odious ramblings of extreme devotion here is the link. Toxic Christian Link When I saw the status pop up on Facebook, I read the article right away. The friend in mention is someone whom I have looked up to for many years. This is what I posted on his status:
“I forgot how popular this stance was. I read this article along with the dozens of hateful and suspicious responses affirming it. I’m with the president on this one.”
It got a like. I looked back a few hours later and my comment had been deleted. I guess he didn’t want my voice in the conversation.
Reading through the comments on the Charisma News article was heart breaking. It’s perhaps the highest concentration of self righteous misinformation I’ve ever seen. A cacophony of poorly worded phrases shouting that homosexuality is disgraceful, how the president is leading the country into oblivion, how gays need to repent and be healed of their illness, how Christianity is being marginalized at the State level and so on. The ignorance is truly overwhelming.
The thing is that when you talk about LGBTQ’s we’re talking about a group that has been so marginalized that people are just now beginning to stand up for them. Just now, we, society are starting to wake up and realize that these people deserve rights. Religious people are complaining about threats on their ‘rights’ to subjugate and defame these people while the people in mention are fighting for the right to simply be who they are and enjoy the freedoms that others have enjoyed for millennia.
My comments get erased quite often on Christian pages. It’s OK. Their not curtailing my right to free speech. If I’d been arrested, that would be a First Amendment issue. I’ve noticed over the past couple of years that there are a lot of claims that Christians are being persecuted. These claims are often false or bloated.
Here’s the big question. Why do I care about gay rights when there are so many other problems going on in the world? With wars, disease, famine, and injustice, can’t we talk about something else? The answer is simple. Because freedom is important. If we can claim that we know what is better for people than they do, what have we become? Tyrants? Gods? I think that this is really about liberty. I’m happy that the President said what he said at his Inauguration and I hope that real progress comes our way.
When I was growing up, my mom told me that I was American Indian, Chinese, German and Irish. German and Irish from my father’s side and American Indian and Chinese from hers. When I was in school learning about the Native Americans, I would raise my hand and offer that I was Mohawk and Shinnecock. I came to identify with the history and struggles of American Indian peoples. I am comfortable saying American Indian rather than Native American because I came to learn that many refer to themselves in that way. It’s also the language my mother used to teach me of the origin of my maternal grandmother so I didn’t question it. On her fathers side, she said that she was Chinese. this was less specific but I was told of a grandfather named Wy Lee, a great aunt named Mae Ling Pang, and uncles whose names escape me.
Needless to say, I believed my mother and didn’t doubt her regarding my ancestry. I was however an extremely inquisitive child, often requiring answers which were far beyond the reach of my mothers knowledge. I often asked her to tell me more about my ancestors. How do you know which tribes we have links to? What were their customs? Do I have a native American name? Are chinese people tall like me? I have straight fingers, is this a Native American trait? Teach me a chinese word. Well you must know some… To be fair to my mother, inquisitive might not be strong enough a word to describe my young self. I would demand answers of her ranging on all topics. When she was not able to answer questions such as, “could there be a way to get energy from sources which are not hot or burning?” a question that I thought up when I was about 10, she would admit that she didn’t have answers for me. This led me to demand her to guess. She would go on by saying that it wouldn’t be fair to just throw out an answer, but I was persistent. Eventually she would break down and offer up a line of reasoning to which I would immediately offer a rebuttal if I deemed her answer to be faulty in logical construction. It must have been infuriating.
To the issue of ethnic origin she did have many answers. These answers are likely to be entirely false. I was told that I did indeed have an Indian name. It was Hiawatha. Upon reflection I think that this is a rather good choice for fabrication because the historical Hiawatha was perhaps a leader among 16th century Mohawks a tribe to which my grandmother supposedly belonged. Here’s where it gets tricky. I was told that my Grandmother’s maiden name was Mantancowa. This combination is egregiously false. Mantan is the name of a potential ancestor and Cowa is the name of someone else entirely. There was also a long name which my mother called herself on occasion which was used to bolster the American Indian lineage claim. Kim-sita Buquita Bernadette Tickawitha Mantan Cowa Lee. Mantancowa was always said as one word and to a child, it bears familiarity to Hiawatha which was verifiably and indisputably American Indian.
When I hit pre-adolescence, I started getting to know people from my mothers side of the family. They were black. Sure, everyone was some combination of ethnicities which mixed black with something else i.e. Italian, but these people were certainly not Native American. My cousin Johnny was someone who I looked up to immediately. He was an athlete and still is, competing in marathons and cycling races. He was in my estimation, my ticket to being cool as was his sister Gia. They both grew up in the Bronx so their accents were distinctly urban and yet not ghetto or uneducated. Their mother and my mothers sister, Margo, has a very dark complexion. She has always been lovely, intelligent, and even-tempered. She was and is unusually stable for a member of my family and this stood out.
The following is one of my favorite stories to tell. I was staying over at Johnny’s apartment in Tuckahoe. I was probably 13 years old. I drove somewhere with him in his white 80′s toyota sports car. It was so cool that every time I see a Japanese car from the 80′s in good condition, I smile and desire it. I asked John why he refers to himself as black rather than black, American Indian and so forth. He looked at me and said, “American Indian? Who told you that? Your grandmother was as black as the night itself. You know how you can jump higher than most of your friends? Have you ever thought why that might be? Ya Black! Have you ever been at the store and saw some thing that you wanted but couldn’t afford? Have you ever thought of stealing something before? Ya black!” He went on and on listing embarrassingly typical racial stereotypes. He said it of course to make me laugh as I am laughing while I write this account.
That night I had a dream that I acquired African features; much darker skin, more pronounced lips and a nose which flared out to a greater degree than mine did. When I spoke to my cousin in the morning I told him about my dream. He said, “I understand, I cried when I found out that I was black.” Of course he was joking for my sake. I wasn’t distressed by this knowledge but I was somewhat let down by the fact that my mother had either knowingly or otherwise misled me into believing that I had American Indian ancestors.
I had of course asked her if we were black. Believe it or not many of my black friends growing up asked me if I was biracial. She always denied having an African American background.
A Quick Note On Race:
The human species is not subdivided into racial categories. The whole topic of race is language borrowed from a less informed time. People perpetuate attitudes and behaviors based on their perceived race or the races of others but make no mistake, there is just one race of hominids and it’s Homo Sapiens aka Humans. We’re it. Find the weirdest looking person you can think of. You’re the same race as them.
Having been brought up with conflicting information regarding my now debunked racial origin had it’s disadvantages. My mother occasionally called me White Boy. This was disconcerting because I knew of no positive context for this expression. I would complain when she called me that and she would say, you should be proud of your heritage. I call this deflection. I eventually disallowed my mother from calling me that which resulted in her coming out to me as a black person. This was when I was about 24 years old.
I have a really fond memory of hanging out with the Asian kids when I was in 7th Grade. I had just learned about Asia in my world studies class and I was eager to make friends with more of my kind. None of the kids objected to me tagging along. They didn’t ridicule me or show skepticism toward my obviously non asian features. It was nice.
When I was in High school I didn’t have a lunch table. I was a floater. A free agent if you will. As a freshman, I spent some time with the minorities who seemed to clump together around two tables which were closest to the a la carte section of the cafeteria. I wonder if there is a joke somewhere in there? Anyway, this lasted for a short time and then I would go off to another table for a while. Being a sensitive kid who didn’t understand ironic humor made school a difficult place for me. There is much to go into on that subject which I will save for another post.
I remember some friends inviting me to a minority club. We got together, listened to rap, and ate fried chicken. I’m not even kidding. I ended up not going to many of those meetings. It was transparent even to me, an oblivious teenager. There might have been and illustration being made but I didn’t understand irony at that point so I didn’t stay to find out if that was the case.
One afternoon there was a pep rally. A girl who I had a crush on invited me to sit with her in the bleachers. She said, come on, all of the minorities will be sitting in the same section. I became immediately disinterested because the purpose of a pep rally was to represent your graduating class, not to segregate into color groups. This is the day that I stopped caring about race.
At that point I was still very unclear about my background. My mother had regained ground in casting doubt that I was black. I was often asked about my family origins. I told people that I was American. That was good enough for me but to many Americans, this is not an acceptable answer. You can’t just go around with a perma-tan and call yourself merely American. “What are you really?” was a common response I would get. I sometimes gave more information but the truth is, I didn’t have very much to give. I know that my dad was Irish and Lithuanian, not German at all. My mom is for all I know only black but I have reason to believe that she could be Indonesian or East Indian. Her birth certificate says that her father was Sanka Mantan of Indonesia. I only have a sliver of information regarding a grandfather who might have been from India but it’s from an unreliable source. I suppose it’s also possible that my maternal grandfather was actually Chinese. These things are all currently unconfirmed so I will continue to give the short form answer when pressed. I’m black, Irish, and Lithuanian.
These things all bear a diluted meaning to me. I spent a lot of time identifying with various groups so now, I feel as though I’m a part of every group. Middle eastern people often ask me if I’m from one of their countries. Hispanic people regularly claim me as theirs. Italians tell me that I look italian, black people tell me that I look white. White people usually don’t care either way unless their racist in which case I sometimes become the subject of their indignity.
I believe that my mother came out as black in the year 2005. She had just returned from being away for a long time and we were reestablishing contact. We were having a great conversation on the phone and she called me white boy for some reason. I simply replied, “You no longer have permission to call me that anymore. It never means anything good.” To this she broke down. She admitted to me for the first time in my life that she was black. She told me of how she was able to pass for something else. She has thin lips and wavy hair rather than tight curls. It’s just enough to cast a shadow of doubt on her origin. She had struggles growing up that I won’t begin to understand. It was the past and as with almost everything, it was worse, less accepting, and more ignorant. People on both sides of the racial divide were likely intolerant of her. Although she grew up in New York City, she was unable to cope with this part of her identity.
After my mother told me this story, she asked how I felt now that I knew that I was black. I told her that I had know for over ten years at that point and that I felt the same as I had before. In the following weeks she purchased a black Barbie for herself and purchased me two FUBU jackets the size of sleeping bags.
When she presented them to me, I tried to look grateful but was confounded by how ridiculous they were, fur collar and all. I declined stating that they didn’t fit the way I like my clothes to fit to which she replied, “But baby, they’re For Us, By Us!”
This is really just the tip of the iceberg. I didn’t realize that I had so much to say about racial identity. I think that overall, I am at an advantage having identified with so many ethnic groups. Coming to the understanding that race is a hoax anyway had led me to be an more inclusive person. I like identifying with everyone I meet. I hope that more people have the opportunity to be as racially confused as I was.
I sit in my office on a rainy night in Germany but I feel like I’m in Connecticut where a horrible shooting just took place. At Sandy Hook Elementary School, just a couple of towns away from where I grew up, a shooter shot and killed upwards of 25 people. Most of them were children. As I held my 1 year old before she went off to bed, I shuddered in horror and cried. I immediately understood the feeling of dread that anyone must have felt with children or loved ones in that school. This feeling of course was accompanied by confusion, frustration, and sorrow.
News outlets keen to break a story mistakenly released a Facebook profile picture of a man assumed to be the killer. The release of this false information was immediately followed by angry hordes of justice seeking commenters. “Burn in hell”, “Murderer!!!” and comments to the like are rolling in by the tens of thousands. The cry for blood is deafening. I am able to understand this reaction as people seek payment for loss but I’ve never felt these feelings. This reaction is almost as repulsive to me as the initial crime. Why are people like this? I guess I just don’t have the gift of justice.
I’ve never understood people’s desire to respond to tragic violence with more violence. I didn’t feel it on September 11, 2001 when so many people died senselessly at the hands of fanatical terrorists and I don’t even understand it in the case of this massacre of school children. I think that revenge and cruelty enacted by any people at any time is bad for all people. All I can feel is sadness and loss. I hope that misinformation and suspicion doesn’t lead to any further confusion or loss of life. I think that job number one is to figure out how to stop this from happening again.
My deepest condolences to those entangled in this tragedy. I hope that you find the strength to overcome.
I think that I might be homophobic. When I see two gay men kissing, it seems weird to me. It’s as if they’ve put broccoli, hardboiled eggs, and orange juice into a blender and started chugging. When I think about drinking such a concoction I am grossed out. I’ve never had that before and to my knowledge, there is no record of acceptability regarding that combination of raw materials.
As with many things in life, I feel that it is best to approach this topic with thinking. We humans have all kinds of impulses which are built in but are not necessarily expedient to carry out. I’m afraid of sharp objects and heights for example. I have to overcome my fear of knives often because they are so useful. I’m not interested in simply avoiding situations where knives, saws, or scissors are used because my life would simply not function as smoothly without such commodities.
My fear of heights is something I have long been aware of and determined to conquer. I love scenic over views so I often go against my natural predisposition in order to experience the beauty of nature itself. I have used this fear to my advantage. When I used to snowboard, I would feel this wave of fear wash over me whenever I needed to approach the ski lift. That feeling would persist until I reached the bottom again. I came to enjoy the heightened sense of awareness that came with experiencing that fear and treating it with a healthy dose of logic. I was able to say, this is good even though my nature says it’s bad.
I’ve found that homosexuality is not that gross or scary after all. Going back to the blended drink analogy, I am repulsed by the combination of three elements which I really like. Broccoli, hardboiled eggs, and orange juice are some of my favorite things to consume. I think that they taste delicious separately and although it’s not for me, I could imagine that some people could find value in the combining of these items. It’s a lot like gay marriage. Here are three things which I can genuinely appreciate. People loving each other, people being committed to one another, and people finding out who they are.
I really like the last one. I know a guy who really likes to roller-skate. It’s his passion. It’s weird to me how much he geeks out on those skates but hey, he’s happy. He knows what he likes and that is awesome.
I can make a logical conclusion that people being in love, being committed to one another, and becoming comfortable with their identity are all good things. If those people decide to combine but don’t do so according to my preferences regarding gender, who am I to complain. They are not me. It doesn’t hurt my life at all, in fact, I think that it enriches my life when gay people get married or when someone comes to terms with the fact that they identify with another gender or whatever. It broadens my perspective and prepares me to overcome other irrational fears.
There has been a shift in the way that I see gay people ever since I’ve started applying logic to my perception of their love. I now appreciate the beauty of people loving one another. There are a ton of heart warming images coming out of Washington State after the recent legalization of gay marriage there. I no longer struggle to find beauty in these unions because the ingredients are clearly noble and good. Once again I’m finding that logical conditioning can positively affect emotional responses. Congratulations to all of the newly weds in Washington state. I hope that other Americans will soon experience the freedom that you’ve just tasted.
I’ve been thinking about Satan a lot recently. You know, the red forked tailed fellow with horns who depending on your beliefs, can read your thoughts, is nearly omnipresent, and used to lead worship in heaven. He’s the angel who transmogrified himself into a talking snake; The Devil, The Prince of the Power of the Air, Lucifer, The Accuser, The Father of Lies, The Enemy, The Evil One, That Serpent of Old, Son of the Morning, and so on. Man does this guy have a bad rap. Most of the people who I know who warn of Satan’s trickery refer to him as simply, The Enemy. Most people don’t want to come out and say the word Satan. You start to sound crazy when you talk about him seriously. It’s because it is crazy.
I started thinking about this after reading this post from Mark Driscoll, The founding pastor of Mars Hill Church in Seattle. The post is titled, 3 Ways to Examine Our and Others’ Faith. It’s pretty straight forward. He starts off with a story about someone who thought he was a christian but really wasn’t. He sins, hears from God that he’s going the wrong way, gets convicted from going to church and so on. This is a story that sounds very familiar to me. He goes on to list three tests we can use to examine our faith and the faith of others. In test three, Driscoll straight up says,
“John tells us that we can discern who the children of God or the children of the devil are based upon these three observations. Though our knowledge of someone’s salvation isn’t exhaustive, these three tests are sufficient to help the church humbly, lovingly, and patiently examine those within her jurisdiction to see if someone is or is not a Christian.”
His reasoning comes from the bible (1 John 3:11–15).
Mark Driscoll does this thing where he always warns of danger. Danger of falling into lust, danger of letting pop culture values seep into your morality, danger of marriage being sullied by the homosexual agenda, danger in watching Twilight or Avatar, danger, danger, danger. In this post he claims that there are two groups, The children of God, and the children of the Devil.
It feels silly that I need to clarify that there is no demonstrable danger in any of the things mentioned above. I think that pastors like to post on hot topic issues in order to increase web statistics. I’m sure that some of them genuinely believe that they are protecting the “flock” but I think that this sort of warning causes irrationality.
I was reluctant to share my story of unbelief because of this very method of thinking. How much suspicion has been propagated by the idea that Satan is controlling people? I can’t imagine that Satan has really lived up to his reputation. So much of the bad things that happen in the world are enacted by crazy or deluded people who claim to serve God. Whenever there is a natural disaster, we hear some preacher or religious person claim that the disaster is Gods way of judging the effected area for sins or political decisions. Even from a Christian perspective, what evidence is there to believe in the person of Satan? If God was so good, why would he allow Satan to continually foil the plans he has for his people?
More about suspicion:
I think that most of Satan’s dirty work can be attributed to people just thinking that he is in the background causing trouble. Suppose you have a neighbor. You believe in spiritual forces and you suspect that he/she might be in league with the Evil One. You might end up treating the neighbor as an enemy rather than treating them as yourself. This doesn’t even hold up in Jesus’s top two commandments found in Matthew 22:36-40.
Suspicion leads to bad social interactions. My wife ran into someone from church recently. Church acquaintance X asked Becca how she was. Becca told X that she had been experiencing pain from her Crohn’s. X asked Becca how she was praying and implied that she might not be saying the right stuff in order to be healed by God. The acquaintance then told Becca that he/she felt like God was saying that our marriage is suffering. I haven’t been to church in several months therefore this person suspects that my marriage is falling apart. My marriage is awesome thank you very much.
I think that people get really worked up about perceived patterns. We humans see patterns where none exist. We are great at convincing ourselves that something is afoot when in reality nothing is. Satan is a myth that some people perpetuate to cause fear in others and to act out their suspicions.
Please stop believing in Satan.
The truth about me…
I’ve recently realized that I have been shutting people out. I have been afraid to let people know about some changes that I’ve gone through this year. Life in the closet is a lonely one so here it goes.
I’m an atheist. Seriously though…
Basically I’ve been trying to decide which sounds better – Heresy or Apostasy. For the past year I have been critical of the bible. I don’t think that it is trustworthy on human rights issues and other moral topics. To say this as a christian would be clearly heretical. I’m not interested in that sort of duality. As a rapper once said- “be true to yourself.”
My loss of faith has a lot to do with the doctrine of heaven and hell, the unequal treatment of women in the church, the condemnation of homosexuals, a growing number of Christians being against science and reason in general, pain in child birth, circumcision, weather, global inequity, the doctrine of vicarious redemption, the general caprice of YAHWEH, the cloudiness of the words of Jesus, and so on.
The truth is that I stopped believing in God around the time that my daughter, Jane, was born. I thought that it was just doubt at first and I tried to hold on to my faith for some time after that but ultimately, I was unable to salvage my Christian worldview. I have been largely in the closet about this for most of 2012. I was afraid that I would lose friends and alienate myself from many of the important people in my life. I recently told a long time mentor about my unbelief and he said: “I’d like to think that our friendship is based on more than just philosophy.” Craig’s response really opened my eyes and helped me to overcome my fear of losing acceptance.
If you are super bummed out I totally understand. I would be too if I were me from a few years ago reading this. For nearly 15 years I lived for Jesus Christ. I was a true believer and I stood for what I perceived to be biblical truth.
Just to be clear, this isn’t anyone’s fault. I have been treated really well by Christians. It was mostly Christians who took me in as family when I really needed people. The Christian people who I have told about my unbelief have been ridiculously supportive.
Some may ask, “why go public? Why not just keep your personal beliefs to yourself?” I asked this question of my self many times. The first answer is that I just need to get on with life. I can’t keep worrying about what I want to say to people. I have a lot of ideas which are no longer in line with the ideology that I’ve held for the entirety of my adulthood. The second answer is that I just want to say new stuff.
Some of you might be wondering why I used the word Atheist. Because my identity was so entangled with my faith in the redemptive power of Jesus Christ, I felt it necessary to find a word with which I could identify. I suppose I could have used the words skeptic or agnostic or even naturalist but I think that atheist does the job in this case.
I came out to my mom last week and she asked me if I became a Scientologist, proving to me that she deeply misunderstood what I was trying to tell her. I had to go on to further clarify that I don’t believe in any spiritual force or in any deity. I think that it was hard for her to hear but she’s my mom and I know that she will always love me.
This leaves me in somewhat of an awkward situation. My wife Becca and I moved to Germany in order to fulfill what we believed was a calling from God. We were welcomed by an awesome community of Christians at Christus Gemeinde and continue to be in touch with many people from that church.
When we got here we got right to work. I started leading worship and Becca started working with kids, doing sound, creating things, and greeting people. After serving for about 15 months I told everyone that I needed a break in order to spend more time with Jane. This was true but there was more to it than that. I just couldn’t lead worship anymore. Worship leading was something which I was very passionate about for over 10 years. I even had the opportunity to do it professionally for a while. When I stopped believing, against the advice of the epic 80′s rock band Journey, leading worship began to feel incredibly inauthentic. I made the decision to step down.
All of this has ultimately led to me being a happier person. I don’t have to worry about what God might be trying to tell me in any given situation. When the wind changes I don’t question it. I am no longer suspicious of people being influenced by evil forces. I find it freeing to make decisions confidently without feeling like I need to strike that perfect balance.
Belief timeline and pertinent information:
Moment of self awareness until about 1991- Deist: I entertained the possibility that there might be a prime mover but I did not believe in a personal God.
November 1991 to 1995- The Magic Johnson Period: Most of my prayers were dedicated to the longevity of Magic Johnson’s life after I learned that he had contracted HIV. I prayed to what I would have called a higher power. I prayed the AA prayer that I learned from my mom and I created long memorized prayers which I would recite before bed. During this time I was also very interested in science. I memorized the spellings of long words, and became familiar with one of my life long heroes – Carl Sagan.
May 1995 to February 1997- Returned to Deism: I actively sought spiritual meaning in things after the death of my Father. I didn’t pray during this time but I did expose myself to books about meditation and Buddhism.
February 15th 1997- Became a born again Christian: This was one of the most significant moments of my adolescence. It marked the beginning of a long journey which brought me to where I am today. My ideology changed throughout the years and was highly shaped by the communities to which I belonged but over all, I was an evangelical christian. If you are reading this and you’ve know me for a while, we probably met during this time period.
1999-2008 – Walnut hill Community Church: During this time I became a man. I Learned about honor, perspective, patience, and hard work. I became a musician in this time, attained a college degree, and essentially became myself.
May 2009-Worship director Grace Community Church: I had been leading worship for about 8 years at that point and I’d been offered a job to do it. I remember talking on the phone with Terryl Delany, the pastor of the church during the interview process. He was long winded and very energetic for a person of any age. During one of our talks he said, “all we can offer you is money, but when you take this job, you are giving your life.” He was right. It’s hard to describe how immersive serving on the staff of a church can be. I was highly involved. I came to know a lot of really great people. I also came to realize that there were certain things which I believed which were not for sharing. At this time I was skeptical of the supposed dangers of homosexuality. I believed that the church was on the wrong side of history on that topic. During this time I became reacquainted with the theory of Evolution and concluded that it was by far the best explanation for the diversity of species on our planet. I also started learning about Astronomy again and learned tons of information supporting a universe from nothing. None of this interfered with my belief in God. I was able to keep my biblical beliefs separate from my growing knowledge of science and my evolving morality on social issues. In this particular environment I decided that I needed to keep these ideas to my self. There was a very strong emphasis on the total inerrancy of the bible. I learned that this position can be polarizing.
January 2011- Missionary partner at Christus Gemeinde, Gau-Algesheim, Germany: In the months leading up to the biggest and by far most stressful move of my life, Becca and I weighed the pros and cons of moving to a foreign country to serve the local church. I had felt drawn to german speaking people for a number of years and had even begun to learn the language. My responsibilities at Grace Community Church increased greatly but my position was not made full time as was previously promised. It was obviously a closing door.
I contacted some people in Germany, set up a visit, went, was offered help to get started in Germany, prayed about it, decided to move and moved all within a 3 or 4 month period of time. It was exceedingly fast. Ultimately I’m happy that we came here. I led worship nearly every week for the first 5 months and after that I led at least twice a month for the next 7 months. The biggest challenge was learning songs in German. I was able to sound decent pronouncing the words while singing but I realized how much I truly dislike worship songs. I knew that I wasn’t such a big fan of the style but having the words distanced from me like that really took the magic away. I even got a chance to lead a christmas choir. It was really fun to work with those people in that context. I love helping people create beautiful music and discover the sense of pride that comes with being a part of something cool. We were heavily involved up until a few weeks before Easter 2012.
December 4th, 2011 – Shadow of Impending Fatherhood: Before we learned that Jane was female I was worried about the baby being a boy. It wasn’t because I didn’t want a boy, I actually was really looking forward to using the boy name that we had picked out. I was worried because I didn’t want to be involved in any ritual which involved cutting the baby’s genitals. Becca was in favor of circumcision because of her jewish background but I had come to think of it as mutilation and immoral. The arguments for circumcision are in my opinion base. An uncircumcised penis looks bad, I want him to look like me, it prevents the spread of disease, it is cleaner. The second two are debunked and the first two have nothing to do with the child. I thought that cutting an infants genitals in order to have it look like me would be an incredibly egocentric stance. There is a surprisingly thick cloud of BS encompassing this topic but it seems like circumcision is largely unnecessary and in many cases dangerous. Becca being a person of reason was able to look at the issue objectively and she also concluded that it is a less than favorable procedure. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway because the practice is not an option here in Germany.
With Jane on the way, I started thinking about all kinds of things. It is typical for Christian families to perform a baby dedication at the church. It’s sort of like infant baptism but without water. I realized that I did not want to have such a ceremony for Jane. I became leery of her becoming indoctrinated. I had already needed to deal with and unlearn some bad things I had been exposed to at church. How could I start Jane off like that? This caused me to think deeply about what I actually believed.
When Becca went into labor it was long and horrible. Her travailing began on Saturday and Jane was born on Tuesday afternoon. I know that her experience was abnormal but I kept coming back to Genesis where God punished all women with pain in child birth. After watching my best friend go through that I could no longer believe in spiritual matters. I realized that we are just mammals and nothing more. Also suffering in general makes me think that if God exists, he, she, or it is bad. I took this as doubt at first but now I realize that my disillusionment really starts with the birth of my kid. For some reason this was the last straw. The foundation of my faith had come undone.
Current perspectives and gratefulness: I think that people are good and that I have a particularly decent crop of friends and acquaintances. I have had tons of support and help from all kinds of people who believed in me and what I invested in. Friendships have been extremely important to me as I am a secret extravert. For this reason I resisted coming out but ultimately I realized that I couldn’t retain any real depth in friendship while keeping my identity hidden. I am ultra grateful for the path I’ve been able to travel and for the quality people who I’ve met along the way. If you made it this far down the screen, I commend you. Thank you for your acceptance and understanding. I would like to think of this as the beginning of a new conversation.
