Judas

Judas. One of the twelve disciples of Jesus who betrayed him for 30 pieces of silver. He identified Jesus to the arresting soldiers by kissing Jesus...."this is the one." There are two different graphic accounts of his death. Matthew describes it as a suicide by hanging. The Acts of the Apostles describes him falling down and his bowels gushing out. Pleasant, isn't it?

You know, I played Judas one year in the Easter cantata. I remember the scene well: I was to enter stage right, in the darkness, and -- hesitantly, of course -- taking the small bag of 30 coins from the priests....their payment to me for my kissing Jesus in betrayal. Draw out the agony, the fighting of my spirit as to whether I should take this bribery payment or not. And I did. Friday night, three times on Sunday, and again on Monday night. Year after year, I was a member of our 120-voice Singing Ambassadors church choir at Central Assembly Christian Life Center in Boise. We spent the three months before Christmas and the three months before Easter rehearsing for the full weekend of cantatas.

Easter was always a busy day. Up at 05:00am for the 06:30am sunrise service. Always held by the fountain in Ann Morrison Park along the Boise River. Sometimes the weather cooperated and brought an amazing sunrise. Other times, the temperatures were freezing and hinted at frost. After the sunrise service, we all headed out to the church for a pancake breakfast followed by two services Easter morning and another Easter evening. We were exhausted by the time the whole thing was over.

Ten years since my personal coming out, I never knew that my faith would be carried down the roads that it has. I spent 35 years of my life in the pews of churches across the globe -- in addition to my own. Padded, comfortable cushions. Ate, drank, slept at the church, as it were. The assistant choir director, youth group leader, helper at camps for the kids, worked in the church's hot dog booth at the Western Idaho State Fair, sang every single night at the same fair, filed music for the church choir, chose music to be sung, directed the band and choir, sang a solo or two, put together choreography and "moves" for the choir (nothing too "worldly".....remember it's "lips, not hips" when you're inside the four walls of the church). I did it all. And happily. And in the closet.

It's weekends like this that I think back to what my life used to be. Busy at the church. Preparing. Last-minute arrangements. Phone calls. It seems a little quiet now, sometimes. No more of that hustle and bustle. No more dealings with the in's and out's of the church business. I had no idea that my faith would be made so strong because of those many years of experience. I believe in a God of inclusion today. I think I did then, too, even though things were a little muddled up at that point in my life. One that hates anger, jealousy, indifference, and injustice. One that disapproves of separation, of division, and of walls. But one that approves of loving those who may not deserve it, of giving to those who don't have, of saying "I'm sorry" when it's your turn to.

Shortly after I began blogging, I received an email from a former friend, a member of the church in Boise. Someone that I knew, but was not particularly close to. It came as a total surprise and completely out of the blue. I thought that I had saved the email to include in a future blog post. But, apparently, it has been lost. Cindy was her name. She mentioned that she had found my blog and was sad and disappointed in the way that my life had gone. "That was not the way you were brought up," she said. She said that my parents brought me up differently than that....and that my parents had prayed for me. Also that she was praying for me. She thought that my post showed my struggle between right and wrong. She really let me have it. She essentially called me a Judas of sorts. What Cindy doesn't realize is that I turned out exactly the way that my parents had raised me. Happily.

I never did respond. I had about three different lines of thought that I was going to toss back at her. But I know that she is one of many whose faith is fragile and undeveloped -- a faith with limits. Afraid of being tested and tried. Afraid of the new and scared to death of the "different." And very afraid that our world, especially the world where I performed many Easter cantatas, has ventured so far from the good teachings of the God that we claimed to know so much about. The teachings of love over hate, of bringing hope to those who need it desperately, and of putting others first....even when it doesn't feel good. We're a long way from that today. And I'm a long way from those old days of Easter cantatas. I take my knowledge and the things I learned from that period of time for exactly what they're worth. A lot. I want no anger, hatred, or bitterness because of it. I can't afford it. I'm thankful for where I am today. And that the past is exactly that. And I'm well aware that the future is bright and full of light, hope, and good energy. I'm going there. I hope you will too. I'd love some company.