Tallinn, Estonia -- Reflections on the Old and New

The summer of 1986 found me in Tallinn, Estonia, which was part of the U.S.S.R. at that particular time.  I wrote about my encounters with the KGB and smuggling Bibles and other items into the former Iron Curtain city several years ago and being followed by the local police.   You know, just normal everyday things!  I'd go back and read this former article if you haven't already.  It has so much to do with this current, particular post.

A few days back, I opened the New York Times travel article to discover that it was calling Tallinn "A European capital of culture....a sense of optimism in the air.....it's citizens are among the continent's most cheerful people."  Holy smokes.  That's just something else.  Who would have ever thought.  The article continues on to describe a scant 36 hour whirlwind tour through Tallinn.  Eating, touring, visiting, browsing, fashion and, of course, the past.  The dark past riddled with watch towers, KGB, underground activities and such.  Those are the days I remember.  These new days that the New York Times is describing I'm not familiar with.

I decided to check out the hotel that we stayed in while we were there.  (Again, read the above article first...)  It was the only hotel where tourists could stay at the time.  Operated by Intourist, the government agency who oversaw every single person coming into the USSR for tourism purposes.  We were only permitted to be in certain places, at certain times, with our assigned tour guide.  What I didn't know until today, was that the Viru Hotel actually housed the areas KGB listening post.  They used a secured area on the 23rd floor of this hotel for their purposes.  I can't remember which floor my room was on.  But I remember the warnings about telephones being bugged, two-way mirrors, housekeeping staff who weren't really "housekeeping staff."  Check out this article.  I was so happy to find it.  I also discovered that one of the churches we sang in housed a KGB listening tower in its spire.  Fascinating! 

I'd love to make a trip back there someday.  To reflect and remember.  And to enjoy the newfound fortune of fashion and food as well.   Oh, and I could even go and stay at the newly refurbished Hotel Viru.  I'm assuming that they have removed the listening devices from the lamps and vases.

Hating the Haters...Am I One of Them ??

Have I become one of them?  A hater?  It has crossed my mind more than once in my life.  As I've struggled to figure out how this big, giant cold world operates.  What's what.  Who's who.  What I believe.  And what I don't.  Who is for me.  Who is against me.  Who are my honest-to-goodness friends.  And who are not.  If you don't remember, I was born and raised in the church.  Large.  Evangelical.  Praise music.  Jesus is the only way.  There is no other.  I've been a youth leader, choir director, singer, speaker, errand-running boy, the whole lot.  And I traveled off and on for twelve years with a traveling Christian singing group bringing people to Jesus via music.  A lot has changed in my life since then.  And some things have not changed.  I have spent quite a number of years now without the contact of my former church friends -- the majority of whom will have nothing to do with me because of my "lifestyle choice" as they say.  But a few have dared venture back into my life.  You see, years ago, there would be no blending of right-wing evangelical Christian church and the gays.  Nope.  Not.  Ever.  Today is a bit different, perhaps.

I have a dear, longtime friend....a beautiful Christian woman friend who is quite an amazing individual.  I've liked her since day one.  We are friends on Facebook, and I'm glad we are.  She recently posted a disturbing video about a school in Kabul who is teaching horrible lessons to their boys.  About hating the United States.  About how the US is wrong and horrible and terrible and that they should have nothing to do with us.  And that they should fight us.  It's a less-than-pleasant video to watch.  So, I commented below the video:  "...And yet once more I am reminded of how hate and prejudice is actually taught....not inborn. I'm thinking of how I was raised to not like Russians (Communists) in the Cold War era...they were scary people! And how I was taught that Mormons were to be kept at a distance. And that Catholics were not actually Christians. And how Canadians were socialist liberals and we certainly didn't want any part of that. Nor the gays....because they were just "that way." And the list goes on and on. I do my best to keep an open mind and heart...."  I wasn't excusing what they are teaching in the school.  Not at all.  I think it's horrible and 100% wrong to teach hatred and twist the hearts and minds of the young in our world.  Her response comment was:  "...Just don't hate the haters -- or you become the same thing. ♥"  


We have a beautiful young niece who we love dearly.  She is on our hearts and minds on many days.  And she loves us.  And we love her.  She accepts us for who we are.  And we accept her for who she is.  We always have a great time together.  We have chatted for all of her growing up years that one day she will discover that she has two uncles that live together and that, well, they must be more than uncles.  That day has come and gone.  Nothing has changed.  And it won't until she is taught (remember the video..the teaching) otherwise.  Until a Sunday School teacher or pastor or friend tells her otherwise.  Until someone opens up a Bible and erroneously tries to point fingers that really have no business pointing.  Thankfully, I've got a bit more belief in her tender heart than to think that she will ever turn her back on us.  In fact, I think that we'll be pretty tight with her for a very long time to come.   

Am I the same thing as the haters?  Like I said earlier, it has occurred to me that those who hate the haters are still, well, haters.  And then there is the difference between hating who people are versus what people do.  Believe me, I know all about being hated for who I am.  The tough part for me regarding the video is that these boys are actually, formally, being taught to hate.  It is not who they are to begin with.  It is who they will become because of the twisted teaching of hate.  Now, I don't hate them, or their teacher.  But I do hate what they are teaching and doing....the way they are taking tender minds and using them for bad.  And this conversation could very easily venture right on into mainstream Christianity in the United States today and how it is violently uncomfortable with what they have termed the gay agenda.  Oh, they say they don't hate me, us.  I'm all-too-familiar with phrases like "Love the sinner but hate the sin."  Hogwash.  For years now, that phrase has just made it more tolerable and palatable to enjoy the agenda of separation that the church has put in place between itself and the outside world.  The church, nearly any church, has never been good at bridging the gap in a flawless, easy path between itself and anything going on outside its four walls -- yoga, gays, unmarried couples, single mothers with children, Eastern religions, Tibetan prayer flags, meditation, smoking, drinking, those who do not believe in Christianity.  


But do I hate them?  I don't think I'd call it hate.   But now that I'm thinking about it, there are a few things that I do, perhaps, hate:  hypocrisy, focusing on issues outside the church than inside its four walls, teaching children that being Catholic or Mormon is going to take them to hell, telling children that their gay aunts or uncles are living in sin and that they are going to hell, pretending to like someone all the while having ulterior motives to change them, using fear-based videos and books to show people that the way another nation or religious system believes is wrong....those are things I hate.  Among others. 


So, I guess I am a hater after all.  So, yeah, go ahead and call me a hater.  I guess I am one. And apparently no better than them. 

Secret Millionaire

Have you seen it?  Secret Millionaire on ABC?  I like it.  Perhaps Hollywood'ish.  Perhaps planned.  Perhaps well crafted for emotional moments.  But I still like it.

The other night when we were on the Oregon Coast, I pinned LoverBoy down and made him watch it.  It was the story of Gary and Diane Heavin -- the Texas owners of Curves a workout facility for women.  They live in the middle of nowhere Texas....on acres and acres of land.  Their property is gated.  And the gate is one mile from their home.  That means that their driveway is one mile long!  It keeps them isolated in a beautiful, quiet country estate.  They really do seem like nice people. Christians.  The kind of Christians that pray for things, before meals, for blessings....that sort of thing. 

So, if you don't know already, the show sends millionaires to an unknown location in the US.  They are provided a roof over their heads...and that's about it.  Seriously, it's a very trashy home.  Dirty, unkempt, you and I would not live there.  It is typically inner city.  Dangerous areas.  All poor folks.  Children who are not cared for.  Families who struggle.  They receive $6 or so dollars per day to live on.  And that means Top Ramen for every meal along with maybe white bread with peanut butter.  They drive a beat up car....one that they would never have back at their well-to-do ranches.  And then they are left on their own.  To find a group or two or three to help out for a week.  They are "Secret Millionaires" going under cover as helpful volunteers who are just trying to see what they can do to assist the local neighborhood.  Each show is different, each organization that they discover is different.

On this particular episode, Gary and Diane are sent to Houston's Third Ward.  Honestly, it has to be one of the US's worst places to live with some of the nation's worst crime and poverty.  They found three organizations to help out -- No More Victims a group that assists children and family members of incarcerated parents.  Their goal is to stop the cycle of victimization....and keep the children from following the same steps that their parents do.  Extremely powerful footage of young children describing their home situations and what they do to keep their heads above water.  The second group that Gary and Diane helped was the Sean Ashley House....a home dedicated to helping adults and children living with disabilities, primarily autism.  And the third organization that they discovered was Lazarus House....an amazing group of folks dedicated to helping people with the devastating cycle of malnutrition and muscle wasting that accompanies numerous chronic illnesses like cancer, HIV/AIDS, lupus, and muscular dystrophy.  Gary and Diane are like fish out of water throughout this whole episode.  Gary, especially, struggles to find his way.  A way to relate.  A path to draw commonality.  And the Lazarus House is filled with gay people, those with HIV.  It is obviously the very first time that either Gary or Diane have ever met not only a gay person....but a person with HIV.  They are caught off guard.  And I loved it.  I loved how they did their best to help out, to relate, to kick in and help.  They leave each of the groups with many many thousands of dollars at the end of the week.  They come clean with those who they have rubbed shoulders with for the week about who they really are and what they are there to do.  It is one of those moments. 


In spite of having preconceived ideas about Gary and Diane from my many years inside the four confining walls of many churches, I am very proud of the way that they honestly tried to do their best.  My favorite parts of the show were when Diane said to a young blind HIV-positive lady at the Lazarus House that "I've never met anyone with HIV before."  And when Gary went outside with a clearly gay man and painted.  Brush stroke after brush stroke on a house that needed it badly.  A Christian millionaire with the most common of HIV-positive homosexuals.  To say it brought tears would be putting it mildly.  And the third thing I liked hearing was about that gate.  That big huge giant gate one mile from Gary and Diane's front door.  The gate that keeps them blocked off from the rest of the world.  And in the very last line of the show Gary talks about that gate -- and how it needs to come down.  How there is clearly a world outside of his ranch that needs his help.  And there is. We probably all have one of those gates in our lives.

The Lord's Day

Since it's the Lord's Day, I think it is only appropriate to include you in a letter I'm writing to Doctor Steve Crane.  He is the Senior Minister of Eagle Christian Church in Eagle, Idaho.  My old stomping grounds.  And I still have connections in the area which is how I come to know of this giant evangelical church.  I've been there, several times.  Each time is quite the experience.  But my big deal with the church is the actual, live people that I know who attend it.  That's where my issue comes in.  It's how they talk and live their lives.  The words I hear coming out of their mouths.  The attitudes they have toward other human beings.  And then they go to Eagle Christian Church on Sundays and sit under Doctor Steve Crane's preaching.  

Dear Doctor Crane:

What a pretty building you have.  Larger than it used to be, isn't it.  To accommodate the masses.  The Eagle area has grown so much since I was a child in the area.  I remember the old ECC on State Street in a little, old white building....with steps leading up to the front door, I believe.  I've moved away now.  But I've had the opportunity to visit your church a couple of times in recent years.  The services are nearly exactly as I assumed they would be -- staged, perfect, music here and there, scripture reading at the appropriate times, and the sermon placed just-so in the grand scheme of things.  And communion at just the right time when indicated so by the overhead visual TV monitors that say something like "Communion is Now Being Served."  To me it feels eerily staged, sterile....less than authentic, even.  Oh, I know, every person's perception is their own reality.   Apparently, my perception is off.  I have met you.  And I've met the ever-famous Doctor Beckman.  Seems all I ever hear when I'm back visiting is "Doctor Beckman this or Doctor Beckman that..."  He is obviously well thought of.  I come back for a visit and hear frequent references to the church, you, Sunday School, how many people come to church, and a variety of other things going on around your parts of the world.  They love you.....those folks I know who sit in your sanctuary on Sundays.  And Pastor Mark.  They love him too.  But I have questions.  Because I hear bantering about how great the church is, the pastors are, and all of that.  But I see and hear things out of your congregants mouths that cause me pause.  Cause me to wonder.  Even cause me anger, dare I admit that. 

I hear words and phrases that don't seem to add up to the positive, beautiful, Christian world that I know you promote inside your building.  I sense feelings of hatred, intolerance, and a less-than-stellar view of those who don't share the same opinions or viewpoints.  Now, there's nothing wrong with someone having a differing opinion -- but my concern is when that opinion continues right on down the road to downright nasty and filthy words like "spic" or "schvartze" (because using "schvartze" sounds so much better than nigger).  And the Jews.  They don't like them at all.  Yes sir, right out of the mouths of those who think the world of you and sit in your pews each week.  Sort of makes me squirm a little, you know?  I've heard things like "That school is a top-notch school full of smart kids because there aren't any little spics attending it..."  And I hear how they refer to our current President and the First Lady.  It is so far from a simple differing of a political opinion.  It is deep, dark, and horrible.  It is hate, clearly hate.  It is vile, venomous.  It comes from a place somewhere deep below the surface of their mouths.  Even below the heart level from a place of buried mixed-up, unresolved emotions and feelings.  And it springs forth from the mouth like a black, putrid stream of words that Jesus would never use.  And it goes without saying that they don't like Mormons.  Not just the Mormon religion.  Or the way that Mormon people believe.  They hate Mormons.  The people.  Not a visit goes by that I don't hear about what horrible people the Mormons are.  In fact, looking back to my own childhood, I think that my very earliest memories of how to not like someone else were bred in Idaho.  With regard to Mormons.  And I find that sad.  Thankfully, I'm a quite different man today.  I've been able to shed many of those feelings and have a markedly different vision of today's world than I used to.  My Christianity has migrated to a healthy place not stained any longer by predisposition, name calling, and teachings which are nothing remotely related to those of the Bible.  Balance.  Care.  Concern.  For all.

I remember leaving your church one Sunday morning after a nice little one-hour service.  We all got into the car and headed east on the highway back in toward Boise.  "Let's go to Taco Bell for lunch," I heard from the back seat.  Within minutes, it began.  Bad mouthing others, name calling, a lack of understanding or acceptance.  And I actually said out loud, "If you don't stop, I'm going to turn this car around and drive you right back to the church -- and you can go inside and tell Doctor Crane right to his face what you are saying....I can't imagine he would be happy."  Oh boy, that didn't go over well at all.  Talk about uncomfortable. 

And there's the murder.  Late one Saturday night out in Meridian a few years back.  The first thing I hear out of one of your congregants is "that it's probably a Mexican who did it."  Guess what?  It was a white female.  Caucasian.  Female. 

And then I wonder if they talk about me like that.  Behind my back.  You know, when I'm not around or actually in front of them where I can hear.  You see, I'm gay.  Homosexual.  A real life, honest to goodness fag.  And I have trouble believing that they can possibly love me, think highly of me, when I hear such degrading terms coming out of their hearts when I'm around.  They say they do.  But I must wonder.  Oh, I grew up in the church, Doctor Crane.  I know all of the terms, the phrases, the scriptures.  How to act in church, what to say, all of it.  I know your beliefs, your visions of heaven and hell.  Again, all of it.  I'm no stranger to the church or the Bible.  I've been a youth group leader, a church musician, a teacher, a leader.  I've played all of the church parts well.  Quite well.  But today, I wonder and think.  And it all makes me feel sort of sad for the work you do.  With all of your dedication, education, and devotion to changing the direction the world is headed, I'm not so sure that that honest hearts and souls of today's mainstream, right-wing evangelical Christians are being changed.  Perhaps some phrases, words and outward appearances when it is convenient and acceptable.  But it's the insides that are still quite dark and murky. 

I have this funny feeling that there are a whole slew of so-called Christians in today's world that are going to be in for a very rude awakening one day.  You know, on that day -- that day when the world comes to an end, that day when the sheep get separated from the goats.  I just have this feeling that things are not going to play out in quite the way that many are assuming.  So, I'll be back.  To the area.  Certainly not to the church.  I just can't stomach it any longer.  I've tried.  But if what I see in the lives of those who attend your church is a manifestation of what you're teaching, training and believing at Eagle Christian Church, I just can't be a part of it.

Continue to Confound the Wise

It will come as no surprise to most of you that I have strong roots in the Christian church in America. Born, raised, practically lived on the church pew. Presbyterian. Assembly of God. And everywhere in between. Giant missionary and traveling musician background around the globe. The stories are endless. But I am still amazed at how different the Christian church in America "looks." To me, to others....compared to the Christian church in other nations or parts of the world. It just looks different. Apparently the same Bible. Apparently the same scriptures. But drastically different visual effects. Viewpoints on nudity, alcohol, smoking and what is, and is not, permitted inside the church vary widely from nation to nation. Somehow, the good ol' USofA has cast its own eerie glow over many centuries-old traditions. We tote it as the gospel truth. Despite the fact that we are one of the younger social groups around the earth. We stand proud and declare that it's our way or the high way. But we're wrong. Well, many of those inside mainstream evangelical Christianity in America are wrong, perhaps I should say. It is not new news to anybody that hypocrisy rules most churches in America today. The examples are endless.

Recently novelist Anne Rice has declared that she is quitting Christianity because she's seen too much hypocrisy. She's not alone. She's not the first person to open her eyes and see it. But she is one of the more popular to call it what it is and want to get the hell out. It's like living a lie. Living inside of a body that isn't yours. I admire her open mindedness and ability to think for herself instead of have a church pulpit think for her. The Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life completed a 2008 study of faith and religion in America. Check out these quotes from evangelical pollster George Barna:

• American Christianity (side note: Notice how he defines it as the American version!) is not well, and there's evidence to indicate that its condition is more critical than most realize -- or at least want to admit.
• Little measurable difference between the moral behavior of churchgoers and the rest of American society.
  
• Born again Christians are more likely to divorce than other Americans (an act strongly condemned by Jesus).
• Born again Christians are more likely to be racist than other Americans. (Duh...)
  
• While evangelical Christian overwhelmingly say they believe in abstaining from premarital sex, they are more likely to be sexually active than peers.
  
• Every day the church is becoming more like the world it allegedly seeks to change.
  
• An unsettling conclusion: Many people who call themselves Christians don't really believe, deep down, in the tenets of their faith. Their actions reveal their true beliefs.
  
• Churches in America are said to be the most segregated places in America.
  

Any astounding conclusions here? Nope. I didn't think so. I love knowing that many of us know this crap already -- and we have for a very, very long time. I wonder when The Steeple will figure it out?

Christianity Revisited

If you've read my antics for any length of time, it probably will come as no surprise that I spent a giant chunk of my life on the church pew. Born and raised and drenched in the spirit. Brought people to Jesus. Youth group leader. Chaperon to more than one church camp, road trip, and outing. Gave sermons, sang solos, directed musical groups complete with those little official looking batons, taught music parts, programs and choreography. Lead Bible studies. Talked my way in and out of the former Soviet Union and Eastern Block countries with my Bible-toting kids. And concert coordinator for many Christian music groups. I loved that. Contacting booking agencies and artists about concerts, dates, time and places. I grew up in the First Presbyterian Church in Boise. From there, we migrated to the Boise Valley Christian Communion -- a giant nondenominational free-form congregation made up of all sorts of people. And it was at BVCC in the late 1970s-1980s that I found myself booking these Christian musical artists. During this time in history, Christian music was finding its name and place. New artists all over the place. The church was discovering that it, too, could have peppy music -- with the words changed to reflect the Bible and church values -- god help us if we actually allowed songs inside the church as written. The words simply had to be changed. And it most definitely had to be "Lips not hips"...dancing was not allowed in my church. Early Christian music began in the 1960s with the likes of Andre Crouch and the Disciples and Randy Stonehill . I remember seeing both of these guys at such events as Jesus Northwest -- giant Christian festivals in the summertime jammed with upwards of 50,000 people in some field somewhere all with their hands up in the air and swaying back and forth. Such songs as It Won't Be Long, My Tribute, and The Blood Will Never Lose It's Power rocked the Christian charts. No, seriously!, they did. It was a new, fresh time for a whole new genre of music on the heels of the Summer of Love, hippie love, long hair and the like. It seems funny today.

I had personal one-on-one communication with most of these artists that I've listed here. Some I actually hauled around in my parents car (this was even before I had my own car). I picked them up at the Boise Airport and toted them to their hotels and to the concert sites and to dinner. I loved it. And now, looking back, it was quite an accomplishment. A really cool thing. In spite of the fact that my faith is completely different now than it was then, I am thankful that I had this piece of history to add to my life's journey.

Sandi Patty -- I remember seeing her for the very first time at Treasure Valley Community College in Ontario, Oregon when she was just getting started in her career....I loved her so much that I followed her the next night to Twin Falls, Idaho for another concert. She was probably one of Christian music's top three artists of all time, in my opinion. I had the chance to sing at her own home church in Anderson, Indiana, later in life on my own tour of the world. (You did know that I traveled the world for many years didn't you? Yep, bringing people to Jesus.....oh boy.....). I also remember her singing the National Anthem on television during the reopening of the Statue of Liberty in 1986.

The Imperials -- Wow. This group went on and on for many years with a variety of artists joining and leaving over time. It was four guys with an amazing talent for music.

Ann Kiemel -- Not a musician, a speaker. She had quite the knack for sharing the simplicity of her life and stories about her neighborhood and the children in it. She inspired audiences via her personal appearances and books for many years. I still have multiple letters handwritten by her that we shared together.

Ernie and Debby Rettino -- I remember specifically having them in the back seat of my car on the way to the concert and them both vocalizing and warming up quite loudly while I drove down the road.

Amy Grant -- I saw Amy in about 1977 when she had just released her very first cassette tape. She was in a long white conservative dress. Crazy how far she went. She was always one of my favorites.

The 2nd Chapter of Acts -- Totally hot group. Brother and two sisters who rocked the church with their new version of upbeat contemporary Christian music. Matthew, the brother, had an amazing voice. Tons of #1 hits including Mansion Builder and Which Way the Wind Blows.

Babbie Mason
Petra
Steve Greene
Larnelle Harris
The Archers
Michael W. Smith
Steven Curtis Chapman


Keith Green -- Keith was widely known for his controversial lyrics and accusations of others in the Christian community. He wouldn't put up with anybody saying one thing and doing another and would make it well known. He always felt like Christians were often hypocrites (duh!) and angered some in his life. He was killed in a small plane crash in 1982.

And one more whose name will remain unspoken in this writing....Randy Ma*******. Randy did a concert at my church in Boise one night and I was going to drive him from Boise to McCall for his gig the next night. While I was taking his bag out to my car, I noticed that his bag was unzipped and that a fifth of Jack Daniels was in his bag. Horrors! This was the day and age when Christians did not smoke or drink. At least in public, anyway. There would have been serious reprocusions if I'd mentioned it then. I remember the first time that I discovered that someone in the church actually smoked. And nowadays, it's quite commonplace for wine or beer to be served at gatherings. But not then. This would have been a serious problem for Randy and his mission had I said anything.

I know that many of you have had similar experiences as I have -- growing up in church and probably know some of these same musicians. It seems like a lifetime ago. I have had many, many opportunities in my life that I am thankful for....in spite of the fact that I would have been disowned by all or most of them for being gay.

Why I'm Gay

I've always wondered. Contemplated. Speculated. Thought. About why I'm gay. And now I know. I can blame is squarely on Blanche, Dorothy, Sophia and Rose. The Golden Girls made me gay:

• Blanche’s promiscuity is a common model for the personal lives of today’s homosexuals. Most gay relationships last a week.
• She taught our modern butt rompers to disparage everyone in their orbit. Dorothy taught the gays to speak very fast and have the most superior attitude possible.
• For Florida, The Golden Girls completely ruined the reality of Miami’s masculine reputation. It was no longer a city of Scarface and Miami Vice.

Check out the article. You'll laugh....at the show, and at yourself. And at the writer. This is the kind of crap that 2010 Christianity in the United States is scaring people with. I've said it for many years -- if the church would actually look on the INside of its four walls, there would be serious trouble. Instead, they continue to choose to look OUTside....blaming others, casting attention outside to avoid the inward focus. I spent the vast majority of my life inside of the church. It hasn't been right for centuries. And it still isn't right today. But at least articles like this continue to give us giggles and laughs. As they should. And, do you suppose, just possibly, that it really was Blanche and Dorothy that made me gay?

Ted Haggard's Coming Around Again

Gay People Welcome -- Gay Marriages, Not So Much.....

Just like Carly Simon, it just goes to show that you can't keep a closeted homosexual meth user down. Ted Haggard is back doing what he loves to do. I remember another sex-related scandal in my own church growing up. Apparently, congregations don't like it when the senior pastor is discovered in bed with one of the elder's wives. Tsk tsk. At least in my church in Idaho they didn't. Good luck, Ted. Be honest about yourself this time around, would you please? It'll be easier on all of us.

Bring Your Gun to Church

Guns for God. Pistol Packin' Preacher. Guns for Jesus. Whatever. Dear god in heaven. Just when you think you've heard it all, something like this pops up. In spite of the fact that it scares the hell out of me to think that this is where a portion of our globe is headed, I laughed and laughed at parts of this article. I think it reminded me too much of good ole' Idaho....my home state. I remember also going to a Christmas parade in Eagle, Idaho, when we heard Lee Greenwood's God Bless the USA blaring from speakers in the middle of December, in the cold, at Christmas time. We still poke fun at it. I laughed at the raffle prizes (membership in the NRA, a Lee Greenwood video, and a gun itself). I laughed again at setting a fake fire to the Bill of Rights; I laughed at just picturing them all singing My Country Tis of Thee and God Bless America. It's a piece right out of picture-perfect Americana-land. Complete with the red, white and blue! And, to think, that July 4...Independence Day...is in just a few days from now. What a poor little subsection of our nation. Scared. Weird. Strange. Old. Dark-ages induced. Feeling the need to strap a weapon to their hips and head over to the nearest church for the Sunday service. Something's missing here, folks. In spite of it all, the little people of this world do provide me with a good laugh from time to time.

Hot Dogs for Jesus

It's the tail end of the summer. The last of the dog days of August. And it's a time that always reminds me of my growing up and my stints at the Western Idaho State Fair in Boise. It always happened during this time of the year, just before we were subjected to our back to school ickiness. It was always a time of zippy rides, mom and dad holding us tightly at their sides as we traversed the scariness of the midway, smoke and haze in the air, the 4-H animal tents, staring at the Beer Garden and wondering what type of person would be "in there," begging for a Carmel apple knowing full well that I wouldn't actually finish it, and smelling the yummy churros, grilled onions, and burgers. Oh, and the hot dogs. Yeah, the hot dogs....which brings me to another point.

I was a member of Central Assembly Christian Life Center in Boise for years. We had a giant choir called the Singing Ambassadors -- about 120 members. At 9pm sharp each night, we'd sing a one-hour extravaganza of upbeat, happy Christian music on the Main Stage. The place was usually packed. Everything we did, we did for Jesus. Everything. Including the hot dog booth that we ran each and every year at the Fair. It was a modified single-wide trailer that we sold all sorts of hot dogs out of. We had names for different kinds of funky names for the dogs (the entirety of which I can't quite remember right now) -- like Missionary Dog, Junior for Jesus Dog, and others that I don't' recall. And we had this giant wooden HOT DOGS FOR JESUS sign up over the front of the booth to advertise the holiest of dogs on the midway at the fair. We'd work late into the night, clean up, and be back the next day to witness our way to people's hearts and stomachs through a hot dog. Who would have thought that a hot dog would bring people to their knees at the alter of the Lord?

Faith and Friends From the Past

Tonight begins a three-day celebration in Anaheim, California. And I was supposed to have been there. But I just couldn't force myself into it. Not that it would have been necessarily bad. But, perhaps, uncomfortable. And not just for me -- but for others as well. It's a gathering of one heck of a group of great musicians....vocalists, instrumentalists, lighting and sound technicians, administrative and management personnel from, quite literally, around the globe. It's the 40th anniversary celebration of The Continentals (formerly the Continental Singers). They began in 1967 (I know, it's actually the 41st year) in Portland, Oregon, by a true visionary Cam Floria. And he's still the guy heading up the group. It's a Christian missionary sort of organization that sings, dances, has costume changes, and does all sorts of musical mission work around the world. The likes of Sandi Patty, Michael W. Smith, Amy Grant, The Winans, Steven Curtis Chapman and plenty of others were connected with The Continentals to some degree. I traveled in 1982, twice in 1983, 1986, 1993, and twice in 1994. I spent one tour as an assistant director and two as the director of the group. It carried me to more than 30 states and 30 countries including behind the former Iron Curtain to Estonia and Poland. Truly once in a lifetime experiences that could never be recaptured. Each tour was three months and we did a minimum of one concert per day, many times more. We were up at 4am and up until past midnight most every night. It was exhausting. We spent thousands of miles on buses each tour. And some of the greatest years of my life. I've written about a good friend from the group here; about the KGW and Christian espionage here; and even about a little hanky pank here (oh yeah, it happens). I had almost every experience you can imagine during my years with the group. And, I must say, mostly good. I was challenged, stretched, asked to push myself personally and musically, and learn more than I could have ever imagined. During the height of the group's popularity, there were 15 groups in the summer consisting of nearly 40 people in each group. I think I've done more than a thousand concerts in large and small churches, fair and rodeo grounds, outside in grassy areas, in battlefields, on airplanes and cruise ships, in front of monuments and memorials, and in homes. We spent nearly every night in the homes of those from the churches that hosted us. We ate more spaghetti, lasagna, and fried chicken than you can imagine in church basements.
And all the while, I was gay. I knew it. I have no idea if they knew it. It's one of those areas of my life that still brings me great joy when I hear the music or look at the pictures....and there are thousands. I've been able to reconnect with a few friends since my coming out. Most have been horribly understanding. A few have not -- for which I pity them. You see, I would have had to take my partner with me -- in fact, I'd want to....I wouldn't do it any other way. And I'm so forthright now that it would be "just the way it is" when I introduced him to my past -- strangers to him. I would expect nothing but warmth and smiles from them. And I have a feeling that's exactly what I'd receive. Because they are that kind of people -- good, solid, happy folks with tremendous energy and drive. Even if our faiths are horribly different now. In fact, dramatically varied in paths. Tonight as my honey and I were driving along the Columbia River in the hot summer heat with Mt. Hood in front of us, I remembered that tonight a couple thousand of my former buddies were gathering to celebrate and remember in Anaheim. And I got kind of melancholy. I sort of wish that we were there. To say hi, throw hugs, remember the many crazy times from the past 40 years, listen to great music, and to -- maybe -- even allow them the opportunity to see that there are other beautiful pieces of life beyond what our eyes can actually see. Way beyond life on a pew. I miss them. I hope they miss me too.

One Bible Verse Over the Cuckoo's Nest

It is the Lord's Day, after all. So, I deemed it only appropriate that I bring you One Bible Verse Over the Cuckoo's Nest. Having grown up in church, and having my back end etched for eternity in the pew, I often wonder if I caused other's grief....say, when I was out in public with my youth group, wearing t-shirts that exhibited the "Glory of Jesus" or some other fancy verbiage that someone decided should be promoted. I ran into a group of red-t-shirted boys and girls today with something about "Missionary" and "Bible" and "Faith" and "Mission Trip" and "Mexico" on the upper left-hand corner of their shirts. They were the usual rowdy and obnoxious that you'd expect from teenagers .... except that they had these special shirts that promoted their clear commitment to saving the world. They yelled, threw things, tossed garbage around, stood in the way of others without regard, had their Bibles out for obligatory reading sessions, and offered few "please" or "thank yous." Have times really changed that much? And the leader of the group? She was a middle-aged woman toting the same t-shirt with a freshly-bleached dew on her head, pulled back into a nice pony tail. She pranced all over the place, over and over, with two of the most giant bags of candy you've ever seen. In every one's way, her giant bag on the floor where no one could pass by, and down on her knees with panties, toiletries, jeans, and bras doing their best to escape the confines of her suitcase. Shall we say it wasn't pretty? I think that maybe they had all memorized one too many Bible verses, and not really the right ones, quite frankly. Checked out and a general oblivion to others gave me the distinct confirmation that I hope none of these kids is ever President. I hope that the mission field is ready for them. Because I was clearly ready to see them go on their way.

Taking the Birthday Whacks Like A Man

This time of year always brings up what I now see as a funny story. But at the time, it wasn't good at all. Conservative little church boy here in the Presbyterian Church in Boise, Idaho, used to be in the youth group with the church janitor's daughter. She and I hung around together. And I started helping out at the church cleaning floors, classrooms, and all of that. What I didn't know was that the church janitor had a dirty little naughty secret that he was hiding. He liked little boys ... like me. How lucky for me, eh? So, birthday time rolls around. I go to the church after school and Bob tells me to come upstairs and down to this one particular classroom, our junior high meeting room. We talked and talked like I still like to do and he finally got around to my birthday. He had a card for me and was going to take me out to dinner with his family. But there was just one more little teeny tiny present he wanted to give me. A birthday spanking. He thought it was time. So, tried to grab me and put me over his lap. Oh no, this wiry skinny white kid was going to have none of that. So, after a whack or two, I let the inner girl out by kicking and screaming. No way this janitor was going to treat me like his cleaning rags. In quite typical form, I marched my white ass right down to the churh office and asked to see the church's senior pastor.....can't you just see this 6th or 7th grader doing that? I told him what had happened and they should fire that guy. And they did. Years passed before I heard about Bob and his family. His daughter called me when my own father passed away. Bob was in Montana. In prison. For giving one too many birthday whacks to a few too many boys. Bob, please. Wait until they're 18 and they like that sort of thing.

Last year on my birthday, I asked for as many text messages, phone calls, emails and comments as I could muster up. Just to meet as many of you as I could personally. I made some very good friends through that. In the meantime, we're off on holiday to celebrate our recent domestic partnership, Valentine's Day, and my birthday. I'll be absent the reading-commenting-posting scene for a week. Yesterday, I had the pleasure of meeting this local Portland blogger for coffee. Fantastic guy with beautiful artwork to show for himself. On our holiday, we're going to Seattle for three nights and will be having dinner with Hot Blogger #1, Hot Blogger #2, and Hot Blogger #3. Anybody else in Seattle, you're welcome to join us for a little informal dinner on Saturday at 5pm. Email me for details. We're also going to have dinner at an amazing Italian restaurant owned by celebrity chef Mauro Golmarvi. Mauro was the on-board chef on our Holland America Caribbean cruise a year ago. We've been nearly beside ourselves waiting to taste his cuisine!

From Seattle, we're driving further north and stopping at Boeing's Future of Flight Aviation and Tour Center. This is their widebody plant where they produce the big stuff. And then we're on up the I-5 corridor and right on through the busiest uncontrolled border in the world. The International Peace Arch is here too. That brings us to one of my very favorite cities in the world, Vancouver BC. We're staying downtown at a gay-owned B&B and are really excited. This is where we're going to meet Hot Blogger #4 and Hot Blogger #5 for dinner and drinks. Anybody else in Vancouver is welcome to join us Monday evening...email me for details. And also where I'll spend my birthday, February 19. The day before John Glenn orbited the earth. I wish you all wellness, wholeness, and peace while I'm absent. See you in a week.

PS....Hot Bloggers listed above were not listed in any particular order. The order should not be construed as an element of the actual hotness of any particular hot blogger.

Whiter Than Snow -- Really?

My recently-government-approved husband often plays his grand piano. He's good. Very good. And although he plays a huge variety of music, we do have a book called The Big Book of Hymns. Church-y stuff. And I know that some of you know them full well, many by heart, from your days of sitting in church pews. You may be familiar with Whiter Than Snow. I wasn't until a friend of mine introduced it to me in 1983. He was my director on a Christian singing tour through the Western US, Canada, and Alaska. Popular, good looking, visually and verbally everything anyone could want. We were sitting together one day and talking about hymns and music. And he said that this was one of his favorites: Lord Jesus, I long to be perfectly whole. I want thee forever to live in my soul. Break down every idol, cast out every foe. Now wash me and I shall be whiter than snow. He had our group sing it from time to time throughout the summer. And I've remembered it ever since. Without doubt, it always reminds me of him. Good looking, horribly charismatic in his religious walk and life, smiling, happy, and quite a type-A personality. Dressed well, polished shoes, coiffed hair. A really fantastic person and developed into an excellent friend. But it had started out the previous year when I saw him performing in a traveling Christian stage production. And he nearly demanded that I stick around after the show to say hi to him. We went to coffee and drove around a bit before ending up back at my parents home where I was living. One thing led to another and, before you knew it, he was on the floor with his shirt off and asking for a backrub. Fine. No problem. I drove him back to his motel and walked him up to his room. And then left. Nothing happened. I ended up traveling with him for six months during 1993 all over the US and seven countries in Asia before our friendship nearly came to a screeching halt. He became innundated with the beautiful young man who was our piano player. And the rest of the tour member suffered because of it. Our good friendship was nearly ruined. We went many years without speaking. And then, a stroke of craziness hit me and I decided to get married. We were in Denver and saw this friend again. He asked if he could take me to breakfast. Absolutely. He apologized for the past and said he had a very important question to ask me. He, too, was getting ready to ask a young lady to be his wife. He said that he knew full well "the struggles with homosexuality" that both of us had faced...and just exactly how did I resolve those and how was I able to make my marriage work." He was really fishing and searching here. He seemed as unsettled as I did. I mean, these are daunting questions for a struggling guy. He went on to marry her and now has several young girls. He's been a pastor in a lovely horrible successful and well-known Baptist church in California and has been on staff at numerous Christian organizations leading Bible studies and taking groups to South America on mission trips. He won't communicate with me any longer. Won't email. He didn't comment on my recent happiness of domestic partnership. I'm afraid that what I know of his past is a huge threat for him. Plus the fact that he lives a lifestyle that isn't completely congruent with what he knows is true of himself. Struggle. Confusion. Yup, I've been there. And, horribly thankfully, am not any more. But he is. As are many others. The words still strike me, "Whiter than snow, yes whiter than snow. Now wash me and I shall be whiter than snow."

Still Speaking for Justice

Sometimes, going to church isn't very glamorous. Especially in this day and age. When there is so much to point fingers and poke fun at. And there is. This is one reason that I still believe in justice and fighting for it. However you do it, or who you're doing it with, doesn't matter. Check out the rest of the ads here.

I have an OPEN MRI scheduled for tomorrow morning. After my last fiasco, I wasn't sure it was ever going to happen. But this new "open" machine is actually very beautiful and inviting.....and I'm actually looking forward to getting it done.

And on Wednesday we leave on our 15-day cruise to Hawaii with a great group of ten people from London, Philadelphia, and Portland.

Modesty Is Not My Middle Name

I think that I am gay because of the church. I'll swear it on a stack of gold-foiled edged Bibles getting ready to be used on the latest 700 Club episode. I think it may be their fault and they don't even know it. I don't even think that I knew it. Until I got to thinking yesterday.

Like pretty flowers in the springtime, the 1970s were bursting with relatively new Christian musicians like the Second Chapter of Acts, Keith Green and many others. I was embedded. Deep. Had all of the albums -- in fact, I think that a couple of them may still be hanging out in a box in the basement.

But at the same time that the musicians were traveling far and wide with a whole new era of music for the church, there was an equally vocal group of Christian speakers and teachers who promoted the gifts of the Holy Spirit including speaking in tongues, prophesying, and interpretation of tongues. One of the very first in the United States was Demos Shakarian. And there were others like Charles and Frances Hunter ("The Happy Hunters"). I remember revivals vividly. Year after year. All kinds of emotionally hyped music, preaching and special programs. Hundreds, even thousands, would show up. The place would be packed. We'd start with prayer, the hundred-voice choir, and a solo or two -- and then we'd move through the spectrum of a well-orchestrated service into hands in the air, jumping and shouting. Now, I couldn't jump too high. I knew if I did, they'd know for sure about things that I was hiding. My nicely feathered hair, parted just so and heavy with a lovely sheen of White Rain hairspray, would bounce ever so lightly and go right back into place.

I spent much of my life "on the pew." If the doors were open, I was there. At some point, I ended up being introduced to most of the type of spiritual activities including being slain in the spirit. Now, if you're not familiar with laying on the floor of a church facing up, sometimes your arms up in the air, sometimes speaking in tongues, sometimes crying, let me tell you.....it's quite clearly etched in the space between my ears. Somehow, I got roped into this and that in my church career. And one night, I was the curator of the modesty cloths. What? You've never heard of a modesty cloth? Well, as the preacher would pass along in front of the lines of congregants, he would touch or push on their foreheads and they would, typically, be "slain under the power of the spirit." They would fall backwards to the ground. Another volunteer would follow along behind them and guide them gently and peacefully to the ground.

And that's where the modesty cloths and me would come in. Modesty cloths are a square of cloth much like a small blanket to be placed on the area below a lady's skirt when she is passed out on the ground under the influence of the Holy Spirit. (And, it goes without saying, that if a lady were in church in early days, she'd be in a dress or skirt......never would a pair of trousers be found on a true Christian lady in a past time and place. She wouldn't be wearing jewelry either, but that's another subject entirely.) I would be standing sentry along the sidelines and run out at just the right moment, straddle the legs of the good Christian women, and ever so gingerly place the modesty cloth to keep the pervert males of the first few rows from sneaking a peek.

I can't help believe that those horribly visual and vivid memories turned me from being attracted to women. They keep me awake at nights. What they didn't know, or maybe they did, was that I had no interest in looking. I never tried to look....except away. Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, maybe they knew very well that I was a "safe" person to put into that job. Not only am I not modest today, but -- I go back to my opening sentence -- I believe that I can place blame squarely on my evenings spent straddling the panty hose covered legs of women at the alter with a modesty cloth. I can't help but draw that conclusion. It's not pretty. No wonder I didn't want more.

Sex with the Saints in the Sheets

I spent twelve years of my life, off and on, traveling with the Christian musical group The Continental Singers. (That's an entirely different story which I'll share with you after a nice bottle, or six, of Pinot Gris or Merlot....and is well deserving of a full-length novel.) Each tour was 1-3 months long and consisted of 20-40 members. We traveled all of the 50 states and most countries around the world doing concerts for Jesus every single night. The tours were run quite strictly. We were expected to adhere to numerous rules and regulations including no guy-girl relationships (like that was going to happen with me). But it also included no relations of a homosexual nature. So, let's see here, you're going to ask 20 testosterone-laden guys from different churches around the world to be on the same tour, all of them having been told "no no" when they've ever wanted to fool around or even masturbate, all of them with strong actor/musician/artistic inclinations, and then ask them to spend the night in bed with one another for three months in a row and not expect anything to happen? How do you spell denial? And it did. And I did. The rules were that you would be sent home immediately if anything happened. Horror! I can't immediately recall all of the times there was foolin' around going on but it happened to me more than once. Many more times than once. There was my friend G who was the cutest little tenor on the tour. Artsy and flamboyant. We went nearly the whole tour being friends and giggling like little school girls together. Do you think anybody knew? It was about two weeks before the end of the tour when, in some old couple's home in Cottage Grove, Oregon, I discovered that he had a curved wee-wee. I was in the basement bedroom somewhere in the Quad Cities area of Iowa with K on another tour. He was a beautiful African-American guy who went on to be in Miss Saigon on Broadway. He dressed beautifully and smelled so good. The black guy and the white guy went crazy on each other in that basement bordello that night. And the next....and the next. Another time, I was with T somewhere in the Midwest when we starting getting all handsy in the middle of the night. I think we just masturbated. For some reason, I remember the shame and guilt after that particular Midwest madness. In a Quality Inn in New Jersey on a steamy hot July night, I remember being in one bed with some dude while two other guys slept in the other (queen?) bed. We started doing the nasty....god, it was so hot in that room....and we were so scared that the other two guys would wake up or see us. Maybe they did. Another lustful time, I was in Haarlem, The Netherlands, with my assistant director M when all erotic-sexual-hell broke loose late one night in the upper floor where we slept....with the unassuming Dutch hosts sleeping soundly on another floor down beneath us. He had been joking with me for weeks about getting a foot massage from me. And I couldn't keep my eyes off of those little skimpy European-style briefs that we US boys would never wear. So, that night he went to take a shower and I went to bed. He came up later, climbed into bed, and we started joking about the foot rub thing. So, I started, and he started. I had just finished with one of his huge, beautiful British feet and was just starting on the other when he grabbed me in a moment of Christian-bad-boy-gone-even-naughtier, wrestled me down, and got what we both had been wanting all of these weeks. M and me went on and on...sneaking into each other's rooms during the night in an old farmhouse in the quiet countryside of Denmark.....in his parent's home (actually in their private shower!) in Birmingham, England. Another time was in the hull of a Polish ferry crossing the Baltic Sea at night from Ystad, Sweden, to what was then East Germany. The tiniest and most cramped little room you've ever seen.....and that damned Irishman "J" took advantage of me. (I almost sound like a poor little victim, don't I??). Shall I go on? Suffice it to say, that we did everything we were not supposed to. Over and over. Again and again. Some of these guys went on to get married (like me!). Some I have seen since then, some not. Some were too ashamed to face me or anyone else after that. Others went right on like nothing had ever happened. Sometimes the tears of guilt and shame poured onto the alter during a come-to-Jesus meeting later in the tour. And some are probably even very happily sleeping with boys to this very day. Just like me.

(More) Hypocrisy of the (Well-Known) Saints

One of the largest right-wing evangelical Christian churches in our country lost its senior pastor today after a gay escort came forward to say that he had sexual relations with Pastor Ted Haggard at the 14,000-member New Life Church in Colorado Springs. Happening not once, but over three years. Nice. Real nice. Haggard is one of the most vile opponents of gays along with fellow cronie, and equally hateful, Dr. James Dobson of Focus on the Family. Dobson struggled to come to Haggard's defense and rescue the hypocritcal pervert. Can't you just see him waving his hands in this air at his Sunday services...the air thick with the praise music from the higher-than-thou orchestra and singers.....sweat pouring from his brow...right hand holding the made-for-television-broadcasts Bible up in the air (you know, the Bible with the shiny sparkling edges so that the lights can pick up on it) and spewing his poor, watered-down, untrue, made up version of how God hates the gays. Having had much experience in this type of church and with this type of pastor, and having been an unfortunate prodigy of how to say one thing with one side of your mouth and then do something else with the other side, I SAY ENOUGH. I have spent hundreds of hours on the soft padded pews in churches all across the globe. Always thinking, wondering, crying, questioning. Wondering where Jesus was in all of this...not. So, good luck Mr. Haggard et. al. I used to look up to your type, admiring, striving to be like. God, I'm glad that I was saved from that. (Reminds me of the bumper sticker: "God, save me from your followers"...and with good reason.) Looks like while all of us perverted gays, with our "agenda," were doing our best to keep our noses clean so that possibly you self-righteous types might view us more accordingly....you were climbing in between the sin-laden sheets of cover-up, deceit, and (again) hypocrisy. How dare you. Jesus is far from you and your message and your followers. Thankfully. There is so much to be done.....you know, feeding the poor, taking care of those who are less fortunate...doing the things that Jesus asked of us. It's OK, don't you worry about it....we'll take care of it while you're off doing unmentionables with your gay buddy. By the way, how much does a sleeze-bag hotel charge by the hour now? Oh, and as long as we're asking, was the dude at least cute? Oh, and say now, how are the wife and kids? Tell them hi from all of us.

http://www.towleroad.com/2006/11/gay_escort_clai.html

(Thanks to Andy Towle over at Towelrod for the link.)

Here's another called Rick Santorum's Republican Child Molesters. It's at http://www.armchairsubversive.com It'll give you real good idea of where our family values and morals party is headed......you know, sort of a warm and cozy feeling inside when you realize that good Christian Republicans are helping out our nation's children. Talk about "terrorists"...they are right here amongst us!