Words Offered at the End of the Day …

Almost exactly 15 years ago (February 27, 1997) I “came out” publicly as an Ally for LGBT persons when this piece appeared in Notre Dame’s Scholastic Magazine. I wrote in response to a poem that appeared in Scholastic a week earlier.  Entitled “Living in Fear,” it was written by an anonymous gay senior student at Notre Dame and recounted his daily four-year battle toward self-acceptance while driven by fear to remain in the closet.  I was unexpectedly moved by his lament. I wept and wrote long into the night. And this piece was my response to him. However, it became much more than that. It signaled a seismic shift in my vocation. Since then I have written hundreds of pages and given dozens of talks to thousands of people about THE CHRISTIAN BASIS FOR WELCOMING LGBT PERSONS. I never learned this young man’s name, but I owe my life to him. These were my–

Words offered at the end of the day to an unknown friend living in fear
David R. Weiss, February 27, 1997

I need to say this quietly in deference to your eloquent anguish.  But I need to say it nonetheless.  And I am angry, and it will be hard to keep my voice down; angry not at you but for you.  And if I misread the last lines of your poem and you already know all this, that’s okay.  I’m sure someone else needs to hear it.  You say, “God knows, but God loves me anyway.”  Wait.  Let me say it gently but firmly—unequivocally.  God does not love you “anyway”—despite your being gay.  God does not need to overlook the way you are to smile at the beauty of your humanity, at the earthy reflection of divine love as you are gaily—and I don’t mean just “happily”—imago Dei.  Do you hear me, my friend?  I will be downright strident about this because I see now that if God keeps silent in the face of your anguish, it is only because I wouldn’t lend God the use of my words.  Well, here they are.

When Hosea spoke of a day when God would have pity on “Not-pitied” and would say to “Not-my-people,” you are my people—Hosea meant you, and I hope that day is now.  When Isaiah welcomed foreigners and eunuchs (ever before outcast from the presence of God) into the Temple—well, Isaiah meant to welcome you as well, and to name your praise, like their praise, as more dear to God than even that of the faithful Jews (or Christians), perhaps because your praise is brought over the objections and insults of so many of us—and yet still finds its way to God.  And when Peter was treated to that heavenly picnic of assorted forbidden foods it was to remind him of Isaiah’s self-same insight, that the church dare not exclude those who come at God’s own call.

When Jesus stopped to speak and sip with the Samaritan woman at the well, perhaps she, too, thought that his fellowship came to her “anyway,” despite her ethnic outcast baggage.  But I tell you, my friend, and I am not scared to be flamboyant if need be: Jesus offered her living words and living water because of who she was.  He relished her Samaritan beauty; he chose her for the Kingdom, and when he did, he meant for you to feel chosen, too, not despite, but because of your gayness.  So, when you picture her and him standing at the well, remember that while many in the church might prefer you didn’t exist, or at least didn’t tell us who you are, Jesus is stopping to chat because you caught his eye not “anyway”—but just the way you are.

Can you hear me, yet, my friend?  I am not afraid to be audacious if I have to.  When Jesus sent his disciples out two by two, he said to them if any town refused to welcome them in his name, well, on judgment day those towns would fare far worse than Sodom and Gomorrah.  Okay, it isn’t in the text—I admit it—but I will say it anyway because it’s true: Jesus meant to say as much to all you same-sex couples who, not unlike those disciples, come, two by two, hoping for a bit of hospitality from the church.  What irony that we who have so long burdened you with the guilt of Sodom and Gomorrah find that the fire and brimstone are finally aimed our way.

And when Jesus said that foxes have holes and birds have nests but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head he knew that if ever a day came when churches with their omnipresent crosses of gilded gold thought that now Christ surely had a place to lay his head, he knew that you, my friend, would know better.  For with your anguish every night you bear a fearful witness to us all.  Until your head rests fully welcome within these walls—until then Christ keeps his weary watch outside with you, still after all these years aching and envious of foxes and birds.

I hope that you have heard, my friend.  I tremble for the silent “no” that closes out—and closets in—each day, the quiet daily unmaking of yourself by fears all too well founded.  Against all this that you know so well I can offer only words—but maybe this is precisely what I have not done often enough or loud enough or long enough.  So, I hope, my unknown friend, that at the end of this day, and the next, and on and on, that when you crawl beneath your covers of so much more than linen you remember these words I offer in gentle but firm—unequivocal, strident, flamboyant, audacious witness: You are loved by God already now, not “anyway,” but fully because of who and how you are.

And I wait with you for the day when “no” becomes “yes,” and you place yourself truthful in our midst.  I wait patiently, because who am I to tell you when to step beyond the fears that we have heaped up in your way?  And because who am I to think your fear is not, in part indebted to the comfort of my own silence? And I wait impatiently, because I know at least this much that God is anxious for you to share the joy God takes in the very beauty of who and how you are.


David R. Weiss is the author of To the Tune of a Welcoming God: Lyrical reflections on sexuality, spirituality and the wideness of God’s welcome (2008, Langdon Street Press). A theologian, writer, poet and hymnist, David is committed to doing “public theology” around issues of sexuality, justice, diversity, and peace. He lives in St. Paul and speaks on college campuses and at church and community events. You can reach him at drw59@comcast.net and read more at http://www.tothetune.com.

One thought on “Words Offered at the End of the Day …

  1. Pingback: Doubtful: My Life as Thomas’ Twin | Full Frontal Faith

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