A Gay in the Life: Love thy neighbor, even if they're Christian

I have no problem with faith at all. But what is wrong with most Christians?


I don't spend any time telling them they should trust in my boyfriend's fidelity. I don't care if they think comics are new on Tuesdays, or if they insist my roommate isn't a cat lady at 26. And I've certainly never prayed for their salvation because they understand every aspect of LOST.


Point blank: I'm not a Christian-hater, even if websites like the one above make it tempting. I used to go to church, and not one of those trendy ones, either. A Baptist one. Southern Baptist.


To hate Christians simply for being Christians is hypocritical of any member of the LGBT community. Yes, it's obviously a choice I don't think anyone's born a Christian — and I may not understand or agree with it, but what they do behind church doors is none of my business. It's what they do outside of them, or on the Internet, that irks me.


I once had a friend named Clark. (Okay, his name wasn't Clark, I just don't like Superman.) Clark and I met in the third grade. We hit it off, what with our poor-kid afros and Kool-Aid polos, and remained the best of friends until the end of high school. I started going to church with him somewhere in between. We liked the same movies, the same music, even the same fat jokes. (I am so sorry, Samantha.) We were just guys together. The only problem was that we didn't like the same sex — or rather, I did, and he didn't.


As I started to realize and admit this to myself, he started to realize it about me as well. (Though I suspect Samantha's big fat mouth had something to do with it.) Before long, my sexual preference became the subject of the church's prayer meetings. Clark's family was heavily involved with the church, and our mutual friends in the Youth Group began to casually mention that their parents were "lifting me up to the Lord." I couldn't believe it. I just thought Justin Timberlake was hot, I didn't kill anyone. Jesus.


Clark and I stopped talking. I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was: (somehow) by the church, and of course by my buddy. I was a bit more naive back then. I'd become a fanboy of a skinny white dude in a dress.


I may no longer believe that Jesus died for my sins, and even typing that gives me the creeps, but I still believe in some sort of higher power. Or at least in a higher love in the universe — somewhere out there, or somewhere within us all.


I've never seen a "FagsHateGod.org," and I'm thankful for that.


In case you're wondering, Clark and I never spoke again, though I did once decline a Facebook request. He got a pastor's daughter pregnant, married her and later divorced. I don't wish him any ill will, but I — the sinner — would like to casually point out that I'm in a loving, committed, six-year relationship.


If we're to expect equality, we have to give it: even to Christians. The best way to fight hate is with love.


I have faith that any kind of God would agree.

According to Westboro Baptist Church's GodHatesFags.com, gay murder victim Matthew Shepard has been in Hell (as I write this) for 4, 178 days.

The site informs readers that "All the candlelight vigils [and] all the acts of Congress ... will not shorten his sentence by ... one day, [and] will not buy him one drop of water to cool his tongue.'" It then urges readers, and of course, homosexuals, to have faith and repent.

Uh?

Okay. It's like George Michael said: You gotta have faith.

I have no problem with faith. I have faith in many things: I have it in my boyfriend, whom I know would only leave me for Chris Brown (That's his one cheat. Mine's James Marsden — he doesn't bite or hit women); I have it in comic books, knowing that new issues will hit the stands every Wednesday; in my roommate, who'd do anything for me except get rid of that allergy-inducing sea-mule she calls a cat; and even in the writers of LOST. (They'll pull it together somehow, right?)

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