For the truth will set you free...

When I was in high school, National Geographic released a documentary on the Gospel of Judas, and the staff of Bon Air UMC, being curious, had a bit of a party.  Staff members and family (meaning spouses and... me) gathered at the house of the only people who had the right TV channel to listen and see how this new information might affect our lives and faith.  Rhonda VanDyke Colby baked a "Judas Iscarrot Cake" for the occasion, complete with thirty silver candies surrounding the bottom of the cake and a tree with a noose hanging off of it as a decoration.  (Never ever say we religious folk cannot laugh at ourselves.)

At a pause in the film, I remember Rhonda asking me, "If they found the bones of Jesus, how would that affect your faith?"  I was confused by the question, because honestly, it made no difference to me.  I mean, sure, there are some tricky logistical things with the Ascension if we found the bones of Jesus, but ultimately, my faith is not about bones.

For the past few months I've had a lot of people ask me questions about the "reality" of what I believe.  Do I believe that a virgin birth really happened?  That Jesus really died and was resurrected three days later and then ascended into heaven?  That Abraham and Sarah had a baby when she was ridiculously old?  I have a hard time answering this question because people want a "yes", "no", even a "maybe" or an "I don't know".  But my answer is, "That's not the point," which is akin to Dumbledore's response to Harry in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows; "Of course it's happening in your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean it's not real?" (Which is possibly my favorite line in that entire series, and in my opinion, the most biblical.)

I believe strongly in the power of story.  I work in theater and we in theater deal in stories.  There are many people in theater who still identify themselves as storytellers.  But nowadays "story" is often dismissed as "mere fiction" which, while entertaining and maybe sometimes eye-opening, is almost always second to "fact", which rules with an iron fist over our empirical society.  If you prefer "fiction" to "fact" you are delusional or at the very least, unwilling to accept the world you live in.  Maybe my analysis of the status of story in our society today is a bit harsh, but I ask; how many people will truly admit to having their lives changed by a story?  We will fully admit to having our lives changed by experiences, even by facts, but stories?  Life-changing?

And yet, stories are the backbone of our existence.  I don't know why but for some reason we tend to organize our lives in stories.  We give ourselves narrative structure, we describe our days as such, we tell stories at the dinner table.  We connect things together.  And more than our lives... if you give us really any kind of input, we will make stories about it.  I have done a lot of experimental theater, I have seen and done a lot of pieces that seem to have no story.  One of the shows I directed, Tongues, had NO story, it was a collage of voices and sound, and while I crafted an emotional journey, story was NOT my interest.  And yet, when I talked to audience members about the show (some theater people, some not), they had all made up stories about what had happened.  They made a narrative based on a girl sitting in a chair talking about being hungry and a boy dropping marbles into a bowl.  I have seen people make up stories from seeing a binder and a waterbottle arranged in various tableaus on a table.  (And if you doubt me on this, the next time we are together I will prove it to you.)  We connect things that may have never been connected before.  We create story, naturally.

And throughout all of human history, stories have been vital.  Stories are how we learn.  The fables you heard growing up taught you how to live in relationship with others.  Especially when we are young, stories are vital in our development.  As we grow up, stories are how we understand each other.  It is through the stories of people unlike us that we can begin to see things from their points of view.

Perhaps most importantly for us now, stories are how we move forward.  Stories are how we paint pictures of what the world, what our lives, could be.  Stories give us hope.  Stories give us vision.

This has come up so much in the religious part of my life for a while now, starting with Brian McLaren at the Montreat College Conference in 2011, who claimed that the world was having such a hard time because religions were no longer truly providing alternative stories to things like consumerism and materialism (Jesus provided an alternative story: "give up all your possessions, do not store up treasures on Earth," etc, but often the churches do not truly reflect those stories).  I spoke briefly about story to some people in relationship to the Voice conference a couple weeks ago, where the question, "Can stories cause transformation?  How?" came up.  And John Bell, in one of his sermons for Youth this week, spoke directly about stories giving hope, about Martin Luther King Jr. telling a story of a new kind of world, about how the vision of a new heaven where God shall wipe away all tears described in Revelation is a story held onto by oppressed communities.

For me, I have acknowledged before that one of the reasons Christianity specifically appeals to me is because I need a resurrection story in my life.  That is what gets me through when I am stressed and haven't slept in far too long and don't have money for food.  That is what gets me through when I feel lost and don't know where I'm going with my life.  It is the story of death and resurrection.  It is the story of Job that keeps me steady when I have no idea why certain things are happening.  And, conversely, it is the story of the Song of Songs that helps me figure out what's going on when I come back to these mountains and swoon from the beauty.  We need these stories not only to help us get through our days, but to provoke change, to help us move forward.  No one can possibly deny the effects that the "I have a dream" speech had on the Civil Rights movement.  That story is coming true.

Religion has always dealt in story.  I almost wrote earlier that theater has two origin points--storytelling and religious ritual, but from what I know of the Greeks, those didn't used to be different.  They were one in the same.  Plays were offerings in the festival of Dionysus, saying to the god, "Here, take our stories."  We study mythology now, which is essentially "old religious stories we know aren't true but are awesome and a good look at the culture" (how "primative" you think mythology is generally depends on how much Joseph Campbell you've read).  JESUS even dealt with story.  His primary tool was story!  He taught through parable, because he knew that story is the way we can begin to understand.  And Jesus told the stories of hope, the stories of a brighter tomorrow.  What else were the Beatitudes?

Story is, in fact, what religion does best.  Facts are not.  Leave the facts to science--science does facts so well.  Facts are not the realm of religion.  My religion even SAYS that.  The traditional reading of the "doubting Thomas" scripture, where Thomas insists on seeing and touching Jesus' wounds before he would believe that Jesus had risen, is that you shouldn't have to have the evidence in front of you to know that it's fact, but I think it's more that Thomas missed the point of the story by trying to tie it down to fact.  Thomas was trying to make faith be about bones.

There are many many reasons that you cannot take the Bible literally.  It contradicts itself, many people take the Bible literally and out of context which can cause some major misreadings because of how definitions have changed over the thousands of years that this has been around.  (I'm not saying the Word of God isn't eternal, I'm saying that OUR words are not so if we are using our words and our definitions to look at this text of COURSE some things are going to get mixed up.)  There are many reasons it's difficult to look at the Bible as "fact".

But I think it's limiting the Bible's power to look at it as fact.  I think it's limiting the potential of that story to truly shape and guide our lives if we continue to squabble over facts and bones when they are not the point.  The point is that there is truth to a story, and that truth--life conquering death--has the power to transform us if we can allow that story in.  And if we continue to spread and believe in the Gospel of Jesus Christ--which is a story of a community of love and grace, of openness and inclusiveness, of all people caring for each other--that story can be closer to becoming reality.

Listen to the Voice which began creation...

The first conference I worked here a little over a week ago was called "Voice".


If you know me you probably know that I'm obsessed with voice and other things involving sound, so first of all, this conference's theme provided me with voice/sound fodder that I will be using ALL THE TIME.  Of particular note was the music leader sharing a hymn written by the Mennonite preacher and hymnwriter Adam Tice, and prefacing it by saying how Tice once said that, if the Big Bang was the creation and we believe it to be a godly Big Bang, than all sound is echoes of that Bang--all sound in this world is the echoes of God's voice.


(aaaand this religious sound designer goes into a tizzy)


Much of this conference was aimed at "vocation", which, in religious circles, is essentially the activity, career path, etc, that you feel "called" to do.  Vocation is a major topic for young adult circles, but it was particularly interesting with this group of people, which was mostly older adults.  They had excellent speakers, including a scientist, a CEO, a musician, and a sports coach, all talking about how their callings had played out in their lives.  The thing that got me was the focus on journey and change in all of these stories.  No one had a path that was, "I found my calling, and I've been doing the same thing ever since."  They all were, "I found my calling, I followed it, I did this for a while, I did that for a while, I re-evaluated, I realized I was prepared by those things I did earlier for a new thing, now I'm in transition again."


This was particularly timely for me, as part of the reason I am here is to explore and listen for new paths, as I'm starting to consider the "s" word.


Yeah.


Seminary.


Before anyone says, "I told you so…" I will say that I have never rejected the idea of going to seminary.  Of COURSE I would love to go to seminary.  I read Bonhoeffer in my free time!  I am a total theological nerd!  I remember one night I couldn't sleep because I was up late thinking about the Fall of Man!  What I HAVE rejected is the idea of becoming a pastor in a church.  I have known for years that that is not my calling.  So there hasn't been much reason for me to go to seminary besides (as one pastor put it) my "theological curiosity".


But, recently I stumbled upon something that caught my eye and wormed its way inside my brain and heart, and I've been letting it wiggle there for a while and seeing how it grows.  And that is the word "chaplaincy".


Chaplains are religious folk who work at and with secular institutions, like hospitals, universities, prisons, the military, etc.  This caught my eye because something that I have found myself doing, loving, and being quite fulfilled by has been acting as a translator between the church and people who often have difficult relationships with religion, church, the word "God", etc.  I have one foot strongly planted in the church and the other outside of it, and that relationship seems to be central to whatever it is I am being called to.  So I am investigating prison chaplaincy--as that seems to hit most of what I am interested in--working with people who are dealing with the tough questions, creating relationship, tormented relationships with God, etc.


With this goal in mind, I have started the process of looking at seminaries.  I am taking my sweet time with this.  I visited Drew in April (and it was INCREDIBLE), I'm visiting Union (in NYC) in the fall, I'm looking at flying out to visit Austin in October (the possibility that I might move to Austin is one of the most ironic possibilities of my life). One of the advantages of being here is that I have access to resources and people who have been to seminary, are going to seminary, have thoughts about seminary, and have already helped me out in this discernment process.  Another advantage of being here is it gives me the space to work through things like this.


One of the great things about Montreat is that it's a place where our ideas of how to follow Christ, worship, be in community are all expanded.  Through the first two conferences, I became particularly excited about many things that were not at all prison chaplaincy.  The arts in ministry, the arts outside of ministry, ministry in the arts, many things I am sure I will blog about in the future.  And for a second I got worried about the whole prison chaplaincy thing, because it was like I'd finally found something that made sense when I stumbled across prison chaplaincy, and everything that was popping into my head during these conferences was pulling me away from that.


But, through those stories of people's callings morphing and shifting throughout their lives, I began to calm down a bit.  Of course things aren't as simple as "this is my calling, gonna follow it and be good to go!" God has never been that easy on me.  I think, ultimately, my calling doesn't exist yet.  As in--it's not a job that people have, it's not something that I can go to school for, it will be a path that We create together.  And in that, I think that prison chaplaincy is a great next step.  It's important and will give me experience and perspective that I need.


And beyond ANYTHING, this summer has already made it quite clear that seminary is definitely something I need.  I'm just itching to go, and a lot of the things I'm finding particularly awesome in these conferences are bits of information about context, etc, that I'd get most of in a classroom.  (John Bell was talking about how the seventh of the Ten Commandments, "Do not commit adultery," was really keeping women safe in a society where they had no rights.  Things like that.)


I have to keep reminding myself that none of us are expected to have it all figured out right now.  We will never have it figured out and that's the fun of it.


I've ended my morning prayer each morning for years now with the phrase, "I listen for the voice of God, this day and always."  This is a wonderful place to listen.

I'm weary with my former toil, here I will sit and rest a while

A few of you (not many, but a few), may remember the genesis of this blog.  I was fresh out of my second year of college, a year which used to be notoriously draining in my specific program of study.  I had done lots of shows on a heavy workload, felt spiritually disconnected, and so I started working at Montreat, a Presbyterian conference center in North Carolina as a way to both decompress from the year and go through a kind of spiritual boot camp, particularly in the "rebuilding after my high school period of agnosticism" realm, getting my prayer life, etc, back in order.  And I said some things, way back then, about what such a busy year had taught me, and one of those things was that "I'd never do that many shows at one time again".

Which is funny.

Because I never did less than that ever again.  What I did second year became my minimum.  Now I'm just crazy with the amount of shows and work I take on.  I graduated from college last May and since then have worked on over 25 shows in a major capacity (as a designer, assistant designer, stage manager, or dramaturge… 18 of those as a designer), which does not count shows that are in development and have not gone up yet or shows I came in and engineered, ran, or helped tech.  While I am by no means the busiest designer around, that's still a lot (and the busier ones tend to have assistants and interns).  I mean, the nice thing in all of this is that somehow, without meaning to, I ended up with a career.  (two shows I designed are going international this summer, and I have already turned down four shows for this summer.)  But at times I wonder about the cost of that career.

Beyond sheer workload, this past year has been one of my craziest.  It has been very disjointed, exhausting, and confusing.  I don't necessarily count these as bad things, but it has been trying.  It's all to be expected, of course.  I am a recently graduated theater major starting life as a freelancer in New York City.  While that transition was made much easier by many choices I made in college, particularly my last semester, it's still an unnerving place to be, and it takes a while to figure out how to structure a life for oneself particularly when there is no consistency to your schedule.  (For the record, I haven't figured it out.)   The freelance life, the continual challenge of developing my spiritual life in a very secular environment, and the sudden, intense reemergence of a love life (what?  I forgot I had one of those) unbalanced me for a time.  Which is why this blog has petered out, because nothing was clear to me, how could I possibly hope to make anything clear to others?

By the time the second week of May hit, I could feel myself slowing down.  I was unable to work as quickly as I know I can.  Any time I was not working I was sleeping.  Then I stopped being able to sleep well because of the stress.  All of this made one of my techs a much harder one than it would have been because I just couldn't function like I could a year ago.  I had the weird experience of waking up in the morning, mentally and emotionally awake, and my eyes refusing to stay open, my body refusing to move.  It was this weird, dualistic moment where my body would NOT do what I was asking it to do.

So I did what I did three years ago… I left, and I came to Montreat.

Yep, I am writing to you from my porch where I can hear the small river/large creek rushing towards Lake Susan.  I am here as the Production Director, more commonly known as the AV Co-Director, where I am one of two supervisors of the crew that I worked on in '09 and '10.  I am the primary liaison between conference leadership and the crew, I train crew on how to operate sound boards, I troubleshoot issues, and, for a fun malicious streak, I get to cut off acts at the youth talent shows that go too long or do something inappropriate.  Additionally, I am a member of Summer Singers, the staff choir which sings for Sunday morning worship and other events throughout the summer.  (Summer Singers started last year, so this is my first summer on it.)

And let me just say… it is so.  Good.  To be back.

The stress started to melt away as soon as I left the city, a physical relief once we drove past the city limits.  I had a delightful time at Bon Air on Sunday though I was still rather tired from the tech week before.  Thursday we drove down and arrived at Montreat and things have been tremendous.  I am thrilled to be back, and the full time staff I worked with before are thrilled to have me back.  At check-in I was told I had official business at 5:30 with my supervisor (who was actually AV Co-Director the years I was on crew and is now full-time staff, so we've all just been moved up a level) and her boss and the other conferenceland people who are here already, which I thought was going to be a dinner where we talk through the first conference, etc, and turned out to be celebrating and getting mexican food and ice cream and catching up, before I got back for choir rehearsal at 8pm.

After an evening of fun with old friends and new, and a delightful first choir rehearsal (the director is fabulous and the repertoire is AWESOME), I finally had time to walk around Montreat a bit… and I became filled with SUCH joy and excitement that I was like the happiest cat in the world chasing its own tail.  Under the influence of catnip.  No one was around, it was a quiet Montreat night, so I sang boisterously at Lake Susan, remembering the night when I was 14 and spent hours standing on the dam singing to the waters.  I was, and still am, overwhelmed with gratefulness at being given the amazing opportunity to spend the summer here, to regroup, rest, and heal.

The story that came to me is the story of the prodigal son.  I have always cast myself in the role of the elder son, the one who wasn't an idiot and stayed and did his duty and was then bitter that the prodigal son is celebrated after he wasted away his inheritance.  (Also asking for your inheritance early is a jerk move.) But coming back here felt like the prodigal son returning.  Now, while this year has not been the best year for me, spiritually, I don't think it was at all a departure from the path I am on.  I do not feel like working someplace that is not the church is something that brings me away from God, and I have known for a long time now that much of my calling is to have one foot in the church and one in the world, so to speak, to act as a translator and bridge, which this year has been full of.  In fact, there's a show I am developing with a group of collaborators right now, about space and science and religion, and whenever I leave a meeting about this show I feel deeply connected with God and a deep assurance that this is what I am supposed to be doing.  However, though I am good at finding God in the city, in theater, in the work that I do, I have let a lot of my personal discipline slip, and there's also something about coming here, the importance this place has had in my spiritual life especially in these young adult years, that makes this place burst with reminders of God in every breath.  It is good for all of us to be able to return home, to the place where we grew up, and Montreat has been the place where I have grown up spiritually.

I still have things going on outside of here.  The show I opened before leaving closes today and I've had to do some troubleshooting remotely for them.  I have another show going to Prague and am therefore adjusting, etc, remotely as they get ready to leave.  And, in fact, I have a week off during which I go back to NYC, do a show (check it out, my face is the publicity image which amuses me endlessly), then come back.  I will be continuing to work on the shows I have in development while I'm here, but now with time, space, and inspiration with which to do it.

And we all know I cannot listen to all these amazing speakers without blogging about it.  (JOHN BELL IS HERE FOR TWO WEEKS. JOHN BELL JOHN BELL JOHN BELL.)

There is much more to say, particularly about the conference which started last night and is called Voice where they talked about voice and sound waves and calling and EVERYTHING ELSE I CARE ABOUT, but I have time for that later.  Now it's lunch time, choir time, sound check time.  So I will leave you with this song that we sang for the beginning of the conference last night, which is both achingly beautiful and a very fitting description of why I am here this summer:

The tree of life my soul hath seen,
Laden with fruit and always green:
The trees of nature fruitless be
Compared with Christ the apple tree.

His beauty doth all things excel:
By faith I know, but ne’er can tell,
The glory which I now can see
In Jesus Christ the apple tree.

For happiness I long have sought,
And pleasure dearly I have bought:
I missed of all; but now I see
’Tis found in Christ the apple tree.

I’m weary with my former toil,
Here I will sit and rest a while:
Under the shadow I will be,
Of Jesus Christ the apple tree.

This fruit doth make my soul to thrive,
It keeps my dying faith alive:
Which makes my soul in haste to be
With Jesus Christ the apple tree.

EDIT: the prodigal son/elder son thing was mentioned in the keynote I worked as my first real conference shift today after I wrote this blog. UHM.

Tonight, the image of
That Beautiful One came swiftly,
Looked for my heart's place.
When He found it, He drew His knife
And plunged it into my heart.
Bless that most Beautiful One.

--Rumi

It's time for Lent.

Growing up, getting older... it's about time.

Yesterday, I was sitting in Central Park, at the base of the C curved tree in this photo, experimenting with food coloring and glitter. A gust of wind blew away my excess glitter so that the leaves next to me shimmered. It was quite beautiful.

Today, I had an incredibly inspiring conversation with my roommate Amy, where we tried to figure out what we were doing with our lives. (Me as a recent college graduate, her in her final year.) I am doing well as far as a theatrical career goes. Last night I attended a staged reading that the Hangar did in the city, and got to reconnect with many people from the summer. It was great to stand in front of my former employers and say, "I'm designing five shows right now." (and getting paid for pretty much all of them.) However, I find myself with very little interest in climbing any "theatrical career ladder". I don't want fame, or anything like that… the only real benefit I can see is more money and it being easier to produce my work. I'm used to working on a great number of shows at once; I'm good at functioning that way and pretty soon, with more experience and connections under my belt, I'll be able to make a living that way.

My question is: do I want to?

I sense that, rather soon (one of my peers gives me 18 months), I'm going to master the technology of it, and then I'm going to get bored, twiddling my thumbs waiting for new toys. Sound is one of the more flexible elements, it has fewer necessary functions it MUST perform than set, lights, or costumes, so there's more of a discovery of how sound is essential in each production. That's exciting. But I'm already starting to feel that boredom sink in, because while every show is different, every show is also the same. I'm finding that it's the people who actually make the show worth doing or not.

This summer, I had the joy of working with some people who I want to work with forever. There was a strong (happily mutual) artistic attraction, finding both them and their ideas interesting, which revitalized my work. It was absolutely thrilling. I had a joke with one of them that she would come to New York and we'd be anonymous art fairies, doing anonymous public art pieces for the purposes of spreading beauty and magic. Like glitter on a leaf in Central Park.

In my conversation with Amy, we talked about how our generation from PHTS seems less interested in forming theater companies than even the people just before us. (That's the thing to do; leave school, found a theater company.) There are many problems with this system, which creates a lot of very young theater companies which mostly fold before they're 10 years old, and there's going to need to be a new option coming to the forefront for young artists presenting work, but beyond the producing aspects of it, we seem to be more interested in different ideas of organization. We're the guerrilla artists, we're the ones brought up in a very specific time on the Internet that celebrated randomness and open, collective creation across boundaries of location. Amy and I started talking about how to engage people who were not "artists" in the "I went to art school" sense of the word in free art and creation, and I started thinking about two things. One, the Cheap Art Manifesto, published by the Bread and Puppet Theater in 1984:

And this quote by William Morris:

Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.

I believe art is important. I believe art should permeate the world. One of my main interests as an artist is helping to change how people see the world and each other, to see magic and possibility in all things. (see God in all things… same thing.) I believe that art is particularly essential in this moment because this is a moment of change, of things beginning to burst, and art can help lead us towards the positive right now. I believe that art needs to be everywhere--not just in the theaters and museums where people who can afford it can pay for it, but in the streets, on buildings, on the sidewalk, surprising you in a subway, shouted from a rooftop.

These thoughts about wanting to do more free art, about what is required of me to have a career as a designer, about how delightful it is to work with people I truly feel drawn to working with, has led me to a scary conclusion:

I am going to be happier and more artistically fulfilled if I do not have to make my living doing theater.

This is a scary thing to admit, and there's some young art school voice that's telling me it's cowardly, or a cop-out, or giving up, if I decide not to make my living doing theater. In an ideal world, I'd be able to make all the money I needed doing theater with the people I really want to work with, but that's not going to happen any time soon. In the almost-ideal world, I'd be able to make all the money I needed by novelwriting and doing theater with the people I really want to work with, but that's not going to happen immediately, either. I would rather have some weird, well-paying day job (today I was looking randomly at being an ultrasound technician or being an embalmer) and then only do the shows with people I truly want to work with, than do the number of shows I would have to do to make my living as a career designer. Why? I haven't been working that long, but I've been working a lot. I did 43 shows in 7 semesters. I did 11 shows this summer. I'm doing 5 shows right now. And now I'm 22 and approaching burnout, and I feel it kick in when I'm working on things I am not incredibly passionate about. I could keep it up, but why should I do that to myself and make it so I am unable to fully give myself with enthusiasm and energy to the shows I really want to do? Also, how will I be able to do more free art if I have to rely on art to eat?

My art fairy friend tells me that this is a very wise thing to recognize and that I've saved myself much stress and life trauma by realizing it now. Thinking about it, I am greeted with a feeling of relief and an overwhelming sensation that this is right, because it gives me a freedom to create without worrying about the business end of it. Funnily enough, by doing less I am then able to give and impact more. But it's odd to see a viable career burgeoning (in a field where this is difficult), and realize that it's not what I want. I think I had to see that it was possible. I just don't think what it'll take to make a living there is worth what it will cost. Not saying I don't want to do theater, at all. Not saying that I don't want to do theater professionally. (See notes on ideal lives in the previous paragraph.) Just saying that I don't want having to survive on it to make it sour for me.

With this realization I feel myself opening up in ways I haven't been open in a while. I feel like blogging again. Perhaps this was the thing I've been trying to figure out for the last half a year, that I had to go away to understand. I'm making it out and embracing life again, and it feels good.

I am what I am.

Today (well, technically yesterday, as of the posting of this blog at around 1am), is National Coming Out Day. What I've come on the blog to say today, finally, is something that some people have known for a long time now, some people have probably suspected, and some people have no idea about: I am bisexual.

I have known this for a very long time. I remember being confused in elementary school because I knew there was straight and I knew there was gay but I didn't know there was anything in between, and I knew I like both genders. It was around seventh grade when I learned bisexuality existed, and I came out to my friends shortly thereafter. My parents a bit later (they were great about it). I went to an arts high school, and just started out of the closet there and there was no problem. By the time I got to NYU… well, I was in NYU Drama, probably the most LGBT-friendly place in the country. The place where this has been the most tricky is at church.

I have been lucky as far as my church and issues of sexuality. Bon Air UMC, my church in Virginia, has always been really good about talking about the issue, especially when it has come up as an issue for the denomination-wide General Assembly. Being able to talk about things like this is key to moving forward as a church, as a society, and as a faith. Being able to listen to other people's points of view, having a safe space to raise questions (this goes for both sides… it irks me to no end when "liberals" refuse to listen to points made by "conservatives" as well as the other way around). I came out to a good amount of my youth group on one trip to Lake Junaluska for Music and Arts Week years ago, and instead of shying away, they attacked me with questions about my girlfriend with great enthusiasm, the same way they would have attacked me with questions about a boyfriend.

I know the scriptures. Trust me, I know all of the scriptural arguments and can counter them with other scriptural arguments like a trained swordfighter. (It's been the same arguments for ten years of my life.) What I can say from my point of view is that, nope, this isn't a choice, if it was a choice, I would have made an easier one, growing up in the South. I am attracted to who I am attracted to. Gender is secondary. (I am the least concerned about gender of everyone I know. Lots of artists are very into gender as theme or a major part of their work. I am not. People will say, "This is CLEARLY about the gender politics of.." and I will have had no thought of that. Down to me often looking androgynous.) And I cannot, for the life of me, believe that a loving God would condemn me for something that is natural.

What disturbs me greatly is the fact that many people who are not heterosexual are blocked out of the church. We have been met with hostility, with quotations of fire and brimstone. The messages towards non-heterosexuals as a whole have not been messages of Christ's love--not the Christ who would eat with the prostitutes, not the Christ who would save a woman from being stoned. Not the Christ who preached of loving others instead of condemning them. If there is one thing that Christ teaches, is that is God's love is for all people, and that we are called to love everyone. Period.

The sad fact is that the message of THE CHURCH as a whole is so negative while I know that this is NOT how every church or every Christian functions. I went to a Baptist church in Ithaca that had recently officiated a gay wedding and said a particular prayer that day for the coming of the day when all God's children would be accepted and affirmed in all churches. There IS a place in churches for us, but it's often so hard to find it. And the toll on that for people who desperately want to be connected, involved, who are looking to be more alive in their faith is actually tremendous. Friends have often sent their confused, non-hetereosexual Christian friends to me to help talk out their confusion, and it's tragic that people feel like they are cast out, not just from the church, but from the entire Kingdom of God, for something that is out of their control. This talk of "curing" homosexuality is absurd. You can "cure" anything, you can deny something that's natural all you want but that's not doing anything except suppressing something that makes you, you. Instead of celebrating the life God has given you, you spend your time denying it and living a lie--and THAT is the sin. I am tired of watching people destroy themselves, be it by denying a part of them or by believing that who they are is unworthy or considered disgusting--for the faith that I love so much.

I am deeply devoted to my faith. (To the point where I specifically did not date for a a good while because I was instead using that energy to further my relationship with God.) Now, I am also dating an incredible woman who has done so much for my faith and helped me further understand the nature of God. I am a Christian, and I am bisexual, and it's sad that people think that's an impossible combination. I am posting this not as a cathartic moment for me. Coming out is always a process--especially where I'm from, you're straight until proven gay, so despite the romanticism that surrounds "coming out of the closet! living freely!", it's a constant, lifelong process. I am posting this today to say, by example, that it IS possible to be a Christian, to be involved in the church, and not be heterosexual.

If there is going to be any change, churches are going to have to be outspokenly accepting and affirming. With the reputation of the church as far as this issue goes, it is not enough to be quietly welcoming, or have a "don't ask, don't tell" policy. (I've even had hesitancies in admitting my sexuality to those from my churches, and I come from very open and accepting backgrounds, unlike many.) It is, in fact, we in the church who are responsible for sharing God's love. It's a light we cannot hide under a bushel just because they have a lifestyle we are uncomfortable with. That wasn't something Christ ever allowed himself, and he doesn't let us off the hook, either.

If anyone has any questions or wants to talk about issues of faith and sexuality (from any angle), please let me know and I'd be happy to talk. This is not an issue that's going to be resolved any time soon... so let's just start talking, because communication is the only we're going to get anywhere.

I'm ready when you're ready for me.

I am writing this blog sitting in Washington Square Park, back here in New York City, where I am, at least, semi-permanently. I'll be gone the week after this upcoming week, back in Virginia for a time, before finally completing the move to my lovely apartment in Bushwick, with its yellow walls and balcony and two incredible roommates.

What can I say about this summer?

In some ways, this summer was what I expected. I was familiar with the program, and knew many people who'd been to the Hangar, worked there, etc, and so came in with high expectations that were met and exceeded. I learned a lot about design, about working with all kids of people (not just ones with my training), about what kind of perspective and ideas I tend to have as a designer. I did a lot of shows in a short amount of time (which isn't exactly new for me), and consistently put up work that I was proud of. I learned when to bite my tongue, and when to speak out.

I spent a lot of time outside, swimming, exploring waterfalls, and haunting cemeteries. The saying on the t-shirts is, "Ithaca is Gorges", and it's true. Ithaca is both gorgeous and full of gorges. A friend and I were trying to find Carl Sagan's grave, and took a wrong turn and ended up here:

Like… basically in the suburbs of Ithaca. Just chillin'. Being majestic. No big deal.

I went to a party for the Rocky Horror cast and crew (our final mainstage, I assisted the sound designer) at a lakehouse on a transcendentalist commune. Riding boats around the lake, swimming, lazying about eating good food, waiting the sunset. I saw so many amazing sunsets this summer. One I was so amazed by I called my dear friend Barbara and left her FIVE voicemails freaking out about it, and ran halfway across the Ithaca College campus trying to get a better view.

In other ways, this summer was not what I expected at all. It was a highly emotional summer, which I suppose is to be expected when you put a lot of artistic, impulsive people together for a summer, isolated in a beautiful, strange town, but usually I am not one of the people caught up in the drama of that--this summer I was. Which would not be so strange except that, for the past couple years (really, since around the time I started this blog), I have been in what I have referred to as, essentially, my nun stage. Where my energy has gone, largely, towards my relationship with God as opposed to seeking out relationships (of any sort) with other people. Not to say that I cloistered myself away and didn't talk to anyone, no. But diving into ritual? Yes. Self-denial? Yes (insofar as self-denial teaches self-control, which I definitely need more of). And the focus of my relationships with other people mostly became not depending on them, but being there for them. Give everything, expect nothing. (if you have no expectations, you can never have a disappointment - Passion, Sondheim)

And this was very good for me, because it hugely expanded my capacity to care for and love other people. Because that is also how you love God. By loving others. And by taking the focus away from me and what I could get out of relationship, I could give so much more. And I have found myself caring much more deeply than I could before.

I could have stayed, happily, in this unofficial nunhood, but God had other plans, and through events that happened in the later part of this past semester, I felt myself being pushed towards other people. Not away from God, but towards others, towards letting others affect me more again. I think it has to do with vulnerability, about needing to be more vulnerable to care more. I think it has to do with the fact that the ego can actually be your greatest ally, if you align it right. I think it has to do mostly with the fact that there is ALWAYS something to be learned through experience, and emotional experiences with other people in particular. And, apparently, people feel more comfortable opening up to someone who has also shared their problems with them. So, in this summer, I've been moving back towards people in a way that has been wonderfully rewarding, incredibly terrifying, and astoundingly emotional. And I didn't expect that. I didn't expect to almost cry during tech. I didn't expect to be exploring and doing fun things with other people on my days off. I didn't expect that leaving people would be so hard.

Leaving Ithaca was distressing. My dear friend Barbara and I often intone, "If it doesn't hurt, it didn't matter," but that doesn't stop it hurting. I fell in love with the place, and the people. Many already in or moving to New York, but there's something about that summer experience that will never be recaptured. And with no time to process what happened, I felt like I did leaving Ghana--suddenly ejected, left to figure it out when I don't even know that "it" was.

What do I want? Where am I going next? These are questions I don't really know the answer to. I know literally, I know how I'm getting money to eat this month, I've got some shows lined up. But beyond that? I have no idea.

Well, that's not entirely true. People try to ask me these questions theatrically… I have no idea how to answer them. But the reason I'm here is not to make theater, the reason I'm here is to care for people. That I know. (that is something I tend to do through theater, but theater is the means, not the end.) And on that front, I learned a very important lesson this summer.

Many people, as much as much as they secretly want to be loved and cared for, will not accept it easily. They don't trust it, they think you must want something from them, they think they don't deserve it. (I am guilty of all of these. It's that whole, "Why is love so easy to give and so hard to receive?" question Sondheim, again, poses in Passion. I am so stubborn it took me several weeks to accept help from a friend who was offering to help me carry the absurd amount of equipment I was using for her show.) And I spent a lot of time wondering how to deal with this, with people who won't accept love (aka: people like me… I'm working on it!), and praying about this in the cemetery behind my house one day I felt an exchange of energy that can be best expressed in dialogue:

God: Love them as much as they will let you.
Me: And secretly, love them more?
God: Exactly.

I started with summer with the question of, "How do you love when you don't want to?" Confronting the situation that sparked that question further, I think it's less about love stopping or failing (after all, betrayal only hurts because you love that person), but rather that the channels to be able to give and receive love becomes blocked. And it takes a long time to open them again, and it is okay to step back and say, "I still love this person, but it's going to take me a while to be able to open those channels again. And that's okay." It's working towards being able to connect with them again. Maybe never in the way it was before, but there is still healing to be found.

I think the life of a Christian is the life of being so open to whatever love others need and are able to receive, that you have no choice but to be swept up in it. Personally, emotionally. One of my newfound friends gave me this quote, "If you search for the awakened heart, if you put your hand through your rib cage and feel for it, there is nothing there except for tenderness. You feel sore and soft, and if you open your eyes to the rest of the world, you feel tremendous sadness. Your heart is completely exposed. There is no skin or tissue covering it; it is pure raw meat. Even if a tiny mosquito lands on it, you feel so touched. Your experience is raw and tender and so personal." I think that's it. That's the kind of heart you need to have, which means you're in for a wild ride in life.

I came back to the most loving apartment possible, with freshly baked banana bread (with strawberries in it!) waiting for be on the stove. I jumped into rehearsal the day after I got back. I'm shaken on having left, but getting through it alongside others who are similarly shaken. And sitting here in the park, listening to a musical duo playing nearby that consists of a bagpiper and a beatboxer, I must admit… this is not a bad life to come back to.