Long Ago, Far Away, by Lewis

[The following is a confidential
memorandum,
dated May 25, 1998, which I delivered to The Rev. Jamie
Rasmussen, then-pastor at Grace Community Church in Detroit, Michigan, after
listening to a tape of a sermon he delivered titled, “What Would Jesus Say
to Ellen DeGeneres”.  This was
shortly after Ellen came out on her TV show.] 
Although we did not
exchange names, we met this past Friday when I came into Grace Community Church
to buy a tape of your sermon titled “What
Would Jesus Say to Ellen DeGeneres?”

You were surprisingly young and full of sunny energy as we passed in the
office doorway.  You asked me what tape I
wanted.  I told you and you said that you
had given that sermon and told me to let you know what I thought of it.  I thanked you and went on my way, tape in
hand.
I have listened to the
tape three times now and would be happy to share my thoughts with you.  Let me begin by saying that I am a gay man of
52 who has been in a monogamous marriage for 25 years.  I have two adult children and a very
comfortable life, at least on the surface. 
The fact is that my wife and I have decided to begin a gradual separation
process because I have come, finally and almost inevitably, to the conclusion
that I can no longer feel happy and fulfilled living without the love of
another man.  For most of my adult life,
I bought the popular myth–as I believe you have–that homosexuality was a
“lifestyle” which involved choosing whether I would engage in sex
with a woman (my wife) in the context of a loving, caring relationship, or with
a series of men, always without real human connection and love.  Placed in this context, the choice seemed
rather simple.  After all, weren’t these
urges I felt merely lust, a desire for a quick fix of heated passion followed
by days and weeks–even months–of desolation, guilt, and shame?
Though you may not
believe it, let me tell you that no heterosexual can possibly understand the
torment that came from trying to live my life ever faithful to what society
expected of me and in complete sublimation of my truest inner nature.  I felt like the Ugly Duckling who never, ever
sees a swan but always thinks of himself as different, degenerate, inherently
unlovable.  Over the course of the past
half-dozen years, I have been gradually emerging from my cocoon of self-hatred
into the light.  I have discussed my
orientation with counselors, friends, clergy, family, and co-workers.  I have become active in the politics of
gender identity and sexual orientation.  I
learned that my own internalized homophobia can be overcome and that I, too,
sometimes misjudge people by stereotyping them as “homophobic”.  My wife and kids know that I am gay and love
me just the same.  (I told my wife even
before we were married that I was attracted to men.)
You need to hear that I
WAS NEVER CONFUSED ABOUT MY SEXUAL ORIENTATION–at least since the age of
13–but only terrified of being discovered. 
In your sermon, you keep referring to gays and lesbians as
“confused”.  They aren’t the
ones who are confused.  It’s you and
people like you who are confused–confused about what it means to be a
homosexual.  You seem to feel, if I interpret
your words correctly, that gays and lesbians are “OK”–that is,
worthy of “unconditional love”–as long as they don’t act on their
feelings of attraction.  Can you imagine
someone saying to a heterosexual, “I love you as a person but I hate it when
you act on your feelings of attraction to a person of the opposite
sex”?  What you are asking of gay
men and lesbians is to do one of two things: 
1) get married to a person who may or may not know what they are getting
into and live a false existence for as long as the marriage lasts; or 2) remain
celibate (and, therefore, essentially loveless) for life.  What a choice!  Both essentially deprive a person of the
greatest joys of human existence while condemning them to countless hours of
pain and self-recrimination!
Your kind of
“unconditional love”–loving the “sinner” but hating the
“sin”–is pretty cheap!  We
know that Jesus loved the thieves who died with him on the cross, as well as
the men who caused his death.  He forgave
them and welcomed them into the Kingdom of Heaven.  Are we to believe that a lesbian or gay man
who commits an act of love with another human being, regardless of gender, is
less worthy of acceptance than these are? 
The Jesus I know is SILENT about homosexuality.  How do you presume to speak for Jesus when he
himself was silent?  He did say that the
greatest commandments are these:  to love
God with all my heart, mind, and soul and to love my neighbor as myself.  Is it possible that he thought of all
people–straight or gay–as “neighbors”?
On the subject of
homosexuality as “sin”, I rely on John Boswell’s Christianity,
Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality
(still in print and available at the
Grosse Pointe Public Library and at Barnes & Noble).  On pages 100 thru 114, he addresses all three
scriptures you cite in your talk, going back to the original language for
contextual meaning.  He concludes, with
regard to the citation from Leviticus,
that the Hebrew word “toevah”,
there translated as “abomination”, as in “Thou shall not lie with
mankind, as with womankind:  it is an
abomination”, does not usually signify something intrinsically evil but
something ritually unclean for Jews, like eating pork or engaging in
intercourse during menstruation.  Boswell
points out that the word “toevah”
is used throughout the Old Testament
to designate those Jewish sins that involve ethnic contamination, as in the
stock phrase “toevah ha-goyim”,
meaning “the uncleanness of the Gentiles”.  Such an interpretation would have no
significance for Christians.
With regard to the Romans I citation, Boswell argues that
the persons Paul condemns are manifestly not homosexual.  He is speaking of homosexual acts committed
by apparently heterosexual persons. 
“The whole point of Romans I,
in fact, is to stigmatize persons who have rejected their calling, gotten off
the true path they were once on.  What
caused the Romans to sin was not that
they lacked what Paul considered proper inclinations but that they had
them
:  they held the truth, but ‘in
unrighteousness’ (v. 18) because ‘they did not see fit to retain Him in their
knowledge’ (v. 28).  [I]t is quite
apparent that…Paul did not discuss gay persons
but only homosexual acts committed by
heterosexual persons [emphasis in the
original].
Finally, as to the
citation from 1st Corinthians 6:9,
Boswell’s argument is purely semantic. 
Of the two Greek words used in the original and now taken to indicate
that “homosexuals” will be excluded from the Kingdom of Heaven, one
applied, up until the 20th Century, to masturbation–a “sin” no
longer widely considered worthy of condemnation to Hell–and the other, best
evidence suggests, meant to Paul’s generation a “male
prostitute”.  Thus, we see that upon
close examination of the cited passages, nowhere does the Bible actually
condemn homosexual acts between committed, loving, lesbians or gay men–at
least, if they are Gentiles.  I encourage
you, Jamie, to study the Roswell text yourself in its entirety.
You almost had me fooled,
Jamie.  I was ready to concede that you
really cared about gays and lesbians. 
Your voice has such a compassionate ring to it.  But near the end, you betray your real
feelings when you announce your opposition to the efforts of gays and lesbians
to secure the same rights to be free from discrimination that you and other
heterosexuals take for granted.  You even
raise the tired, old red flag of protecting the children!  What of those gay or lesbian children who may
have been in your audience?  Evidence
shows that many gay boys realize their orientation by the age of 11.  How would they feel about themselves after
hearing your speech?  What kind of a
future can they look forward to–either devoid of intimacy or condemned by
God?  Why wouldn’t suicide seem
attractive?  You’re right to be concerned
for the children but the threat comes from the vibes of your own sound system,
not from some faceless gay pedophile.
[In researching what Rev. Rasmussen has
been up to in the interim, it appears that my excoriating memo did nothing to
damage his career in the ministry.  The
very next year, he left Detroit to lead an old, historic church in London,
Ontario, in transitioning to a “small-group-based, outreach-focused”
one, whose membership grew by 29 per cent in the two years he was there.  In 2001, he left London for Chagrin Falls,
Ohio, where he pastured at the Fellowship Bible Church for six years, growing
its membership from 650 to 1400. 
“Chagrin” is an apt word for my reaction upon learning that
since 2007, “Jamie”, as he prefers to be called, has been the Senior
Pastor of Scottsdale Bible Church with its 6000 adult members and 10- to 12,000
subscribers to the church’s newsletter. 
He has a staff of two dozen pastors and ministers and 100
employees.  Incidentally, he never
responded to my memo.]
© 16 Sep 2013 
About
the Author
 
I came to the
beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the
state where I married and I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my
native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and had two
children while working as an engineer for the Ford Motor Company. I was married
to a wonderful woman for 26 happy years and suddenly realized that life was
passing me by. I figured that I should make a change, as our offspring were
basically on their own and I wasn’t getting any younger. Luckily, a very
attractive and personable man just happened to be crossing my path at that
time, so the change-over was both fortuitous and smooth.
Soon after, I
retired and we moved to Denver, my husband’s home town. He passed away after 13
blissful years together in October of 2012. I am left to find a new path to
fulfillment. One possibility is through writing. Thank goodness, the SAGE
Creative Writing Group was there to light the way.

Long Ago, Far Away by Phillip Hoyle

Many years ago (at least fifty) and far away in the galaxy (at places like Kansas, Texas, Missouri, New Mexico, and Oklahoma) I lived a rational life. Reason guided my decisions, took precedence over desires or fears, led me in ways that served cultural, educational, career, and personal ideals. I followed this rational trajectory, not uncritically, but still in a somewhat ordinary fashion. I lived a good life yet one that signaled caution whenever feelings were on the rise—either mine or those of others around me. Were I to look for a metaphor, I’d certainly have to entertain the notion that I lived a rather Dr. Spockian life, if you know what I mean.

It wasn’t that I failed to experience emotion; I had plenty of feelings. After all, I was reared the only boy with four sisters. As a child I sometimes became so frustrated and angry that I stomped through the house slamming doors and throwing myself on the bed where I either screamed or cried. But before too long I gave up such childish ways and assumed a rational exterior. Then if I were still angry or felt frustrated, I’d go out to the garage and talk to Tippy my beagle. She was a great counselor with unlimited acceptance and constant warmth in my presence. She’d lick away my wounds and allow me to go on with my rational life. So, I grew up pulling in my emotions, always ruled by good manners. When I observed others throwing fits or getting too emotional, I’d evaluate their effectiveness and eventually distance myself.

As a working adult I served as a study of self-control in order to facilitate a group’s process. My work was effective! I watched how someone’s emotions would cloud issues impeding a program’s movement towards some goal, and then, setting aside my own emotional needs, would offer rational and workable solutions. I got along well.

Eventually I was done with all that. My memories of childhood served as my mentors in this change—not just my fits of pique, but my involvement in many childhood activities of play, dance, unstoppable laughter, and running around with my friends. My observations of artists further encouraged me to change. For instance, in a collage workshop, the teacher asked me about what I was doing. I described the “why” of my design. “But I can’t read your piece,” she observed. I wasn’t quite sure what she meant, but her comment pushed me right where I need pushing! I turned to the piece and angrily added the two essential figures that were missing, an older man adoring a younger man. When she came by my table about an hour later, she said, “Now that I can really read.” I was thrilled. I had something to say in my art! Furthermore, this terminal experience opened me to a new level of communication with my wife.

As healthy as that may sound, I realized that my artistic and personal self-indulgences would have the effect of focusing my life away from the groups that had so enriched my first fifty years. Away from my old life focused on church and family I moved to Denver and hoped thereby to learn how trust my feelings and let them lead me into helpful decisions.

I need to clarify. My half-century of life had not gone by without emotional outlets. I was a musician; such an artistic and emotion-filled pursuit allowed me to tolerate all the self-control demanded by the rest of my work. From about age thirty, I also lived with an increasing focus on visual arts and on writing. Finally I sensed I had things to express in both. So essentially at age fifty-one I replaced the loss of music making and self-discipline with wild dancing at Charlie’s of Denver, the Denver Wrangler, TRAX, and Denver BASIX. I employed recorded music of many varieties as a background in my new massage practice. I created collage after collage, painting after painting, works that helped move me along a road of emotional expression. Still, I am in touch with that Dr. Spock part of myself, that careful monitor of feelings and their possible misdirection.

But a few weeks ago, just after recording a Colorado Public Broadcast radio interview of an older and a younger gay man, the journalist/producer asked us if there were revelations in the taping we’d not want to hear in the eventual show. The twenty three-year-old guy said, “No, I’m always careful with what I say.” Then I, the sixty-six-year-old man, said, “Not at all. I’ve spent the past fifteen years learning to say what I am feeling. Use anything you want.”

Denver, 2013

About the Author

Phillip Hoyle lives in Denver and spends his time writing, painting, and socializing. In general he keeps busy with groups of writers and artists. Following thirty-two years in church work and fifteen in a therapeutic massage practice, he now focuses on creating beauty. He volunteers at The Center leading the SAGE program “Telling Your Story.”

He also blogs at artandmorebyphilhoyle.blogspot

Long Ago and Far Away by Ray S.

In watching this handsome, self assured TV chef go about his demonstration of how to prepare trout almondine, he tells us about his service as a Marine in Iraq. As an aside to how a vanilla bean’s aroma reminds him of something the troops were warned to avoid as a poison because it smelled like vanilla.

Then he mentions his three sons, so I know he’s married–or was, and sufficiently endowed for he and his wife to become a father three times. All the time he’s so cool explaining how to fry the trout, then throwing together some panna cotta.

Why does my mind wander and begin nagging, “I wish I was a man such as I perceive him to be?”

It’s the image on the screen, it’s my mood slipping into classic “I don’t like me” mind fuck. A long ago secret wish to be someone else besides this body I’ve been occupying so long. Details like is he straight or gay, is he happily married, is he addicted to some sort of drug or booze? Would he be someone I’d like to spend time with? Why can’t I settle for who I am? All my life I’ve been comparing myself to others and especially men I can never be–and on and on and on.

Well, the food is cooked, the show is over and Mr. Wonderful fades away and so does my yearning and envy. Who knows he probably has as many devils to battle as I do.

Besides the grass is always greener on the other side of the bed.

Time to stop wasting energy on mindless self destruction and TV which has its moments too.

The quiet in the room an gentle sound of the rain drops striking the window panes reminds me of another day long ago and geographically far away–almost in another life. A little boy proudly rides his 24 inch wheeled Ranger bike over to his friend’s house. They admire his newly acquired birthday present and celebrate his graduation to a two-wheeler. Friend’s mother calls him to the telephone (it’s one of those new one-piece cradle phones–not like the old two-piece upright one at home.) The message is from big brother advising him to come home because of the rain storm and emphasizes be very careful because you are likely to slip and slide and fall and crash your new bike. Brother was especially emphatic about the imminent danger of the trip home. Sufficient to scare the wits (we didn’t say “shit” in those innocent times) out of the neophyte two-wheeler pilot.

The rain stopped long ago and far away memories stopped too. The whistle on the tea kettle beckons.

About the Author

From Brooklyn to College Point, New York by Louis

Long ago, far away

I guess long ago and far away could mean recounting the adventures of Alexander the Great (gay general) in ancient Persia. But since I am getting to become an antique myself, I thought I would reminisce about the years 1949-1950. The first president I remember was Harry Truman. Who was the first U. S. President you remember? I was living with my mother and father, my maternal grandmother and my paternal grandfather and four brothers in an apartment on Baimbridge Street in East New York, Brooklyn. Today Baimbridge Street is located in Bedford-Stuyvesant, which is not one of New York City’s better neighborhoods.

My younger brother Charles Francis was born in 1949. So I helped my mother and grandmother take care of him. Unfortunately he has since died – too much hard liquor. I remember a lot of soldiers who had returned five years previously from Europe after World War II recounting their experiences and showing us their helmets and rifles some of which even had bayonets although I remember Obama saying the use of bayonets was discontinued after World War I.

My grandfather used to take me on the electric trolley train and we would ride to Coney Island which back then was in its heyday. I was six years old and was awe-struck by the plethora of sparks showering down from the overhead electric wires that provided the energy for the trolleys to travel.

In 1950, we moved to our own house in College Point, Queens, NY. It had brown shingles, a big screened-in front porch with a sofa. Of course, it was still an urban setting, but to me, with the big yard in back and plenty of room as compared with the apartment in Brooklyn, it was like moving to the country. Back then College Point was a lower middle class town with lots of vacant lots and two well-maintained parks. A walk across town would bring you to a large expanse of untouched swamps. I and a bunch of other children loved to seek out the frogs, pheasant, and the rabbits. Unfortunately, all that is now gone. Nowadays College Point is run-down, dirty and overcrowded. So I am trying to relocate to Colorado.

On a hot summer’s day, a neighbor took us to the CYO swimming pool in neighboring Whitestone. I guess I lingered a little longer than I should have in the boys’ locker room.

In other words, when things are perfect, and one is happy, why do things have to change, go downhill?

Sept. 10, 2013

About the Author

I was born in 1944, I lived most of my life in New York City, Queens County. I still commute there. I worked for many years as a Caseworker for New York City Human Resources Administration, dealing with mentally impaired clients, then as a social work Supervisor dealing with homeless PWA’s. I have an apartment in Wheat Ridge, CO. I retired in 2002. I have a few interesting stories to tell. My boyfriend Kevin lives in New York City. I graduated Queens College, CUNY, in 1967.