Believe In Reality: One Former Minister’s Journey Away from Angels and Demons

By Glenn Masters III

What would happen if you doubted the things that brought you to your career? Would you ignore the doubts and continue in your work? Or would the doubts lead you to discover a new reality, a new truth?

Author Glenn Masters III wondered about God’s existence for many years but became a minister despite those doubts. In Believe in Reality: One Former Minister’s Journey Away from Angels and Demons he shares the story of his journey in and out of religion. This personal and sometimes intimate memoir also describes the author’s concurrent journey toward complete acceptance as a gay man. Included are articles and sermons written during his last eight years of ministry, when he attempted to implement a new vision for those who were, like him, spiritually disillusioned. Discover how he replaced theism with reality.

You can’t turn myths into reality. No amount of revisioning can resurrect delusions into meaningful reality.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Jun 17, 2015
• ISBN: 9781483432564

Book preview

Believe in Reality

One Former Minister’s Journey Away from Angels and Demons

GLENN MASTERS III

Copyright © 2015 Glenn Masters III.

Cover image: The Devil Presenting St. Augustine with the Book of Vices by Michael Pacher, between 1471 and 1475, in the Alte Pinakothek, Munich. The human figure has also been identified by other sources as St. Wolfgang of Regensburg or St. Theophilus the Penitent.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-3255-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-3256-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015908953

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 06/12/2015

Table of Contents

SECTION ONE

"A life well-lived is a legacy of joy and pride and pleasure, a loving, lasting

memory our grateful hearts will treasure

He touches your heart and brings healing to your spirit

Love lives on forever in the heart.

Memory nourishes the heart, and grief abates."

A Life Well-Lived

Marcel Proust, 1871-1922

Reflections upon a Life Well-Lived

Prologue

A New Birth

An Ordinary Kid

Death and Dying

The Early Church

The Farmhouse

Shocked by the Unexpected

Boys Will Be Boys

Seeing the USA without a Chevrolet

Home at Grandparents

Richard

Always Learning

Get Out of High School ASAP

College or Collage

Seminary Not Divinity School

Uni-versity In More Than One Uni-verse

Pumping Gas with Anita Bryant

Gift Shop to Jewelry Store

Apologia Pro Vita Sua

This Apology Is No Longer Necessary

Texas Parish and Perish

Interfaith

Invocation Prayed During Ramadan 2010

Prayer Sharing Blessings upon the Feast at the Annual Interfaith Dialog Dinner 2010

Closing Prayer at the of Interfaith Dialog Dinner Sol Center, April 19, 2012

It’s Istanbul, Not Constantinople

First, It’s Mexico; Then Oh, Canada!

Back on Board Our Orient Express

Along the Strait, But Not Narrow

Crossroads of Civilizations

Empires Come and Go; Their Monuments Remain

A Flight Back in Time

Turkish Hospitality

Table of Contents

SECTION TWO

When I think about religion at all, I feel as if I would like to found an order for those who CANNOT believe: the Confraternity of the Faithless, one might call it, where on an altar, on which no taper burned, a priest, in whose heart peace had no dwelling, might celebrate with unblessed bread and a chalice empty of wine. Every thing to be true must become a religion. And agnosticism should have its ritual no less than faith. It has sown its martyrs, it should reap its saints, and praise God daily for having hidden Himself from man. But whether it be faith or agnosticism, it must be nothing external to me. Its symbols must be of my own creating. Only that is spiritual which makes its own form. If I may not find its secret within myself, I shall never find it: if I have not got it already, it will never come to me.

De Profundis

Oscar Wilde, 1854-1900

Listening for New Voices

Remarks throughout the Year

Revised Sermons and Church Newsletter Articles

A Christmas Eve Meditation

‘Prayer’ on Christmas Eve

Humorous Pesher On Mary

Christmas Day

New Year’s Resolution - I Will Not Keep Silent

Martin Luther King, Jr.’S Birthday - What to Do When the Dream Becomes a Nightmare

Criminal Justice Sunday - Justice for Women

Ash Wednesday - What are the Blessings?

Lent - Celebrate with All Bounty

International Women’s Day - When Men Finally Get It!

Palm Sunday A Pesher - The Whole City Was In Turmoil

Easter - We Have Waited for This Day; We Are Not Afraid of Tomorrow

Another Easter Story - What? A Woman Preaches the First Gospel Message!

April 15, 2012 - A Titanic Endeavor

Addendum on 60 Years and a Blood Moon

Earth Day - The Author of Life Composes a Better World

May Day, International Workers’ Day - Where Is Love For The Laborer?

Mother’s Day - A Eunuch Only A Mother Could Love

Presbyterian Heritage - The World Has Hated Them and Their Heritage

LGBT Pride - Always, But Especially In June

Father’s Day - Anointed Fathers As Seeds

Independence Day July 4th

International Friendship Day - Branching Out In Friendship

Hiroshima Remembrance Day

Sunday Closest To Labor Day

World Food Day - He Might Eat Well, But Is His Life Good?

United Nations Day - How About Heaven On Earth?!

Reformation Day - Semper Reformanda

Banned Books Week

As Angels or As Kids?

All Saints’ Day - If The World Were Full Of Saints

International Day of Peace

A Few More Words on Peace and Justice

Addendum on Violence in Religion

Peacemaking and Dishonest Wealth

The Day the Oil Ran Out

What about the IRS and Whores?

End of the Church Year Calendar - Last Sunday Before Advent

The First Sunday of Advent - What’s That Mary? There Is No End to This Reign of Possibilities

The Second Sunday of Advent - Who Is on Top of the Mountain?

The Third Sunday of Advent - What Then Should We Do?

The Fourth Sunday of Advent - The Magnificat

The Reign of Solomon or The Reign of God

Sexual Minorities are The Majority

What Happens When One Gets the Government One Deserves

Healthcare and The Good Samaritan

What I Wanted in May 2010 I Still Want

What Honor Have The Prophets?

Elections Matter

Banks and the Super Rich

Healthcare…Again

…..And Again

Civil Judgment for Neighbors

Moratorium - Canceled Debts Lead to Love and Freedom

Meditation by the People

Epilogue

To My Beloved Husband,

      My Best Friend,

            My Joy Forever

Acknowledgments

Though many people whom I have encountered along my meandering way could be listed here, I will limit my acknowledgement to but three friends, all who are presently active in my life. These days we are traveling together on our life’s journey.

First and above all others is my beloved husband. Without his unconditional love and unwavering support, this project could never have been completed. He is the love of my life. These past 18 years have been the brightest and best because of him being with me. So much more could be written than in these few sentences to tell our special story. Perhaps a second volume will be forthcoming. No, per his request, I will not embarrass him any further. I thank him for just being who he is. I thank him for making me a better example of justice and love in this world. His love transcends both the most profound of the poet’s dreams as well as the most picturesque of the artist’s brush. The lyricist also captures my experience of loving him and being loved by him; You’re the Best Thing That Ever Happened to Me, by James D. Weatherly. Thank you Gladys Knight for putting that sentiment to voice. Thank you for putting into song how so many of us feel about our special someone.

Now I have written that life story. It is written for all of those loving gays and atheists out there. Thank you, my dearest and my best for being that someone special who shares a vision with me of a better world without discrimination and without superstition!

Two women have been in my life for the better part of the past decade. They both are women of empowerment. They both are women who are not contented with the mundane and the mediocre. They both have been disillusioned by the arrogant and the self-righteous who dare to call themselves followers of Jesus of Nazareth. They both have caught a vision of what this world could be if justice and love reigned in the hearts of all. They both accept me for who I am. For that alone I am most grateful. They did not abandon me in my darkest hours. They have supported me with their most gracious gifts and with their generous financial support. I could not have finished this book without their true friendship. I am overjoyed that together we share this portion of our life’s journey. Sherry Disdier and Maria Elena Garza, you both shine as polished gems in a world that is often elated with the crass and unattractive, and always clamoring for more of the same.

Sherry, that ancient Chinese proverb found inextricably attached with your e-mails is proven real in your life over and over again.

Fragrance always clings to the hand that gives roses.

There is a majestic transcendence operating through you and your choosing to nurture so much of nature’s beauties. Your openness to life’s surprises continues to be both fresh and encouraging.

Maria Elena, who I often call Ave, not only your descants but also your gliding effortlessly across the keys of the pipe organ brought me many a moment to near approaching what might be called the divine. In spite of all of the many whirling cacophonies, also keep that melodic voice of the nightingale high perched above the fray.

The metaphor of an angel does not do either of you justice. Thank you both!

And guys they both are single!

Abbreviations

SECTION ONE

Reflections upon a Life Well-Lived

Prologue

There is always at least one reason for writing a book. Otherwise there would be no book! Some books are written to promote new ideas. Some encourage self-help, etc., etc., ad infinitum, ad nauseum.

Some books are composed out of the product of one’s disgust. That phrase is found utilized by intrepid journalist Mark Liebovich. It is a reason for writing his excellent tome, This Town: Two Parties and a Funeral - Plus, Plenty of Valet Parking! - in America’s Gilded Capital. His is a scathing indictment of the political process that stalls Washington in a perpetual quagmire.

I, too, write in consequence of my disgust. My disgust with organized religion will become quite apparent. My disgust is fueled by the powerful odor of mendacity within the hallowed halls of religious instruction. Yes, thank you, Tennessee Williams for that infamous metaphor. It was used by Brick and uncharacteristically uttered by Big Daddy in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof! I have used it on many an occasion in preaching and teaching. It makes for a disarming preemptive strike against one’s opponent in religious debate.

My disgust with the treatment of gays within organized religion will be as well apparent. My disgust with myself for having entertained any hope for a new vision for God-in-the-World might be less apparent. For years I wandered in and out of service for a church that ultimately discarded both my teaching and my person. To many I remain, or after reading this book, I will become, the best of the bête noire. The reader alone, therefore, will decide the merits of this book’s Section Two.

Some volumes are written to aid in a ‘first interruption from dogmatic slumber.’ Compare Kant’s remembrance of Hume, Prolegomena to Any Future Metaphysics, 1783. Some books are more radical. They call for workers of the world to unite. Proletarier aller Lander vereinigt Euch! The Communist Manifesto, 1848, by Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels.

Some are written

that ye might believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God; and that believing ye might have life through his name.

Gospel of John 20:31, c. 95 CE.

Though apparently composed as a conclusion to John’s evangel, those words seemingly must have been insufficient. The last chapter of 21 thus was inserted later by an editor. The Jacobean English translation arrives centuries later!

Some write for profit.

My foremost reason for writing is simple. I wish to share some of the events of my life. The events recounted are primarily those which relate to my on / again, off / again, belief / disbelief in God. They are events which also unfold my coming out as gay. Many of them overlap. Shakespeare’s assertion from The Tempest Act 2, Scene 1 is apt.

What’s past is prologue

However, unlike the bard’s characters Antonio and Sebastian, the only murder for me is the death of God. But how can one kill something that isn’t real?

Some happenings are more memorable than others. It is a shared record of my journey thus far. I share with anyone who wishes to read about it. I can agree with the 19th century American poet, Walt Whitman. And on more than one occasion!

I am large, I contain multitudes

Song of Myself

Leaves of Grass, 1855

I have attempted to record warts and all. Though probably historically inaccurate, that peculiar phrase has been ascribed to Oliver Cromwell. It was supposedly his instruction to Sir Peter Lely, the painter commissioned to do his portrait. Who knows? Maybe Horace Walpole was right after all.

I share also some of my remarks and insights along this wondrous journey called life. Some perceptions are from sermons preached, edited for this book. Some are ramblings from church newsletter articles, also edited for this publication. Some are engaging. Some are humorous. I hope many will prove challenging.

Some chapters will convey hope and joy. Some will leave one nostalgic. Some will impress / depress with a sense of a meaninglessness unrecoverable in the depths of life’s temporal flow of continuous transitions.

Though Nietzsche was one of my major foci in graduate studies, it was his predecessor, Arthur Schopenhauer (1788-1860), who perhaps made a more indelible and lasting imprint on my mind’s quest for anything spiritual. From one of his many brilliant essays in Studies in Pessimism comes a quote that I have often alluded to in one paraphrased form or another.

….a man never is happy, but spends his whole life in striving after something which he thinks will make him so; he seldom attains his goal, and when he does, it is only to be disappointed; he is mostly shipwrecked in the end, and comes into harbor with mast and rigging gone. And then, it is all one whether he has been happy or miserable; for his life was never anything more than a present moment always vanishing; and now it is over.

The over-all theme of this book should nevertheless show that I have been incredibly happy. My life has been well-lived. Affably the journey is not yet over. But with final certitude at this point on my life’s journey, I confidently can claim that religion has not contributed to any happiness in any of my affairs. The following chapters should serve to demonstrate the validity of that assertion.

Now don’t take that wrong or as an absolute - whatever that is. There are happy religious people. There are good religious people. There are religious people who do good things. But all of that is in spite of religion.

Technically, the first section of this book would be classified as autobiographical. However, it is not a delineation of chronological occurrences. I take the liberties afforded a writer to jump back and forth through time. I thus attempt to weave a tapestry with fuller colors and intricately intertwining threads. It is not a life’s record that somehow will be lived again through some eternal recurrence. Though I loved David Mitchell’s novel, Cloud Atlas, and I found brilliant its cinematic portrayal, I feel this life is this life. I have no evidence for anything else. However, I do have hope for something more.

Such hope is one of my reasons for Section Two. It consists of hopes for the hopeless, voices for the voiceless. Much of what appears there will be dismissed out of hand by the most militant atheist activists as irrelevant. However, those seeking a new vision might find some redeeming insight, maybe even clarity, within those pages. All progressive ministers are welcome to utilize the sermons. Who knows, maybe someone in the pew will be listening. The few stragglers attending most mainline church services need to detect some truth and hope for the future. That would be good news worth hearing. They have few options. The ‘good news’ preached in conservative pulpits is often none other than FOX News regurgitated.

Most people like to share at best something with at least someone else they know, love and respect. But we know so few others. I mean really know.

There are so many things we as human beings have in common with one another. Perhaps, this commonality is as high as 99.99%. If that be so, that would mean that our differences would be a mere .01%. Therein, however, would lie all the variety of things that make each one of us unique, if not special. Look how different we are as a species, and as individuals - though we have as high as 99% DNA in common with chimpanzees and bonobos.

I dare to promote in these chapters my unique status in the world. This book will attempt to unfold much of that claim. So, first I must state again what is the obvious. It is what many who know me already know. I am a gay man.

With but a 4-10% of the general population being gay, those unique differences are even more special, if not downright rare. Within that minority there is a still smaller minority. It is a group which desires to cling to a diverse cross section of religious structures.

I once belonged wholeheartedly to that group. I no longer belong. I no longer desire to belong. If anything can be said about my present state, it would be found in that phrase coined by Episcopalian Bishop and progressive scholar John Shelby Spong. According to him there are many of us who inadvertently are members of the Church Alumni Association.

It is sad, but compelling, to have to remind the reader that throughout history religious structures have been used to squash and ultimately often destroy in whatever particular land and generation any authentic and viable gay identity. Though I now distinguish being religious from being spiritual, I nevertheless for years had fallen within that religious categorical minority. I was a semi-closeted gay man being religious. As such, I sought any semblance of acceptance from the church.

As with most, if not all, I bathed in soothing therapies offered by religious illusions. That immersion proved not to be healthy in regard to my being gay.

Religion is toxic. Churches, synagogues and mosques are full of toxic people. Don’t take that either as an absolute, as if there be such a thing as an absolute. Many people, most people, are good and desire to live in society respecting all others. But then again, there are those who live on hate and in their hatred commit atrocities. They may not pick up a gun and blow away their neighbor; but they will sanctimoniously condemn all others who are different from themselves. If they have any power, they will exercise it in order to dismantle and to crush all forms of dissent and opposition.

It requires intelligence to question everything. Religion, on the other hand, requires submission to the mind controls of its authorities. Are those that question smarter than those who are content to float along with easy, though hardly consistent, answers to life’s perplexing mysteries? A scientifically accurate answer may be forthcoming.

Rob Brooks, evolutionary biologist and author, wrote a blog for The Huffington Post, August 14, 2013. It was entitled, Does It Matter That Atheists Are Smarter than Believers? I encourage the reader to look it up in the internet archives and become better informed. You the reader are hereby challenged to follow up on that and any other similar study.

History and today’s society shows that intelligent, well-informed people are just as easily duped by the welcoming claims of friendly-type religions. So it goes.

In the congregational response to the liturgy’s weekly invitation, in what is termed the call to worship, it was assured to all present - the worshipers - that there would be found the claimed God of love.

Now, in response to that failure to find such a god, it is one of my reasons I describe my journey as a journey away from angels and demons.

But the invitation remains….it takes the venue of the Sufi mystic’s summons.

Come again, please come again. Whoever you are. Religious, infidel, heretic or pagan. Even if you promised a hundred times and a hundred times you broke your promise, this door is not the door of hopelessness and frustration. This door is open for everybody. Come, come as you are.

Though most frequently quoted, especially by Turkish Mevlevis, whirling dervishes, and attributed to Rumi (1207-1273), it cannot be authenticated as originally his. But such is equally the case with the search for any possible ipsissima verba - actual Aramaic words of Jesus. What we read and what we have been taught are not necessarily credible. Yet, not surprisingly, truths are presented as such, gleaned from whatever source.

I title this journey with an additional caveat. It is an imperative. Believe in reality. That sort of sounds silly. Reality is, whether or not one believes in it.

What is meant by such a mandate for living is more than a positive epistemic value. It is a call to not believe what is proposed as real by the fanatics of religion. It is a rejection of all fairy tales no matter how hopeful are their endings in ‘happily ever after.’

Raised in traditional Protestant churches that have overwhelmingly disparaged gay people - oh, right, historically that’s all churches - I grew to eventually reimage and redefine what it means to experience God-in-the-World. Such reimaging took place over the many years serving in the traditional constructs of worship and liturgy. I hoped such revisions would help my understanding. Was God real? Were the established sources for finding the presence of God reliable? Credible? Authentic? Consistent?

With expanding revisions, not surprisingly, new definitions arose to fill in the newfound void. For example, traditional definitions of angels and demons as invisible supernatural beings, expressly good or expressly evil, is not how I can possibly interpret them. They are for me at best primitive attempts to reflect upon our own wonderfully human natures. Mysteries within a universe only 4% perceived by our three pound brains!

My understanding, or lack thereof, of God is similar in its non-traditional approach. I number myself among the new atheists. Hubris allows me to be in the esteemed company of British evolutionary biologist and author Richard Dawkins. There is also American neuroscientist and author Sam Harris. There is American philosopher and author Daniel Dennett. There is the late sorely missed British author Christopher Hitchens. Together they have been christened (sic) the Four Horsemen of New Atheism. Compared to them, I am just hitching a ride on a large dog!

Since I have listed some famous atheist Brits, allow me to share a few more of my favorites. Atheist British physicists Stephen Hawking and Noble prize winning Peter Higgs. Atheist British billionaire entrepreneur and investor Sir Richard Branson. Atheist British comedian and actor Ricky Gervais. Atheist British actors Sir Ian McKellan, Hugh Laurie, and the late Sir John Gielgud. You know he passed away just 16 months after his partner of 35 years died. I don’t think I could last that long with such separation.

How could I fail to include that atheist British actor famous for playing Harry Potter? Daniel Radcliffe. Or atheist British actor Emma Thompson? I’m glad she and I share our birthday with Leonardo da Vinci!

Now since the Qur’an has been introduced in this foreword, it is noteworthy that atheist Muslims like Ali A. Rizi and closely aligned Omar Baddar give atheists hope for spiritual progress across a wider spectrum.

I take a writer’s liberty to borrow familiar phrases from admired atheists. Who will not recognize the beloved novelist Kurt Vonnegut whenever one reads an exasperated, So it goes? Slaughterhouse-Five, after all, was semi-autobiographical. One atheist thanks another. Partial pastiche?

I also dare to include one of my departed heroes in such a company of realists. He is none other than the late brilliant cosmologist, Carl Sagan. That is, of course, if I read correctly his remarks in his posthumously published tome, The Varieties of Scientific Experience: A Personal View of the Search for God, edited by his wife Ann Druyan.

The book was released in 2006, although they had been Dr. Sagan’s Gifford Lectures for 1985. There is a more than obvious reference in that book’s title to William James, The Varieties of Religious Experience, 1902. Dr. Sagan’s books are among my top referrals to students in any religious study I have conducted. The Demon-Haunted World: Science as a Candle in the Dark is one such reference work. Pale Blue Dot: A Vision of the Human Future in Space is another. For me all of his publications are promising and optimistic.

In spite of those who clearly identify with one position or another, there is a wide divergence on the scale between belief and unbelief. It’s sometimes difficult to pinpoint with any accuracy where any one particular evolving human might be located at any given time. I certainly can identify with that ambiguity.

As with any human subset, researchers in the social sciences report that diversity among atheists is a given. Non-believers are more than what many surveys grant as an only option, religious nones or non-affiliated. There are a variety of different categories for non-believers.

Where then would I peg myself? Comically I once claimed fagnostic. Then came gaytheist. Seriously, beyond being an atheist, I am more of a humanist. The former, atheist, though a true definition, is negative. I am more specifically anti-religion. I reject the traditional theism found within most, if not all, religious dogma. That would in all likelihood mark me as antitheist. Another category perhaps is needed - atheist seeker? Maybe that’s a stretch. Nonetheless, I am not threatened by redefinitions of God as awe and wonder at the diffuse presence of the universe’s energy. It might just be semantics. But the latter description does not burn fellow humans at the stake.

Perhaps the Reverend Michael Dowd’s definition is helpful at this juncture.

"God is reality mythically personified."

His marvelous and insightful concepts were written down for all of us to muse over in his scholarly enterprise, Thank God for Evolution. It is on my list of recommended readings for all of my classes.

Albert Einstein also gave a helpful hint for a definition in this ambiguous world of that something other. Even as a brilliant physicist, he claimed a certain sense of religiousness.

In such good company, I also am religious; and I am contented with religious ambiguity. I have no disagreement with what Diana Nyad shared with Oprah Winfrey on one of her Super Soul Sunday OWN TV programs in 2013. In spite of Oprah’s hesitancy in calling the champion swimmer an atheist, she professes that she is. Atheists share in the awesomeness of the cosmos without positing the need for a supernatural creator or sustainer or controller of that cosmos. Life contains beauty and mystery. That appreciation does not lead to a nod to a god. There is no built-in requirement for an unfounded belief in a personal deity pulling the strings behind the curtain. That’s religious ambiguity with which one can live. Or maybe again, it’s just futile semantics.

Though I can no longer share the faith of the father, I nonetheless like the direction of the son. I refer to New York Times best-selling author, Frank Schaeffer. While attending college, I had the privilege of hearing a lecture by his esteemed father, the Presbyterian scholar, Francis Schaeffer (1912-1984). He established an enterprise for befuddled intellectuals, or more precisely, for seekers after religious enlightenment. Sounds Buddhist, and it did have a similarity to an ashram. His spiritual hermitage was called L’Abri Fellowship International. Literally, a shelter. It was nestled in the backyard of Calvin’s Switzerland. Two companions with whom in the past were each respectively once my best of friends, had studied for a while with Schaeffer in that scenic Helvetic countryside.

Since my days in college when first I was introduced to Schaeffer, I often have interchanged the title of one of his more well-known works. He Is There and He Is Not Silent became for me the opposite - silent and not there. Such sarcasm was one of my more frequent ways for dismissing the supposedly divine presence.

His offspring, Frank, has shown himself to be more progressive than was his dad. I concur with his article in The Huffington Post, My Brand of Hope-Filled Christian Uncertainty, August 7, 2013.

His later blog for the same news magazine carried a frank assessment of evangelical thinking (sic). Pull up his hilarious simile entitled evaluation in the archives and read, Evangelical Theology Is Used Like Sunscreen - Not to Encourage Discussion but to Protect Against Exposure, February 2, 2014.

Maybe all the fuss will wind up a dead end. But the journey continues. It has not reached its final resting place.

Returning to those earlier referenced, now quite ambiguous, angels and demons…. sometimes we act and live out our better angels. Sometimes we slide into a darker, let’s say, demonic, side. Sometimes we are propelled against our better judgments by engines which we find beyond our conscious control. Sometimes we are called to higher dimensions of living which startle us when we encounter and embrace the extents of forgiveness and reconciliation.

In the past, I have been rebuffed by some who believe in the reality of both angels and demons. The rebuff was often twofold in nature. You should have listened to the angels. And, you should not have given in to the demons. So it goes.

If love be the essence of God-in-the-World, and if we seek to be imitators of that image of the divine, then love ought to be the mode in which and by which we live as human beings. It sounds so clear and so simple. Yet, as earlier stated, gay history, human history, and the history of the church specifically is replete with horrible evidence to the contrary.

It is not surprising that a vision of a loving and accepting God has not found fruition in the history of the men supposedly made in that image. Christians somewhat unwillingly, maybe unknowingly, have embraced the paradoxes of their theology. The author of the catholic epistle known as 1 John declares without equivocation a user-friendly definition of the divine.

God is love; and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God in him.

1 John 4:16

Any reading from the earlier TaNaCh, authoritative to whatever degree for the church, records a God full of vengeance, murder and death. A reading of the Holiness Code in Leviticus will see the reflections of such a God in a variety of horrible rules for living for the chosen people.

When worshipping that God, psalms of praise were often sung. The singing of the last refrain of Psalm 137, in either synagogue or early church, reflects the vision of that worshipped God. It conveys a hatred beyond any rationale.

"⁸ O daughter of Babylon, who art to be destroyed; happy shall he be, that rewardeth thee as thou hast served us. ⁹ Happy shall he be, that taketh and dasheth thy little ones against the stones."

So much for love for the neighbor! So much for forgiveness and reconciliation!

For the follower of Jesus, Psalm 137 gives new meaning to the rebuke issued by Jesus toward his disciples. Jesus’ reprimand was in response to their callous attitude toward children. The classic King James Version of Matthew 19:14 renders Jesus’ command as

"Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me."

Psalm 137 is innocent suffering on steroids. Thankfully, the sufferance in Jacobean language meant simply, allow. Jesus is off the hook!

Classic theology has always portrayed Jesus as loving little children. Yet, in consequence of the reality of unequal or no love toward children of color, the Sunday school ditty becomes in practice mean words indeed.

Jesus loves the little children,

All the children of the world;

Whether white or shades of white,

They are precious in his sight.

Jesus loves the little children of the world.

There are a few other nasty psalms that the Jews and the early Christians sang to their God of love. I mention only a couple. It will be the province of another book I hope to write in order to show how really hateful the scriptures are.

"³ The wicked are estranged from the womb: they go astray as soon as they be born, speaking lies. ⁴ Their poison is like the poison of a serpent: they are like the deaf adder that stoppeth her ear; ⁵ Which will not hearken to the voice of charmers, charming never so wisely.

⁶ Break their teeth, O God, in their mouth: break out the great teeth of the young lions, O LORD. ⁷ Let them melt away as waters which run continually: when he bendeth his bow to shoot his arrows, let them be as cut in pieces. ⁸ As a snail which melteth, let every one of them pass away: like the untimely birth of a woman, that they may not see the sun. ⁹ Before your pots can feel the thorns, he shall take them away as with a whirlwind, both living, and in his wrath. ¹⁰ The righteous shall rejoice when he seeth the vengeance: he shall wash his feet in the blood of the wicked."

Psalm 58:3-10

Such graphic imagery used against neighbors who both the Jews and the Christians were supposed to love as themselves! One other imprecatory psalm is noteworthy. It could easily be a page taken out of the playbook of the Christian right-wing’s assault against the poor or against anyone else they judge as opposed to them and their theocratic hopes for America. This song or praise is nothing more than one vengeful man’s prayer for the social and economic destruction of a neighbor he deems wicked. Nevertheless, as with all neighbors, it is a neighbor he was commanded to love. With such love like this, who needs hate!

"⁸ Let his days be few; and let another take his office. ⁹ Let his children be fatherless, and his wife a widow. ¹⁰ Let his children be continually vagabonds, and beg: let them seek their bread also out of their desolate places. ¹¹ Let the extortioner catch all that he hath; and let the strangers spoil his labour. ¹² Let there be none to extend mercy unto him: neither let there be any to favour his fatherless children. ¹³ Let his posterity be cut off; and in the generation following let their name be blotted out. ¹⁴ Let the iniquity of his fathers be remembered with the LORD; and let not the sin of his mother be blotted out. ¹⁵ Let them be before the LORD continually, that he may cut off the memory of them from the earth."

Psalm 109:8-15

If the reader be in the mood to sing further such hateful ditties, check out Psalms 5, 6, 11, 12, 35, 37, 40, 52, 54, 56, 69, 79, 83, 139, and 143. All of them can be found in the good book. It’s usually marketed as an onion-paged, gold gilded, leather binding sacred object. It is still claimed by the irrational to be the inspired words of an inerrant God of love. Red letters for all appearances take on a greater authority. No thanks; they can keep their God and its people’s despicable bigotry to themselves.

One of the many foundational rationales for this polarity between a loving God with hateful disciples, followers, is rooted in what I call the selfish ego. Don’t get me wrong. With the world as it is, there is no reason to believe that there is a loving God behind it all. Yet, in spite of any convincing reasons, the human self continues to perpetuate its own self-serving myths. Both ideas of gods and of selves serve such roles.

The self is an illusion we employ to make our existence potent, viable, and real. We are in all probability the compilation of the continuous interchange of bio-chemical-electrical stimulus-responses. Like the self, free will is comparatively one of our best myths.

Whatever the ego or self is, it seems to be at constant odds with what our better angels could be and could achieve. Whether or not this self, this I, this ego, primarily arose out of survival instincts in our distant evolutionary past, it nonetheless continues to have its own peculiar development. It has come to reflect upon itself in many ways. Biologically. Culturally. Politically. Economically. Through these varied contemplations in diverse cultures it has also come to reflect upon the surrounding ever-expanding cosmos. Unfortunately, religion generally hinders the expansion of such learning.

Whether or not they be factors - through the means of instant communication, social media and access to immediate knowledge - today’s shrinking planet is unveiling an evolution of the consciousness of the self. Self-awareness and awareness of the other is leaping forward in quantum leaps. The human family is developing a newer, more inclusive, insight and consciousness into what it means to be human. New and better myths are being born.

We can enter into exchange rather than raise our fists in conflict. We can envision what we have in common rather than be blinded by our differences. We can perceive humanity as love in those very different neighbors. Then in turn, learning through dialogue, we can discover, amazingly, that they can regard us also similarly.

We can find our desire to live in peace to be rooted in the ancient concept of love and respect for the neighbor. Our religious distinctions rooted in human dogma can begin to fade away into the darkness. It can be by means of that brilliant light of love shining in all things…

And then there is destruction that defies belief. The murder of thousands. The genocide against a different tribe or clan or ethnic group. The policies that write off the poor and the vulnerable. The economics that limit better lives for the oppressed and downtrodden. The war on gender and marriage equality. The striking out against the hardworking laborer. The demonizing of the immigrant, the stranger in the midst. The depletion of earth’s rich resources and the exponential rate for unfavorable and life-threatening climate change. The constant saber-rattling and the incomprehensible cry for yet another armed conflict, another military intervention, another meddling, and another declaration of war that the world be made safe for democracy.

That cry was the interventionist excuse used almost a hundred years ago. It was spoken by President Woodrow Wilson, Presbyterian, Democrat, on April 2, 1917. Seems like history repeats itself no matter what the religious conviction or the political party in charge.

No, our evolving self has not arrived, nor should we expect it to have done so. We are a young species. We are discovering, in spite of our finitude, an infinity of possibilities for the way things can be. We cannot possibly have arrived at our destination if we be still on the journey!

I ask the reader to forgive my shortcomings as a writer. Years of preparing manuscript sermons is neither a requisite nor a guarantee for good prose! I ask instead that each reader see in these pages a similar story to their own.

The narrative has particulars that obviously define my journey as peculiar to me and to my encounters. But I am convinced that there is enough in common that at some point you, as interactive reader, will put down the book and exclaim - ‘that happened to me!’ ‘I often felt that way!’ ‘I thought that!’ and ‘I am not alone!’ If that happens, then a part of my mission will have been realized. Please, pour yourself another drink, pick up the book again, and continue reading.

To know that as a gay person I have similar experiences with everyone else is hopefully also to know that as human beings first we have so much more to share in common. Perspectives and interpretations may be but mere reflections of individual subjectivity. Then again, there may be those occasional sparks of creativity and ingenuity. In sharing with one another we uncover more of our possibilities to be all that we can be. Those sparks may burst into flames and burn out the dross.

To the sophisticated reader, who might quibble with whatever theological heresies or philosophical sophisms I am perceived to espouse, I ask patience. I’ll give an example of what I ask…

Remember earlier when I redefined angels and demons as forms of human expressions? Well, here are some of my reasons for not regarding angels or demons as the characters they traditionally have been portrayed in religious narratives. It is more than a simple rejection of the unreal supernatural. Angels need, at best, better PR.

We all have heard Advent season through Christmastide the accounts of angels announcing supposedly preordained events to come. Usually they are ev-angels, bearers of good news; thus their name.

One angel appears in the Second Jerusalem Temple and foretells of a messenger preparing the way for a coming Messiah. This appearance is called a vision later in the first chapter of the Gospel of Luke 1:22.

One famously named angel, Gabriel, announces to a frightened young maiden, Mary, the impending birth of that Messiah.

One angel appears in a dream to a confused spouse, Joseph, not to put away his betrothed.

Other angels, heavenly hosts, stretch across the night sky and herald to shepherds, unclean and often unwelcome immigrant workers, the presently occurring nativity of that Messiah.

Whether or not these angelic announcements were in our own 3D space and time, or whether or not they were breakthroughs from other dimensions, is a subject upon which we might speculate. We can easily dispute their historical credibility. In order to preserve their usefulness, we might classify them as a literary device by later authors and editors who attempted to explain decades after their purported occurrences the unique witness of Jesus of Nazareth. It was a frequent ploy of Greco-Roman authors. It satiated the curiosities of the readers, or attendants at the plays, to create extraordinary etiologies for their favorite heroes.

But it is the sometime reading between the lines that disturbs not just the biblical skeptic. In good conscience it should trouble the faithful believer. Such readings raise questions. Oftentimes no matter the given answer, the mind remains unsatisfied. But I have discovered that it is in such questions that I uncover any meaningful definition of my-self.

In those Advent and Christmas traditions, all of these angels and dreams are utilized for all sorts of purposes and ends. Such ends were often for the best interests and the survival of the characters in the story.

Why, then I ask, were the village people of Bethlehem not accorded a warning by an angel in a dream? Such warnings had been issued in a dream to the Gentile Magi. They were to flee from Herod’s wrath to come; and they got out of town. The same warning had been accorded to the Holy Family. Egypt was much further away from Bethlehem than it from hometown Nazareth. And yet off they went by way of the longer route. They had been warned by an angel and apparently heeded the warning.

But there was no such guardian angel for Rachel weeping with her slaughtered children. Why would so many innocent children have to perish? Why would so many families be torn apart with lifelong sufferings? A simple dream granted in the sleep of a child or in the dreams of any number of their elders could have warned them. It could have prevented such a horrific tragedy. Such a method worked for the others. It even might work today in a world so frequently horrified by violence against children.

In these nativity related stories we are assured positively that the announcements and warnings are given by angels. We are given the impression that they are messengers from the divine beyond. They are angels (?). What is so angelic about them? What do their messages reveal about the nature of their Boss?

I grew to dislike such capricious use of angels for storytelling. In such a process they become demons. When there is absent that moral imperative to do what is right for the neighbor’s sake, their presence and their participation becomes more than questionable. They are highly suspect of being mindless retainers serving an immoral tyrant. That’s what I mean about theological heresy. That’s one of my many reasons for rejecting the God of theism. The refusal to act for good when there is power to act for good is immoral.

Through angels God capriciously acts within these religious narratives. God’s immorality should become obvious to the reader of these ancient stories both when they were written and now. The transparency of the crimes becomes further compounded when we assert that this God is a god of love and of powerful abilities. The degree of immorality becomes staggering. There is no refuge in asserting that God exists beyond on a cosmic scale. He (sic) might be thus protected, safe from his own design and devices. Nonetheless, such an escape is not an exoneration from culpability.

Is it intelligent design and infinite wisdom that produces a universe filled with so much violence? Volcanoes wipe out Pompeii one year. No angel forewarned them. Countless other explosions around the globe wreak equal or worse destruction. Almost two millennia after Vesuvius, 36,000 villagers perish in the Krakatoa Archipelago. No angel to help. In our own lifetime, tsunamis drown over 230,000 unsuspecting from Aceh to Thailand to Sri Lanka. Earthquakes have devastated Lisbon and Port-a-Prince and San Francisco. Many in China, Turkey, Syria and Pakistan have felt the earth move under their feet and sent them desperately running for precarious shelters. The worst typhoon in human history is unleashed on the poor in the Philippines. Hurricanes and tornadoes ravage city and countryside alike. Neither God nor angels wing to safety the poor slobs on the bus - a simile reapplied from Joan Osborne, what if God were one of us.

These are the natural evils. How much more horrific are the moral evils! All of these evils happen under the watchful eye of a loving and powerful God! That makes me feel so much better!

Such a view of a providentially benevolent God was the misguided vision of Jesus as well as the earlier TaNaCh writers.

¹⁵ The eyes of all wait upon thee; and thou givest them their meat in due season. ¹⁶ Thou openest thine hand, and satisfiest the desire of every living thing.

Psalm 145:15, 16

Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?

Matthew 6:26

All of this divine oversight is useless and futile if planetary extinction is God’s will for the future. A numbing effect becomes the order of the day. N-U-M - nothing ultimately matters. In light of this, we need no longer sing along with Ethel Waters or with so many other songstresses that "His eye is on the sparrow. With that evangelical romantic song in mind, for many a year whenever I had seen a dead sparrow in the street, I had muttered, You missed one; you must have winked or closed your eyes!" God didn’t hear me.

Observations in nature and history just don’t support such a view of a loving God taking a loving interest in his supposed creation. All of the testimony of the answered prayers of the pleading pious notwithstanding.

Some are uneasy when their traditions are thusly questioned and challenged. Yet, are these propositions not something you too have thought about? Have you not dared to question? Have you not entertained doubt? Have you not occasionally denied what you’ve been taught? Have you been brave enough to believe in reality?

If so, then continue with me on another path. Pursue many another thought. Traverse with me many another adventure. There is more to come. Turn the pages on this former minister’s journey away from angels and demons. Believe in reality. Explore a journey full of twists and turns but also full of possibilities for an unimaginable destination. In the process, re-examine your own past.

The apostle Paul, a man whose own struggles are revealed in his letters - if you will, his partial memoirs - recorded a fascinating vision for all to contemplate on whatever path be their journey.

Though now it may be deemed a misty dream, it once was one of my bases for hope. It still affirms my aforementioned belief that truths can be found in any number of sources.

Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.

1 Corinthians 2:9

And if this be all there is? Then consider a fourth century prayer to practice love for the neighbor as a means for living out hope in our limited time on earth. It is a hope for any millennium. Certainly we can defy the odds for justice in this reality we call life. If only the church had such a vision and the courage to implement it. But since it doesn’t, a better world is up to us.

When the following poem / prayer was composed, the church recently had been accepted as valid as any other religion within the Roman Empire. It was soon to be wedded to the state in both East and West. This ancient petition nevertheless remains one of many guides by which true liberation might be accomplished. Liberation from the absurdity of the human condition as described in religious dogma,

May I be an enemy to no one

and the friend of what abides eternally.

May I never quarrel with those nearest me,

and be reconciled quickly if I should.

May I never plot evil against others,

and if anyone plot evil against me,

may I escape unharmed

and without the need to hurt anyone else.

May I love, seek and attain only what is good.

May I desire happiness for all and harbor envy for none.

May I never find joy in the misfortune

of one who has wronged me.

May I never wait for the rebuke of others, but always

rebuke myself until I make reparation.

May I gain no victory that harms me or my opponent.

May I reconcile friends who are mad at each other.

May I, insofar as I can, give all necessary help

to my friends and to all who are in need.

May I never fail a friend in trouble.

May I be able to soften the pain of the grief stricken

and give them comforting words.

May I respect myself.

May I always maintain control of my emotions.

May I habituate myself to be gentle, and never

angry with others because of circumstances.

May I never discuss the wicked or what they have done,

but know good people and follow in their footsteps.

Eusebius of Caesarea, 4th century CE

A New Birth

"So we beat on, boats against the current,

borne back ceaselessly into the past"

                                          F. Scott Fitzgerald

The Great Gatsby, 1925

Zelda’s was the first bar I went to after matriculating at University. I don’t know for sure, but it may have been named for that Zelda. Of course, beginning one’s story on the paying side of a shot glass is hardly the place to begin. Too decadent? A good stiff one is more appropriate at the end. The end of a difficult day. The end of a grueling semester. The end that wasn’t anticipated. The end of life. But that’s not where we are. We need to start over. Reset. Go back. Find those lost files. Return to the past with its lost horizons.

It is heard in that iconic cinematic presentation, long adored by the gay community, that it is always best to start at the beginning. So exhorts the lovely Glinda to the befuddled Dorothy in the movie classic, The Wizard of Oz. It is one of my spouse’s favorites.

But to which beginning do we refer? Surely not the moment of our conception! For such a scenario, we might need another movie reference. We might have to turn to a Woody Allen scene from Everything You Always Wanted to Know about Sex * but were afraid to ask. You know, the one where he and all the other conscious sperm are ready for deploying!

Such a beginning is highly unlikely if it be a reference to our birth. All of us were born at too early an age to remember that trauma!

Is beginning for us then our first memory? Which beginning constitutes what we mean by human? Or where is the beginning that informs us what it means to be, or to be becoming, an aware self? Some psychologists and neuroscientists believe awareness of the individual self, as well as of other selves, arises as late as three to four years old.

There are many philosophical problems with defining beginning for humans. Thankfully, in spite of our lack of definition, life affords us new beginnings all the time. We awake each morning with a new dawn. The terrors of a sleepless night have passed - at least for that day. All can start again fresh. There is, as it were, a daily new birth.

While serving as a pastor in San Antonio for almost two decades, referencing new beginnings was common fare. It was the usual emphasis in our Sunday liturgy to remind ourselves of that reality. In the order of service, on every Sunday’s memorial day of Christ’s purported resurrection - and someday we believed and hoped also of ours - was the hopeful promise of a new day.

Our prayers for falling short - what in former times were termed so severely, prayers of confession, quietly reminded all of us that during the previous week somewhere and with someone we had failed to live out lives of justice and selfless, unconditional love.

So, in the newness of each brightening and warming Sun-Day, we confessed to each other that we wanted to be better. We sincerely wanted to commence a new beginning. We championed renewal. We would pledge, with or without the oath of sacrament, to be more like the witness we find in Jesus. And all of us, no matter what the kind or degree of our shortfalls, were reassured of God’s love and acceptance.

We had grown to forsake in the liturgy the legal sounding, assurance of pardon. God was friend not judge. Those were heady days of theologizing. Though for all practical purposes I have abandoned them, I will return to them again and again throughout this journey’s record.

Beginning for me, and for these memoirs, surprisingly is a birth. It is not one from memory. It is one woven in a tapestry of recollection and oral legend. It remarkably could be mine, but I’m not entirely convinced; nor should you be. The events of my birth became so unbelievably convoluted in their descriptions through the years that I doubt the accuracy of the claims. Mother had to be exaggerating. Such is sometimes a mother’s love.

This etiology of my earliest years was twisted in lore propounded by my dear mother. Yet, they might certainly suffice as for me ‘the beginning.’ But they should not be treated as verifiable or credible history. I don’t really believe them. Their stories however did impact me. Who wouldn’t be to some degree? They impacted me as a kid and then burdened me into adulthood.

I was told that I was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around my legs. My dangling appendages were purportedly black in color. When sorted out, and when placed back in her arms, mother claims she gave me to the Lord. Ok, that’s heavy.

That’s not all. When I was brought as still a very young infant to visit my paternal grandparents, mother claimed I lifted up myself in the bassinet and peered around the room as if I could see everyone and everything. Syfy saga anyone? Hybrid alien lurking about?

That’s not all. She claimed she used to sing to me John 3:16. For those who don’t know that reference, outside of a shabbily drawn placard on display at a sporting event, it is a favorite of fundamentalist evangelicalism and its raison d’être for the death of its founder.

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.

She sang just the phrase John-three-sixteen. It was sung to the refrain of another what I would come to term, a hillbilly favorite - Love Lifted Me. Go check out online what The Cyber Hymnal says both about its lyricist and its composer. Read the dreadful words that describes the soul’s sinking. Take hope that the master of the sea can hear your despairing cry! Be saved today!

Please…be saved form such ramblings. Be saved. Don’t end up like those who have failed to escape from the honkytonk world of Hee Haw aficionados.

Mother from the start wanted me to follow in the steps of a then newly rising star among crowd-drawing evangelists, Billy Graham. So much are the hopes of parents for their children. Couldn’t she have been just as content with ‘my son, the doctor?’

Those were not my memories. They were stories handed down to me. They wormed their way into my subconscious and gestated in full in the years to come. They were what I refer to as my genetic predisposition toward the idea of God. Though it would appear that they were more of nurture than of nature!

If from the start of this enterprise, which in the following chapters is a selected record of the unraveling of