For me, it was over 11 years ago (which I suppose is right around the time when people stopped using business cards altogether, but I digress).

Here’s the story.

Take the Risk

In November of 2014 I took a chance and submitted an application to deliver something called a 7:21 Talk at an upcoming conference called Christianity 21.

What’s a 7:21 Talk you ask?

It’s a mini-presentation in which you assemble 21 images that automatically advance every 20 seconds. You begin your talk with the first slide, and the crowd is instructed to start clapping you off the stage after your twenty first slide. 21 slides at 20 seconds each = 7 minutes. Hence, the 7:21 name.

At that point in my life I was an avid conference attender. Loved ‘em, soaked ‘em up. But I had never before been a speaker at a conference, so it felt pretty vulnerable to throw my name in the hat to give a 7 minute talk, especially considering there were some pretty big names slated to speak at this thing.

Weeks later when I got the email telling me my submission had been chosen I instantly got the butterflies. Though the conference was still more than a month away, I could already feel the nerves. (Fun Fact: even though I’ve given hundreds of sermons and presentations and conference-talks since then I still get nervous butterflies right before I speak.)

I set to work at once. Pouring through my photo albums; scouring Google images; trying to curate the 21 best pictures to guide people through the presentation.

And then, of course, I had to actually write and memorize my talk. It had to be precise. Locked in. I couldn’t follow any tangents, or get lost down any holes of rabbits (and you know I love a good rabbit hole). This thing had to be exactly seven minutes. Even now, when I watch the video of my talk, I realize I didn’t allocate time for audience laughter. Though I was grateful for their responses, I remember thinking, “Yes, I know, I’m hilarious… but shush! I gotta get to my next point!”

Speaking of watching the video of my talk, you can actually do that here. The conference didn’t record the sessions but my friend Mathew had the good instincts to whip out his phone really quick. Be warned, the audio isn’t great. But knowing what I know now—how that moment is probably one of the top five most life changing moments of my life—I’m so glad it got captured.

I’m also so glad I wore that purple argyle sweater 🤣

Sayonara Evangelical World

For those who didn’t just spend seven minutes watching my Talk (and straining to understand what I was saying), here’s a brief overview of what I said.

I told the story of how, in September of 2011, when President Obama signed the repeal for DADT (Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell), it led to me getting fired from the evangelical megachurch I worked at.

How?

Because the night of the repeal I decided to share a news article about it to my Facebook and I wrote,

But here’s the thing, at that time I was still in the theological closet.

Meaning, while I had personally shifted my views on the Bible and homosexuality about a year prior to that moment, professionally I had yet to come out. My church was yet unaware that Pastor Colby no longer held the traditional, anti-LGBTQ position.

Which explains why, when I posted what I did on Facebook, it led to congregational panic. Which then led to an emergency board meeting during which I was asked to give my views on sexuality and marriage.

It was then and there, on Friday Sept 24th, 20011, that I finally externalized my internal convictions: All people are beloved children of God!

Which then, as you might expect, led to being handed a letter of termination three days later.

Sayonara evangelical world.

From there I got a job as a Worship Pastor at a church in San Diego, but that place turned out to be led by a very unwell person who had a habit of hiring/firing people every two years.

That painful experience meant two things for me:

1. I discovered I had teh spiritual gift of getting fired—two times in two years! I know. Be jealous.

2. It opened the opportunity to start a house church, something I’d dreamt about for a long time.

So in the spring of 2014 a small band of amazing humans gathered in our San Diego living room and launched what would soon be called Sojourn Grace Collective, a progressive Christian church that I had the absolute privilege of pastoring for 8+ years.

The gist of my 7:21 Talk, then, was about the ways in which the fractured pieces of our lives can (and do!) often lead to the most beautiful things in our lives.

To end my seven minutes of storytelling about the downs and ups of my pastoral trajectory I said, “Maybe there’s something to this whole ‘resurrection’ thing after all.”

People clapped. Some cheered. I exhaled with relief and left the stage with a ginormous smile.

I did it.

I put myself out there, took a risk, showed up, opened up, and it was terrifyingly awesome.

If You’d Ever Like to Turn That in to a Book…

During the next break and as conference goers milled about, I noticed this woman make a beeline for me.

“I really enjoyed your presentation,” she said as she held out her business card. “My name is Jessica, and if you’d ever like to turn that story in to a book, let’s talk.”

I looked down. Clear as day, right next to her name, sat a logo I immediately recognized from my days in Academia: Westminster John Knox Press.

Then I noticed under her name it said, “Acquisitions Editor.”

Holy smokes.

An editor from a real life, respectable publishing house had just put her card in my hands and said, “Let’s talk.” 😱🤯🤩

(Sidenote: she didn’t say that my choice to wear the purple argyle sweater influenced her decision to approach me, but she didn’t not say that either… so who can ever really know.)

Later that evening I ended up at a group dinner with Jessica and we got to talking about what a future book could look like. About how part of the book could be a memoir and tell the story of Getting Fired —> Starting Sojourn. I also talked about how I really wanted to tackle the clobber passages. You see, at that time there were very few resources on the topic, and I thought a book from my perspective and background (that of a Baptist trained, evangelical pastor) could be really helpful.

A few months went by and Jessica followed up with an email reiterating her desire to work with me. I recently went back over our email exchanges and it would appear that I didn’t respond to her first email for three weeks!

Lol. Good job, past Colby. Way to play hard to get..? 🤦🏻‍♂️

Eventually I sent her a proposal—something I’d never put together before—and listen to this… when I sent it to her I said in my email, “Oh, and let me know if you’re not interested, so that I can shop this around to others.”

“Shop this around to others,” Colby?! Really? What “others,” exactly? 🤣 I crack myself up. I do not remember why I said that or what my plan (if any) was. I think I was just trying to convey how much I really wanted to write the book. Irrational confidence at its finest.

Anyway, a week later she emailed to say that her colleagues really liked the proposal and, oh yeah, “can you write us a sample chapter before our next meeting in two weeks?”

“Of course,” I said. “I write chapters before breakfast.” (Dear reader, that line did not actually say. Although be honest with me, part of you did have the thought, “Hmm, yeah, I could see Colby responding like that.” Thanks. I feel seen.)

So over the next twelve days I managed to write my first ever chapter for an actual/potential book. I sent it to Jessica, she replied back, “We got a great response at our meeting! We want to move this project forward to the next and final decision in three weeks. Can you write us another sample chapter?”

Another chapter? Again? With naught but a few weeks to do so?

At this point I wondered if maybe the publishing industry is a scam. Maybe publishers just keep asking authors for “sample chapters,” then they take those chapters and make books out of them all by themselves.

Regardless, I felt pot committed at this point. So I cranked out another chapter, sent it in, and three days after that, on June 11th 2015, I opened one of the best emails I’ve ever received in my life.

Hi Colby,

I am pleased to let you know that our team has approved your proposal for UnClobber, and we are putting it on our Fall 2016 list! We think your story and style will really resonate with people, and hope your platform will continue to grow.

Celebrating Ten Years

Next week it will ten years (TEN YEARS!!) since UnClobber was published, and I still can hardly believe it.

I plan on doing something fun to celebrate, so make sure to watch this space.

But today, as I re-tell the story of how a business card changed my life, I’m filled with so much wonder and delight at how life… how God… works.

Think about it:

• Getting fired from two churches in two years led to fulfilling a dream of planting a church.

• Nervously telling that story on a stage in front of many people led to being approached by an editor at a publishing house.

• Writing out my research on the clobber passages led to the publishing of my first book.

• And publishing UnClobber has absolutely shaped the course of my life in ways I am still unfolding—including the fact that on November 17th my next book (a follow-up to UnClobber) is releasing!

So I don’t know, maybe the moral of this story is something like: Put yourself out there. Take a risk. Do something new, something brave.

And stay open, because you never know who might cross your path, and you never know where dreams might be hiding.

Turns out, mine were hiding in a business card.

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BUT WHAT ABOUT: The Most Asked Questions on Faith, the Bible, and LGBTQ Inclusion

Ten years after UnClobber I’m coming back with my third book and it picks up where UnClobber left off.

If you read UnClobber then you may recall just how narrow the scope was. Meaning, I only addressed the six clobber passages. Which for many people is enough. Once they deal with Genesis 19, Leviticus 18 & 20, Romans 1, 1 Cor 6 and 1 Tim 1, then they’re good!

However, I’ve learned that other people have follow up questions.

Good, reasonable follow-up questions:

• But what about Adam & Eve?

• But what about God creating two genders?

• But what about biblical marriage?

• But what about ex-gay stories?

• And so on…

So in an effort to continue my 15 year ministry of advocating for full inclusion, and for trying to make the case that the logical conclusion of following Jesus is the full affirmation of LGBTQ people, I’ve written, But What About: The Most Asked Questions on Faith, the Bible, and LGBTQ Inclusion.

It comes out on Nov 17 and you should pre-order it today!

Learn more about BUT WHAT ABOUT

PRE-ORDER NOW

Two of the most moving scenes for me in Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey had to do with… well… hold that thought.

First,

• a quick detour through a Greek word;

• some thoughts on an unfortunate translation in the Bible;

• my opinion on a serious misconception within Christian theology;

• stuff about/from Jesus…

And then we’ll come back to The Odyssey.

What’s in (an Old Greek) Word?

For my money, one of the great misconceptions in Christian theology arises out of choices made in how to interpret this one specific ancient Greek word.

Of course, the blame cannot solely be laid at the feet of translation—as though, if we just found a better word then all would be well… probably not—yet the way this word gets translated in English certainly hasn’t done this particular theological misconception any favors.

I’m referring to the Greek word, σῴζω (sózó).

If you look up sózó in any Greek concordance you’ll get some version of:

That’s pretty straightforward for the most part. (Although, note that sózó can be used literally or metaphorically. You need the context to grasp how best to read it.)

But there’s another dimension to sózó beyond the saving/rescuing/delivering component, which is when sózó conveys:

Sure, I can see how there’s an immediate and obvious connection between English words like “save/rescue” with “heal/wholeness,” but there are also meaningful differences. Differences we ignore at our own peril. Specifically because (and this goes back to my point above about how an unfortunate English translation has contributed to a theological misconception) when we hear the word “saved” in today’s world, especially in a religious context, our minds almost immediately go to “life after death.”

Yet what comes to mind when you hear the word “heal?”

Or, “be made whole?”

Exactly.

You’re thinking of the here-and-now.

You don’t take antibiotics to be fixed after you die, you take them to help heal you now. You don’t go to a therapist to work on your mental well-being for after you kick the bucket, you seek to find emotional and psychological wholeness for this life, the one you’re actually living.

Therein lies the dilemma.

While we may know (kinda) what sózó meant two thousand years ago, how do we try and translate/adapt it for our world today?

The Dilemma of Interpretation

Translators face two distinct problems when thinking through which English word (or words) best capture sózó.

First: in what sense (literal or metaphorical)? Second: in what time (now or post-death)?

To the first question, is sózó being used literally:

• “sózó us Lord, we are perishing!” Mt 8:25. In this case the disciples were freaking out in a boat during a storm happening in that moment. They desired actual saving/rescuing/sózó’ing.

Or is sózó being used metaphorically:

• “whoever would sózó his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it” Mt 16:25. It seems clear Jesus wasn’t literally talking about dying and not-dying.

Settling the literal-vs-metaphorical usage of sózó isn’t all that complicated. The context generally makes it clear.

Where it gets murky is when scholars and translators try to work out whether or not sózó is being used to refer to life here and now or life in the thereafter.

My hot take?

I’m not sure we should ever read sózó and think it is pointing to life after death.

At least not in the Synoptic Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke (see footnote for one possible exception).1 In the Synoptics every single time sózó shows up it is clearly in reference to something happening here and now. Whether a rescuing or a healing, whether literal or metaphorical, the action and the expectation is always for an experience of life now.

I will add that John’s Gospel is a bit different in how it uses sózó, and requires a bit more attention. For example, if all you knew about the life of Jesus came from John, and if you were taught (or even just assumed) that John was written-as and intended-to-be a literal, historical account of the life of Jesus, then translating sózó as “saved” and thinking in terms of “life after death” is reasonable. For example:

For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him. -John 3:17

I am the door. If anyone enters by me, he will be saved and will go in and out and find pasture. -John 10:9

If anyone hears my words and does not keep them, I do not judge him; for I did not come to judge the world but to save the world. -John 12:47

If someone wants to read those verses and think that John was using sózó to mean an experience or event that happens after death, I’d understand.

I’d only ask them if they’ve considered that John was written much later than the Synoptics (so likely isn’t as reliable in terms of quoting Jesus accurately); and that John was written with a different purpose than the Synoptics (meaning, it’s much more concerned with theology, philosophy, and ideas… not so much historicity or biography).

Point being: the usage of sózó in John might be more of a reflection of later church theological imagination than an attempt to do the same thing that sózó is doing in Matthew/Mark/Luke.

All that to say,

if sózó in the Gospels was never used by Jesus to mean “something that happens after death,” then that leads to…

A Misconception in Christian Theology?

Interpreting sózó as “saved” in English (at least most of the time, as is the case) has quite possibly contributed to the ongoing assumption/belief that to be saved is about what happens when we die.

And I think that is the great misconception.

I suggest that instead of being an event or experience of the afterlife, salvation is a process in this life.

And if that is true (or at least true enough) then what might happen if, instead of translating sózó as “saved”—which conjures ideas of afterlife in our Western, American, modern ears—we read sózó as healing and wholeness? Which are perfectly legitimate meanings for sózó, it’s just that translators don’t use them that often.

Or suppose the context does indeed have a “rescue/deliver” connotation to it, then I still suggest we keep it in the frame of the here-and-now.

Because of course we can be delivered from things that prevent us from wholeness now.

What it Means to be Saved

Look, I know this may sound wild to people.

After all, most of us have been conditioned to think of Christianity as a religion about Heaven and Hell.

Most people, whether in the church or out, have internalized the idea (through explicit teaching or even just implicit cultural artifacts and media) that “salvation” is about what happens when we die. So having someone (as I’m doing here) suggest otherwise sounds… well… absurd. And wrong. And ignorant.

And maybe I am. I don’t know.

But when I look at what sózó meant in its original context (the Greek world), and when I look at how Jesus used the word over and over again (specifically in the Synoptic Gospels), I don’t think it’s outlandish to say that sózó was (and therefore is still) intended to be about life here and now.

Perhaps salvation—if that’s the word we decide to stick with—is best thought of as the ongoing process or project of being made whole.

Perhaps salvation is the healing of our fractured parts.

Perhaps salvation is the rescue and deliverance from the choices, the factors, the elements, the systems, the people, and the stories that disintegrate us.

Put simply, Salvation is the re-membering of our brokenness. It is the coming back home to our unified self.

Okay… NOW we are ready to talk about The Odyssey.

Odysseus’s Salvation

Let me be clear: I do not think that Christopher Nolan was attempting to tell a Christian story with The Odyssey. Nor do I think that he was trying to smuggle in Christian themes. In my article last week about how The Odyssey helps us to better understand why Sodom and Gomorrah were destroyed in Genesis 19, multiple people made comments under the false impression that I was somehow suggesting that The Odyssey was about Genesis 19.

No, no, and nope.

That being said, as someone who to tries to be Christian, and as somehow who views the world through a particular set of Christian-flavored lenses, it’s only natural for me to, at times, see Christian ideas/values/principles in the art I consume. I won’t apologize for that.

So if a reader cannot see the difference between doing that (which I am doing) and making a claim that The Odyssey is a Christian movie, or is about the Bible in any way (which I am not doing), then I don’t know what to tell you. Moving on…

This article began with me saying, “Two of the most moving scenes for me in Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey had to do with…” allow me to finish that thought:

The two scenes that moved me most were both about Odysseus’ salvation.

And hopefully with all the work I did to tell you what I mean by “salvation,” the following will make more sense.

Salvation Moment #1: When Odysseus finally surrendered, let go, and trusted.

After being drugged by Calypso for seven years and kept in a fugue state where he didn’t remember who he was, how long he’d been there, or that he had an identity and a family beyond the island, Odysseus was mercifully given a way out by Calypso. She slowed down her feeding him of the lotus plant and allowed him to regain his memories.

But when the final moment came, and Odysseus hit the point where he not only remembered his wife and son but he also wanted to go home to them, only one option was before him. Only one path if he truly wanted to go home.

After years of defying the gods,

after years of going his own way,

after years of trying to control the uncontrollable and avoid the unavoidable,

Calypso says this to him:

You're a man who needs to control his fate. But you cannot control this.

You must give yourself to the storm, give yourself to Poseidon. And take your punishment.

Give up the fight, give up control and live.

It is a leap of faith you haven't yet made, Odysseus.

Odysseus tried many different things to get home and they all ended in abject failure. Worse, they ended with the deaths of his entire crew.

The one thing he hadn’t tried?

Letting go. Giving up control.

I loved Nolan’s choice to illustrate this by having Odysseus build the weakest and meekest raft ever (he should’ve had Moana build it for him). And once upon this rickety, barely floating contraption, Odysseus basically assumes the savasana yoga pose—the ultimate posture of letting go. Of release.

Of… in a word… trust.

And against all his prior beliefs about the way the world works, against all his assumptions about how one ought approach teh world, against all his decades of conditioning to function one certain way (ie, be in control), Odysseus discovers the liberating truth that one can never fully know until they experience it… that we find our rescue when we release control.

For Odysseus, finally letting go and choosing to trust (in Poseidon) instead of himself was, for him, a moment of salvation.

Put another way: If we want to find our life, first we must be willing to lose it.

Salvation Moment #2: When Odysseus Named His Deepest Shame

Miraculously (or, maybe not… maybe, predictably) the letting go worked and Odysseus made it home.

But his project of wholeness-making (aka, salvation) was still in process. It’s almost as though he made a kind of vertical reconciliation (with the gods) but needed still to make a horizontal reconciliation (with humanity).2

One of my top three favorite scenes from the movie is Odysseus-as-beggar sitting on the stoop of his wife/queen Penelope telling her about the Trojan War. That moment is, I’d suggest, Christopher Nolan’s single greatest contribution to the 3000 year old project of reading/adapting Homer’s The Odyssey.

He took Odysseus’ greatest triumph and turned it into his deepest shame.

As I wrote here, when Odysseus describes the sacking of Troy to Penelope we, the audience, finally understand why Odysseus dragged his feet for 20 years to return home. He was crushed under the weight of shame, realizing that his idea (the Trojan Horse) was not just a complete abandonment of his commitment to Zeus’ Law, but it was a move of such deception that it led to a night of slaughter and destruction the likes of which no human soul can endure.

While Odysseus watched women and children be slaughtered in Troy, the weight—not just of war, but of the utter abandonment of what it means to be human—undid him.

Civilization began its unravelling that night, and Odysseus felt like he’d pulled the first thread.

Any person who has ever made a choice—especially one that represents the exact opposite of what you’ve always stood for—and watched as it results not just in suffering for others and yourself, but in the shattering of worlds (literally and/or metaphorically), can relate to what Odysseus must’ve felt.

And that level of intense, deep shame caused a rupture inside of Odysseus. He split. His soul rent in at least two, if not more.

But he found sózó,

he found rescue,

he found wholeness and healing,

when he stopped running from his mistakes. When he came home: literally to Ithaca, and metaphorically to himSelf.

Admitting to himself and to his wife that he did wrong—by the gods, by the people of the world, by his own Self—was truly a salvific moment for Odysseus.

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I don’t know how to resolve all conflicts in relationships, but I do know a trick to at least give yourself a shot at it.

One of my favorite books is When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chödrön.

In Chapter 21 she describes the human propensity to return over and over again to our same old patterns. We all develop these habits, these ways of trying to soothe ourselves (or, more likely, numb ourselves) in an attempt to deal with our sadness, loneliness, and fears.

When chaos or stress or anxieties or conflict arises, we each have our go-to moves, and usually these moves, these tactics, were developed early in our childhood as means to keep us safe. They “worked” insofar as we did, technically, survive. But now those same go-to maneuvers and habits hold us back. They work against us rather than work for us.

If you care at all about the quality of your life (and I hope you do), and if you care about the health of your relationships (and I hope you do) then we might now ask,

Okay so how do we break those cycles and habits and patterns?

To that end, one line in particular from Chapter 21 jumped out at me when I first read it twelve years ago. Its impact on my life was both immediate and profound.

Here’s the passage, and I’ve bolded the line I’m referring to.

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Ten Years Ago

Ten years ago I checked off a bucket list item: ✅ Publish Book.

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Consider this post my formal PSA.

(Alternatively, consider this…

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On Sunday, March 24th, 2019, I gave what I can now call the worst sermon I’ve ever delivered.

Not from a content or delivery perspective. But from a failure to read the room and using the pulpit to try and control a narrative. A crisis was brewing in our congregation and my frightened ego had more influence on what I preached that day than was wise.

It’s taken me years to fully digest what transpired, but now I think back on that morning with equal parts cringe, shame, and sadness.

So naturally, I want to write about it. Such is the blessing/curse of the writer/memoirist.

(I will say upfront that I’ve tried to make amends with the ones I hurt the most that morning. I don’t know if I’ve gotten to all of them, so in the event anyone ends up reading this who remembers that sermon, and remembers feeling not-okay with it, please know that I’m sorry. Your unease made and makes sense.)

The Situation Surrounding that Horrible Sermon

It’s hard to tell the story of that horrible sermon without giving a full picture of the context that led to it. And it’s hard to give the full context without telling stories that aren’t (exclusively or wholly) mine to tell. So forgive me if part of this feels unsatisfactory and/or vague. The story may only kind of make sense because you won’t be able to fully comprehend the context, but I think that’s okay. You’ll get it enough.

However, there is a risk when leaving some gaps unfilled. I’m opening myself up to you making certain assumptions or drawing conclusions that aren’t real or true. But in the name of privacy, those are risks I accept.

Okay enough throat clearing. Here’s what I’ll say regarding the events leading up to that absurd sermon I preached.

Five weeks prior to Sunday, March 24th, we had a disastrous Elder Board meeting involving emotional disruptions, deep disagreements, and hurt feelings.

All of which were made worse by my lack of leadership.

You see, at that point our church was about five years old and I was still serving as the Chair of the Board. It’s not uncommon in the church and in the non-profit world for the leader/president/pastor to also run the Board in the organization’s infancy, but I really should have transitioned out of that role by year five. Trying to run a Board, lead a church, and co-pastor with a spouse was a recipe for disaster.

And boy did disaster strike.

Many painful things resulted from the fallout of that tragic Board meeting, but germane to this article I’ll just say that the immediate impact was: a Board member resigned, multiple families left the church, and we lost some of my dearest and closest friends.

In fact, 2019 was such an awful year (because of the fallout) that personally, the pandemic isolation of 2020 was a welcome respite.

Details of that infamous Board meeting, and what led to the eruption and eventual exodus of key families and close friends, shall remain private. But I can tell you that I have many regrets about the choices I made during that time. Looking back I can see how some of my instincts and intentions were noble, but the impact of certain choices had devastating consequences. While trying to defend and protect someone I loved, I hurt and alienated other people I loved.

That makes me sound better than I was… so let me be clear: those efforts to “defend and protect someone I loved” were not executed perfectly by any means. I had a lot to learn about conflict resolution, power dynamics, communication, listening, boundary setting, and leadership. A bull may have the purest of intentions (oh look! he’s shopping for his mother! how sweet), and yet his clumsy and bulky frame is still the primary reason there is shattered china all over the shop’s floor.

Still Gotta Preach, Tho

Anyway, 2019 sucked rocks for me (and many others) in the church, but here is one of the many wonderfully bizarre (aka, ridiculously stressful) things about pastoral work. Every seven days you have to show up and do your thing regardless of life’s circumstances.

So in the spring of 2019, even though our church was on the verge of a split, I still had to write and deliver a sermon practically every Sunday morning.

As I see it, sermons should at the very least be an outflow of the heart and soul of the preacher. We spend hours during the week opening ourselves to what God would want to say through us, then we try and organize that in an interesting/compelling/engaging way so that we can eventually face one of humanity’s biggest fears (public speaking) and deliver what hopefully is a message inspired and sustained by the Spirit.

That’s the hope. The ideal.

But in reality, for many preachers, life and stress and chaos and constraints all conspire together to muck up that process. To interrupt or even corrupt the flow. Now yes, sometimes sermons are aided by the real-life intrusion of events and emotions. But other times a sermon suffers because too much of the preacher’s own crud blocks the flow of the Spirit.

And what I’m getting at is, on Sunday March 24th, 2019, the accumulating crud of navigating the chaos of friends and (chosen) family leaving the church over grievances that—in many ways—I agreed with yet couldn’t do anything about, absolutely impacted my sermon. Not in the good way.

Which helps to explain why I delivered a sermon in which:

• Fear was the primary author,

• My Ego was the leading character,

• I wrapped some otherwise-interesting nuggets of truth into a larger ball of trying to control the narrative,

• I wounded and alienated dear friends of mine, and

• It took me an embarrassingly long number of years to admit all of this.

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I once was lost, but now I'm found;

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Not Picking Sides

Except for extreme cases, most friends of couples who are divorcing begin the process by “not wanting to pick sides.” You’re familiar with this, yes?

While such an intent has a beautiful heart behind it, this posture often gets abandoned as time goes on. And look, no judgment here. This stuff is complicated and messy. Adult friendships all by themselves and even under the best circumstances can be challenging. Add on top of that the distress caused when one of the couples in the friend group separates? Woof.

This can especially be true when one or both people in the divorce fall prey to the temptation to juice up their subjective narrative of “why the divorce happened.” Which makes sense. The sympathy of others feels good—I know this first hand. In the ensuing months after our separation, during my deepest grief, it felt good to have people rally to my side; to have friends reinforce my narratives; to have people tell my how it’s probably better for me that I’m not with the other person any more anyways. This kind of full-throated support can act as salving balms to a bleeding heart.

So I get it. It’s human to bend the truth a bit, or omit certain details when we are hurting because it might generate the kind of sympathy that brings temporary relief from the grief.

But one of the many side effects of juicing our side of the story like that is how it inevitably impacts the friends and family doing their best to “not pick a side.”

So today I want to explore the phenomenon of losing friends from a divorce. Specifically my own experience of it. Though I knew such friend-loss is a thing that happens, I wasn’t prepared for how it would feel—even now, 3.5 years later—when it happened to me.

Dividing (Relational) Assets Post Divorce

If a divorced couple is able to quickly pivot from “married” to “good friends,” then everyone in their social orbit (as well as family!) exhales with great relief that they won’t have to take sides.

But such a thing doesn’t happen very often. It is the exception that proves the rule.

Even in cases where a couple might start out with intentions of navigating post-marriage life well, often times the unfolding of the divorce process jostles those intentions enough to cause disruptions in the fabric of the friend group.

So let’s just call it like is: in most divorces there’s not only a division of financial and material assets, there’s also a division of relational assets.

The Pain of Losing Friends in a Divorce

As the title of this post says, even though I knew this would (very very very likely) be the case with me and my ex, it still hurt(s) real bad.

There are a handful of people who were our closest friends that I might not realistically ever see or talk to again. And even if we do cross paths, clearly the friendship has been severed.

Grieving the loss of friendships at the same time as grieving the loss of a spouse, while also grieving the loss of being full-time parent, is truly (pardon the gendered language, but I am me) a nut-punch of epic proportions.

Here are a few ways it hurt and still hurts:

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It’s impossible to choose a favorite, but if…

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NEW STUDY SHOWS INCREASE IN ANTI-GAY BIAS

When it comes to attitudes and tolerance toward gays and lesbians, from about 2000-2020 America experienced an historically rapid pace of moving from an unfav…

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“Alright, I’ll see you there,” I holler at Tim as he clo…

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I know, you barely even remember me at this point!

(But for those who do, and have kept their paid subscription, there’s a free THANK YOU gift for you down below :)

This newsletter has been pretty silent as of late, but there’s a good reason.

I’m in my final stretch of finishing the first draft of my next book.

How fun is THAT?!

This next book will be a follow up to UnClobber.

Here’s what I mean.

As I’ve been doing this work for the past 10+ years I’ve seen firsthand the power when people can rightly understand the clobber passages. And for many folks, that’s all they needed on their way to full LGBTQ inclusion.

Oh, we were wrong about Sodom and Gomorrah?

Oh, Leviticus doesn’t condemn homosexuality?

Oh, Romans isn’t a universal judgement of gay people?

Oh, Corinthians doesn’t exclude LGBTQ people from being Christian?

Right on! LFG.

When that happens, amazing. I’m here for it. It was, after all, the path I took to inclusion.

However… what I’ve learned is that other people have follow up questions.

Good and reasonable follow up questions. Such as…

• But what about Adam and Eve?

• But what about Biblical marriage?

• But what about Gender, and God making male-and-female?

• But what about those ex-gay stories I sometimes hear about?

These are the kinds of questions that flood my inbox and show up at my events.

And these are the topics I’m addressing in this next book.

But wait there’s more…

because in addition to addressing the FAQ’s from the not-yet affirming crowd, I’m going to offer my own “But what abouts….”

• But what about the trajectory of inclusion seen in the story of the church?

• But what about the Divine preference for Diversity we see in the Bible?

• But what about the reality that beliefs are not the point?

• But what about the breadcrumbs of inclusion sprinkled throughout Scripture?

This book (tentatively titled, But What About) has been my hardest book to write so far. It’s taken me far longer than I anticipated. In fact, it was originally due on October 1st, and I had to ask for (and graciously received) an extension from my editor.

The last couple months if anything is on my calendar that is NOT “Write Book,” I cancel or reschedule it.

The only TV I’m watching at night is basically sports and reality TV, because I don’t want any other narratives in here (points to head). This is also why I stopped listening to podcasts in the morning when I shower, get ready, and make coffee.

Stay. Focused.

So yeah, that’s why I haven’t had the capacity to write for Perspective Shift. I should be back here more regularly come January.

Thanks for understanding!

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In the Meantime

In lieu of some written content, may I tempt you with the last couple sermons I’ve preached at Denver Community Church? Where I joined the Teaching Team earlier this year?

A Thank You Gift

I know that quite a few of you dropped your paid subscription these past couple months (about 10%… oooof), and I get it. The affordability crisis is real, and you probably couldn’t justify paying for a subscription for something that wasn’t regularly providing you with value.

For those that are still with me, either because you support me and this work regardless of the frequency, or because you just haven’t remembered to cancel yet, thank you!

As a thank you I’d like to give you an exclusive peek at the first draft of the Introduction. I think it perfectly captures where this book plans to go.

Introduction to “But What About”

Imagine a world where your devotion to Jesus and your love for Scripture do not block affirmation, but instead they make LGBTQ inclusion inevitable.

Look, I get it, I used to skip Introductions, too. I don’t need you to tell me what you’re going to tell me, just tell me. Quit clearing your throat and get to it already. Cut the fluff, deliver the goods (which is likely what my editor will say about this entire opening bit, we shall see). But then I went to Europe with my friend Larry, had dinner below the cobblestone streets of France where the walls were lined with barrels of Bordeaux, and learned something that forever altered my posture toward Introductions.

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Today I want to pick up where …

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