Breaking Cycles

I try to be active in the ex-JW community for the sake of those mired in their hatred of the Society. The sad reality is that there are a vast majority who have become stuck in a cycle of animosity towards Watchtower. That animosity certainly has merit, but I'm reminded that we sometimes assimilate that into the very definition of ourselves.

We probably know people who tell the sames stories, make the same complaints on a daily basis. The subject matter isn't actually important, but the fact that it occupies so much of their time and personal context that it is actually part of their fabric. Dyed in the wool, as it were.

The closest correlation that I personally have is actually at the opposite end of the emotional spectrum. As a teen, I developed an intense crush on a young sister that was close friends with my cousin. We became friendly ourselves, eventually becoming pen pals and writing letters for nearly two years. To say that I loved her would be accurate, if not a little askew. Those feelings were one sided, as they often are, and I was left contending with this pervasive occupation of my thoughts.

At least for a time...

That crush eventually began to wane, but I was not ready to let go of it. She had been my very first serious romantic interest, and that was precious to me. So much so that I was distressed at the thought of losing it. Even as unfulfilling as it was to be the only one who felt it, the idea of letting it diminish caused physical anguish. That led me to a cycle of self-abuse that itself was difficult to break.

This being back in the days when cell phones were also handy bludgeoning tools, I had a few photographs from her high school to keep the image fresh in my mind. When I felt the rush of my feelings beginning to fade, I would look at those images and dwell on the small amount of time we'd spent together. I was willing myself to feel emotions that had long passed their sell-by date. I was hurting myself because I somehow concluded that overcoming those feelings somehow stole something from me, and that thought terrified me.

I see the same pattern of behavior occurring among apostates. Complaints that are years or decades old are still being repeated. This is usually knowledge that is part of the compendium of apostate information. It's even in the Welcome brochure... But some people are so inured to this information that they cannot pass an opportunity to wallow in it again, leaving behind the same comments they've left for years, renewing the acuteness of their hatred.

Like me and those school photos, apostates often absorb and dwell upon those words that once so succinctly enveloped the depth of their despair towards Watchtower. They stare at that old injury until their memory is keen enough bring back the hurt that went with it. Thus, they start the cycle anew.

It may all seem rather obvious, but that isn't healing. True healing comes in the form of letting the past be past. Purposely inviting hurtful histories into the present forces us to relive the injury and go through the healing process again. With it, you have the same emotional burdens.

I think we all want to be free of Watchtower, but far too many of us keep inviting them back to relive old times. What we lived through certainly shaped us, but it doesn't define us, and we don't have to give Watchtower that leverage over us. Look for ways to be productive, to use you experiences to help other people. That is the biggest middle finger you can give them.

And We Had a Gay 'Ol Time

It's Pride month for the LGTBQ community around the country, if not the world. They're in the midst of taking the lime light and being loved for who and what they are. This past weekend, I was blessed enough to take my own son to revel in the self-acceptance that filled the air and streets of San Diego.

Being raised as one of Jehovah's Witnesses, I was taught to dislike the LGTBQ community, not on the merits of their character, but on the abstract value of their activities. In the mythos of Abrahamic religion, the first of the Bible's Gods rained down fire and sulfur upon Sodom and Gomorrah in retribution for their supposed sins. We all know the story, though some forget that Lot and his daughters ended up knocking boots in a cave shortly after the aforementioned razing. I may be mistaken, but I think incest was also prohibited by Mosaic law. Neither here nor there, since the narrative makes it clear that God was okay with this, but all three of them should have been pulled down on the carpet for those shenanigans. Lets just make that a punch list item to address at Judgement Day...

I'm at somewhat of a loss, though. Apologists for the Bible believe that even though Jesus didn't mention anything about homosexuality in the gospel accounts, he still addressed it by inspiring Paul to later mention in throughout his letters. Barring the other obvious differences between the teachings of Jesus and Paul, there were three years of Jesus ministry encompassed in the gospels. Do they really mean to imply that Jesus didn't have the time to mention something that takes up so much column space in later bible books?

"Don't have sex with the same gender..." There! Was that hard? No, of course not. Yet Jesus never took the time to mention it. Also, in inspiring the Gospel recollections of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, it wasn't worth writing down. It was, however, for Paul; the apostle that never traveled with the Savior.

As we say back home, where the gene pool is shallower, "that dog don't hunt."

The entire idea of Christianity is that Jesus was the Great Teacher. If there was a lesson that he didn't teach, how is it proper to infer the lesson ex post facto? I don't really think that it is, but that is admittedly an opinion. However, I will point out that many of the lessons that came both before and after Jesus are infinitely more complicated and restrictive. [Insert sarcasm font] Nothing like the Pharisees against whom he spoke...

So let me tell you what I observed at the Pride festival this year.

Love. Lots of love. 

What? Too simple? Okay, you have me there.

I was a guest among chosen family, firstly. While I have intimate ties with my traveling companions, our hosts, Randy and Chuck, hardly know me from Adam. All the same, they extended to me the same hospitality that they did countless strangers. At a charming Craftsman on Lincoln, the "uncles" happen to have ring-side seats for the staging area of just one arm of the parade procession. For the people who congregate there to prepare for their march, Chuck and his husband of 35 [or so] years, Randy, provide Bloody Caesars (a much improved version of a Bloody Mary) and open their home to anyone on the street.

Secondly, the people on the street were there to represent the diversity human existence. No matter how vanilla I may seem to be, I am part of that great diversity, and am thus as joyfully embraced. I encountered people of every preference and proclivity. Each one of them smiled at me and my mundanity just as sincerely as at each other. They were gracious and cheerful, standing for pictures, and encouraging unflinching acceptance. 

And here's the icing on the cupcake, as it were... Everyone mattered. Every color, gender, preference, expression of human identity mattered. And this is where I felt humbled. I, me, the person I've grown to be, has always felt a special fondness for this version of the human self, which is but a mote of dust on the pallet of human color. But they were just as joyful for my blandness as for their own brilliance. 

What is magical about something like this experience is that people like this, who are this joyful, this loving, is that they bring out your own inner light. You feel yourself become brighter with their smiles and flair.

The manner in which most of us were trained sent us on a quest for God's grace. I don't believe in that the way I once did. I'm rather of the opinion now that the search for it kept me from seeing it all along. If I'm to believe my own observation, I imagine that this experience is what that grace would feel like.