God moments, part 2

I grew up in San Antonio, South Side, and most of my friends were Catholic. They’d invite me to catechism on Wednesday nights, but I always had plans. In the evangelical church I grew up in, Wednesday nights were dedicated to NYI. There, I was told that all my Catholic friends were going to burn in hell because they worshipped Mary. Not in so many words, of course – they were more subtle than that. But this is the message conveyed in the pulpit, in Bible study, in the songs we sang: We’re right, they’re wrong; We’re in, they’re out; We’re saved, they’re damned.

I knew it was heretical, but I didn’t believe it. No matter how many times it was crammed down my throat, a part of me would whisper, “It’s not true.” My faith evolved over time, and I came to believe that God’s grace was extended to all. I still considered myself to be a Christian.

But the definition of “Christian” has changed significantly in the last 20 years. Now, many in the mainstream connect Christianity to the words and actions of people such as Pat Robertson, Jerry Falwell, James Dobson. These men may call themselves Christians, but I don’t identify with them. They have hijacked my faith.

How to get it back?

The other night, a group of ten gave a special presentation at my church. They are members of CrossWalk America, and are trying to change the face of Christianity to be more compassionate, more in touch with everyday life, more justice-oriented, and include Jesus’ radical welcoming of diverse people and viewpoints.

After the presentation was over, I found myself talking to a gentleman I'll call M. He had a white beard, great tan, and kind smile. He was about my father's age, and was raised as a Baptist.

"I was as conservative as you can be," he told me, and we discussed our similar backgrounds. But he told me he'd had a change of heart about ten years ago. I tried to picture my father changing his personal belief system, but I couldn't do it. It was impossible to imagine what would bring about such a radical switch in my dad.

Apparently M had made friends with a woman at work, and they'd really hit it off, had lots of things in common. Then, he learned she was a lesbian. His personal relationship, his love for this woman -- his friend -- called into question everything he'd been taught, everything he believed in, and he found he couldn't believe it any longer.

I shook M's hand, looked into his eyes, and saw something holy. I was reminded of a lyric from a Les Miserables song: To love another person is to see the face of God.

I sat in my car after the program and sobbed. Love changes everything.

Love changes everything.