I realised this morning that the story of me and how I could have possibly arrived at the conclusions I do is a long story. It’s like a Newtonian equation, it starts with obvious truth and by convoluted means, each conclusion leading to another, eventually what was unbelievable is now believed. Science and discovery, life, loss, love all work and shape the enquiring mind.
My uniqueness derives from my journey, which seems to me now as like the making of a tea pot. I have watched as the potter carefully shaped what appeared to be a most beautiful vase, then, to my great concern he took his line and cut most away, leaving just a tiny bit. But a teapot could not exist without the tiny bit which becomes the snout. I watched as I was separated from the main lump, pulled and dragged where I did not want to go, to the edge of insanity, yet with courage I managed to stretch and my new lengthened form now stands as a very sexy handle. The big belly of my form is solid and deep and round, but the potter has pierced it. But these wounds will allow the lovely warm tea to flow out to all. I see now that he intends for my wounds to be covered by what remains of the vase. This is the snout by which the love is poured out. So, I’m a little tea pot short and stout…a vessel that welcomes hot water and the herbs that flavour my particular brew.
But what does all this have to do with listening? Well, I’ve lost several friends lately. My closest friends are very conservative in their moral views, and I feel like I live in the presence of flat earthers, who run in horror when I try and tell them of my exploration of ideas of roundness and my current conclusions on life, love and sex seem too threatening to consider. I’m now off the menu. Unpalatable. Of course this is difficult. I had hoped their respect for me would enable them to listen long enough to understand how I got here and why it makes sense to me. No one likes to be labeled, discounted and discarded. No one likes to feel unworthy of the ones you love because they disapprove of how you are managing your sexual needs. I had hoped for far more from these friendships, but realistically, telling them my truth openly was more than they could bear. How could sex work ever be a sensible or holy choice? It is too rediculous! Preposterous! And then they block their ears, and instead of hearing, now see me as their imagination fuels it and they never heard my story or sought to understand how a good, beloved daughter could choose this and be reluctant to discard it. Personally, I cannot understand how they could discard me, but that’s what makes me unique. I can see and love the ugliest in mankind. That is my special superpower.
Does that mean I should retreat? No. Rather let me expound further in writing and leave such things to be discovered by those who are seeking and prepared to listen and then contribute. The church has got to quell its hysterical position and move rationally and sensibly through the sexual revolution if its going to have any chance to reach this generation. We can’t just not talk about it and we need a new model by which we can love those in our midst which are not living in the married man and woman sex bubble. In 2000 years of church history we have avoided taking this on, preferring to sweep it under the carpet or excommunicate and ignore. Is this really the best we can do? Are we not so terrified of the power of our sexuality that it confuses and undoes us? We try celibacy, masturbation; creep in a bit of porn when the burn gets too strong. When you finally get married, its easier to toe the party line, but divorced or separated Christians, complex sexuality Christians We live in a world that allows for any sexual whim to be delighted, and an average teenager ha