Chapter 12: The Solitary In Families

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        Last week, one of my Facebook friends posted a Lent devotional that was centered around Psalm 68. The title caught my eye as I scrolled through my feed. “God Sets The Lonely In Families.” That phrase grabbed me, and, after reading the short devotional (which was quite good), I opened my Bible app and looked up Psalm 68.  Verses 5 & 6 made me pause.
        “A father of the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in His holy habitation. God sets the solitary in families; He brings out those who are bound into prosperity; but the rebellious dwell in a dry land.” (NKJV)
The verse that my friend quoted was from the NIV, and it had substituted the word ‘lonely’ for ‘solitary’. God sets the lonely in families.
        As I announced in my New Year’s resolutions back in December, one of my goals for 2021 was to join a church. Unfortunately, due to the current pandemic restrictions still in place in this blue communist state of Nevada, my Google search only turned up the larger churches with congregations of more than a thousand. Thanks to a recent battle with the Nevada supreme court, COVID restrictions were eased in December to allow group meetings of no larger than 250 or 25% of the allowed legal capacity of any one place. (Or something to that effect. All I remember from the headlines was that this was a victory for local churches.)
        However, the two Baptist churches that Pastor Sjostrom and I thought might be a good fit for me – based solely on the info from their websites – were only offering the live stream option. Their auditoriums were – and are – still closed for in-person services. So, for all of January, I contented myself with enjoying Grace Baptist’s live stream from Twin Falls, Idaho, every Sunday morning in my pajamas, with my coffee and my Bible close at hand.
        But then, one Saturday morning, as I unlocked my front door, I saw a small flyer tucked into the bars of my outer screen door. It was from a small Baptist church right in my neighborhood. From the brief outlines of introductory info on the card, it appeared to be exactly what I was looking for! I immediately plopped on the couch, woke up my MacBook, and pulled up the church’s website. The info there was even more encouraging, so I emailed the pastor. I introduced myself, asked him if he was holding in-person services, and if so, I would love to come visit.
         I didn’t hear back from him. The first week of February passed, and every day I would check my junk mail folder several times to make sure I hadn’t accidently missed his reply. So I emailed him again, and this time I caught his response the following morning. This church was indeed holding in-person services, and the pastor said he would love to see me that following Sunday. I emailed him back with a couple other questions based on the info from his website, and he responded later that day. His answers were what I had been hoping to hear, so I told him I would see him on Sunday!
       Now, I’m going to pause here, and tell you something you already know about me – both from my previous blog entries and those of you who know me in real life. But, for those who don’t know me, or haven’t read my previous posts (and why wouldn’t you? My journey started back in September of last year. You should start there as well, or a lot of this isn’t going to make sense. Why would you start a book in the middle anyway?), let me tell you something important about me.
          I’m an introvert of the highest order. My current rank is Grand Admiral. I really don’t like people, especially when I’m forced to meet and interact with total strangers in anything more than the cursory “Hi, how are you, how can I help you?” part of my daily job. My work doesn’t require me to actually get to know strangers and befriend them. Nor do I really want to. At least, I didn’t used to want to. (Again, read my previous posts on being born again and God’s changing of my old attitudes.) And yes, I have been more cordial and polite with the people that have crossed my path every day in the last few months, and there are a small number of them that I have chatted with enough to get to know them somewhat. Turns out not everyone is as annoying or uninteresting as I used to think.
          But (and this is a big ‘BUT’), there’s a HUGE difference between helping a customer at work and strolling into a totally strange place with a strange crowd on Sunday morning and having no idea whom I will meet or what I’ll find there. Forget butterflies. I get a damn fleet of moths, lizards, birds – basically a whole frakkin’ jungle of nerves in my stomach – just thinking of doing something so extroverted as that! And that’s not much of an exaggeration. I’m like Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory. I have my customary spot on the couch that no one else is allowed to sit on, and I don’t like large, unknowable social situations or interactions.
          But, unlike my old life, I had no choice here. God was giving me my first real test. Hey, son, I know you don’t like this, but this is necessary, and I’ll be with you the whole time. You know that.
       “Yeah, God, I know. But do I really have to? I can just keep watching Grace Baptist’s live stream every Sunday, and I don’t have to leave the comfort of my house. I don’t even have to get out of my pajamas! I’ll just wait until one of those larger churches opens up, and then I’ll go. I promise!”
            Umm…no. You need to do this. Now, go.
           “Ugh! Fine.”
          So I did. And, truth be told, I was looking forward to it, but I was so, SO nervous and anxious that second Sunday in February. (Which was, by coincidence, Valentine’s Day.) And, of course, it turned out to be better than I had been expecting. The pastor was quite warm and welcoming, and he gave me a short tour of the cozy, one story building. (He wasn’t kidding in his email. This church was indeed small – both in physical size and in congregation.) The service went great, the preaching was rather good, and I left for work afterwards feeling very excited, hopeful, and spiritually nourished.
          See? God said. I told you you would be fine. And this will get even better as you keep putting yourself out there until I let you know if this is the right family for you.
        I replied with a short prayer of thanks and then ordered my usual iced coffee from the Dunkin app on my phone while waiting at the red light.
       He was right, as usual. In the last three weeks, as I’ve spent more time with the pastor, and as I’ve gotten to know his small flock, I have felt even more keenly the working of the Holy Spirit within me. God wasn’t kidding when he commanded his believers in the New Testament to gather themselves together in order to spiritually nourish and sustain one another. It’s also been nice to get out of my introverted shell and meet new people. It’s not enough yet to change my ranking in that highest order of introverts – I’m still calling myself Grand Admiral of the Lonely yet Happy Brigade – but it’s a start. I will be probably be demoted to captain in the near future.
        Which brings me back around to Psalm 68. Yes, I’ve been keenly aware of my loneliness for the past several weeks. Or rather, God has made me feel keenly aware of my loneliness. I have had a strong desire to be placed within a new family, and, until just a few days ago, I had hoped that this pastor and his very young church would be the family that I was seeking.
        It turns out that God may have a different, better family in mind for me.
 
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            There’s a couple reasons I haven’t told you the name of the pastor or his church. Those of you that follow me on Facebook will know, and I was probably premature in my post a couple weeks ago about the one night I joined this pastor and some of his congregation for an hour of street preaching. But since this blog is probably going to reach a wider audience than just my family and friends on Facebook, I’m now reluctant to give specific names here because of what I’m about to say next.
            The other reason that I’m not naming names is because I will probably not be staying with this church (hereto after referred to as Church #1). The main reason for that is because, as I have listened to the pastor’s preaching (hereto after referred to as Pastor #1) for the last three Sundays, I’ve heard some points and/or comments that have caused a few warning blips on my spiritual radar. Pastor #1 asked us during his sermon a couple weeks ago where in Genesis did we think that Lucifer’s fall occurred. The general consensus from the congregation was in the first chapter. The pastor confirmed this by saying that it happened between Genesis 1:1 and 1:2.
            “Does God make anything that is not perfect?”
            Well, no, of course not.
           “So then why does verse 1 state that God created the heaven and the earth, and then verse 2 says the earth was without form and void?”
            Wait. Say what again?
           Yeah. Apparently, Pastor and Church #1 believe that God had created a perfect earth and heaven, and then Lucifer’s fall destroyed that first paradise and God had to start all over again.
            Ummmmm. Yeah, that’s not how I read verses 1 and 2, nor was that what I was taught at Grace Baptist Church when I was a kid. Although God does not say specifically anywhere in the Bible, it is believed by most theologians and pastors that Lucifer’s fall occurred between chapters 2 and 3 of Genesis. The proper way to read Genesis 1:1 and 2 is that verse 1 is a statement of the end result, and verse 2 begins the story of how God created that end result stated in verse 1.
         That’s the biggest warning blip thus far. Some examples of minor blips:
           1.). Pastor #1 used the verse of 1 Kings 18:28, which talks about the prophets of Baal, “And they cried aloud, and cut themselves after their manner with knives and lancets, till the blood gushed out upon them”, as proof that God does not approve of Christians getting tattoos. Doesn’t matter what kind of tattoo, they’re all a sin. (You’ve all seen the pic on my Facebook page of the tattoo of the cross and date that I had done last month as a way to commemorate my salvation.)
           2.) Pastor #1 is not a fan of C.S. Lewis or The Chronicles of Narnia. In his opinion, the fact that Lewis used the half-goat, half-man creature as one of the main Narnian characters proves that Lewis was not a true Christian. The faun – who was named Pan in Greek mythology – is actually one of the many symbols of Satan. (And, apparently, the English word ‘panic’ comes from the Greek root word of the name of that mythological character.) Also, for that matter, is the symbol of the fish that many people put on the bumpers and rear windows of their car. That symbol is actually connected to the pagan god Dagon. (No, I promise I’m not making any of this up.)
          3.) Pastor #1 believes that Hell is actually at the center of the earth. This was from a sermon three weeks ago, and it was mentioned in passing with no specific scriptural passage to back up such a claim. I’m fairly certain, however, that there is no Biblical proof for such a bold statement.
          4.) This pastor is also a vehement opponent of ‘Christian rock’. Now, this isn’t a big deal to me, as there are many Baptist denominations that believe Christian music should be separate from anything that sounds like secular rock music, so I wasn’t surprised when this comment came up in a sermon two weeks ago. (Also, Grace Baptist is a church that has always held this view. I had many, many arguments with my parents about my love for Amy Grant, Michael W. Smith and Steven Curtis Chapman when I was in high school.) I only bring this point up here to show how dogmatic Pastor #1 is turning out to be.
          I should also note here that Pastor and Church #1 believe that the ONLY acceptable translation of the Bible is the 1611 King James version. All other translations (NKJV, NIV, NLT, etc.) are false and pervert the true Word of God. This belief is something new to me, and I asked Pastor #1 about this stance in my second email to him after he responded to my introductory email to let me know that his church was hold in-person services. He listed and quoted a few verses from both the Old and New Testaments, including Revelation 22:18-19 where God says no one shall add or take away from the scriptures, lest their names be removed from the Book of Life. (Which is what all other translations, especially newer ones supposedly do when they substitute specific words or phrases in order to match modern English in order to make the Bible more readable and accessible for today’s generation.)
           I’m not sure that I totally agree with this belief. I was raised on the King James version, and, therefore, those words are what have stuck in my memory all these years from the verses that I had to memorize in Sunday School and the various other youth programs that I was involved in throughout my childhood. And, now, as I have begun to re-read the Bible, I really love the poetic beauty and the formality of the old English.
          However, I am also reading the MacArthur Study Bible which is published in the New King James version, and it is a little easier to read, especially the Old Testament, where specific phrases and idioms have been updated to be a little more closer to modern English. In his introduction of that Bible, John MacArthur states that when the NKJV Bible was first being produced in the late seventies (it was first published in 1982 by Thomas Nelson), all translators had to sign a statement of integrity, faith and belief, saying essentially that they would remain faithful to the true Word of God, and that they would not change or omit any part of the scriptures that would in any way, no matter how small, alter the spirit and message of that Holy Word.
         In my reading of the NKJV, I have not seen any huge difference between it and the KJV, other than that the former is a bit more readable, mainly because it doesn’t have a lot of the ‘thee’, ‘thou’, ‘begat’, and so on, that the KJV has. It’s only minor details like that that have been changed. Also, the translators of the NKJV used the same original, preserved Hebrew and Greek manuscripts that were used by the translators under the reign of King James in the first decade of the 1600s.
         So, to claim that ALL other translations except the original KJV are absolutely false and perverted is a bit of a stretch for me. It’s a little too dogmatic, but if that’s the only issue here, then I have no problem being part of a church family that holds this view. Unfortunately, due to the some of the other concerns I listed above, I feel that God is leading me away from Church #1. It appears that family is not where he wants to set me.
 
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            This past Sunday, as I drove home from Church #1, I felt very discouraged and, frankly, emotional. Why in the world would God lead me to this church only to tell me a month later that this wasn’t where He wanted me? I felt disappointed and despondent, and I called Dad as soon as I got home, unloading all of this on him in what he must have thought was some kind of breakdown. (And, in fact, I was near tears. That’s another thing about this whole sanctification process. My emotions lately have been living very close to the surface, and I never know what will set them off. Some days, all it takes is a cat food commercial or a particularly poetic verse in Psalms. Go figure.)
            My dad, to his immense credit, was able to talk me down from the ledge, and I felt much better after hanging up the phone. I took a nap, and then, as I was fixing a late lunch, I remembered something that Pastor #1 had mentioned to me when we were on the street corner a couple weeks ago. I was asking him about his church, specifically how he knew God was calling him to form his own church. He replied that he and his congregation separated from a church (hereto after referred to as Church #2) about six years ago after that church’s elderly pastor had passed away. Though Pastor #1 didn’t give a lot of details – and our conversation was constantly being interrupted as we handed out tracks to passers-by – it sounded to me like the separation was caused by the congregation’s vote to have someone else besides Pastor #1 lead them.
            After lunch, I Googled the name of Church #2. Their website looked promising  (yes, they too believe that the KJV is the only acceptable translation of the Bible, as well as all the other typical Baptist beliefs – i.e., Pro-life, the traditional Biblical views of marriage & sexuality, etc.), so I immediately emailed the pastor (hereto after referred to as Pastor #2) to ask if he was holding in-person services. He responded almost right away that his doors were indeed open, and the evening service was at 6. I told him I would be there.
            Once again, that whole jungle of critters and nerves was back in full force as I pulled into the parking lot of Church #2 (which was also in the same general of area of North Las Vegas as Church #1.) This church building was much larger than that of Church #1, and the congregation was very warm and welcoming. Within just a few minutes of chatting with Pastor #2, I learned that he was originally from Nampa, Idaho, and an alumni of Boise State University. Wow! Talk about a small world. When I told him that I, too, was a former BSU Bronco, he immediately called his wife over to introduce her and pass on the good news.
            My visit only got better from there. By the end of the night – which concluded with an ice cream social in the fellowship hall behind the auditorium – I had met, shook hands, and chatted at great length with no less than a dozen fellow believers, all around my age. From what I could estimate during the worship service, the size of the congregation appeared to be about a hundred and fifty, and there was a good mix of old, young and in between. (There was also a good number of elementary and high school age kids.) In many ways, this church reminded me of Grace Baptist back home, and I drove away feeling much more excited and spiritually refreshed. I said a quick prayer of thanks to God, and I really can’t wait for this upcoming Sunday morning service!
 
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      All of this church scouting has only intensified my homesickness for Grace Baptist Church back in Twin Falls. Ever since Aaron’s passing a few months ago, my mind has been wallowing in memories of my childhood within the halls of that church and its school there. What I had once upon a time despised in my adolescence and couldn’t wait to get away from I now yearn for with all my heart and soul.
           As a kid, there were two places I spent the majority of my time: home and church/school. If I wasn’t at one, I was at the other. My parents were married in Grace Baptist on June 18, 1977, and I arrived on the scene a year later. My earliest memory of Grace Baptist was the hideous shade of orange that was the carpet in the auditorium. It was a burnt orange that was most assuredly made only in the 1970s, and there were no pews at that time either. Instead, we all sat in plastic, yellow chairs that, to my amazement, are STILL being used in the gym for special events. (I sat in one at Aaron’s funeral, and boy, those things are NOT very comfortable after a half hour or so.)
           I have many fond recollections of me and my brothers tearing up and down the main hall of the church building, racing one another while waiting for our parents after evening church on Sundays. More often than not, we were scolded by one of the older ladies (I will not name names here, either, mainly just for privacy’s sake, not because I resent them now) who would order us to go find our parents. At one end of that hall is the nursery, and back then the door was separated in two so that the lower half could be closed while the upper half could remain open. In junior high, my friends and I would try to run and jump that door when just the lower half was closed. Again, one of the adults would scold us as they walked by.
            More often than not, my brothers, friends and I would be out on the school playground during Sunday afternoons when dad had choir practice before evening church. On one particular Sunday, my brother Jeremy and I were playing tag with a couple other boys, and Jeremy ran headlong into a steel bar at one end of the playground. He had been glancing behind him to see how close his opponent was, and he turned his head back around just in time to slam it into the bar which was at just the right height for his forehead. To this day, I can close my eyes and hear, as clearly as if it had happened only a few minutes ago, that sound of flesh, bone and steel. I was on the other side of the playground, and that THRANG! resonated like the peal from a steeple bell. It’s also the only time in my life that I have seen that much blood at once. Needless to say, mom and Jeremy spent that evening in the ER instead of church service.
            (Come to think of it, that was not Jeremy’s last bloody incident. He was around eight or nine, I believe, and during the remainder of his youth he would go on to experience the following: tearing up his face when he crashed headlong into the gravel of the alley behind our house while trying to jump a poorly constructed ramp on his dirt bike; shooting himself in the leg with a gun that one of his friends borrowed from the dad’s unlocked cabinet; breaking that same leg a year or so later during a soccer game – due, in part, to the way the gunshot wound had healed around the bone; and, finally, having his right foot shattered when the third baseman jumped to catch the ball and then landed on Jeremy’s foot with just right angle and weight as Jeremy slid into base. That incident occurred just last year, in fact. My brother has never been one to shy away from living life to the fullest, amen!)
            There were numerous weddings, funerals, high school graduations, afternoon potlucks, and other such events held within the halls of that church over the course of my childhood. When my second grade teacher, Miss Sherri Bohne (pronounced ‘Bonny’), was married, I asked her for a picture of her in her wedding dress. I thought it was the most beautiful gown ever, and I’m sure I still have that photo somewhere in an album in one of my closets. (Once again, it shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone when I emerged from the proverbial closet roughly twelve years later.) There were grade school plays, piano recitals, and high school choir performances (“Holy Is He” anyone?) that make up the bulk of both my fondest and cringiest memories. (I absolutely HATED the glasses that I had to wear for all of junior high and most of high school. I was never so happy as when my parents’ medical insurance finally allowed me to get contacts halfway through my sophomore year.)
            My dad believed that our family should be in church anytime the doors were open. Sunday morning, Sunday evening, Wednesday night youth group, Cubbies, Sparks, Awana, Vacation Bible School in the summers, week long special revival meetings throughout the year – you name it, we were there, front and center for every service and/or event. The only exceptions were if we happened to be out of town on our annual summer vacations. When I was a kid, I didn’t resent all this church attendance that much. Everything that was church – all the services, songs, rituals, preaching, teaching, Bible verse memorization, family devotionals every night before bedtime – it was normal life for me and my brothers. It was in my teen years that I really started to resent and dread all the weekly services and activities. And, especially, when I started to realize I was gay and I had to keep that a secret it was even harder to find a good reason for all this religious nonsense. I was never happier than when I left high school (no, never graduated, see previous posts), and I could finally be free of all that hogwash.
            Now, twenty-four years later, I feel much differently. I believe that, if we are truly lucky, the places where we grow up become part of us. Their essence weaves itself into the DNA of our very souls through the lifetime of memories and experiences that we carry with us, no matter where or how far we walk in the world. They are part of our blood and bones. In 1998, when I was in the army and stationed in Hanau, Germany, there was a knock on the door of my barracks room one weekday evening. When I answered it, I found two gentlemen who were from a local non-denominational church. Their congregation was primarily U.S. service members from the base, and they invited me to their upcoming Sunday service. I agreed, though at the time, I couldn’t say exactly why. Looking back now, I know why. I was halfway around the world, very far from home and from almost anything familiar, and I was lonely. I had only just arrived at my posting, so I hadn’t yet become acquainted with my fellow soldiers.
            I attended that little church for only a few weeks. It was a taste of home that I had been desperately craving, and I sang along with the traditional hymns, allowing my childhood memories of Grace Baptist to comfort me. But, once I got settled into my new life on base, I no longer needed the weekly church service. I was fine without God once more, and I quit attending. I had better things to do on the weekends. A year later, after my courts-martial, when I arrived back home in Twin Falls, I continued my life without God or religion. Eventually, I found a place of my own, and I lived my life as I wanted. I finally came out to my friends and family, and charted my own course. I would occasionally attend Grace Baptist as a courtesy to my parents, but I hated every time that I had to cross that threshold. It dredged up nothing but bitter memories from high school, and I had to force a smile and a handshake whenever one of the older folks was happy to see me.
            You all know the rest of the story. While 2020 was the year that the world fell apart and went off the rails, it was the year that God woke me up and saved me. Back in January, when I started to watch the weekly service from GBC via the live stream on their Facebook page, I felt like I had come back home. The orange carpet and yellow chairs have been replaced by a lovely gray-blue flooring and more comfortable pews, but the spiritual essence is the same. For the last couple weeks, as I’ve attended church services here in Las Vegas, my homesickness has only intensified. I have been fortunate to reconnect with many of you from GBC through these blog posts, and I feel so blessed because of that. That’s what I miss most about Grace Baptist. My brothers and I weren’t reared by just our parents. We were brought up by a godly village of people who believed in Proverbs 22:6: “Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old he will not depart from it.” Boy, ain’t that the truth??? (This also, unfortunately, meant that it was a rare victory for me, my brothers, and my friends whenever we actually got away with some form of mischief or trouble.) Many of those ‘godparents’ have long since moved away from Twin Falls to serve the Lord in other ministries in other states, but their impact on my life is being felt anew. Others are still there, now teaching their grandchildren the same way they taught and nurtured me.
            I miss that church family terribly, and I yearn more than ever to find a family of that caliber here in Las Vegas. I sincerely hope that church #2 is it. But, if not, I know that God will eventually lead me where he wants to place me. It’s not His desire that anyone should be solitary for very long.
         Until then, I’m content to be Grand Admiral of the Lonely yet Happy in Christ Brigade.
           Okay, maybe just captain.