“You, my brothers and sisters, were called to be free. But do not use your freedom to indulge the flesh; rather, serve one another humbly in love.” — Galatians 5:13

On Memorial Day, we pause not just to wave flags or grill burgers, but to remember—solemnly and with reverence—those who laid down their lives in service to this country. They died in deserts, on beaches, in jungles and skies, in places known and forgotten. Each one was a person, not just a name etched into stone.

Among them were LGBTQ+ Americans who, in every generation, answered the call to serve—even when their nation would not serve them in return.

Some lived and died in silence, hiding their full selves to avoid dishonorable discharge, imprisonment, or violence. Under policies like Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, they were forced into shadows, where honesty could mean disgrace. Yet they still fought. Still bled. Still gave everything.

Others served proudly after the policy ended in 2011—openly gay, lesbian, and bisexual service members who finally could wear their uniforms and their identities without fear. Their courage was not only on the battlefield, but in living truthfully in spaces where truth had long been forbidden.

And still today, many transgender service members fight battles on two fronts—one abroad, and one at home. While their competence and valor are unquestioned, their right to serve remains under political siege. Recent Republican-led efforts to reinstate a transgender military ban have made this painfully clear. These attempts to erase or exclude are not just policy debates—they are messages that say, “You do not belong.”

But in God’s eyes, they do belong. They always have.

“Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” — John 15:13

This verse reminds us that the greatest act of love is not found in slogans, but in sacrifice. LGBTQ+ service members—whether in silence or with open pride—have made that sacrifice. And on this Memorial Day, we must speak their names, even if history tried not to record them.

They were called to be free, just as we are called to be free. But let us not use that freedom to forget. Let us use it to serve one another humbly in love—as Paul writes in Galatians—and to advocate for those whose service has been overlooked, whose dignity is still contested.

For God has consigned all to disobedience, that he may have mercy on all. Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments and how inscrutable his ways!

— Romans 11:32-33

Sometimes I wonder if Paul, in writing Romans 9–11, was feeling what many of us in the LGBTQ+ Christian community have felt: the ache of being part of a people who seem to have rejected something essential and life-giving. For Paul, it was watching his beloved Jewish community turn away from the gospel of Christ (Romans 9:1–3). For me—and for so many of us—it’s standing in churches that reject us while clinging to a gospel we know in our bones is about mercy, love, and inclusion. Romans 10:12–13 says, “For there is no difference between Jew and Gentile—the same Lord is Lord of all and richly blesses all who call on him, for, ‘Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.’” In Galatians 3:28, Paul tells us, “There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”

Paul’s conclusion in Romans 11 is not one of despair, but of wonder. After wrestling with rejection, exclusion, and the mysteries of God’s plan, in Romans 11:32 he writes “For God has consigned all to disobedience, that he may have mercy on all.”

We know something about rejection. We’ve heard the sermons, felt the silence, watched doors close. Isaiah 56:3-5 says:

Let no foreigner who is bound to the Lord say,
    “The Lord will surely exclude me from his people.”
And let no eunuch complain,
    “I am only a dry tree.”

For this is what the Lord says:

“To the eunuchs who keep my Sabbaths,
    who choose what pleases me
    and hold fast to my covenant—
to them I will give within my temple and its walls
    a memorial and a name
    better than sons and daughters;
I will give them an everlasting name
    that will endure forever.

Some of us have been told we must change to be loved by God—when all along, we were already held in that love. Romans 8:38–39 says, “For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” And yet despite the rejections of others… we stayed. We sang the hymns. We read Scripture with reverence. We wept and prayed and kept believing that God’s mercy is bigger than the world’s fear. Micah 6:8 says, “He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.” Jesus rebuked those who have put up walls of exclusion. In Matthew 23:23 He says, “Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You give a tenth of your spices—mint, dill and cumin. But you have neglected the more important matters of the law—justice, mercy and faithfulness. You should have practiced the latter, without neglecting the former.”

Romans 11 is a reminder: rejection is not the end of the story. Romans 11:1–2 says, “I ask then: Did God reject his people? By no means! I am an Israelite myself, a descendant of Abraham, from the tribe of Benjamin. God did not reject his people, whom he foreknew. Don’t you know what Scripture says in the passage about Elijah—how he appealed to God against Israel.” (1 Kings 19:10-18) God is not finished with Israel, and God is certainly not finished with us. God’s plan was never about gatekeeping, never about purity tests or theological litmus strips. It was—and is—about mercy breaking into the human mess. Paul says in Romans 5:8, “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us,” and Hosea 6:6 says, “For I desire mercy, not sacrifice, and acknowledgment of God rather than burnt offerings.”

Paul calls this a mystery. In Romans 11:25, he says, “I do not want you to be ignorant of this mystery, brothers and sisters, so that you may not be conceited: Israel has experienced a hardening in part until the full number of the Gentiles has come in.” And it is. It’s a mystery that the very people who were told they didn’t belong—Gentiles, outcasts, eunuchs, queers, sinners—are the ones Christ drew near to (Luke 7:36–50; John 4:7–29; Acts 8:26–39). It’s a mystery that God would use rejection to teach the church mercy. That even now, in a world and church still wrestling with whom to embrace, God is quietly gathering all of us in. (Ephesians 2:13–19) Jesus tells the Pharisees in John 10:16, “I have other sheep that are not of this sheep pen. I must bring them also. They too will listen to my voice, and there shall be one flock and one shepherd.”

We do not need to prove our worth to God. In Titus 3:4–7, Paul write to Titus and says, “But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy. He saved us through the washing of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit, whom he poured out on us generously through Jesus Christ our Savior, so that, having been justified by his grace, we might become heirs having the hope of eternal life” We are not spiritual refugees in someone else’s kingdom. We are already part of the body of Christ—beloved, chosen, and called. Romans 12:4–5 says, “For just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we, though many, form one body, and each member belongs to all the others,” and Colossians 3:12 says, “Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.”

Romans 11 doesn’t end in doctrine. It ends in doxology—a song of praise. 

Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God!
    How unsearchable his judgments,
    and his paths beyond tracing out!
“Who has known the mind of the Lord?
    Or who has been his counselor?” 
“Who has ever given to God,
    that God should repay them?” 
For from him and through him and for him are all things.
    To him be the glory forever! Amen. (Romans 11:33-36)

That is where we live too: in that mysterious, radiant space between pain and praise. We have seen rejection, yes. But we’ve also seen what mercy can do. We’ve tasted the unsearchable depths of God’s wisdom and kindness. And we believe—despite it all—that mercy is coming for everyone. Remember Paul’s question in Romans 2:4, “Or do you show contempt for the riches of his kindness, forbearance and patience, not realizing that God’s kindness is intended to lead you to repentance?” In 1 Timothy 2:3–4, Paul tells Timothy, “This is good, and pleases God our Savior, who wants all people to be saved and to come to a knowledge of the truth.”

God is merciful. As LGBTQ+ Christians have known the sting of rejection, and we have heard his voice calling us beloved. We should thank Him for His mystery. We should thank God for His patience, and for His mercy including all of us, even when others do not. His Word can guide us to live in His mercy and help us to share it with others. God is not done yet—not with the church, not with this world, and, most certainly, not with us.

“As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you; and you will be comforted over Jerusalem.”

—Isaiah 66:13

Mother’s Day can be complicated.

For many LGBTQ+ Christians, this day stirs a mixture of gratitude, grief, and longing. Some of us have mothers who love us fiercely, who fought for us when others turned away. Others have strained relationships marked by silence, theological disagreements, or painful rejection. Some have lost their mothers altogether, or never had one who nurtured them in the way they needed. And still others have found “mothering” in chosen family—those who stepped into the role when our biological mothers could not.

I grew up with a mother who, in many ways, was my safe place. She sang to me—silly songs, made-up lullabies, and always “You Are My Sunshine.” That song still lingers in my memory like a benediction. Even now, when I feel anxious or overwhelmed, I can hear her voice in my mind and feel something loosen inside. She wasn’t perfect (who is?), and our relationship changed after I came out. Her love didn’t vanish, but it retreated into more cautious, guarded corners. I learned to read between the lines—to hear love in what wasn’t said as much as in what was.

There are days I wish she could fully see me, not just the parts she’s comfortable with. But I know this: most of the time, she tries, and in her way, she still sings over me. Her growing dementia has mellowed her about my sexuality, and possibly her views on the LGBTQ+ community, at least she no longer mentions me being gay even on the periphery anymore when we talk on the phone or when I go home for the holidays.

And in the spaces where that love feels fragile or incomplete, I lean on the divine promise of God’s motherhood. Isaiah 66:13 tells us, “As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you.” God doesn’t just replace what we lack in human relationships—God transcends it. God’s love is not hindered by shame or ignorance, nor is it conditional on who we love or how we live. God’s comfort is whole, unwavering, and tender. It wraps around us like a lullaby that never fades.

For those who feel unmothered today—rejected, estranged, or just alone—please know: you are not forgotten. You are not forsaken. You are loved, by a God who mothers us all. In Scripture, we are told:

“Though my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will receive me.” —Psalm 27:10

And for those whose mothers still try—who show up imperfectly but continue to offer what love they can—I honor your resilience, your patience, your hope. 

Today, let us give thanks for all who have mothered us: the women who raised us, the aunts and teachers who guided us, the queer elders who nurtured us, the friends who held us through heartbreak, and the God who never stops whispering, “You are my beloved.” In Luke 13:34, Jesus says, “How often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were not willing.”

Let us also remember that motherhood isn’t limited to biology. In God’s eyes, to nurture, to protect, to comfort—these are sacred acts. Many of us embody them, regardless of gender, title, or role. LGBTQ+ people have always created families and offered fierce, maternal love to one another. That, too, is holy. Let us always remember what 1 John 4:7 says, “Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God.”

On this Mother’s Day, whether you are rejoicing, mourning, navigating silence, or embracing chosen family, know this:

You are held in love.

You are never alone.

And somewhere, still, the song continues: You are my sunshine.

“I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with unfailing kindness.” 

— Jeremiah 31:3

As gay men, each of us has faced moments of doubt, rejection, or even questioned your place in God’s plan. But the truth is this: God’s love for us is unwavering, unconditional, and everlasting. We were created in love, with a divine purpose, and nothing can change that.

We owe it to ourselves to embrace who we are. Ephesians 2:10 says, “For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” We are not mistakes. We are God’s masterpiece. The world may try to tell us otherwise, but the One who formed the universe also formed us—intentionally, beautifully, and with a purpose. Our identity, our love, and our hearts are not separate from our faith but are essential parts of who God made us to be.

We can overcome fear with faith. Joshua 1:9 says, “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” Living authentically takes courage. Whether you are fully out or still on that journey, know that God walks beside you every step of the way. When fears arise—fear of rejection, loneliness, or misunderstanding—remember that God’s presence is constant, and His love is stronger than any fear.

God demands that we love boldly and without shame. We are told in 1 Peter 4:8, “Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.” Love is at the core of who God is, and it is at the core of who we are. Whether it’s in friendships, family, or romantic relationships, our love is sacred and good. God does not condemn love that is rooted in kindness, commitment, and respect. Instead, He calls us to love deeply and without fear.

With God, we can stand in confidence. Philippians 4:13 says, “I can do all this through Him who gives me strength.” There is strength in being who we are. There is power in embracing our faith and our identity fully. God has given us everything you need to walk this journey with confidence, grace, and purpose. Ask yourself:  How have you seen God’s love in your journey of self-acceptance? What fears do you need to surrender to God? How can you love yourself and others more deeply today?

God is infinite love. “Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love.” (1 John 4:8) We should thank God for creating us in His image. Our faith in God can help us walk in confidence, knowing that we are fully loved and fully accepted by God. He will strengthen our heart, guide our steps, and let our lives be a reflection of God’s love. 

“For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that people are without excuse.”

— Romans 1:20 (NIV)

I have never understood how someone could look around at the wonders of this world—the towering mountains, the delicate pattern of a snowflake, the mysterious depths of the oceans—and think, “Nothing but natural evolution is involved in the creation of all this beauty.” It seems impossible to me that all of this could be the result of mere happenstance. From the moment I was first aware of the world’s complexity and grandeur, I have believed that God’s hand was present in it all, guiding creation with care and intention.

I believe in evolution. There is ample evidence of it, and I do not believe the world is only four thousand years old, as strict creationists insist. Scientific discovery does not diminish my faith; instead, it enlarges my awe. To me, evolution is not a threat to God’s existence—it is a testament to His brilliance. A world that adapts, grows, and changes is far more magnificent than one that appeared rigid and finished. Creation was not a single act frozen in time, but a symphony, still unfolding under the quiet direction of a divine Composer.

And yet, my faith has not been without struggles. There have been seasons where I asked painful questions: Why, God?Why is there pain written into the bodies of newborns? Why are some born to suffer? Why was I given a body and a heart that do not always align with the world’s easy expectations? And perhaps most piercingly—why did You make me gay, when life would have been simpler, smoother, quieter if You had not?

In those moments of questioning, it would be easy to believe that creation was left adrift, as some philosophies suggest. During the Enlightenment, many embraced deism, a belief that God set the universe in motion like a master clockmaker and then stepped back, no longer involved in the daily unfolding of events. Many of the United States’ Founding Fathers were deists, believing that God could be known through nature and reason but doubting divine intervention in human affairs.

I understand the temptation of that view. And in part, I agree: I believe God set the laws of the universe into motion with extraordinary wisdom and creativity. Yet unlike the deists, I believe He still intervenes—not always, not predictably, but lovingly and purposefully. He has not abandoned His creation. He has not abandoned me.

When my heart wavers, I turn again to the promises written in Scripture. I cling to the words of Jeremiah 29:11: “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

I am not a mistake. You are not a mistake. We are part of a creation that, though marred by brokenness and mystery, still sings of a Creator whose fingerprints are everywhere. When I look inward, when I look outward, I see Him. His eternal power and divine nature have been clearly seen—from the beginning until now—and though I do not understand all His ways, I trust that His plan is full of hope, even when the path is hard.Today, may we open our eyes and see anew. slow down. Look closely. Listen carefully. Let the marvels of creation draw you nearer to the Creator. May we look upon the world, and even our own complicated selves, and recognize the divine artistry that we are part of in this universe. In doing so, we honor Him—and we fulfill a yearning that has been written into our souls since the beginning of time.

“Nothing can separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

—Romans 8:39

The days between the Crucifixion and Easter morning were dark, uncertain, and full of fear. The disciples had followed Jesus, trusted him, even left behind their old lives for him—and now he was gone. Executed as a criminal. Buried in a borrowed tomb. Their hopes were shattered. They locked themselves away in fear.

The morning of His Resurrection did not begin in joy—it began in silence, confusion, and fear. The tomb was empty. Jesus was gone. Mary wept, believing his body had been taken. The disciples, unsure of what to believe, hid behind locked doors. The world had shifted under their feet.

If you’ve ever lived in that in-between space—between grief and hope, rejection and love, silence and revelation—Easter is your story too.

The disciples would have known the words of Psalm 30:5: “Weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.” Yet in the shadow of the Crucifixion, their grief clouded their understanding. Though Jesus had spoken plainly of what was to come, sorrow and fear made it difficult for them to remember. In Luke 9:22, Jesus told them: “The Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests and the teachers of the law, and he must be killed and on the third day be raised to life.”

Many gay men, too, anticipate rejection when they come out—rejection from family, faith communities, or society. Jesus predicted that He would be rejected as well. He was misunderstood by many who expected the Messiah to be a political liberator, someone who would overthrow Roman rule. Yet Jesus accepted his fate, knowing that his rejection and death would lead to something greater. In John 2:19, He said: “Destroy this temple, and I will raise it again in three days.” Though the disciples did not grasp it at the time, Jesus was preparing them for the truth that death was not the end—that from what was broken, new life would rise. By holding on to our faith after our rejection, we will be reborn and risen because while others may have rejected us, God never will.

Many gay men of faith know what it is to feel locked out or hidden away. We’ve known fear. We’ve known doubt. We’ve been told, sometimes by the church itself, that we are not fully welcome in the places where love should flourish. But in the Resurrection, God does something unexpected and deeply personal: Christ returns, not to the powerful, but to the ones who are hurting, frightened, and unsure. And he calls them by name.

He speaks Mary’s name in the garden—and suddenly, her mourning becomes recognition. John 20:16 says, “Jesus said to her, ‘Mary.’ She turned toward him and cried out… ‘Teacher!’” She turns and knew: love had not left her.

John 20:19 says, “On the evening of that first day of the week, when the disciples were together, with the doors locked for fear… Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you.’” He appears to the disciples in their fear and breathes peace into the room. They do not reach out first—he comes to them.

John 20:25 tells us that Thomas doubted that Jesus had risen, “He said to them, ‘Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe.’” And when Thomas cannot believe without proof, Jesus doesn’t shame him. Instead, a week later in John 20:27, Jesus went to Thomas and said, “Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.”

This is not the love of a distant or conditional Savior. This is a love that returns for you. A love that steps across fear, past doubt, and into locked rooms and wounded hearts. This is a Savior who speaks your name—not with judgment, but with tenderness.

No amount of uncertainty or fear can lock Christ out. His resurrection is not only about defeating death—it’s about restoring relationship. It’s about stepping into locked rooms, into quiet hearts, into hidden places, and saying, “Peace be with you.” It’s about transforming sorrow into joy.

You are not forgotten. You are not disqualified. You are not too late.

The Risen Christ sees you fully—your questions, your longings, your deepest self—and says: Peace be with you. Rejoice. I have called you by name. You are mine.

Are there places in your life where fear still holds the door closed? Have you heard Christ calling you by name—and if not, are you open to listening? What would it mean to let resurrection joy take root in your story? Christ knows what it is to be misunderstood, doubted, and abandoned. And yet, he rises not to condemn, but to comfort. He comes not to erase your wounds, but to show you his own—and in doing so, to show you that your story is safe with him. Whether you are weeping in the garden or hiding behind locked doors, he is near. He speaks your name. He breathes peace. And he turns your fear into joy.

Jesus was crucified to suffer for our sins, and He was risen from the dead to allow us to be reborn. On this Easter Sunday, remember what the angel told Mary in Matthew 28:6 when she discovered the empty tomb:

“HE HAS RISEN”