Compassion In The Most Unlikely Places

When I came out to my parents, I was as shocked as they were. My mother, whom I was always the closest with (and whom I was sure already knew), took the news terribly and became a hysterical mess. My father, the Elder, whom I had always felt distant to, handled it calmly. He proceeded to tell me that it was OK, but that I could just repress it, and that there were others in the congregation who “struggled with the same thing.” I had to stop him before he “outed” them, but he wanted to let me know that I wasn’t the only one. Although my relationship with them has deteriorated to the point where we are not speaking, I will never forget that brief moment of tender compassion and understanding.

Human compassion is a wonderful human trait but is highly underutilized. Although it is our nature to be compassionate and understanding, we allow divisiveness to pervade. We only need to look to the Hebrew God for an example of the latter. The Old Testament is fraught with tales of a chosen people, left to slavery and a forced nomadic existence. We see innocent victims slaughtered for the sins of others or for merely being of a different race and religion, or for merely being the “unchosen.” It is not difficult for us to understand how a religion who claims to worship this God behaves in a similar manner.

When I read the Bible in its entirety, I remember sensing a different, loving and up building message in the Gospels. It was as if the dark clouds parted and gave way to a warm sun and blue sky. There, Jesus gives us a message of hope, peace and love. If Jesus were to appear today, it is easy to imagine him – not as the judge and executioner – but as the compassionate man the Gospels describe him to be, who associated with the deviants, the poor and downhearted. He would no doubt scorn the religious elite, who insist of their own piousness.

In a small act of compassion albeit briefly, my father displayed a similar love and understanding instead of condemnation, that calmed a highly volatile and emotional moment. It is odd how those who profess their extraordinary righteousness are the least compassionate, but it is the humble that reveal the most. I always appreciate the words of St. Francis of Assisi, “Go out and preach the gospel and if you must, use words.”

Peace and Love,
Happy Homo

Freedom of expression…ACBnyc style

Welcome to freedom of expression ACBnyc style. Actually, the views I express are mine own and do not reflect the views of the overall group, but my involvement with the group has provided a platform for me to voice my frustrations and concerns (or if you prefer, to bitch). I first heard of A Common Bond in the mid-1990s from the LGBT Community Center in Manhattan, a few years after I was disfellowshipped for being a homo (a term my mother prefers to call us). I was more than elated since up to the time, I was certain I was the only JW homo in the entire world. It wasn’t true there were others like me. If you have ever been in a social situation where you are alone and don’t know the people around you, but eventually bump into an old friend, it’s like that, but a thousand times greater.

Imagine my disappointment however, when the telephone number listed as a contact for A Common Bond was disconnected. It wasn’t until a couple of years later that I learned the contact had moved to another state and the LGBT center in it’s infinite bureaucracy (bless its heart) hadn’t yet updated the notice with the new contact. Oh well, at least there was someone out there, just like me…..somewhere. It was a couple of years later, while wandering Fifth Avenue near 23rd Street during the Gay Pride March, that as I glanced toward the march participants, saw a sign that read, “No More Watchtower, We’re Awake Now.” Without thought or word, I abandoned my friends, jumped the police street barrier and ran toward the small marching group screaming hysterically, “Where have you been? At last, I’ve finally found you, others like me.” Needless to say, the group was a bit alarmed at my presence, but they smiled politely and quickly handed me a piece of paper that listed their meeting times and dates, then were off down Fifth Avenue before I could say drag queen.

It was then, that I began my love affair with ACB, despite all its idiosyncrasies. Its very presence saved me. Although I am sprinting closer to no longer being an ex-Jehovah Witness (I’m considering becoming a Baptist so I can then become an ex-Baptist instead of this strange religion that no one person outside of the faith understands), I will always be grateful to the gift of brotherhood and the friends I have picked up along the way.

Hugs and Smooches,
Happy Homo