"Queer as Faith"
by Nathan Gunter

Queer as Faith is a weekly column by Nathan Gunter.  Unconventional and thought-provoking, Nathan writes as a gay Christian struggling to live authentically in the real world.

Want more Queer as Faith?  Visit our QAF archive.

Week 31:
A Billion Miles to Greatness

I can tell that I’m turning a corner in my life. Don’t ask me how I know. Maybe it’s the fact that autumn is here, and finally, all the restless energy of summer seems to be behind us, all those long days and all that movement, all those nights with not enough sleep. Somehow, in the summer, it feels like there is always too much and not enough to do. Then you get to autumn, and things seem to calm down, they seem renewed, even as the leaves and the grass start to die and the days get shorter.

It’s my favorite time of year for several reasons. As all the foliage dies in this colorful blaze of glory, I always think of redemption – how the death of things somehow brings the world to life and gives us something beautiful, reminds us that there is, in fact, hope. The Saturday of winter will eventually turn to the Easter Sunday of spring.

I got my heart hurt recently. It wasn’t exactly broken, but, as Mary Chapin Carpenter says, “It was just a little bruised.” This certainly wasn’t the first time this had happened, and I doubt it will be the last, but what makes it unique is that, despite all the hurt, I feel mostly okay. I don’t feel as if the world is a caving-in black mess that can never be redeemed, or that I am a loser destined to be alone and sad forever.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I was definitely tempted to deal with the whole situation by having a few hundred too many social drinks. But God got into my scratchy little heart and said, “You’re probably just going to have to feel these feelings for awhile and let the grief be okay.” So that’s what I did. I put on my long coat, and went for a lot of walks with my iPod, a lot of Rich Mullins, and Derek Webb, and Postal Service. I called friends and spent time catching up. When I felt like I wanted to be alone, I was. And I still hurt, a lot at times, but I feel as if I’m living through it by watching the leaves change.

Then, I went to a wedding.

Ah, but this wasn’t just any wedding. It was the event I’ve been looking forward to all summer, since my best friend from college, Tish, called to say that she was engaged to another of my dear friends, Jonathan. They’d been dating since just before we graduated, and even though I’d seen them together only a couple of times since then, I was remarkably excited, because I love them both so much. And they loved me, and appointed me an usher.

The week before the wedding, I called Tish to see about wedding preparations. “I’m afraid I’m turning into Bridezilla,” she said. I told her I’d take off early and come down to Austin to help.

It was great, but also selfish, because I wanted some one-on-one Tish time before Jonathan arrived, before the guests started flooding in, before her eyes glazed over and she could see nothing but wedding. Also, I like helping people I love. Maybe it comes from having grown up a nervous kid, who secretly believed that if the house was spotless by the time his parents got home, everyone would have a good night and be Okay. But, my neuroses aside, I wanted to be there, so I took off for Texas.

As a concept, I don’t entirely get Texas. My brother lives there, and a disproportionate number of my friends grew up there, and they like to remind me that Oklahoma is “Texas’ big back yard,” while I keep telling them, “And the football team in your backyard has beaten you five years running.” It’s a fun little rivalry. But also, I don’t really get it. I don’t get the swelling of pride about one’s state, the feeling that the United States is lucky to have Texas as part of its republic.

But okay, I went. I arrived on the same day as the maid of honor, Katie, and she and I put ourselves in the Bride’s Secret Service, folding programs, telling stories, critiquing wedding gifts and plans. The wedding ceremony would be on the banks of the San Marcos River, which ran through Tish’s parents’ land.

Somewhere in the midst of it all, my heart began to hurt again. The recent trauma seemed to poke its head out like a turtle, and look around, then to cry out for some attention. And here I was, in the midst of wedding, of all this love, and I started to feel the tiniest bit out of place, like maybe a person as damaged and crazy as me shouldn’t be here, for his toxicity might get all over everything.

So, I went to Wal-Mart in San Marcos and bought a pound bag of M&Ms and a couple magazines, and I ate the entire bag, and I flipped mindlessly through GQ. I had hoped the whole endeavor would take my mind off my rotten little feelings, but it didn’t. Between the candy and the magazine ads, I felt just as sad as before, and a bit fatter. I began to wonder if I’d packed jeans from the eighth grade.

Also, like any single person at any wedding, I was feeling the merest bit of envy. But some of the best advice I’ve ever had was that I should remember that envy is a secondary emotion, born out of feelings of inadequacy and loneliness in oneself. So, after I threw out the M&Ms and put away the magazines, I began to think about this envy. How could I be feeling so rotten in one part of me when the other part was screaming out of joy for Jonathan and Tish?

I was – and still am – immeasurably happy for Tish and Jonathan, not only because they found each other, but also because they found each other, because they are two of the people I love the most on this little blue marble, and, selfishly, it saves me the trouble of having to make friends with anyone else, like you have to do when your friends marry strangers. But also, I’m sad for me, because I am so bad at taking care of myself, and even worse at believing that God is going to take care of me, and at not secretly believing that there is a finite supply of love in the world, and I’ve missed out on any chance of getting at my share. But, like Derek Webb said, “Maybe I missed the nose right on my face for what’s just past it.”

I realized I was going to miss it all if I let this all take me over. I went outside and breathed in the fresh air, and said, “Okay, Jesus, I think we need to pull out the big guns on this one. I need a serious miracle.”

So I threw myself into helping. I figure, when God wants a miracle to happen, He puts us here to help put it together, and weddings are miracles, but they come marked “Some Assembly Required.” Here two people come together to declare their love, to become one in the flesh, and in some kind of way to mirror the love of Christ for His church. And yet, they also involve guests, and bouquets, and programs, and a lot of trips to the airport, and gift bags…

So I threw myself in, thinking hey, maybe there’s a bit of miracle in here for me too. And you know what? There was. God had some serious cards up His sleeve.

First, there was the fact that I was appointed “Airport Taxi.” Since most of our friends don’t live anywhere near Texas, and many weren’t renting cars, I said I would be glad to pick up anyone who needed a ride. And thus, I got to spend a lot of time driving around with people I haven’t seen in years, but who still love me fiercely and uniquely. The airport was a 45 minute drive with no traffic, and we got to catch up, and laugh, and trade new jokes.

The best of these rides was with Greg, who officiated the wedding, and had been our college minister. He and I hadn’t had a chance to speak since I left North Carolina, and I’d greatly missed him, because he’s given me some of the best spiritual guidance I’ve ever had. He’s listened to me whine, and gripe, and ask myself questions. We caught up, and I began to feel less crazy than I have in a long time.

I drove several different friends in to Austin to see Sixth Street, which is a kind of hip, touristy area near the University of Texas. We shopped for music, and Vespas (don’t ask), and health food. It seemed every minute, God was looking out for me, saying, “You don’t get to be alone in your stuff, no matter how badly you think you want to be. Here are some people who will always listen, who will always love you.”

Ohhh, right. Duh.

At the rehearsal dinner, all the wedding guests were given an open mic to toast the couple, and we got a little more champagne than we maybe should’ve, because so many people love them and had wonderful things to say. I told the story of how Jonathan first told me he liked Tish, in his very intense, very punkish way: “I LIKE TISH SO MUCH! AAAHHHH!” And I knew, in that moment, that I would love for him to date her. And I told of a time when Tish and I had traipsed around London together, and seen the worst in one another, and how she said, “I am not the woman I want to be.” I told her that maybe, today, she was getting there.

Then, of course, my friend Cameron blew it all away by telling a story of Tish puking in the woods, which was hilarious. Then, very seriously, he looked at the couple and said, “We’ve all heard a million times that our goodness can be dangerous for us, because we can look to our goodness – rather than God – to save us. But when I look at you two, I don’t see goodness. I see greatness.”

Then, on the morning of the wedding, it started to rain. The guests had all arrived, we’d run the rehearsal, and it started raining, and getting cold. And every time we thought it might be clearing up, it seemed to rain that much harder. Bride and groom were devastated, as their site by the river had been gorgeous.

Jonathan pulled me into his hotel room to pray, and I said, “God, thanks for water. We realize it’s often a symbol of your Spirit, and even though we don’t get to have the wedding where we want, thanks for so much of your Spirit around everywhere.” Not that original, I grant you, but here it was. What we expect, and what we need, translate into very different languages.

So we had the wedding in a beautiful church in San Marcos, and there was not a dry eye among those of us who have known and loved these two people for so long that we can’t remember what it is like not to love them. At the reception, I said to Katie, “I can’t believe they’ve come this far. We’ve all come so far. We’ve all struggled, and fought, and it’s so crazy to think that we’re here now. It’s like we’re completely different people than we were when we all met. It just feels like we’ve walked a billion miles.”

She nodded, and we both had tears in our eyes because we’d worked so hard all weekend, and because two of the people we love the most got married, and because of all the miracle that seemed to have happened. Maybe not one of those bright, shiny miracles; more like the kind of miracle that comes wrapped in a paper bag and is exactly what you need.

We took Polaroids of all the guests as they entered the reception, and I wrote on the back of mine, “I. Love. You.” The band played, the couple danced and took pictures with their friends, who gathered over bottles of Shiner Bock to laugh and toast, and that night, I learned to love Texas, just a little, tiny bit.

Later, when I got home, and was living with my hurt again, and wondering if I wouldn’t feel better if I could just stuff an entire pizza down my throat, I got out the bubbles they’d given us to blow at the couple as they left the reception. I went out in the backyard in my favorite coat, and the breeze was chilly, and the sun was out, and I started blowing bubbles, and they floated up into the air, and hung there, shining, catching the sun’s rays and turning them a million colors. The kitty came outside to see what I was doing, and when she saw the bubbles, she stared in amazement, chasing them down in wonder like they were God’s own angels, sent to lead her home.

Comments? E-mail Nathan or discuss this column on our message boards.