As a single person, I used to struggle with terrible, chronic loneliness…

At the time, no one would have guessed this to be the case. I’ve done an excellent job over the years at expanding my network, investing in relationships, and building community. If anyone were to be lonely, most people probably wouldn’t say it would be me. But alas, I was indeed desperately lonely.

I would occasionally have a weekend or even one night with nothing planned. If I couldn’t find someone available for a last-minute hangout, my heart would ache. In fact, even going home (where I was to sleep alone) after a social outing would cause me pain most evenings. I often complained about this situation to my inner circle.

This morning, a verse from Isaiah caught and held my attention; it’s 53:2b, which is:

“He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.”

I launched into a meditation on it, contemplating how Jesus in his original human manifestation would not appeal to our (my) vanity.  It’s saying that Jesus was (or would be, as it is prophetic) no Joseph, David, or Absalom, men noted in the scriptures for their pleasant physical appearances. Jesus was no “matinee idol,” able to melt our hearts and attract us to follow him by his looks alone. For me and probably a host of others, this is a refreshing observation.

Grace is a huge New Testament concept, and at root it’s about us being God’s favorites. St. John said he was the disciple Jesus loved. But I’ll bet Peter thought he was. And Mary Magdalene thought she was. And Mary of Bethany. And Jairus’s little girl.

My logical mind jumps in, though: we can’t all be Jesus’s favorite. 

It’s not logical, but it makes perfect heart-sense. Which of my kids is my favorite? That’s like asking which I like better: fresh-squeezed lemonade, homemade penuche frosting, or fresh salmon grilled on a cedar plank over an open fire. They’re each sui generis, unique, in a class of their own. And each one is my absolute favorite. 

Jesus has explored you and knows you–the secret hope, the lurking anxiety, your childhood, your DNA–because he’s crazy about you.

New beginnings are often framed as exciting, fresh starts, clean slates, optimism. January invites us to believe that hope should come easily, that forward motion should feel energizing. But when I think about new beginnings, I don’t always think about excitement. I also think about loss.

For me, January is less about rushing forward and more about looking back. It’s a time of holding what has been, the beauty alongside the pain, love alongside sorrow, and gratitude alongside grief. That holding involves tension, and at times, it can feel overwhelming.

Somewhere, in a transcendent reality, we are presently seated in the heavenly places at Christ’s side in proximity of the Father.   This is a profound mystery, but I believe I must take it somehow literally as well as allegorically. Close your eyes and consider the glorious reality of being seated, perfected in holiness, in brilliant glory next to Jesus,  essentially your twin in this context. (1 John 3:2) Then believe this is true, right now. How does that impact our self-perception? Would only I could more consistently live up to that quintessential reality—that I am somehow, somewhere, already perfected in Christ!

“There’s a grief that can’t be spoken.
There’s a pain goes on and on.
Empty chairs and empty tables
Now my friends are dead and gone.”

Those Les Misérables lyrics continue to haunt me and Side B elders. As December 1st approaches, most people in our community remain unaware of World AIDS Awareness Day. Perhaps, in some ways, that’s a mercy.

Flash back to New Year’s Eve, 1979. I was on the exclusive parquet dance floor of New York’s legendary Studio 54[…] In that electric moment, it felt as if we were living the promise of Fame: we would live forever, and we would all be stars. 

The reality though was stark: none of us were ready for the ’80s. With the arrival of one unnamed disease, the dream of living forever dissolved into something unreachable. Hope gave way to despair as fear of the unknown—and the very real possibility of dying in your twenties—cast a long shadow over our community.

The new decade ushered in an era of fear and paranoia.

I was shocked and heartbroken to realize that these were only a few of the lives lost that year, and that violence against LGBTQ+ people, and particularly against transgender people, was far more common than I had considered. This is the reality that makes a day like Transgender Day of Remembrance tragically necessary. Today, we honor the memory of transgender people whose lives are lost each year due to acts of hatred and violence. As a cisgender man, I write today to lament alongside my Trans and gender minority siblings, and to offer our community some spiritual reflections alongside our communal lament.

Dear Friends,

Revoice was created with a beautiful dream: to be a space where every person could experience the life-giving truths that they are fearfully and wonderfully made and that they have a place of unshakable belonging in God’s family. Yet we must also confess that we have not always exemplified these convictions for our gender minority siblings.