On Love (Part 5): Love is self-transcendent

Love is not selfish.

There’s this philosophical argument going around that suggests the non-existence of the “selfless deed.”

First time I ever heard of this was during an episode of Friends.

(quick side note)

I love Friends. I have seen every single episode multiple times. I used to leave a disc in my DVD player at all times...just to play in the background of whatever I was doing. As a result, I quote the show extensively. To this day, if someone utters the word “unisex,” within earshot of me, it is a 100% absolute certainty that the next words out of my mouth will be, “maybe YOU need sex. I just had some.”

Most of the time, I just get weird looks. Other times, like when I’m standing in a church, I get REALLY weird looks, and I am extra-quick to throw in -- “You guys don’t watch Friends, do you?”

So, pardon me while I quote Friends for a bit. I fully realize how annoying this can be...

(end side note)

The episode I’m referring to is “The One Where Phoebe Hates PBS”

Toward the beginning of the episode Joey agrees to co-host a PBS telethon. Phoebe informs everybody that she hates PBS because she wrote to Sesame Street after her mom killed herself, looking for some emotional support, and all she got back was a key chain. Joey says he just wanted to do a good deed for PBS. Phoebe tells Joey that he’s just looking for TV exposure, so his “good deed” is really selfish.

Joey then provides me (Austin) with the thesis for this chapter -- that all good deeds are truly selfish because they make the person doing them feel good.

Phoebe disagrees and vows to find a selfless good deed and prove Joey wrong.

So, first Phoebe tries all the normal stuff: giving money to the homeless, donating to charities, helping people with normal needs. But quickly she realizes that this will not cut it: each is motivated by her need to feel good about herself rather than the need to actually help these people.

So she attempts to find something that will bring her pain while helping another. Her first attempt is allowing a bee to sting her. She explains that while it hurt her, the bee gets to look cool and macho in front of all his bee-friends.

Joey tells Phoebe that the bee probably died after stinging her -- totally deflating her excitement.

Phoebe’s next attempt is donating money to PBS. Her logic is that she still hates PBS, so she gets no pleasure out of it, but she knows that “they bring happiness to lots of kids whose moms didn’t kill themselves”, so she does a good thing, but isn’t happy about it. She is totally sure that she has found her selfless good dead, until the host announces that Phoebe’s pledge put them over the edge to surpass the previous year’s pledge total. This gets Joey a lot of TV exposure, and now Phoebe feels good because her pledge got Joey on TV...again deflating her excitement...finally closing the book on the argument.

Yikes, I have to admit that, in writing down the plot of the show rather than forcing you to watch it, I have totally destroyed the comedy. Sorry...to you and the cast, crew and writers of Friends. (It’s a great show. I promise. Very funny.)

Anyway, all this pokes fun at an absolutely valid, unquestionably real psychological dilemma. Even if Joey hadn’t gotten the television exposure, she still would have been totally self-serving in the nature of her donation. Any psychologist worth his or her salt would tell you that Phoebe’s actions were motivated not by a selfless desire to help children, but a selfish desire to prove Joey wrong. She wanted to win the argument.

You give a dollar to the poor. Why?

1. To make him stop bugging you?
2. Because you will feel guilty otherwise?
3. Because it will make you feel like you are a good, generous person?

All three -- selfish motivations.

Now, you’re going to argue with me -- “That’s not selfish! Compare the selfishness of giving to the poor with the selfishness of walking directly past that poor person and buying something expensive.”

“How can you call a person who goes to Africa to feed hungry children selfish? That’s ridiculous! It’s the person who sits at home and watches TV, ignoring those children, that is selfish.”

Wrong. They are both selfish -- just to varying degrees.

We would call one selfish and the other selfless because selfishness so pervades our realities that we cannot even fathom people who are entirely selfless.

So what’s the point in striving to be something impossible to achieve?

Our Messiah himself, in Matthew 5 says:

“You have heard that it was said to the people long ago, ‘Do not murder, and anyone who murders will be subject to judgment.’ But I tell you that anyone who is angry with his brother will be subject to judgment”

“You have heard that it was said, ‘Do not commit adultery.’ But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart.”

“It has been said, ‘Anyone who divorces his wife must give her a certificate of divorce.’ But I tell you that anyone who divorces his wife, except for marital unfaithfulness causes her to become an adulteress.”

“Again, you have heard that it was said to the people long ago, ‘Do not break your oath, but keep the oaths you have made to the Lord.’ But I tell you...simply let your ‘yes’ be ‘yes’ and your ‘no’, ‘no.’

“You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.”

One after another he says: “This is the law. This is what you’ve heard. This is what you know. If you can manage to accomplish these things, GREAT. But don’t pat yourself on the back so quick. I demand a higher standard.”

And I want to make a note here...he LOVES you regardless. Whether you are an epic screw up who can’t manage to keep a single commandment, or you’re the pope, he LOVES you, and ultimately it doesn’t matter which one you are in his eyes. But, I think he wants us to be aware that we should never sit down and feel like we’ve arrived.

Sure, based on society’s definition of love, we love plenty. God demands that we love MORE. And Paul says that love is not selfish. He doesn’t say “Love is only a little selfish.” He says it’s not flippin selfish, dude!

If even our most selfless deeds are purely self-centered then how the hell are we supposed to feed all those starving kids in Africa?

Self-Transcendence

Ever heard of it?

Kinda sounds sketchy, huh? Like some tenet of one of those crazy Eastern religions? Well, it’s not. It’s a psychology term.

I learned about it briefly in High School Psychology. (Not College Psychology...upon realizing that Mr. O’Brien had taught me pretty much everything I was actually interested in learning about human psychology, I quickly dropped my Psych minor.) Granted, I want to point out that Self-Transcendence IS ONLY A THEORY...and at that, the idea was suggested by a man shortly before his own death. However, it is an extremely interesting theory, and I believe it warrants significant attention from those of us who have the gall to name ourselves “Little Christs.”

I apologize. I’m about to get a teensy bit boring. To understand Self-Transcendence, you really need to understand Self-Actualization -- and to understand that, you kinda have to understand Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. So, let’s start with the hierarchy:

In 1943, Abraham Maslow published this paper that was (in my opinion) pretty revolutionary. He basically wrote the psychological blueprints on how to be a successful (and happy) human being. While most psychologists of his time were focusing on abnormal psychology and what was going WRONG, Maslow decided to focus on the cream of the crop and figure out what went right (this is called humanistic psychology for anyone who cares)...and what he discovered was a hierarchy of needs.

The overview is that there are stages of needs. As you develop (over the course of your life) you must take care of certain needs. If one need is left unfulfilled, you CANNOT move on to the next need. I’ll explain more after the examples.

First, there are the physiological needs -- things like food, water, oxygen. You need these things. If you don’t have them, you tend to freak out. When you are a baby, if you are hungry, you don’t care about anything else except getting food. If you are starving to death in Nigeria, you tend to be pretty focused on getting food. If someone is strangling you, your biggest concern is getting oxygen into your lungs. Get it?

The second tier is safety. Maslow suggests that people need ‘security of body’ next. People need things like shelter and good health. It is a requirement. Now, it’s not as important as the physiological needs. Does that make sense? If you’re starving to death, you’re more concerned with getting food than getting a roof over your head. If you are literally on the verge of dying of thirst, you will probably forgo health concerns and drink the polluted water.

Third level -- Love/Belonging. Love is an actual need. Did you hear that? When you hate people, or you deny love to those close to you, you are refusing them a basic psychological requirement. Again, we begin worrying about this need AFTER we have oxygen, food, water, shelter, good health. But people DO have to feel like they are loved or belong in order to move on to worry about the next level of needs.

The fourth level, according to Maslow is esteem. Are you starting to see the process? Once you’ve met the needs of one level, you are free to move on to the next. This particular level includes a sense of accomplishment, gaining the respect of others, and having confidence in oneself. Is it any surprise that so many high school teenagers have zero self-confidence? The parents are totally confused when their children bring home horrible grades and seem to take absolutely no pride in their own work. These kids don’t feel loved! Maybe their parents neglect them. Maybe the ridicule and skepticism they are constantly faced with at school leave them feeling dejected and rejected.

The bigger point is that once a person has their physiological, safety, love/belonging, and esteem based needs met, they are free to (potentially) move on to the final level of needs: Self-Actualization.

Maslow paraphrases himself to the self-actualization needs “the desire to become more and more what one is, to become everything that one is capable of becoming.” Some key traits found in people who have reached the self-actualization level of motivation are:

They embrace reality and facts rather than denying truth.

They are spontaneous.

They are interested in solving problems.

They are accepting of themselves and others and lack prejudice.

(Again, I want to apologize for having suuuuuuch a long setup. I am getting to the point.)

Maslow (or maybe it was someone after him) suggested that only about 12% of people are self-actualized. He believed that most people were stuck on the love/belonging or esteem levels.

Self-Actualization, then, was seen as the pinnacle of needs. Again, Maslow was studying the cream of the crop -- people like Albert Einstein, Jane Addams, Eleanor Roosevelt, Frederick Dougalss. He found these people to be self-actualized, and that is what allowed them to become the kind of people they were and accomplish the types of things they accomplished. These people were no longer ruled by the need to eat, drink, be loved, or be respected. They were now driven by the need to be the best version of themselves.

“Okay, Austin, this is great and all...very enlightening, but what does this have to do with not being selfish?”

Well, I’m glad you asked.

Toward the end of his life, Maslow discovered one more level -- Self-Transcendence. He estimated that an extremely small percentage of people would ever achieve this in their lifetimes. My guess is that he didn’t discover it until later because so few people reached this level that he simply hadn’t observed it.

Once a person has their self-actualization needs fulfilled, they are free to (potentially) move on to the final level. In this level, the person stops seeing their own needs as being their own personal needs, but begins seeing...the bigger picture...you might say. No more, “I need this, I need that.” They begin thinking in terms of “the human race needs this, the human race needs that.” They become extremely concerned with meeting the basic needs of those around them -- as many as possible. The goal of a self-transcended person seems to be to bring the entire world up to a level of self-transcendence.

And holy crap! Can you imagine living in that world? Where everyone stops being selfish and sees themselves as just one piece of the puzzle? One cog in the machine? One organ in “the body”?

hmmm...

Maslow uses a lot of allusions within his paper to help his readers understand what kind of people he was talking about -- poets, mystics, prophets, saints...

hmmm...

I can name at least one person I think was self-transcendent. He lived a little over two-thousand years ago.

There’ve probably been a few since then...after all -- Maslow makes no assumption that self-actualized people are “without sin.” They just have maybe got that one little thing figured out. Not love -- not all of it -- but one tiny little section of love...the not being selfish part.

There IS such a thing as a purely unselfish deed, but you and I (most of us) are not even capable of doing such a thing.

Here’s the problem. The way Maslow’s hierarchy works, you are fully dependent on other people to meet your needs all the way up to self-actualization. So, should we (under the false premise of being in the best interest of those around us) work on become self-actualized? Or perhaps, we can practice the best form of selflessness that we are capable of and read up on this Maslow guy.

*I HIGHLY recommend ‘A Theory of Human Motivation’ and ‘Theory Z’...like seriously*

Take care of the needs of those around you.

Feed the hungry.

Clothe the naked.

Love the unloved.

Respect the unrespected.

Encourage spontaneity, creativity, tolerance and the other tenets of self-actualization. Look at the people around you, and meet their needs so that THEY are free to become self-transcendent.

As C.S. Lewis famously said:

“Do not waste time bothering whether you “love” your neighbor; act as if you did." As soon as we do this we find one of the great secrets. When you are behaving as if you loved someone, you will presently come to love him.”

Who knows...if you act like your self-transcendent for long enough, maybe you’ll actually self-transcend.

On Love: The First Intermission

I have never loved anyone in my entire life.

As I've been studying Paul's writings on what love is, and as I've only begun to scratch the surface of what it means to really love, I already realize how miserably short I have fallen.

If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and knowledge, and if I have the faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all that I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.

This is what Paul says before he starts talking about what love is.

I am a resounding gong. I am a clanging cymbal. I am nothing. I gain nothing.

I can talk to you all day about what it means to love, but I fall short; I am nothing; I gain nothing.

I am a writer, I have been writing for years...I understand the rules of writing. I have an extensive vocabulary. I know how to put words to my thoughts better than most people. I am also an actor, and after years of training and experience from some of the best directors and acting coaches and theatres in the country, I am fluent in body language and subtext. What I'm saying is: I excel at something most people find extremely difficulty -- translating ideas from vague concepts which dance through the minds of visionaries into a language that suits the every day Joe -- and often, I know exactly how to tell Joe this message in a way so that he not only gets it...he fully agrees with it.

I am only contributing to the noise.

I learned at a young age that I have an extremely high IQ. My mother told me this often growing up. Things that seem totally unambiguous to me are fully invisible to those many of those around me. Often, I am baffled by this. Sometimes, (in fact, most of the time) I think that smart people are better than "stupid" people. I look down on almost everyone around me. Stupid. Dumb. Ignorant. Naive. I "get" it. I can fathom a whole heck of a lot of the mysteries and I've got an exceptional amount of knowledge. You don't...therefore, I must be better than you are.

Paul makes it clear: I am nothing.

I was born with a genetic disorder. I could die at any moment. Literally. I may die before the end of the year. I may die tomorrow. I may die before I finish this sentence. As you could imagine, this is a pretty shocking thing to discover and come to grips with. Not to fret, there is always a silver lining. I am no longer afraid of death. My disorder puts the gift of life into perspective and demonstrates clearly that my life has a purpose and will end no sooner and no later than God desires. I would happily give my life for any of my friends or family. I would happily give my life for a stranger. I would happily give my life for any one of those "stupid" people I look down on. I would happily give my life for any of the people in my life who have hurt me the most.

Unfortunately, I would gain nothing.

So here I am, pretending I have something to say. If my words fail to impress, know that it is because I am vomiting them up and littering them across the highway. If you find them helpful, good luck to you, and I hope you are more successful in loving others than I am.

The truth is, I owe you an apology. You -- whoever is reading this. I owe you an apology for not loving you.

The sad thing is, I have a point in all of this. I'm looking to correct your behavior -- as annoying as that is. But if I tried to tell you to correct your behavior without admitting that I am screwing up in the EXACT SAME WAY...well...I'd be a hypocrite.

We so-called "Christians" have an awful reputation. (and I say we because I am one of you, and I too am contributing to the problem). We gripe and complain about how "the world" thinks we're terrible. We piss and moan about the unfair way Christians are portrayed in Hollywood. We wonder -- we actually have the gall to WONDER -- why they hate us so much.

We are resounding gongs. We are clanging cymbals. We are nothing. We gain nothing.

Sure, we see the problems in the world! We understand the impact of the sinful lives of the non-Christians around us. We see (often times they do not) the repercussions they will face as a result of those sins. Fine, great! So far so good. So we tell them. Awesome! We even do our best to tell them in a kind, loving, gentle way -- not shoving their sins in their face -- merely inviting them to take part in something better. So why don't they listen? Why do they hate us?

You can paint "I love you" on the side of a cymbal. It will still make the same amount of noise.

Take everything I have to say about love with a grain of salt. I am only a sinner. I have never loved another human being the way God has asked me to; I am inexperienced on the subject. If anything I have to say helps you love the people around you a teensy bit more: great. If you find me gong-ish or clanging cymbal-y, then stop reading. I apologize to you, whichever camp you fall into.

Because I don't love you. I wish I did. I do not, and I never have.

...but I am trying. And I'm learning that I need to try harder, and I'm hoping something I have to say helps you try harder too.

On Love (Part 4): Love is not Rude

(I would like to forewarn anyone who is reading this...it is poorly written. I intend to rewrite this and clarify my points, but I think the basic idea is solid, and I wanted to make sure to get my thoughts out there.)

So, I've got to admit...I didn't do my research on this one until three seconds ago. I'll explain:

The Message translates this part of the passage as "Love does not force itself on others." And I had this whole big thing planned to write about all the opinions I have on that concept.

So then, for the sake of the title, I went to check what some of the older translations have to say.

"Love is not rude."

And honestly, I have to curse a little bit, because I have this teensy little feeling that Peterson took some liberties in that translation. I do have one saving grace, however, and that is the dictionary, and my hope that rude maybe has an entirely different definition than I originally thought.

Okay, so Dictionary.com has a few different options for rude. I think, without question, though, my favorite is: "without artistic elegance." I like the way it is phrased. artistic elegance. You can almost imagine artistic elegance as having a physical form. And that physical form is the least rude thing imaginable.

Rough.

Harsh.

Ungentle.

These are things that love is not. Love has artistic elegance.

And suddenly... I am writing about something entirely different than I set out to write about.

Everybody’s seen “The Lord of the Rings,” I’m assuming. At this point, if you don’t know who Frodo Baggins is, you probably also aren’t quite sure who Luke Skywalker’s father is.

(Now, my pride kicks in, and I feel the need to tell you that using illustrations from “The Lord of the Rings” doesn’t make me some fantasy geek who played Magic: the Gathering at lunch in high school. Because, in truth...I look down on those people, and I don’t want you to look down on me the way I look down on them. This is wrong. I am aware that it is wrong. And yet, I still don’t want to be associated with “those people.”)

So there’s this ring. It gives you power. But it makes you evil.

That power will overcome you, eventually. That hunger to make people do what you say.

There’s this dilemma:

This world has so many problems. And we want -- all of us -- legitimately want to do something to fix those problems. Yet, we realize that we are totally insignificant. I cannot change anything on my own.

But if only people listened to me.

If only I was influential.

If only I had power.

But I forget that the ring also makes me evil.

Love is not rude. It’s not. It’s just not. Trust me, on that. Love isn’t rude. Love is artistically elegant.

There’s this new concept in America that EVERYBODY knows. It’s called the Moral Majority.

It’s taken us thousands of years. But we “Christians” have finally realized that we have power. Great power. Power to make people live the way we want them to live. Power to stop people from sinning.

Well, almost that much power. We’ve rallied together and we’re able to accomplish some...but not nearly enough. We need more power. We need greater numbers. Then we can make people stop sinning!

Yet, people still have the gall to oppose us! All we’re trying to do is protect them! All we’re trying to do is save them from themselves! So we try to explain to them why we’re doing what we’re doing.

And they say “Stop! I don’t want your help!”

So we get louder. We talk over top of them. We drown them out in our many many voices.

...

but they’re not even listening because we’re being rude.

And they will never again listen to anything a so-called “Christian” has to say.

America throws around it’s power a lot.

If there’s a country that has horrible human rights violations, usually, the first thing America does is effect an embargo on that country....and so the country gets pretty poor pretty quickly.

And boy do they hate us.

Or, maybe in other circumstances, we don’t put an embargo on them. But usually, in some form or fashion, we try to use our “great power” to force people to change.

Let me let you all in on a little secret. People don’t like it when you force them to do something. EVEN IF IT’S FOR THEIR OWN GOOD!

Parents: correct me if I’m wrong.

When you try to force someone to do something nine times out of ten, if not ten times out of ten, they will do it just to spite you.

Because it’s rude. I’m starting to think that Peterson wasn’t so far off when he translated “Love is not rude” to “Love does not force itself on others.” Because what is more rough, harsh, and ungentle than forcing someone to do something.

Sex is a beautiful thing. I don’t think there’s anybody out there who would say otherwise. It’s often called “making love” and has been many times referred to as, in a way, the ultimate expression of love, or the physical manifestation of love. I think artistically elegant would honestly be an excellent description of sex.

When you force someone to have sex...

...we don’t even really call that sex anymore do we? It’s interesting, the physical manifestation of love...when it’s forced upon someone. When it becomes rude: (rough, harsh, ungentle)...it ceases to be ANY kind of manifestation of love. It becomes one of the purest expressions of hate.

This passage could easily be translated “Love does not rape.”

So let’s look at America again.

Let’s imagine something, shall we? Imagine we ended the embargo on Cuba. Imagine we just apologized. Imagine instead of forcing their country into poverty and, in some cases, starvation, we just threw money at them. We didn’t tell them how to use it. We just gave to them. And not just money. What if we sent over food, doctors, workers to make their country a better place. What if we loved them.

Now, I can already hear the voices of a thousand Southern Baptists explaining to me that we have to be careful as Christians to be clear that we do not condone that sort of behavior, and if we help people who do evil things, we seem to be in support of their evil ways.

Wow...then I guess Jesus must really have been condoning the behavior of all those sinners.

Cause really, honestly, seriously -- ask yourself this question. Why am I worried that people will think I’m condoning this sinful behavior?

Is it because (like me with the fantasy geeks) in truth...you look down on those sinners, and you don’t want other people to look down on you the way you look down on the sinners?

Well, guess what...this is wrong. And it’s rude.

Don’t seek after power. It’s a slippery slope. You can never have enough power. And even if you did, power isn’t love. Power can never, never, never replace love.

Because love is artistically elegant.

I really like that phrase...I’m going to have to start using it.

Two Friends (Part 1): Steve

I have these two friends.

I've been sitting here trying to figure out the best way to introduce them; I want to segue into who they are and why I'm telling you about them.

I think the best way to do that is to just tell you that I think I'm a better person for knowing them. And I think that you would be a better person if you knew these two guys.

So let's get to know them.

STEVE:

After I got back from California, I was pretty miserable...I felt like a failure and I felt tired. My girlfriend came up to visit once a week, and other than that, I had extremely little human contact -- on purpose. I didn’t even tell most of my friends that I had moved back. I was ashamed, for various reason, and I parked that shame in front of my brother’s computer allowed myself to become addicted to a drug that will mess you up worse than heroin...World of Warcraft.

I escaped my pain; I didn’t have to face reality. And so I helped myself slip into a coma for the next eight months or so.

And forgive me, I’m skipping through a lot of the details, because they’re not important -- not for this story. This story is about Steve, I’m just providing a little background detail.

So, I cleaned up, and I decided I kind of needed a job. As chance would have it, a friend of mine called me to let me know that this restaurant was opening up over by South Park, and she was a friend of somebody and could therefore practically guarantee me a job.

So, that turned out to be a lie. But I went to the interview anyway.

I’d been waiting tables for a few years by this point, and I was pretty confident in my abilities as a server.

I got hired as a food runner. And, while it’s not the same as waiting the tables yourself, this was a pretty ritzy place...the average check, per person, was 95 bucks. I should make bank, even as a food runner.

But then, this is me we’re talking about. My world famous ego and I decided that food-running was not acceptable. I needed dinero, and I was far too good to be a lowly food runner. So, I busted my ass, studied twice as hard for every test, and lived and breathed steak, wine, and crab cakes for a few weeks.

Before the place even opened it’s door for the first time, the manager decided he wanted to bump me up to being a full fledged server.

Sweet, but unfortunately, this meant that I had about three days before opening night to learn every detail of every...well, everything. The food runners didn’t have to learn nearly as much as the servers...and now I had three days to learn what they had spend three weeks learning. Furthermore, I was leaving my tight-knit group of food-runners and joining the (much larger) group of servers. I didn’t know anybody.

I’m gonna stop here and give you a little intermission of sort, again, setting the stage. I hated Del Frisco’s. It was truly the most miserable, horrifying job I have ever held. I did not work there long after the doors opened. I cried, and I have NEVER cried at work, ever...EVER...I cry like once or twice a year, if that... I cannot stress to you clearly enough how much I hated that place.

Also -- I can tell you as a fact that God brought me to that place. And not for the benefit of others, either...for the benefit of me. I met two people there who have had profound, PROFOUND effects on my life. These two people changed my life. They are lifelong friends, life-long brothers. Each of them has totally changed my entire perspective on life and God and who I am in this great big world. One of them is The Jason, and one of them is Steve.

And I met Steve first.

I walked into Del Frisco’s that morning, no longer a food-runner -- I had a vest now -- I was a server. Steve and a few others, I think Kat and Mark were hanging around the entrance smoking, and asked me about the vest. I explained that I was a server now. Steve and Kat asked me if I wanted to grab some coffee real quick before we went in for training. I politely declined...Steve, was either smart enough to realize that I said no because I was broke, or else he was just that annoying and refused to take no for an answer.

“No way! Come on, I’ll pay, what do you want?”

So I went.

I got a caramel frapp -- small...whatever a small is at Starbucks...Large? I don’t remember.

Steve ordered for me...he got me a large...whatever a large is at Starbucks...Venti, I think.

We all chatted for a minute. Steve and Kat gaggled about how hot the guy behind the counter was and argued over whether or not he was straight.

(Oh, yeah, by the way, Steve is gay. And not one of those nice, normal gay guys that you can’t really tell which way they go...he was a rip-roaring fag, no question. You didn’t even have to look at him, you didn’t even have to listen to him...you could just feel the gayness when he walked into the room)

So, this might be a good time to describe Steve physically. He’s a little guy...probably 5’9” or so...really skinny, bald...and not in the cool-shaved my head sort of way... He’s about 30 at the time, but looks more like a 25 year old who’s had a rough life than a youthful 30 year old. His teeth are crooked, and if you wait long enough, he will eventually slow down...and when that happens, you’ll realize that he’s terrified.

So, the next day, I walk into Del Frisco’s.

“Oh my gawsh, Awstin!”

It’s Steve (I mean...the story is about him)

“Have you been working out? You are in good shape! You are a hottie! I had no idea!”

I look down, I’m wearing my undershirt and carrying my tuxedo shirt, so the shape of my upper body shows a little better today than usual. I had not, however, been working out. Nor am I in good shape. Nor am I at hottie. I am 6’2” and skinny as hell.

“You wanna get some coffee? My treat.”

“Okay.”

So again, Steve buys me a Venti Caramel frappuchino. Kat tags along again to gawk at the guy behind the counter.

In the first few days, I get to know Steve and Kat the best, mostly because of ritual Starbucks and cigarette before work every day.

After a few days, though, I met the Jason, and we hit it off pretty quick.

Pretty soon, Steve, the Jason and I were the three amigos. We tried to get ourselves into sections close to one another while working so we could help each other out. We sat together and goofed off during our one allotted meal. We were buddies. The tall, lanky, goofy guy (me); the lovable flamer (Steve); and the Jason, is (I’d imagine) what you’d get if you took the manic half of a manic-depressive and mixed it half and half with an ostrich or something.

So one day, Steve asked me to drive him home. Somebody else was supposed to pick him up, but they’d bailed at the last moment, so he needed a ride home if I was heading that way.

Of course, I agreed. The guy had been buying me coffee every morning for probably a month, it was the least I could do.

And, depending on who you are reading this, you may think this is the part of the story where the “bad” thing happens. Where the lovable flamer shows his true colors and proves how screwed up all gay people are by trying something weird with me. Well, this isn’t that kind of story. And Steve was not that kind of person.

Early on, like, probably the second day I knew him, he pulled me aside, and said in that voice that’s so effeminate that you don’t know if the Long Island accent is real or just the result of his lisp --

“Hey, I doesn’t bother you when I like say you’re hot and stuff does it?”

“No,” I said.

“Okay, good. I know you’re straight. I’m just goofing around, but I wanted to make sure it didn’t make you uncomfortable or anything.”

“Nope, doesn’t bother me.”

“Good, then I’ll keep doin’ it, cause, you know, I get a kick out of it.”

I laughed.

“And I mean, you ARE a hottie. Are you sure you’re straight?”

I laughed some more.

“Mmmm...too bad.”

So I’m taking Steve to his apartment. We pull into an apartment complex, and Steve says...

“You can let me off here.”

We’re at the office building.

“Well, I can drive you to your apartment building, which one is it?

“Oh, you don’t have to do that Awstin.”

“I don’t mind. We’re already here.”

“Well...” he gets kind of a weird look, “I don’t really like for people to know where I live.”

This is a little odd to me, of course...but I roll with it, I’m not gonna press him, and he seems clearly embarrassed. I shrug.

“Okay.”

“No offense or anything. I mean, it’s not like I don’t trust you or whatever...I’m just weird about that. Nobody knows where I live.”

Several weeks later, Steve was having a really rough night and he and the Jason and I were hanging out, talking about it. We drove him home. To his house. He didn’t even live in that apartment complex. He lived several blocks away, in the ghetto. In a nasty, run down, piece of shit house. He was embarrassed that he lived there, and he didn’t want us to look down on him.

After a few months, I suppose the Jason and I had proved to Steve that we weren’t going to judge him, that we were going to love him no matter what kind of house he lived in.

And I was shocked...I didn’t truly believe that there was anyone so terrified of that sort of judging that they wouldn’t even want you to see their home from the outside. He never did let the Jason or I come inside...ever...he said it was too junky for us.

Steve was and is a loving guy. The fact that the Jason and I were extremely vocal about the fact that we were Christians never bothered Steve. In retrospect, this is pretty amazing. It honestly was never an issue -- it’s funny...that many of us Christians instantly have a tough time with people because they’re gay. It bothers us. And the fact of the matter is, whether or not you think it’s sinful -- they’re not hurting you. The gays and lesbians of the world have not declared war on you, they’ve never done one single thing to you personally...and yet, being around them bothers you. What are you really afraid of? Do you think they’re going to force a kiss on you? Grab you somewhere inappropriate? I hope you don’t really think that...but if you do...um...they’re not. However, we Christians HAVE had a terrible, terrible history of hating gay people. One of my other gay friends, when he came out of the closet to everyone else, didn’t tell me for a full year, and when he finally did, he explained that it was because I was a Christian and he thought I would hate him. He’d known me for years. He’d seen me interact with dozens of other gay people: dear, close friends...his own boyfriend was and is a great friend of mine, and had already come out to me, and I’d made it clear that I didn’t have ANY problem with that, and that I still loved him. And yet, that hate that so many people pour on the gay community in the name of Christ has put so much fear of Christianity in the hearts of gays and lesbians, that my friend was terrified.

But Steve wasn’t. Paul (the one in the Bible, not another friend of mine) says that love always trusts.

One day, we were at the bar after work with a few co-workers. Hanging out...it was a big group, we were all just kinda hopping around from one group to another...the Del Frisco employees, in our tuxedo shirts and bowties and vests, tended to take over that place every night after our own restaurant closed.

Anyway, at some point in the night, as was not uncommon, Steve and the Jason and I ended up away from the group.

“You know, you guys, you’re really great guys,” Steve said.

“Thanks,” I’m pretty sure it was the Jason who said it.

“No, I mean, I’m not a good guy. You don’t know what I’ve been through, the kind of life I’ve had.”

“What do you mean?” This time it was me.

“I’m just. I’m a terrible person, you know. And you guys...you’re really an inspiration to me. I love you guys so much.”

The Jason and I just kinda waited. Steve was a pretty emotional guy. This kind of thing wasn’t uncommon.

“I’ve never met Christians like you guys.”

“Well, most Christians are jerks, man. We’re the real deal.” (Gosh, I’m pretty sure that’s what really came out of my mouth. Seriously, if you wondered whether or not I was conceited...you have your proof.)

“I don’t think Jesus would even want me, man. I can’t even set foot in a church. Last time I tried to go, I had to get up and leave, cause I thought I was gonna catch on fire or something. I just felt weird. Like, I just did not belong there.”

I really thought this was only the sort of thing that people say in the plays you put on at church...I didn’t think anyone actually thought those sorts of things.

So we explained Jesus and forgiveness and stuff to Steve, just like you would expect. And we didn’t shove anything down his throat, and we didn’t try to convert him, and we made it very clear to him that he was our friend and that we loved him.

“No, you don’t understand what I’ve done, what I’ve been through, guys.”

And this is where I’m going to cut the story short.

Steve, my friend Steve, told his parents that he was gay his sophomore year of high school. So they bought him a one way plane ticket to Orlando, Florida. They gave him a wad of cash, and they said goodbye, and good riddance.

My friend Steve. To you, maybe, this is some guy I’m telling you a story about. This is a fag. This is some faceless guy, part of a crowd.

Jeremy Iverson, another friend of mine, says in his number one best selling book “I bet if you really enter enough viewpoints, the whole of creation makes sense. To understand all is to forgive all.”

Don’t you find yourself siding with your friends? I mean, sure, sometimes your friends are idiots and do stupid things...but isn’t it amazing how when two people break up...all the guys friends are certain that the girl is either crazy or a bitch, and all the girl’s friends are equally sure that the guy is a dickbag loser? Maybe their both right. Maybe they’re both wrong. And maybe if you strive to get to know some gay people, if you really make an effort to actively, ACTIVELY love somebody who right now is “icky” to you, maybe they won’t be so icky.

So my friend Steve, midway through high school, (at the same age I was worrying about homework and what movie to go see on Friday night) was worrying about where he would sleep at night...where was safe. He was homeless. His family made it clear that he wasn’t welcome to come home or to call. He lived on the street.

Eventually, he turned to prostitution, in order to make money, so that he could afford to eat, so that he could afford to put a roof over his head.

And my friend Steve was raped. Multiple times. Once, he was even gang raped by a group of guys who beat him nearly to death and put out their cigarettes on his bare ass after they’d raped him.

And yeah...working the street is dangerous. That sort of thing is likely to happen. He made his bed. He gets to sleep in it. Sadly, that’s absolutely the truth. You and I would have avoided getting raped, because we have morals and standards. We would starve to death before we would turn to something like prostitution. And, believe me, if we had been in Steve’s shoes...we would have starved to death.

Now, when you sleep with men for a living. And my guess is, these weren’t young, hot, high school age guys like Steve was looking for...and you are, essentially a piece of meat, it’s a pretty tough thing to deal with. Steve ended up addicted to a lot of drugs. Eventually, he moved in with a drug dealer, who made enough money that Steve was able to stop whoring himself out. And so he did that for a few years, before, in a moment of clarity, realizing that this was not good, and he needed to get out.

So he moved to Charlotte. And he saw an add for a place called Del Frisco’s.

Do you know why Steve’s parents kicked him out when he came out of the closet to them? Do you know why they bought him a one-way plane ticket to the furthest city they could think of? Can you guess? Because they were Christians.

A few days later, Steve told us that he wanted to learn more about Jesus and this Christianity thing.

About a week after that, we were riding in my car and Steve said that he thought he wanted to become a Christian himself, and wanted the Jason’s and my help, as he didn’t quite know what to do.

So, you’re probably expecting me to tell you that Steve swore off his homosexuality and found some nice girl and married her and made himself be straight or else swore himself to celibacy.

Well, at first, he thought that’s what he needed to do. The Jason and I told him not to make it about that. We told him to worry about getting close to God, and let Him sort out the rest later on.

Steve got fired a few days later. Don’t take that as a sign that he was a bad person...I told you that job was terrible. Our manager purposely hired too many servers so that he could fire the bottom half after training. Half -- let’s say he needed 50 servers...so he hired 100, and FIRED 50. He assured us that it was perfectly legal in the state of North Carolina.

Legal.

Steve struggled to find a job after that, but had a tough time. He had no car, so he had to spend bus fare just to get to job interviews. He was depressed too...Del Frisco’s had been his big chance to turn his life around, and he felt like a failure...doomed to be a drug-addicted whore forever.

He did start coming with me to church for a while.

But eventually, he realized he couldn’t stay in Charlotte any longer. He simply couldn’t afford to. His ex was calling him daily trying to convince him to move back to Florida...he would take care of all his bills.

I wish I could have afforded to take care of all of Steve’s bills for him.

Because as my friend Jeremy Iverson says “to understand all is to forgive all.” You don’t know Steve. And you can judge him all you want. You can make all the assumptions that you want. But he is a good man. And I would take a bet with every single one of you that Steve is a move loving person than most of you are. More loving than I am.

Jesus doesn’t stop loving us because of something we’ve done, does he? He doesn’t stop loving us for being a prostitute. He still loves us if we’re addicted to every drug. He even still loves us if we move back to Florida, move back in with our drug dealer ex-boyfriend even when we know better. He still love us. And he would happily pay our bills for us, even if we’re a great big ole fuck up.

I still talk to Steve fairly often. I have no idea how he’s doing as a Christian. Every time we talk, we talk about that. But that’s often not any real indicator of how a person is really doing. I don’t know if he still lives with his ex. I don’t know if he’s still gay. I don’t know if he’s back on drugs. I don’t know if he’s a male prostitute. I just don’t know.

I told a church I used to go to about Steve’s story one time, and the lead pastor said “What!?!?!?! How did you never tell me about this guy? We have to have him talk at the church!”

I said I wasn’t sure he’d be comfortable with that, but that I bet he’d let me interview him on video.

Then one of the other pastors asked me... “but is he still...gay?”

I said I didn’t know.

He leaned back in his chair.

“Hmmm...”

I brought up the idea of shooting a video with Steve again a few weeks later.

“Well...if he’s still gay...I don’t know if that’s the kind of message we want to convey.”

And maybe it’s not the story we want to convey.

It doesn’t end all happy and pretty. We don’t even know what happens to Steve.

But I just thought it would do you some good to get to know my friend Steve.

You can’t love what you don’t know. And my friend Steve needs all the love he can get.