I just attended the second Revoice conference in St. Louis. Several of my fellow authors from Your Other Brothers also attended, and we’ll have a full recap/conversation coming to our site next week. But for now, I wanted to shed some more personal thoughts on the conference and my life-on-the-road at large.
The main one being: I’m tired.
My favorite keynote from Revoice 2018 came from its president, Nate Collins. He presented on Night Two last year, a day dedicated to the theme of “lament” (the preceding day dedicated to “praise” and the following to “hope”).
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again and again: you don’t need to tell me twice to lament. If we’re lamenting today, I’m so there. I’ve probably already been there just waiting for you to join, too.
Why are we not lamenting more often as a society? As a Church? Today marks the 3-year anniversary of the Pulse nightclub shooting in Orlando. Can we grieve today as believers, as humans who lost our fellow humans, far more alike than different, all of us searching for some concept of refuge and home?
Some find belonging in a church, and some find it in a nightclub. Some may even equate the two as one.
“I’m tired,” Nate said last year. He went on to tell the 400 mostly non-straight folks gathered together all the things he was tired of: lies, shame, homelessness, abuse, the right labels, the wrong labels, and so much more.
I’m tired, I’m tired, I’m tired . . .
The heaviness in his voice resonated with me then, and it reverberates still. I’m tired, too. Tired of searching for a refuge, only to intersect with mismatched expectations and encounter cold reminders of this pre-Paradise reality.
Tired of searching for home with a particularly rosy vision that never quite filters that rosily.
Tired of being this “voice” or “inspiration” or “leader” in the gay or SSA or Side B or non-straight or sexual minority Christian sub-world amid a larger Christian world often bent on arguing without love.
Tired of going to Revoice only to feel a distinct disconnect from the refuge it’s apparently become for so many others.
I’m happy for those individuals, certainly. This rodeo ain’t all about me.
I’m just tired of placing my hope into people and earthly constructs that eventually fall apart. I find myself siding with the cynic more often than the optimist.
Have I “matured” or grown callous?
In his keynote on the final night of this year’s Revoice, Nate told us that he’s still tired. And I smiled.
Refuge or no refuge, aren’t we all?
This life. A marathon at dawn and another at dusk. And the sun will rise again with another call to run.
I’m on Day 42 of a 90ish-day trip around the country, and I feel tired from all the pivotal decisions already made in 32 years. For the pivotal decisions coming soon.
I want to rest in whatever I decide — decisions I already feel whispering in my bones.
I want to be stable.
I want to wander.
I want friends I’ve had for decades.
I want a new slate of friends.
I want harmony in the sub-Church and Church at large.
I want a refuge.
I want Jesus.
But do I want Him above all else? Do I inhale and exhale His name despite a maddening search for home, friends who fall away, the notion of future friends falling away, institutions that disappoint or fail, sickness, disease, death, and this lament that lingers like a dripping faucet?
I’m tired, I’m tired, I’m tired.
But then —
Aren’t we all?
Can we sit together in our personal and collective exhaustion and find at least some momentary rest before the next sunrise?
