Dear Church, I recently attended my third Revoice conference and, once again, I came home with a full heart. Every year I leave reminded of the beauty of the Holy Spirit and with a renewed commitment to spend whatever years remain in my ministry helping create spaces where my LGBTQ+ siblings cannot simply survive within the Church but truly thrive. This year was especially meaningful because my wife, Jenny, and our fourteen-year-old daughter June joined me. Watching my daughter embrace and be embraced by this sacred community reignited something deep within my soul. She encountered exactly what I have experienced for years now: followers of Jesus who are authentic, faithful, vulnerable, joyful, and deeply committed to Christ despite often being wounded by the very institution that was meant to embody His love. Yet I also returned home with sadness. There are pictures I didn't take and some I cannot share because, sadly, many of our churches are still too dangerous a place for man...

One of the simplest truths about being human is that we naturally talk about what matters to us. If we find a great restaurant, we tell people about it. If we go on an incredible vacation, we share stories. If we love a sports team,we'll talk about them whether they're winning or losing. The things that capture our hearts eventually find their way into our conversations. That's part of why sharing Jesus should be more natural than we often make it. At its core, sharing our faith isn't about mastering a script or learning the perfect argument. It's about proximity. The closer we are to Jesus, the more difficult it becomes to keep His love, grace, and presence to ourselves. We speak about what has changed us. In Acts 4, Peter and John stand before the religious leaders after healing a man in Jesus' name. The leaders are frustrated and want the message to stop spreading. Yet Scripture says they recognized that Peter and John had been with Jesus. Not that they were ...

  There are moments when I wonder how something meant to carry hope became so heavy in the hands of people searching for belonging, especially for LGBTQ+ people who have too often been told that God’s love has conditions attached to it. I’ve watched, and been part of, churches that preach limitless grace while quietly placing conditions around who gets to experience it. I’ve been complicit in using Scripture as a tool to lock people out instead of as the open door it was intended to be.  Somewhere along the way, we became so focused on protecting our comfort instead of welcoming people to the table that we forgot Jesus rarely operated inside comfortable spaces. Too many LGBTQ+ people have walked into sanctuaries carrying the weight of rejection, only to discover that the very places meant to reflect Christ sometimes deepen the wound instead of helping heal it. The Jesus we encounter in the Gospels moved toward people first and foremost. He wasn’t focused on arguments, appearan...

For many of our LGBTQ siblings, the struggle to be fully known can feel all consuming. They move through life carrying the fear that if people truly see them, rejection or even persecution may follow. In conversations with dear friends from this community, I am learning that life often feels like navigating a series of subtle but increasingly dangerous traps. Coming to terms with who they are is deeply personal and yet strangely public. The human need for belonging keeps drawing them toward the hope of safe community. Yet experience often teaches them to stay guarded, shaped by risk, false hope, and broken promises. Proverbs tells us that “hope deferred makes the heart sick” and many carry that sickness quietly for years. Too often the church proclaims a message of grace that is eventually revealed to be the Gospel of Grace followed by “but what about ______.” Signs say, “come as you are” or “all are welcome,” yet once people walk through the doors, they quickly discover the unspoken c...

In a world that often discredits the humanity and worth of our neighbors, the ruins of ancient Türkiye stand as quiet witnesses against us. They do not shout, but they endure across centuries and empires to remind us that every life carries weight, meaning, and intention. On a recent trip tracing the footsteps of Paul, I found myself walking through the ancient streets of  Aphrodisias . It is a place with little direct connection to the writings of the New Testament, and yet it felt strangely aligned with its heartbeat. Not because it is part of the biblical narrative, but because it carries the same revelation: the enduring beauty of human beings as created and valued. That includes all people. LGBTQ individuals who have too often been pushed to the margins of dignity. Communities marked by racial injustice and generational inequality. Women who are seen as less than men in virtually every space they inhabit. Every culture, everybody, every story. None are outside the scope of val...

  While on a recent trip  Türkiye, my wife and I bought a beautiful woven handcrafted Turkish rug with a tribal design.  As we journeyed with new friends for 10 days God was writing this poem on my heart.  Remember, the Gospel describes a life that is on a journey of inclusion not one of exclusion Threads of the Messy Middle A poem still unfolding, Lines of sorrow and joy, Grace and struggle, Held in the steady hand of God. Between the beginning and the end The river of life runs like a clock, Not fully dark and wild, Not yet fully light and tamed. And yet there is room for every tree to rise, Every creature to wander, Every living thing to belong beneath the same mercy of heaven. There is room beside Him For every weary traveler, Every wounded soul, Every life longing to be held by grace. The middle is messy, But it is not abandoned. The middle is messy, But it is not Godless. Along the way, friendships are woven Threads crossing like a handwoven rug, Carrying the w...

  As you read this, I want you to slow down for a moment and think about your favorite poem, or maybe a piece of art or a sculpture that has captured your heart. Picture the creator behind it, working with care and intention, longing to communicate something meaningful. Every detail chosen, every line intentionally shaped, every movement purposeful. There is love behind it pointing to something they want you to see and feel. Now imagine someone encountering that work and handling it without care. They read it flatly or misrepresent it. They strip it of its meaning and reduce it to something it was never meant to be. In doing so, beauty is lost, not because the work lacked beauty, but because it was not communicated as it was intended. I can’t help but think this is what we often do with life itself, and even more, with people. We take what God has created with intention and dignity, and we reduce it, mis-label it and flatten it. And somewhere along the way, we lose sight of the bea...