How the Word "Homophobia" Hijacks Genuine Dialogue

I hate, hate, HATE the word "homophobia." It's a misnomer, at best, but a blatant, close-minded, hateful attack most of the times it's used.

Wikipedia defines "phobia" this way:
In clinical psychology, a phobia is a type of anxiety disorder, usually defined as a persistent fear of an object or situation in which the sufferer commits to great lengths in avoiding, typically disproportional to the actual danger posed, often being recognized as irrational. In the event the phobia cannot be avoided entirely, the sufferer will endure the situation or object with marked distress and significant interference in social or occupational activities.

I also looked up common phobias here: The Phobia List

So the word "homophobia," according to these two sources, actually means: An anxiety disorder manifesting in a persistent, irrational fear of sameness, monotony or of homosexuality or of becoming homosexual, from which the person experiences marked distress and a significant interference with social and/or occupational activities to a degree disproportional to the actual danger posed.

Here's a question for you: Do you actually know ANYONE who fits this description?

I sure don't. And I know a lot of people, several of which could be considered pretty caustic and cruel toward homosexuals. However, their cruelty is in no way an indication that they have a clinical anxiety disorder. The one thing does not equal the other. Sometimes people are just mean. Other times they just disagree. Neither situation, though, means they have some kind of mental illness that should be medicated.

So, why is the word "homophobia" used so much? Why is it slung around like a bag of crap at the head of anyone who dares breathe a conservative word about marriage and family?

Because it's a conversation stopper. It's a way to get what you want, not through logical, charitable discourse, but through name-calling. It's an intimidation tactic used by people who want to avoid genuine dialogue. Because, if genuine, open, charitable dialogue did take place, they might discover their arguments to be lacking. So, why test them at all? Let's just demand what we want, ignore the scientific and social and political and historical and biological and medical and spiritual arguments, and call anyone who dares stand in our way a "homophobe." That should stop them.

You see, calling someone a "homophobe" is the same as calling him/her clinically irrational. Naturally, anyone who is clinically irrational can't possibly have anything of value to add to the conversation. We shouldn't listen to them at all. That's the upshot of what is happening in just about ANY conversation in which the words "homophobia" and/or "homophobe" are used. The speaker of this word has his/her ears and mind closed. They're done listening. They're done thinking. They're done caring what anyone but themselves has to say. The arguments don't matter. The evidence doesn't matter. The relationships don't matter.

And that is why I hate that word.

Can You Find Complete Freedom In Christ In This Life? (The Answer Might Surprise You....)

On October 14, 2012 I lost a very dear friend to cancer. The following January, I moved in to a new state and left my home of eleven years (and my entire support system). Needless to say, 2013 was a really sucky year. Everything made me cry. And I mean everything. Commercials. Songs on the radio. Silent moments. Small frustrations.

Now, as my regular readers know, I'm a Christian. I love Jesus. I don't just believe--I know--He is in control and that He is coming back and is going to kick some serious butt in the suffering department. He will wipe every tear away and show us something so awesome that nothing we have suffered will matter.

But that's then....

I have to live right now. In this time. In this place. In this mess.

And so do you.

Sometimes (okay, always) it's hard for me to try to explain my burdens and sorrows to other Christians because I’m afraid I’m going to get some kind of pat, "versish" answer, like, "Just cast all your cares on Him and He will set you free." Or, "You just have to trust in Jesus to get you through it." Or, my most favorite (NOT!), "Well, you know God will never give you more than you can handle."

(OK, that last one is not even in the Bible. Look it up. I don’t care if there’s a popular song by Group 1 Crew right on the Christian stations that say it. It’s still false. The Bible says He will not tempt you beyond what you can bear. (I Corinthians 10:12-13) It even says He can’t tempt anyone to sin. (James 1:13) And most suffering—unless it’s actually God disciplining us, which is rare—doesn’t and can’t come from God anyway, (Job 34:10-12) so that misquote is seriously messed up. So let’s all just stop saying it.)

The fact is, in this life we will suffer. (That’s actually in the Bible—John 16:33. Not surprisingly, it’s one of Jesus’s less quoted promises.) But, that fact is not what I really struggle with. I expect to suffer and I know Christ suffered, died, and rose again to conquer the cause of our suffering—to break sin’s hold on the world and our own allegiance to it. But the Christian can find a sort of eternal perspective for most bad things that happen. When my friend died, I knew I’d see her again in Heaven. It doesn’t make me not miss her now, but I can look forward to a time I will no longer miss her. And Christ can bring amazing healing in what seem like insurmountably bad experiences—broken marriages, abuse, neglect, addictions, etc. Granted. (But it’s still pretty awesome and amazing!)

…But I still have some burdens that I feel will never go away. What about all those people who do not know Jesus? What about all of my friends and family and the strangers in China or down the block who suffer needlessly because they either don’t know or have rejected Him? I have this incredible burden for the people who share this world with me, and yet I often feel so incredibly powerless to really help them. I have cried and prayed about this often lately. That even if I am being incredibly blessed (which I am), I yet constantly grieve for those around me—I wear my sorrow for them like a heavy blanket I can’t put down. This doesn’t feel like “freedom in Christ.” It feels like being burdened by Christ. How can I find joy in my salvation knowing so many don’t yet know Him and, maybe, will never know Him?

The other day, as I was again contemplating these things while driving home, I was suddenly struck by a thought.

Jesus, too, was deeply emotionally burdened for the lost and suffering people of the world.

Duh, right? I mean, it’s pretty simple. It’s not like this is new information. But, to me in that moment, it was like I was seeing it for the first time. When the Bible says we have “freedom in Christ,” it’s talking about having freedom from our own sinfulness (if we so choose to accept it), it does not mean some kind of blanket freedom that means we should always be happy or jumping for “joy in the Lord.”

Even Christ didn’t have that kind of freedom in Christ!

He was a seriously miserable guy a lot of the time. (He weeps: John 11:35, He loses His cool: Matt. 23:33, He really loses His cool: John 2:15, He is in so much anguish His sweat fills with blood: Luke 22:44.) And I believe He STILL feels that way—for every man, woman, and child who is suffering in this moment, who feels rejected, who is fighting cancer, who is being cruelly abused, who is blinded by sin or pride, who has lost someone they love… who has not recognized God’s saving grace through Jesus’s sacrifice.

Freedom in Christ is not complete freedom from any and all feelings of despair or sorrow or longing. Christ mourned for the lost (John 11:35), He felt deep sorrow and anger at the lack of faith of His own disciples (Matt. 16:33), He longed for our salvation so desperately that He was willing to die a horrific death to make it possible (John 3:16-17).  

Some sufferings in this life we get over, we heal, we see beyond. Some we don’t. Sometimes we have to wait and trust and hope even as we go through it. And that’s okay. God wants us to be burdened by the sufferings of those around us (Col. 3:12-13 & a boat-load more). He wants us to empathize and sympathize with those who need help, a leg up, a word of encouragement, a second chance….

So I can now pray, “Lord, break my heart for what breaks Yours,” and know that I’m not giving up my joy in the Lord. I’m just sacrificing some of my temporary happiness so I will be motivated to share that lasting joy with as many people as I can, while I can.