Faith That Endures: When the Church Is the Trial

“My brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of any kind, consider it nothing but joy, because you know that the testing of your faith produces endurance.”

—James 1:2–3

The Epistle of James is my favorite book of the Bible. In my opinion, James truly understood the teachings of his brother Jesus and distilled them with remarkable clarity in this public letter. I have read the Epistle of James many times, and I am always struck by James 1:2–3—verses I return to again and again, sitting with them, wondering how joy and suffering can possibly occupy the same space.

James does not ask us to pretend trials are good, chosen, or deserved. He simply tells the truth: they will come. And then he reframes them—not as evidence of God’s absence, but as the place where endurance is formed.

For our brothers, sisters, and nonbinary siblings in the LGBTQ+ community, trials are not theoretical. They show up in rejection by family, silence or condemnation from churches, and real harm done by people who claimed divine authority while denying our humanity. Many turn away from God not because they rejected faith, but because faith was used as a weapon against them.

James does not leave us alone in that pain. Just a few verses later, he writes in James 1:5 that if any of us lacks wisdom, we are invited to ask God, who gives generously and without blame.

Wisdom here is not obedience to abuse, nor the ability to endure mistreatment quietly. This is the wisdom to discern what is truly of God and what is not. For LGBTQ+ people, this verse can be a lifeline. It tells us that we are allowed—encouraged, even—to ask hard questions, to seek clarity, and to trust that God does not shame us for doing so. God gives wisdom without blame. That alone corrects so much of the damage done in God’s name.

James is also clear about who God is—and who God is not. In James 1:17–18, he reminds us that every generous and perfect gift comes from God, who does not change, and that God brought us forth by the word of truth. God is not the source of cruelty, rejection, or dehumanization. Those do not come from above. What comes from God is life, truth, and dignity. You were not created as an afterthought or an exception. You are part of God’s intention—called first fruits, not mistakes to be corrected or problems to be solved.

James then turns his attention to harm—especially the kind that comes from unchecked religious certainty. In James 1:19–20, he urges us to be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to anger, reminding us that human anger does not produce God’s righteousness.

How different the Church might look if this were taken seriously. So much suffering in the LGBTQ+ community has been fueled by people who were quick to speak, quick to judge, and quick to anger—while claiming righteousness. James dismantles that posture entirely. Anger that crushes others is not holy. Loud certainty is not faithfulness. God’s righteousness is not produced by silencing, shaming, or exclusion.

Faith, James insists, must be lived—not merely proclaimed. In James 1:22–25, he calls us to be doers of the word, not hearers only, pointing us toward the perfect law—the law of liberty.

That phrase matters. Faith that binds, controls, or erases people is not the gospel James describes. The word of God, when truly received, moves us toward freedom—toward actions that reflect love, justice, and mercy. Anything less is self-deception.

James closes this chapter with what may be one of the most overlooked verses in the Bible, especially among those most eager to define themselves as Christian. James 1:27 tells us that religion that is pure and undefiled before God is this: to care for those in distress and to refuse to be shaped by a world that thrives on harm.

True faith, James reminds us, is not measured by how loudly we proclaim belief, but by how faithfully we love. For LGBTQ+ people who have been wounded by the Church, James 1 offers both comfort and clarity. God is with you in the trials. God invites your questions. God is not the author of your suffering. And God’s vision of faith looks far more like care, humility, and embodied love than condemnation ever could.

If you are still walking through hardship, know this: endurance does not mean erasing yourself to survive. It means becoming rooted enough to stand in truth—your truth—while trusting that God has never let go of you. And never will.

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Moment of Zen: Sleep

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Hell Is Freezing Over 🥶

Jack Frost must have rebranded himself as Jack Freeze. From Texas to Maine, much of the country is bracing for severe winter weather. Friends in Alabama are expecting over an inch of ice—never a good sign, since power lines tend to come down at just a quarter inch.

Here in Vermont, the temperature is dropping steadily all day. By the time I leave work, wind chills will already be in the negatives. Tomorrow, we’re looking at subzero temperatures all day, with wind chills plunging to somewhere between –25 and –45 degrees. By Sunday and Monday, forecasts are calling for 8–12 inches of snow, with southern Vermont likely seeing more than a foot.

Once I get home this evening, I have no intention of leaving my apartment.

Simply put, it feels like hell is freezing over—that is, the United States under Donald Trump.

Here’s a piece of medieval trivia for you: hell wasn’t always imagined as blazing hot. While the Bible gives us fire and brimstone, some medieval writers pictured the devil trapped in extreme cold—the furthest possible point from God’s light and warmth. In that tradition, hell freezing over isn’t a contradiction at all. It’s the final, most absolute form of separation.

Which feels… depressingly on theme right now.

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Reporting to Sickbay

I got a little distracted this morning watching Starfleet Academy and completely forgot to write a post. It happens.

There’s not much exciting to report today, but I am seeing my new neurologist for the first time. I’ve been waiting nearly three years for the Headache Clinic to hire a new permanent neurologist, so this appointment has been a long time coming. I’m cautiously optimistic—and really hoping this one sticks around.

She seems fresh out of medical school—very Dr. Bashir energy—though I’m realistic enough to know she won’t be nearly as distractingly attractive.

And since I haven’t posted an Isabella Pic of the Week in a while, here’s one for this week. 🐾

She knows when she sees something pretty.

Now off to get ready. 🚿

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The image is a photograph by Georgian photographer Butu Bilikhodze, titled "Nico". 

A Migraine’s Shadow

To see the uncensored pic, click “Read more” below.

While I’m feeling better today, I’m still not 100 percent. I seem to have entered the postdrome phase of my migraine—often called a “migraine hangover.” The symptoms usually include fatigue, difficulty concentrating, head tenderness, and mood changes.

For me, I think of it as a shadow headache. The headache is still there, just not as intense—like it’s hiding in the background. I also tend to get brain fog during this phase, when thoughts and movements feel slower than usual, as if everything is happening a half-step behind.

That being said, I’m going to skip a poetry post this week. I’m just not up to writing one right now. I have class preparations and meetings today, and while I wish I could stay home another day to recover, tomorrow I’m out for my first appointment with my new neurologist at the Headache Clinic. Then it’s right back into things with a class first thing Friday morning.

Sometimes listening to your body means easing up where you can—and this week, poetry will have to wait.

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