Living Freely, Loving Wisely

“For it is God’s will that by doing right you should silence the ignorance of the foolish. As servants of God, live as free people, yet do not use your freedom as a pretext for evil.” — 1 Peter 2:15–16

“For this reason, since the day we heard it, we have not ceased praying for you and asking that you may be filled with the knowledge of God’s will in all spiritual wisdom and understanding.” — Colossians 1:9

Freedom is one of the most precious gifts we possess, yet it is also one of the most misunderstood. For LGBTQ+ Christians, freedom often carries a particularly profound meaning. It can mean freedom from shame, freedom from fear, freedom from the expectations of others, and freedom to live authentically as the people God created us to be. But Christian freedom is more than simply escaping the restrictions others have placed upon us. It is also the freedom to live with integrity, compassion, and love.

In his first letter, Peter encourages believers to live as free people while reminding them that freedom carries responsibility. He urges Christians to answer ignorance not with hostility or bitterness but through their actions. There is something particularly meaningful about this instruction for LGBTQ+ people of faith. We know what it means to have our lives judged by people who believe they understand God’s will better than we do. We know what it means to have our faith questioned, our relationships condemned, and our very identities treated as something incompatible with Christianity.

It is tempting to respond to such treatment with anger. Sometimes that anger is entirely justified. After all, there is nothing particularly Christian about using Scripture as a weapon to wound others. Yet Peter offers another approach. He reminds us that our actions can speak more powerfully than the accusations made against us. When we live with kindness, generosity, honesty, and compassion, we demonstrate the presence of God’s love in ways that arguments alone never could.

That does not mean we must remain silent in the face of injustice. Nor does it mean that LGBTQ+ Christians must continually prove their worthiness to those who refuse to recognize their humanity. Our dignity is not something we earn through good behavior, and our freedom does not depend upon the approval of others. Rather, we are called to live in ways that reflect the faith we profess, regardless of whether others acknowledge it.

Paul’s words to the Colossians add another dimension to this understanding of freedom. He prays that believers will be filled with the knowledge of God’s will through spiritual wisdom and understanding. Notice that Paul does not simply pray that they will memorize rules or unquestioningly accept what others tell them. He prays for wisdom and understanding, qualities that require thought, discernment, humility, and a willingness to grow.

For those of us who have spent years wrestling with Scripture, faith, and sexuality, this distinction matters enormously. Many LGBTQ+ Christians were raised in religious traditions that presented faith as a collection of absolute answers. We were told what to believe, how to behave, and whom we were permitted to love. Questioning those teachings was often treated as questioning God.

But seeking understanding is not the opposite of faith. It can be one of its deepest expressions.

Spiritual wisdom requires us to look beyond isolated verses and consider the broader message of Scripture. It asks us to examine historical context, recognize the limitations of human interpretation, and approach God’s Word with both reverence and intellectual honesty. Above all, it calls us to remember that Jesus placed love of God and love of neighbor at the center of faithful living.

This does not mean that every interpretation is equally sound or that we should simply reshape Christianity to accommodate whatever we desire. It means that we must approach our understanding of God’s will with humility, recognizing that none of us possesses perfect knowledge. We continue to study, question, listen, and learn because our faith is important enough to deserve that effort.

For LGBTQ+ Christians, this process can be especially liberating. When we begin to understand that faithfulness is not measured by how completely we conform to someone else’s expectations, we discover the possibility of a more authentic relationship with God. We can embrace both our faith and our identity without treating them as opposing forces.

There is also an important connection between freedom and wisdom. Freedom without wisdom can become selfishness, while wisdom without freedom can become rigid legalism. Together, however, they allow us to live responsibly without surrendering our individuality. They remind us that we are accountable to God for how we treat others, not for how successfully we satisfy the prejudices of those around us.

We do not have to choose between being LGBTQ+ and being Christian. We can be both, fully and faithfully. We can love openly, seek truth honestly, defend those who are marginalized, and extend compassion even when it is not returned. We can acknowledge that our understanding of God will continue to develop throughout our lives.

And perhaps most importantly, we can recognize that living freely does not mean living without purpose. It means having the courage to become the people God calls us to be.

A Call to Reflection

As you consider these passages, ask yourself: Am I living according to the freedom God has given me, or am I still allowing the judgments and expectations of others to determine my worth? Am I seeking genuine spiritual wisdom, or simply accepting the interpretations I have inherited without examining them?

This week, consider one way you can put your faith into action through kindness, compassion, or standing up for someone who has been marginalized. Remember that you do not have to earn God’s love or prove your worth to those who question it.

Live freely, seek wisdom, and let your love be the clearest expression of your faith.

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Moment of Zen: The Great Outdoors

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Friday the 13th

Friday the 13th

Usually, on a Friday morning, I’d be saying, “Thank goodness it’s Friday!” And while I’m certainly glad the weekend is almost here, today comes with one little complication: it’s Friday the 13th. I have a mild case of triskaidekaphobia, the fear of the number 13. I’m not so superstitious that I’m going to hide under the covers all day, though that does sound rather appealing this morning, but I do try to avoid the number 13 whenever possible.

I suppose I come by my superstitious tendencies honestly. My grandmother was an incredibly superstitious woman, and growing up around her meant learning a whole collection of things you simply did not do unless you wanted to invite bad luck, or something considerably worse, into your life.

For example, if you were walking with someone and came upon an obstacle, such as a post or a tree, you absolutely could not split it by walking on opposite sides. If we did, my grandmother would make us go back and walk around it together the proper way. Splitting a post was bad luck, and she wasn’t about to take any chances.

Sneezing at the dinner table was another matter entirely. If you sneezed while eating, you had to get up, walk to the door, and then return to the table before you could finish your meal. Failing to do so supposedly meant that a family member would die. That’s a rather drastic consequence for something as innocent as a sneeze, but my grandmother took it seriously.

Then there was the business of killing snakes. If you killed a snake, you had to drape its body over a fence. Otherwise, there would be a drought. I’m not entirely sure what connection a dead snake hanging over a fence had to do with rainfall, but apparently, in my grandmother’s world, the weather depended upon it.

Some of these superstitions were harmless little rituals, while others carried rather terrifying consequences, especially to a child. My grandmother’s grandmother was Native American, and the family always attributed my grandmother’s superstitious nature to that ancestry. I’m certainly not suggesting that Native Americans are inherently superstitious, but that was the explanation I heard growing up.

We even had an old photograph of my great-great-grandmother, one of those large oval portraits with the convex glass that bulged outward from the frame. She was dressed in black with a high lace collar, and her dark hair was pulled tightly back into a bun. To a young child, she was a rather frightening-looking woman. With her black dress, severe expression, and prominent, beak-like nose, I thought she looked remarkably like a buzzard. That’s why, in my childhood imagination, she became the “Buzzard Woman.” I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to cross her, and perhaps that photograph only added to the mystery surrounding the family superstitions supposedly passed down through the generations.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to appreciate those memories of my grandmother, even if I don’t necessarily believe all the dire consequences she warned us about. I still find myself thinking about her whenever I encounter one of those old superstitions. Some habits and beliefs have a way of staying with us long after the people who taught them are gone.

And then there’s that pesky number 13. I know perfectly well that it’s just a number and that Friday the 13th is just another day on the calendar. Nevertheless, there’s a little part of me that would prefer to skip straight to Saturday.

This week has already felt a little off, and I don’t need Friday the 13th adding any more excitement to it. Hopefully, the day will pass quickly and uneventfully, and before I know it, I’ll be home enjoying the beginning of the weekend.

Until then, I’ll try not to walk under any ladders, break any mirrors, or cross paths with any black cats. Of course, considering Isabella is a black cat, avoiding that last one is pretty much impossible.

Thank goodness it’s Friday anyway!

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A Slow Start

I don’t have much to say this morning, except that I wish I were back in bed and sound asleep. I’ll be teaching a class today that I really enjoy, and I know I’ll be glad to be there once it gets started. But for now, the thought of a few more hours of sleep sounds much more appealing than getting up and getting ready for the day.

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Honoring Those Who Served in Silence

Veterans Day — November 11, 2026

Today, on Veterans Day, we honor the men and women who have served in the United States Armed Forces. We remember their sacrifices, their courage, and their willingness to serve a country whose freedoms have often come at a tremendous cost. However, among those veterans are countless LGBTQ+ Americans whose service has too often been overlooked, erased, or deliberately hidden. Today, I want to take a moment to honor them.

Throughout American history, LGBTQ+ individuals have served in every branch of the military, in every major conflict, and in virtually every capacity imaginable. They have fought in trenches, stormed beaches, flown combat missions, tended the wounded, and stood beside their fellow service members in moments of extraordinary danger. They have earned medals, received commendations, and made the ultimate sacrifice for their country. Yet, for much of our history, these same individuals were forced to conceal an essential part of who they were.

Imagine being willing to die for your country while knowing that the very institution you served could destroy your career simply because of whom you loved. Imagine fighting for freedom overseas while being denied the freedom to live openly at home.

For generations, that was the reality of LGBTQ+ military service.

During World War II, thousands of gay and lesbian Americans served with distinction, even as military policies treated homosexuality as grounds for exclusion and discharge. Some found a sense of belonging and community within the military that they had never experienced before, while others lived in constant fear of discovery. Their courage was no less remarkable because their country refused to acknowledge their identities.

One of the most notable examples was , a decorated Vietnam War veteran who earned a Purple Heart and Bronze Star. In 1975, Matlovich publicly challenged the military’s ban on gay service members. His photograph appeared on the cover of Time magazine beneath the words, “I Am a Homosexual.” His willingness to stand openly against discrimination helped bring national attention to the injustice faced by LGBTQ+ veterans.

Matlovich’s gravestone at Congressional Cemetery in Washington, D.C., bears a particularly powerful inscription: “When I was in the military, they gave me a medal for killing two men and a discharge for loving one.”

Those words capture the painful contradiction that defined military service for generations of gay Americans.

Even after the adoption of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” in 1993, LGBTQ+ service members were still required to hide their identities. The policy was presented as a compromise, but in practice, it meant that gay, lesbian, and bisexual Americans could serve only so long as they remained silent about who they were. Thousands were discharged under the policy before its repeal took effect in 2011.

Transgender Americans have faced their own struggles for the right to serve openly, with military policies repeatedly changing and their ability to serve becoming a political battleground. In 2026, transgender service members and veterans continue to confront discrimination and uncertainty over whether their service and sacrifices will be respected.

What troubles me most is the fundamental injustice of asking someone to defend the freedoms of others while denying that person the same freedoms. Military service demands sacrifice, discipline, loyalty, and courage. None of those qualities depends upon sexual orientation or gender identity. A bullet does not distinguish between gay and straight. Neither does an enemy on the battlefield. The sacrifices made by LGBTQ+ service members are every bit as real as those made by their heterosexual and cisgender comrades.

As someone who works in a military history museum, I believe that preserving history means telling the stories of everyone who helped shape it. We cannot tell an honest history of the American military while ignoring the LGBTQ+ men and women who served within its ranks. Their stories belong alongside those of every other veteran, not separated into some footnote or treated as an uncomfortable exception.

We also owe a particular debt to those who served in silence. Many never had the opportunity to live openly. Some carried their secrets to their graves. Others were dishonorably or otherwise unjustly discharged, losing careers, benefits, and reputations because of prejudice rather than any failure of duty. Their service deserves recognition, and the injustices they endured should never be forgotten.

Veterans Day originated in the armistice that ended the fighting of World War I on November 11, 1918. It was intended as a day to remember the terrible human cost of war and to honor those who served. Over time, its meaning expanded to recognize all American veterans, living and dead.

That recognition must include LGBTQ+ veterans without qualification or hesitation.

Today, I honor the gay soldier who fought in the trenches of France, the lesbian nurse who cared for the wounded during World War II, the bisexual sailor who served during the Cold War, the gay Marine who fought in Vietnam, and the transgender service member who answered the call to serve despite knowing that their own government might reject them. I honor those who served openly and those who could not. I honor those who returned home and those who never did.

Above all, I honor their courage, not only in the face of the enemy, but also in the face of a society that too often refused to recognize their humanity.

Patriotism does not require silence in the face of injustice. In fact, I believe that loving one’s country means wanting it to live up to its highest ideals. The promise of liberty and equality is meaningless if we reserve it only for those who conform to someone else’s expectations.

On this Veterans Day, let us remember that LGBTQ+ veterans did not serve a different country, fight different wars, or make lesser sacrifices. They served the same flag, defended the same Constitution, and helped preserve the same freedoms that all Americans enjoy.

Their service was honorable. Their sacrifices were real. Their stories deserve to be told.

To every LGBTQ+ veteran, whether you served openly, in silence, or at great personal cost: thank you for your service. Thank you for your courage. And thank you for helping make this country a place worth fighting for.

You have always been part of America’s military history, and you deserve to be remembered as such.

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