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Happy Halloween! 🎃

Halloween is one of the holidays I most enjoy. I don’t have trick or treaters where I live, but I used to at my previous apartment. I always enjoyed seeing the little kids in their costumes. As an adult, I’ve gone to my fair share of adult Halloween parties (and by that I do not mean it in an adult movie kind of way. I merely mean a Halloween party with all adults in attendance. I used to regularly visit a friend of mine who lived in Thibodaux, Louisiana, at Halloween. She always hosted a fun Halloween costume party. A few times we went out to bars in Thibodaux where everyone would be dressed in costumes. Thibodaux is a college town, so there were a lot of hot college guys, usually in sex costumes that were a lot of fun to watch. I haven’t been, nor am I going to any Halloween parties this year because I’ve had a lot of other stuff going on, and I did not want to have to find a costume. Still, I enjoy Halloween.

This guy seems to be preforming a trick that is also quite the treat. 

Halloween is an institution in the LGBTQ+ community and is occasionally referred to as “Gay Christmas.” Halloween has risen from its roots as a pagan fire festival about celebrating harvest and warding off spirits, to a day of celebrating everything spooky, transgressive, and fabulous. Halloween though plays a special role in the LGBTQ+ community not only because it can be a lot of fun, but also because LGBTQ+ people spend large parts of their lives hiding their true selves and presenting in a way that is at odds with their desires and identity. Halloween’s emphasis on dressing up as something you are typically not ends up being a powerful outlet to present ourselves in a way that expresses who you really are.

Each year, my friend Susan send me a Halloween card. This year she sent two. The Hello Kitty cards are always cute no matter what occasion they are for, but I think they are especially cute when they are Halloween cards. The other card she sent looks a lot like Isabella. Black cats get a bad reputation for being bad luck, though they are not seen as bad luck all over the world, but it's a persisting superstition in the United States. One of the joys of having a black cat is that I have a natural decoration for Halloween, especially when she stands in the window and stares out at people.

I did not have a picture of Isabella in the same pose as the cat on the card, but the look in her eyes is similar to those of the cat on the card.

However you think of black cats, my Isabella is a beautiful, kind, and loving cat who brings me a lot of joy and is most certainly not bad luck.

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Slept Late, Long Day

I slept a tad bit later than usual this morning. I’d probably have slept later if Isabella wasn’t quite so persistent. Anyway, I have a big day today, but thankfully, I get to start it later than usual. I have an important speaker presenting a program at the museum today, and I am praying we have a good turnout. There have been so many issues with this particular event, I just want something to go right. Regardless, I need to have something nice to wear today, hence the picture above. I’m pretty sure I know what I want to wear, but because I will be up in front of everyone to introduce our guest, I need to try and look nice. I’ll then be entertaining the speaker this afternoon before returning him to the airport. It won’t be as long of a day as yesterday, which ended up being just over 12 hours, but it will probably end up being longer than usual. *Fingers Crossed* All of this goes well today.

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The Raven

The Raven

By Edgar Allan Poe

 

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door—

“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—

               Only this and nothing more.”

 

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—

               Nameless here for evermore.

 

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,

“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—

               This it is and nothing more.”

 

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—

               Darkness there and nothing more.

 

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—

               Merely this and nothing more.

 

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;

Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—

               ’Tis the wind and nothing more!”

 

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—

               Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

 

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”

               Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

 

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door—

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

               With such name as “Nevermore.”

 

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

Nothing further then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—

Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—

On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.”

               Then the bird said “Nevermore.”

 

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store

Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster

Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—

Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore

               Of ‘Never—nevermore.’”

 

But the Raven still beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;

Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore

               Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

 

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,

But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,

               She shall press, ah, nevermore!

 

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee

Respite—respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore;

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”

               Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

 

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—

Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—

On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—

Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”

               Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

 

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil—prophet still, if bird or devil!

By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”

               Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

 

“Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—

“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”

               Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

 

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,

And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

               Shall be lifted—nevermore!

 

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“Up and at ‘em”

My mother often woke us up by saying “Up and at ‘em.” Sometimes, she’d be silly and say, “Up and at ‘em, Atom Ant,” although I used to think she said, “Up and Adam, Adam Ant,” which doesn’t really make sense, but I was a kid. Up and at 'em means there's a lot of work to be done, and there certainly is this week. Today should be the calm before the storm, but Tuesday and Wednesday are going to be whirlwind days when I will be hosting a special guest to the museum. Usually, I look forward to these guests. I get to entertain them and take them to nice dinners, but usually it’s over a three-day period. This time, it’s all packed in two days. So, when I woke up this morning, All I could think was my mother saying, “Up and at ‘em.” Actually, it felt like that was what Isabella was telling me this morning when she started trying to wake me up at 4 am. I kept sleeping until after 5 am. She was not pleased with me, but she forgave me when I finally got up.

 

I guess Dolly Parton sang it more accurately:

Tumble out of bed and I stumble to the kitchen

Pour myself a cup of ambition

And yawn and stretch and try to come to life

Jump in the shower and the blood starts pumpin'

Out on the street, the traffic starts jumpin'

With folks like me on the job from nine to five

I actually work eight to four, but you get the picture. It’s a busy week ahead.

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Jonathan and David

The relationship between Jonathan and David, as described in the Bible (primarily in 1 Samuel 18-20 and 2 Samuel 1), is one of deep emotional connection, loyalty, and love. While the Bible does not explicitly describe their relationship as romantic or sexual, some readers and scholars have speculated that their bond could be interpreted as a same-sex love story. Let’s explore the key aspects of their relationship and why some see it as a potential gay love story.

 

The Bible clearly portrays Jonathan and David as having a profound and intense bond. In 1 Samuel 18:1, it says that Jonathan loved David as his own soul, “Now when he had finished speaking to Saul, the soul of Jonathan was knit to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul.” In 2 Samuel 1:26, after Jonathan’s death, David expresses his grief in a lament, saying, “I am distressed for you, my brother Jonathan; you have been very pleasant to me; your love to me was wonderful, surpassing the love of women.” 

 

This description of love has led some readers to see a romantic or even homoerotic subtext, especially because David compares Jonathan’s love to the love he experienced with women, calling it “wonderful.” In ancient cultures, deep friendships between men were often expressed in highly affectionate and poetic terms, which may not imply a romantic relationship in the way we might interpret it today; however, in other ancient cultures there is not clear distinction between friendship and romantic love against men.  In 7^th century AD, Christians had a practice known as adelphopoiesis, a ceremony practiced in Eastern Christian tradition to unite together two people of the same sex ostensibly as siblings, but the practice closely resembled a marriage. The most notable of these couples was the Christian martyrs Saint Sergius and Saint Bacchus.

 

First Samuel 18:3 says, “Then Jonathan and David made a covenant, because he loved him as his own soul.” Here, Jonathan and David make a covenant, a formal agreement between two individuals that symbolized deep loyalty, commitment, and trust. The covenant they made suggests a profound and mutual bond, sealed with love and loyalty. Some scholars argue that this covenant could reflect a form of lifelong commitment that is similar to a romantic or marital bond. However, others view it more in the context of political and social alliances common in ancient Israel. Like adelphopoiesis in the early Christian tradition, historians debate the true nature of these types of covenants. Regardless of whether they were romantic or not, they would not have been openly recognized as romantic couplings.

 

Another part of their story that some interpret as romantic is found in 1 Samuel 20:41, which says, “As soon as the lad had gone, David arose from a place toward the south, fell on his face to the ground, and bowed down three times. And they kissed one another; and they wept together, but David more so.” When Jonathan and David part ways, they kissed and wept together, though David wept the most. In many cultures, particularly in the ancient Near East, kissing between men was a common gesture of friendship, respect, and loyalty even to this day. However, modern readers may see this as a more intimate, potentially romantic moment. We have to be careful of interpreting history through modern eyes.

 

Modern interpretations vary widely when it comes to Jonathan and David’s relationship. Some LGBTQ+ Jews and Christian, along with their allies, interpret their bond as a biblical example of same-sex love, providing a model of deep affection and emotional commitment between two men. This interpretation is often embraced by those seeking to find representations of LGBTQ+ relationships in scripture. On the other hand, many traditional interpretations understand Jonathan and David’s relationship as one of intense friendship, characterized by loyalty, shared faith, and mutual support during political upheaval. In this view, their love is seen as non-sexual but still profound, reflecting the deep bonds that could exist between friends in the ancient world. Even if it was non-sexual, the intimacy does not mean they were not romantically attached.

 

The story of Jonathan and David is rich in emotional language and affection, which can lead to different interpretations depending on one’s perspective. There is no explicit evidence in the biblical text that their relationship was sexual or romantic, but their deep love and commitment to each other leave room for readers, especially in modern times, to see possibilities for a romantic interpretation. Whether viewed as an intense friendship or as a potential same-sex love story, Jonathan and David’s relationship exemplifies loyalty, love, and devotion that transcends societal expectations. Regardless of whether it is seen through a lens of friendship or romantic love, their story is a source of reflection on love and connection.

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Moment of Zen: Kissing

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Much Needed

Today is a much needed work from home day. After having covid the week before, working in the office this week has drained all my energy. By the end of each day this week, I felt like I was a battery that lost its charge. Working from home allows me to be more relaxed, and if needed, I can lay down and possibly take a nap. I need a weekend of nothing to do and nowhere to go. I need to rest and recover. I will probably answer and send some emails today, but I plan to mostly read. I have a presentation to make on Monday, so I will finish up the PowerPoint for that. It will be a short 5-10 minute presentation on a class I will be teaching next semester.

Here’s hoping for a restful and relaxing weekend. Have a great weekend, everyone!

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Breakfast

I eat breakfast every day. That has not always been the case, but I often wake up hungry. The change came for one of two reasons. It’s either because I wake up earlier in the mornings and have time to actually eat before getting ready and running out the door for work. I get up earlier because I sleep better with my CPAP and feel more well-rested in the mornings, and also, Isabella is so insistent that she wants to be fed early in the mornings. The other reason I eat breakfast is that once my diabetes was under control, I woke up with lower blood sugar in the mornings and was thus hungry. The problem with eating breakfast every morning is that I don’t have much variety in what I have for breakfast. I do not like sweet breakfast foods except on rare occasions. If I am somewhere that serves good French toast, then I’ll have French toast. So, more often than not, I have a biscuit, cheese toast, or an English muffin. If I have enough time, I will make some grits, biscuits and gravy, or maybe even savory scones, but I usually only have time for that on the weekend and when I have done some preparation the night before. On rare occasions I might make some bacon and eggs, but as a general rule, eggs are not one of my favorite things and can occasionally make me nauseated.

This morning was one of those mornings when I looked in my refrigerator and freezer and thought, “There isn’t anything that looks appetizing this morning.” So, I made a cup of tea. I’m still waking up congested, so a cup of hot tea seems better to break up the congestion than coffee does, especially since I put cream in my coffee. As I write this, I have been thinking of what I want to make for breakfast, or do I want to hold off on eating until after I leave for work? If I hold off, I can go by Dunkin’ Donuts, McDonald’s, or stop at one of the local delis to get a breakfast sandwich. While I did wake up hungry this morning, I think I could easily wait to get breakfast on my way to work. When I finish typing this I will make my decision on what I will be doing for breakfast this morning. Tomorrow, I will be working from home, so I will have a little extra time and will likely either fry up some ham and cook a biscuit or two so I can have a ham and cheese biscuit, or I may make a bowl of cheese grits. This morning, I just don’t have the energy for either of those. 

I am still feeling a lot of fatigue from having Covid last week, so I will be glad to when today is over and I can be a little more relaxed for the next few days. Next week is going to be very busy as I am hosting some guests at the museum, which will likely have me working longer days than usual. I need my energy back to get through next week. The week after that, I will be gone for a conference all week. So, there won’t be much rest for the weary over the next couple of weeks.

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I Need More Sleep

~ 

I wish I could have stayed in bed today. Going back to work these past two days has worn me out. I am constantly exhausted, and even though I was so tired yesterday, I felt like I could barely hold up my head last night, I had trouble falling asleep. Then, I woke up earlier than usual this morning with a migraine and could not fall back to sleep, especially since Isabella realized I was awake and wanted to be fed. I wish I could stay home today and get some rest; however, I have a couple of meetings in scheduled for to today. Plus, I was out four out of five days last week. I also have some phone calls to make and emails to answer. Anyway, as much as I’d like to crawl back into bed, it’s not a luxury I have today.

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Ghosts

Ghosts

By Ella Wheeler Wilcox

 

    There are ghosts in the room.

As I sit here alone, from the dark corners there

They come out of the gloom,

And they stand at my side and they lean on my chair

 

    There’s a ghost of a Hope

That lighted my days with a fanciful glow,

In her hand is the rope

That strangled her life out. Hope was slain long ago.

 

    But her ghost comes to-night

With its skeleton face and expressionless eyes,

And it stands in the light,

And mocks me, and jeers me with sobs and with sighs.

 

    There’s the ghost of a Joy,

A frail, fragile thing, and I prized it too much,

And the hands that destroy

Clasped its close, and it died at the withering touch.

 

    There’s the ghost of a Love,

Born with joy, reared with hope, died in pain and unrest,

But he towers above

All the others—this ghost; yet a ghost at the best,

 

    I am weary, and fain

Would forget all these dead: but the gibbering host

Make my struggle in vain—

In each shadowy corner there lurketh a ghost.

 

 

About this Poem

 

“Ghosts” appeared in the Poetical Works of Ella Wheeler Wilcox (W. P. Nimmo, Hay, & Mitchell, 1917), in the section titled “Poems of Hope.” In her essay, “Symmetrical Womanhood: Poetry in the Woman’s Building Library,” published by the University of Texas Press, poet and scholar Angela Sorby affirmed, “While Wilcox’s poems—with their ringing rhymes, facile forms, and inflated emotions—are clearly products of the genteel idealist sensibility, they are distinctive in one striking respect: they are rooted, firmly and explicitly, in the female body. Her poems neither veil the self in sentimental modesty nor escape into an ideal disembodied universalism. Instead, they make the author’s desires into a driving force. […] Ella Wheeler Wilcox embodies the contradictions of the period because her poems’ speakers are independent but also limited in their range of motion and emotion. Her poems are middlebrow, self-assured, daring (but not too daring), and committed to expressing specific ambitions that can be realized within a mainstream poetic framework.”

 

“Ghosts” is a poignant exploration of memory and the emotional remnants of relationships. The poem uses the metaphor of ghosts to illustrate how past experiences and lost loved ones continue to affect the living. The poem suggests that memories can be as powerful and persistent as ghosts. The speaker reflects on how these memories intrude upon daily life, evoking both pain and nostalgia. Wilcox delves into the enduring nature of love, emphasizing that even after a person is gone, their influence remains. The emotional bonds we create do not disappear; they linger in our hearts and minds. The poem captures a sense of solitude, as the speaker confronts these haunting memories alone. This isolation emphasizes the depth of the emotional impact that these “ghosts” have.

Wilcox employs vivid imagery to evoke feelings associated with memories and loss. The ghosts symbolize not just the deceased but also unresolved emotions and past experiences. The tone is reflective and melancholic, inviting readers to empathize with the speaker’s sense of longing and introspection. The “ghosts” symbolize both the past and the emotional weight carried forward into the present, highlighting the inescapable nature of our experiences. Overall, “Ghosts” serves as a meditation on how the past shapes our identity and emotional landscape. Wilcox’s poignant reflections encourage readers to acknowledge their own “ghosts,” recognizing that while they may haunt us, they also contribute to the richness of our human experience.

 

 

About the Poet

 

Ella Wheeler Wilcox was born on November 5, 1850, in Johnstown, Wisconsin. She was the daughter of a farmer and received a basic education in local schools. From an early age, she showed a talent for writing, often composing poems and stories.

 

Wilcox began publishing her poetry in local newspapers and gained wider recognition in the 1880s. Her first major collection, “Poems of Passion” (1883), was controversial for its candid treatment of love and desire but established her as a significant literary voice. She continued to write prolifically, producing numerous collections and essays throughout her career. Wilcox’s poetry often reflected themes of love, nature, and human emotions, characterized by a straightforward and accessible style. Her optimistic outlook resonated with many readers, making her work popular in her time. One of her most famous poems, “Solitude,” emphasizes the importance of self-reflection and personal growth.

 

Beyond her literary work, Wilcox was an outspoken advocate for women’s rights and social issues. She was involved in various reform movements and used her platform to address topics such as suffrage, education, and social justice. Wilcox married Robert Wilcox in 1871, and they lived in various locations, including Chicago and New York. The couple had one son, but their marriage faced challenges, including financial difficulties and differing views on social issues.

 

Wilcox continued to write until her death on October 30, 1919. Her work, though sometimes criticized for its sentimentality, has been appreciated for its emotional depth and ability to capture the complexities of human experience. Today, she is remembered as a prominent figure in American literature, with her poems continuing to resonate with readers.

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Back to Work

I wish I had a few more days to stay home, continue to rest, and, finally, get rid of this cough. However, eventually, I had to go back at some point. Luckily, I only have a few things that need to be done today, and, and hopefully, all of them should be wrapped up fairly quickly. I have a tour to give and a few emails to send. I also think I have one phone call that needs to be made. Next week is expected to be a pretty busy week, and I have a few preliminary things to take care of to make next week go smoothly. I should be able to just hide away in my office most of the day, especially this afternoon.

I am feeling much better. There is still some congestion and the previously mentioned cough. Other than some fatigue, I am actually feeling pretty good. So, it’s back to the grind.

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The Centurion

Now when Jesus had entered Capernaum, a centurion came to Him, pleading with Him, saying, “Lord, my servant is lying at home paralyzed, dreadfully tormented.”

 

And Jesus said to him, “I will come and heal him.”

 

The centurion answered and said, “Lord, I am not worthy that You should come under my roof. But only speak a word, and my servant will be healed. For I also am a man under authority, having soldiers under me. And I say to this one, ‘Go,’ and he goes; and to another, ‘Come,’ and he comes; and to my servant, ‘Do this,’ and he does it.”

 

When Jesus heard it, He marveled, and said to those who followed, “Assuredly, I say to you, I have not found such great faith, not even in Israel! And I say to you that many will come from east and west, and sit down with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven. But the sons of the kingdom will be cast out into outer darkness. There will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.” Then Jesus said to the centurion, “Go your way; and as you have believed, so let it be done for you.” And his servant was healed that same hour.

 

—Matthew 8:5-13 

 

In Matthew 8:5-13 and Luke 7:1-10, Matthew and Luke tell the story of a centurion coming to Jesus. These passages can hold powerful significance for LGBTQ+ Christians. In this account, a Roman centurion, a commander, nominally of 100 soldiers and an outsider to the Jewish community, approaches Jesus with great faith, asking for healing for his servant. Jesus commends the centurion’s faith, and the servant is healed. Let’s look at why this story can be meaningful for LGBTQ+ Christians.

 

First, we can see that Jesus welcomes outsiders with compassion. Jesus did not qualify his help or refuse to see the centurion because he was not Jewish. The centurion was a Roman, a representative of the occupying force, and someone who would have been seen as an outsider by the Jewish community. Despite this, Jesus does not turn him away or judge him, but instead responds with compassion and grace. For LGBTQ+ Christians, this demonstrates that Jesus’ love transcends societal boundaries, prejudices, or religious barriers. No one is too “different” or “outside” to be embraced by Jesus.

 

Second, Jesus responded to the centurion’s faith, not his status or identity, showing that Jesus was inclusive of all people. The centurion’s position as a Roman and a soldier might have made him an unlikely figure to receive Jesus’ help in the eyes of many. Yet, Jesus does not focus on his social identity or background—he focuses on the centurion’s faith. This is an important reminder for LGBTQ+ Christians that God is concerned with our hearts, our faith, and our sincerity—not with our societal status or labels.

 

By not judging the centurion for what he was, Jesus is breaking cultural norms to bring healing. The centurion demonstrates a boldness in approaching Jesus, knowing that, by cultural standards, he might be rejected. He crosses lines of race, religion, and status to seek healing for someone he loves. For LGBTQ+ individuals, this can be a source of encouragement. It suggests that approaching Jesus in faith and seeking healing, love, and inclusion should not be hindered by fear of rejection. Jesus breaks through cultural norms to meet people where they are.

 

Third, we can look at the centurion’s relationship with his servant. While the Gospels do not explicitly detail the nature of the centurion’s relationship with his servant, some have speculated that it may have been a deeply affectionate or even intimate relationship. Regardless of the exact nature, the centurion clearly cared deeply for his servant, enough to seek help from Jesus on his behalf. This has led some LGBTQ+ Christians to see in this story a possible affirmation of loving, committed same-sex relationships, and a demonstration that deep love between individuals, regardless of societal expectations, is worthy of blessing and healing in Jesus’ eyes.

 

Finally, this story shows that faith that transcends barriers. Jesus marvels at the centurion’s faith, proclaiming in Matthew 8:10, “I have not found such great faith, not even in Israel!” This is a powerful message for LGBTQ+ Christians who may feel marginalized within religious communities. It reminds them that their faith is not lesser or invalid because of our identity. In fact, like the centurion, their faith can be a source of inspiration and affirmation, showing that God welcomes faith from all people, regardless of the barriers society may erect.

 

The core of the story is about healing—Jesus offers restoration without hesitation. For LGBTQ+ Christians who have been hurt by rejection or exclusion, this story should bring hope. It affirms that Jesus is always ready to bring healing to those who come to him, regardless of what others might think. For LGBTQ+ Christians, the story of the centurion going to Jesus is a profound example of how faith, love, and a deep trust in God transcend societal boundaries and norms. It demonstrates that God’s love and healing are available to all, including those who may be viewed as outsiders. The story invites LGBTQ+ believers to approach Jesus with confidence, knowing that their faith matters, their love is seen, and they are fully embraced by the Savior who heals and restores.