Happy Fat Tuesday! Joyeux Mardi Gras!

Its here!  The last gluttonous day before the season of lament and refrain for the Orthodox Christians or the end of an explosive party for all those nasty sinners down in N'leans.  I think I'll pass today on a king cake, been trying to cut back since I've become quite the porker since Thanksgiving.  My drug of choice is sugar, in any form, so I'm currently in rehab.  Maybe I started Lent a few days early.

Twelve years ago I was in the thick of it all, down on Bourbon street, drinking in all the sights of humanity gone wrong.  Honestly, I had a blast!  I don't think I could stomach it now, however.  I'm a new person with new convictions and a new outlook.  But I have the memories and trust me, some things just can't be unseen! 

I'd have to say, of all the horror, the most damaging was what I encountered down in the French quarter in front of St. Louis' Cathedral.  Within ear shot of this architectural beauty was a growing roar of voices.  As we turned to leave the quarter the procession was ushered through a pair of bulging barricades.  People on either side were hurling insults at each other as well as passerbys.  Me included.  On the left, conservative Christians clinched signs of protest.  On the right, liberals had their own signs in response.  Some where quite funny!  But there I stood in the middle.  Their shouts said I was going to hell.  Their signs said God hates fags.  Their actions said they hated me too.  I can still see the red faces screaming at me, their hands flailing about with pointed fingers.  Were they right, I asked myself.  Anger answered with a big ole "screw 'em."  But the pain still lingers, the tension still suffocates.

What I needed that day was not a pointed self-righteous finger.  I needed someone to be Jesus.  I needed someone to climb across that barricade, run up from behind me and do an about face looking me straight in the eye, never breaking gaze.  I needed someone to grab my arms securely but not forcefully.  I needed to be so startled that I could only stare intently at this face that is so uncomfortably close to mine, to watch the creases of his mouth slowly open.  I needed to feel the tension of waiting for eternity between the syllables of the only three words I needed to hear.  Each one cutting deeper and deeper, sapping the strength I had to stand, rendering me helpless and empty. 

I. Love. You.

Little did they know, I would give my heart to The Lord three years later but it wasn't because of their fear or insults.  It was because someone shared the Gospel with me and assured me of God's love.  It is God's kindness that leads us to repentance.  Maybe that's something we could all give up for Lent.  Exchange judgement for mercy.