Many Tears
Bill became the pastor of an evangelical church in the 1990s. As a “self-proclaimed ‘Jesus Freak,’” he immersed himself in the evangelical world, listening to Christian music, reading Christian books, witnessing to the person next to him “on a plane or in line for the D.M.V.”[1] He ate, slept, and breathed Christianity.
Bill was in his day what a Pharisee was in Jesus’ day. I don’t say this as a criticism of Bill so much as I say it as an attempt to rehabilitate our view of the Pharisees. A Pharisee was just a Jew who cared so much about his religious tradition that he immersed himself in it, following the diet to a T, praying before every meal, going to synagogue as often as it was open. A Pharisee tried to make every part of his life Jewish, just as today some people try to make every part of their life Christian.
When Bill welcomed his newborn son, Timothy, into the world, he wrote a letter to Timothy’s future wife, to give to her on her wedding day. He wrote, “I pray that somehow through your family you would grow up and have a profound experience of grace — that at the core of your soul you would feel cared for in spite of your blunders, embraced in spite of your weaknesses, cherished in spite of your selfishness. You are a dear, dear woman to me and to [my wife] Katy. We love you. We look forward to meeting you. We will be praying for you over the years.”
Fast-forward thirteen years, and Bill is walking home from Starbucks with his son, Timothy, who is tentatively sharing that he has noticed certain feelings when he is around other guys. He says, “At one point I wondered if I was gay.” Later, when Bill is alone, praying to God in his journal, he writes, “I will not disguise to you what is going on in my heart and soul and mind. I think down deep, I hate homosexuality. I hate it more than just about anything else in the world. I hate it because it seems sometimes to be stronger than you, God. … Father, you have to spare Timothy from that. You have to.”
Bill’s tears were many over the next few years, as his son officially came out. His fears were many, too. He feared for his son. He feared that his church would reject him. He feared that his son would live in constant shame and insecurity. But his fears were also for himself. How would he reconcile his love for his son and his own beliefs about homosexuality? And how much patience and grace would his church have for him as he navigated this uncharted territory?
Repentance, or an
About-Face
Over the next three years, Bill had many conversations and read many books and prayed many prayers. Slowly he came to question some of the certainties of his religious tradition. Here is a journal entry three years after that first conversation with his son: “I’ve been thinking a lot about Paul and how he turned from the Law to Jesus — he really did an about face. And now he says crazy things like, ‘The only thing that matters is faith expressing itself through love (Galatians 5:6) and whoever loves others has fulfilled the law (Romans 13:8) and love is the fulfillment of the law (Romans 13:10) and the entire law is fulfilled in keeping this one command: Love your neighbor as yourself (Galatians 5:14).’ Paul really does want to move us forward to the core message [of love] and to let go of a lot of the other ‘rules.’” Bill then muses on his own evolving about-face: “Life and morality and God and religion were a lot clearer [before Timothy came out] than [they are] now. And yet the strange thing is that I’ve never felt closer to Jesus — more intimate, more interested, more willing to sacrifice for him, and more free to be a Christian.”
He acknowledges there will be consequences to the changes in his theology, so he prays for God’s help: “It’s actually pretty scary, because people are going to judge me, Christians are going to proclaim that I’ve lost my faith, and I will lose certain privileges that I’ve had in the community. I won’t be asked to do some weddings or speak at certain churches or events, etc., especially as I come out more and more into who I see you leading me to be. … Father, have mercy on me. Help me be nothing but gracious and believing and loving. I don’t want to have a big agenda for others. I just want to follow you and to help others do the same.”
“A Full, True,
Vibrant Life”
Over the next couple of years, Bill’s church grew smaller and smaller, until it was half the size it was before. But Bill saw grace even in this: “[Those who have left] have plenty of places to go — none of the people who have left our church have gone church-less. But if we ceased to exist, [the few] who remain would have nowhere to go.”
In a recent journal entry, Bill reflects on the profound changes he has undergone over the last decade: “When Timothy came out, I was wracked with insecurities and questions, doubts and fears. But now, I’m just in a different spot.” “I find myself so much less afraid, less anxious.” He then shares, “As Katy [his wife] prayed last night she thanked you for the remarkable gift of Timothy coming out — and how we thought it was the end, but it was only the beginning of a full, true, vibrant life in Christ.”
Who Are the Ones Who
Weep and Dance?
As I read Bill’s story, I see a man who wept and a man who danced. He wept for the growing pains of following God, for the repentance necessary to open up to God’s gift. He wept for the woundedness of a world where religious tradition got in the way of God’s love, where culture got in the way of compassion. But he also danced for the discovery of God’s grace and freedom. He danced for delight to have a son who despite all his differences loved and followed God, who taught him a lot about the welcome of God’s table and the joy of outsiders who are welcomed in.
Jesus talks in our scripture today about a faith that weeps and dances. Drawing on the image of children who do not respond to the game that is called, he says that John the Baptist came fasting and preaching repentance but many of the religious folks would not weep, and that he himself came in the opposite manner—proclaiming a feast—but many of the religious folks would not dance. He seems to say that God can’t win for trying. The irony, of course, is that there are people weeping and dancing. But they are the “wrong people.” They are the tax collectors and sinners! The people who wake up to their own woundedness and the woundedness of the world, are the people who rejoice when they hear the gospel of God’s boundless, unconditional love.
I wonder what kept so many of the religious folks, such as the Pharisees, from weeping and dancing. Perhaps it was fear—fear of losing control, fear of the unknown. Perhaps it was complacency, a sort of self-satisfaction with their religious routine and worldview that ultimately left no wiggle-room for God. When I consider today, I see these inhibitors—fear and complacency—prevalent in the world around us, where we are bombarded by advertisements offering personal security and satisfaction, teaching us that if we just have this one thing, we will be safe and happy. If we listen long enough to this message, we can become like zombies, our eyes glazed over as we chase one thing after another, continually distracted from our woundedness and also from the possibilities for love and healing, with no real reason for tears and no reason for dancing.
The good news of today’s scripture is not comfort and convenience. It’s much bigger, better than that. The good news of today’s scripture is abundant life, an adventure with God, where we grow and change, where we weep and dance, where our wounds and the wounds of the world are always met with the compassion and healing of God. The feast of God’s love is not reduced to a bubblewrapped package from Amazon, opened in the privacy of our own home. It is so much larger than that. God’s love gathers us together, with our tears and our wounds, and restores us to wholeness, to dancing.
The NC State basketball coach Jimmy Valvano, who gave a memorable, inspirational speech in the face of his own cancer, explained how he got through the day. “To me, there are three things we all should do every day. … Number one is laugh. You should laugh every day. Number two is think, you should spend some time in thought. And number three is you should have your emotions moved to tears. Could be happiness or joy, but think about it. If you laugh, you think, and you cry, that’s a full day. That’s a heck of a day. You do that seven days a week, you’re going to have something special.”
The kingdom of God is a heck of a place. It is filled with tears and laughter, weeping and dancing. It is where difficult wounds are exposed, and where they are healed.
I shared Bill’s story earlier, not with an agenda toward a single issue (although I do think the story makes a compelling case); but I shared it with wonder at a modern-day Pharisee who heard the wailing and wept, who heard the flute and danced. I shared it for the good news that I heard in it, that at the very moment Bill faced his own woundedness, he also found himself in God’s embrace. As he put it, “The strange thing is that I’ve never felt closer to Jesus.” Or as Jim Valvano put it toward the end of his speech, “Cancer can take away all my physical abilities… It cannot touch my soul.” Which is to say, when we weep for our woundedness and the woundedness of the world, we open ourselves up to the good news of God’s love. We open ourselves up to the one who comes eating and drinking. We dance, and invite others to join us.
Prayer
Whose kingdom comes with wailing and weeping,
With singing and dancing—
Open our hearts
To the wounds and difficulties
That invite change and growth,
And to the invitation
Of your boundless compassion.
May we be people of your dance,
Celebrants of your feast.
In Christ, who comes eating and drinking, a friend to all: Amen.
[1] This quote and others, as
well as the story they accompany, come from the following opinion piece:
Timothy White, “How My Dad Reconciled His God and His Gay Son,” https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2025/02/05/opinion/coming-out-evangelical-pastor.html,
accessed on 2/10/25.
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