Sexual Tension

I remember a well-known youth leader and speaker at a big Christian conference I attended as a young person comparing sexual temptation to wanting to eat a ‘big chocolate cake’.

“You go into the kitchen. There’s the cake, oozing chocolatey goodness. You know you aren’t supposed to eat the cake. But it looks so good….what if I just dipped my finger into the icing? No-one would even know, right? What if I just sliced a tiny bit off the back where no-one would see…”

The story ended with the cake gone, your fingers and mouth covered in chocolate and an overwhelming sense of regret and shame.

You can never get that cake back now. It’s gone forever.

You get the picture. It’s the good old slippery slope argument.

No, you can't have it AND eat it!

No, you can’t have it AND eat it!

Without perhaps fully realising it, this youth leader had bought into the idea of sex – of bodies, especially female ones – as consumable goods. I heard another story in which a white rose was passed around the youth group. As it went from hand to hand, it inevitably got  broken. The speaker held it up at the end: ‘who would want this now?’ he asked. The rose had been passed around and lost its value. It was now worthless, crumpled, dirty. The warning was there, I think, probably more for the girls than the boys.

Sex makes you dirty. It makes you unloveable. It makes you unmarriageable. It makes you irredeemable.

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Some Honest Questions for a Professing ‘Anti Gay’ Christian

This is a response to Michael Brown’s article on the Christian Post website, entitled ‘Some Honest Questions for Professing “Gay Christians”

For readers who would prefer a shorter (and much more gracious) answer to Dr Brown, please see this response by John Smid, a former ‘ex gay’ leader.


Dear Dr Brown,

I have to admit, I hadn’t heard of you before someone I know on Facebook linked your article to their timeline. I am aware that a large geographical and cultural difference separates us, you being an American professor with a radio show (Line of Fire – great title!) and 22 books to your name, and I perhaps a slightly less eminent grad student living in the UK. No, I don’t have a radio show, and although there are some books in my head, they are not on paper yet.

But I thought you might be interested to know that I am a “Gay Christian” (love what you did with the quotation marks there,  it adds a bit of mystery – are you questioning my sexuality or my faith? Or perhaps you are just preempting what I suspect you believe is the answer to the question you ask in the latest of your 22 books ‘Can you be Gay and Christian?’).

But I’m getting a bit ahead of myself. You asked some questions, and I’d like to think you actually wanted some answers, so here I am hoping to furnish you with some. But I hope you’ll forgive me if I ask you  a few questions myself. I know that answering a question with a question is not the done thing, but here we are, and I really just want to make sure you know that I ask these questions in the love of God and the fear of God, being jealous for your wellbeing in the Lord.

Sorry if my tone is a little acerbic, please believe that there is not an ounce of hate in my heart. No, not even one. Just quite a lot of ounces of frustration. Enough to make a five tier rainbow sparkly gay wedding cake.


lezzy cake

Make cake, not war.

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Our Story: Just Friends (2)

Something I have been wanting to do for a while is write down our story. This will not be in the ‘right’ order, but should make sense both as a series and as individual posts.  I might ask her to write some too, so that you get it from both perspectives. Telling stories is important.

If you want to get an email each time the story is added to, just scroll down to the bottom of the page to follow the blog. No spam, I promise!

Read More:
Just Friends Part 1


We matter.

Love, we matter. I don’t know how else I can say it. Who we are, what we do, together. We matter.

A friend of yours is coming to visit.

We have been together what seems like a long time, our lives intertwining; sometimes beautifully, sometimes painfully. We have a little house which we pay for together by scraping together my student loan and your minimum wage salary. We save up and go away together – the Yorkshire Moors, Northumberland or the Lake District. You make me go hiking and I make you rest afterwards. We have ended up with a little, spiky, scared kitten that turned into a big soft lump of a cat. You are growing cucumbers in our living room, which block out most of the window so that the light that filters through all summer is green. I remember this detail in particular.

We sleep in the same bed, comfortably. We are done with being anxious about this. You and I know how to curl up around each other. You bring me coffee in the mornings and sometimes in the evenings we read out loud to each other; somehow such an intimate sharing. We have made a home, finally.

But a friend of yours is coming to visit. A Christian friend.  A friend from the past. Yours, not mine. She knows about us, and I can’t help feeling she has judged us accordingly.

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