Let me start by saying I hope someday when I am at death's door I will discover there is a god. I also hope I will find god to be far bigger, far more caring, and far more understanding then we often give god credit for in this world.

But I’m not a Christian anymore.

On some level I’m not sure I ever was. I went to church, Sunday school, and youth group at times, but my heart was never in it. I always sensed god and spirituality more in the outdoors--among mountains and beaches and green grass.

I can’t say the same about monuments built to our religion, sanctuaries where trauma and pain are covered over like a casket in the ground, and certainly not among broken theology.

As some of you know, in grad school I studied Christian theology as part of my counseling-psychology degree. I learned new words, theologies built on the hope of liberation, and an understanding of god that led me to question all I’d ever learned.

It changed me. In spite of what my Sitty wishes (she no doubt worries for my immortal soul) I am not, nor am I likely to ever be again, a Christian.

Here are a few of the reasons why:

1. For centuries Christianity has been used to subjugate women, to espouse paternalism and misogynist belief, and to keep women in a place of powerlessness. The same can be said of people of color, people of other sexualities, and really anyone considered “different”.
2. Similar to #1, the idea that god is a male (and often depicted as white) is one of the most unfortunate theological concepts the church has ever created. How can we tell women, or anyone who isn’t a white male, they were created in the image of god when they look nothing like the images we’ve created? I’ve seen women cry as they realized what this vision of god had done to their self worth--that maybe god was more like them then they realized. god is bigger than our images of god. And if god is all of us, then god must truly be all of us.
   
3. I am disgusted by churches who build monuments to themselves, wasting millions of dollars on brick and mortar and paint when so many go hungry and un-housed. I’ll be damned if I ever worship in another church built on money that could have been used for the hopeless and downtrodden.
   
4. I no longer believe in a god that depends on my undying loyalty and faith in order to love me. That’s the greatest lesson of my time in grad school--that, be there a god, I believe god will love me no matter what my life on earth looks like. I believe the god of this earth loves us unconditionally and that includes those who don’t believe, don’t want to believe, and have chosen not to believe. It’s churches and their budgets that depend on our faith--not god.

The biggest change, however, came when I realized how much I love people. It happened during my time as an intern at Recovery Cafe in Seattle. I spent that year working with the most downtrodden--the addicts and murderers, abusers and abused, and those classified as “insane”.

I fell in love with those people. I came to feel at home among those our world seems to despise. I became, in my own way, one of them. That’s when I realized love was worth it just for the sake of love. Caring for others was good whether there is a god with some glorious holy land or not.

My grandfather used to tell me heaven was loving others. That it wasn't some far off place of perfection, but right here on earth among us. I thought he was crazy. I don't think so anymore.

It's not religion, not Christianity, and not a book we need. It's only love that will save us. For today and for always.

Long before the #metoo movement and the social awakening we’ve seen take place in recent months, I received a long voicemail from a female friend. We’d been talking in the weeks before about consent. Specifically, what it means for a man to ask before making the first “move”.

At the time this was a pretty novel idea for me. I understood asking for permission in the course of a physical relationship, but never before a kiss (specifically the first kiss). That moment, as I understood it, was supposed to just happen, be natural, and make me look like I knew what I was doing. It was supposed to look like it did in the movies.

That, I think, is one of the great disservices we’ve done to our boys/men--we’ve allowed them to believe “being cool” should trump asking for permission.

The evening I received that voicemail my friend had gone on a first date. It had gone fine, but she sensed it wasn’t a love connection. She also sensed he was about to make a move--a move she didn’t want him to make.

In her voicemail my friend told me all that had happened. How she knew he was going to make a move. How she didn’t want to kiss him but felt powerless to stop it. How uncomfortable it had made her. How she didn’t like kissing him or being put in that position.

I remember listening to her voicemail and feeling sad--for her, but also for every woman I’d ever kissed without asking first. How many of them didn’t want to kiss me? Or wished I’d asked first?

I do my best these days to ask before I lean in (though I still mess up at times). It’s not super cool, but then, being super cool isn’t that high up on my list of values anymore.

That being said, my point today about consent is twofold:

1. Fellas, consent isn’t just about what happens in the bedroom. It’s also about what happens at the front door, in the front seat, or outside the restaurant. Yes, consent is more complex than it’s often given credit, but you can never go wrong if you ask first and respect your partner’s answer.
   
2. We’ve done a huge cultural disservice to both men and women by allowing our shame around sex to keep us from having important conversations around consent. We have to talk about how to ask, when to ask, and how often to ask. We have to talk about how to behave after yes, no, or maybe. And we have to talk to everyone on the gender spectrum about these things. Not just those identifying as male/masculine.
   
   

I’ve been lucky in the last 5 years to be surrounded by brave women who are willing to talk with me about consent, what feels good, and what doesn’t. But it’s those sort of tough, powerful conversations I think we’re lacking in our world today.

We’ve got to talk about all of it. Sex and consent. Kissing and consent. What maybe does and doesn’t mean. What goes where, when, and how it feels.

We’ve got to talk about these things even when it’s embarrassing, and ESPECIALLY when it isn’t cool.

Screw being cool. Screw being smooth. Screw acting like you “know what you’re doing”. I’d rather have the respect of a woman who had the chance to say yes, no, or maybe without fear.

I was never all that cool, anyway.