There was once a time when I was a born-again Christian. The other day I overheard my friends having a born-again Christian worship celebration, perhaps the first I had heard of it in years. Singing, is what I mean, by worship, singing worship songs, enthusiastic and pretty charismatic worship songs. While my friends debated over the words of these songs, some of which none of us had sung since college when our entire social life was the Christian group, I oddly remembered them, almost all of the words. And, foraging in the fridge listening to this party in my living room, I oddly kinda loved it. I felt wrong being part of it. The songs are a lie for me. They are. But there is something about those songs that is hugely beautiful and emotional to me. And thats just the thing. Beautiful and emotional, yet for not the right reasons. What did I love about that group so much in college? I almost regret spending college doing that now. Perhaps I don't even almost regret it. Perhaps I regret it. At any rate though, I loved that group. I looked forward so much to the night that we'd gather to meet. As they, who were our worship leaders in college, sang beautifully the other night, discussing the words to the songs, it reminded me of arriving early to our weekly college gathering, and joining the worship team as they practiced, as they got their subs before the celebration, as I began my favorite night of the week. And the sad thing is that that is what I loved about it. The sad thing is that I loved the idea of it. I loved the songs. I loved the people and the magical message, but mostly I loved how I had friends who had priorities like I did at the time to hang out with afterwards. The super sad part, though, is that those friends are the very friends who have disowned me now for being gay. And the ones who haven't. They aren't full of respect either, just fake niceness. I'm not always nice. But at least I'm honest.