As His Own Soul

David’s eyes met Jonathan’s. Jonathan, the tall, handsome son of the king. The king who would soon hate David, but who needed David because God made him need David. But Jonathan was something altogether different from his father. He looked less serious. Less powerful, in a sense. Less intent on being in control. Saul was a man who thought he knew the ways of the world, who looked on passersby with suspicion, who suffered from the intensity of his need to control. He was a man darkened by his drive to keep his kingdom, paranoid that it might slip from his hands.

But Jonathan looked both gentler and more understanding than his father. His face was bright, open, and full of anticipation. And his eyes, full of sincerity and hope, looked to David with admiration. Odd, David thought, that the king’s son should look at me with admiration.

Saul moved on. Talking to others. Boasting in the greatness of their victory, boasting of the success of his harpist. Speaking like a proud nationalist.

But Jonathan didn’t follow him. His eyes lingered on David. David was frozen before him. Jonathan’s eyes understood him. In the midst of all the pressures, concerns, assumptions, and reveries around them, David was captured by the stillness that flowed out of Jonathan’s eyes and engulfed him.

Then Jonathan, without taking his gaze off David, pulled his cloak off of his shoulders, rolled it slightly, and dropped it to the ground. He unfastened his belt and unwrapped his tunic, setting aside his sword and his bow. He stood naked in front of David. And David understood Jonathan as a man. Just a man. Not the son of the king.

But then, he understood for the first time how much more it means to be human, imprinted with the image of the divine, than to be the son of a king, or the even the king himself. David saw Jonathan’s body, apart from all his royal trappings, and he loved Jonathan. And Jonathan loved him. Enough to expose his humanity so directly, so emphatically.

And then, without misunderstanding the weight of his stature as the son of the king, Jonathan stepped towards David and wrapped his tunic around him. David stood motionless. Jonathan fastened the belt, and his own sword hung at David’s side. Then Jonathan retrieved his cloak, unfurled it with a firm shake that made a faint snap, and flung it around David’s shoulders.

David reached up to pull the cloak comfortably in place, but his hands were shaking. Their eyes never stopped speaking to each other. David could feel a burning in his chest, his sternum felt hollow and on fire. He felt more alive than ever had before. He thought he could feel the blood moving vigorously through his veins. His breathing was shallow, and he trembled slightly, but at that moment he felt he could topple any giant. And in his body he felt the need to run. To run as fast as his legs could take him. To toss aside the restraint of his physical limitations and unify himself with the rushing of the wind, the crashing of the ocean’s waves, the flight of the earth’s birds.

But Jonathan, who created and captured his every sensation, who had taken off his inherited mantle of power and intentionally laid it on the meekness of David—Jonathan reached out his hands and grasped David’s forearms. And he articulated his purpose.

“David, my brother, the Almighty has blessed you for your fervor for him. He has blessed you for your meekness. And tonight, while all of Israel, including my father, sings praise for your might in toppling Goliath, I love you for your spirit—the spirit of toppling Goliath not to make yourself mighty, but to defend the name of the LORD. You are strong in your humility, noble in your righteousness, and beautiful in your sincerity. These words are my covenant to you—for I have seen the man the Lord has made you to be, and my heart is drawn to you. I will not turn against you, David, no matter how this day changes the course of your life—or mine.”

David was moved in the center of his being by these words and he swore his loyalty to Jonathan. And the two became one in spirit, knit in the deepest parts of their souls.

Looking back, my experience seems a bit dramatic. But then, I was a kid, and it was traumatic. I was being indirectly called gay by a group of adults who decided they weren’t real interested in hearing what I had to say, but they were certain I should be immediately stopped from leading the bible study I helped to start. I had no idea how to simultaneously deal with my emotions and respond in a respectful-yet-honest way. And where was Jon in all this?

Things only got worse in the weeks following that bitter night. I still saw Jon at church, but we didn’t really say anything to each other. I was really set on not coming between him and his parents.

I did go sit down with the pastor of the church. I’ll call him Pastor Tim. My mom came with me. I decided that if there was to be any solution to the tension, I would have to be totally honest with him. I wasn’t sure where he stood on things—I only knew that it was his decision that I should be pulled from teaching the bible study, even though he had never heard me teach (besides, I was using a curriculum). So, I told him everything.

I told Pastor Tim that I had thought a lot about friendships and love languages and touchiness. Sure, I was a boy among boys—I liked to play rough and tumble, I excelled at hockey and soccer and snowboarding, I loved the outdoors and hiking—but I also placed a high value on friendships with members of both sexes. I told him I had concluded that the homophobia in our culture was unhealthy for young men developing strong bonds with their peers. Boys (and men) should be free to form deep friendships, to be affectionate, to be honest and vulnerable with each other. I told him that I thought it was stupid for boys to place all their hopes of finding fulfilling companionship on their search for a girlfriend. I told him all about my friendship with Jon, my friendship with Jon’s family—everything. It told him everything I could think of, hoping he might understand.

I even told him about a particularly weird spiritual experience I had when I was kid: Once, when I was maybe 12, I had read a scripture passage that involved an odd healing through touch (the heat from Elijah’s body transfers into the body of a dead boy and he is raised to life), and I felt like the Lord was impressing a sense of importance of the passage for my life. I thought it was pretty odd. It is kind of an odd passage. But, I couldn’t get it out of my head. So, at church the following Sunday (I went to a different church with my parents at the time), I prayed that if the passage really was significant for my life, that the pastor would preach on that exact passage. (I never really ask for signs like that, but it was so weird I had to). Lo and behold, I sat down and the pastor immediately had us turn to the exact story. In my 22 years of attending church, that was the first of only two times I have ever heard that passage referenced in a sermon. Weird, I know, I rarely share the experience with anyone, but I’m not making this stuff up.

Anyways, Pastor Tim listened some. He talked for a while about the importance of appearances. He went so far as to suggest that maybe my spiritual experience with the passage wasn’t a sign from the Lord but from the devil. But after everything I said, he kept repeating one sentiment, “Ben, you’re telling me about the smoke—I want you to tell me about the fire that’s underneath it.” At first, I kept telling him more things, not really understanding what he was after. When at last I had exhausted everything I could think to tell him and he still asked for what was underneath it all, I realized that he wanted me to tell him I was gay. (Years later he acknowledged this insinuation). So, I left the meeting feeling like he hadn’t really listened at all. He had decided his conclusion long before I stepped into his office and there was no swaying him.

Nonetheless, for a time, things seemed to slowly get better. Jon and I started talking a little, even if not about anything serious. Once I told him briefly that I thought the whole situation was ignorant for various reasons, but that it would probably be best for him to just go along with his parents’ wishes. He seemed lost, but didn’t feel like there was much he could do, regardless.

Eventually the church leaders even told me I could lead the bible study again. Which I did—for two weeks. And then a youth group leader approached me on a Wednesday night and informed me that I was again to be pulled from teaching, by decision of the pastor. I asked why. They told me they couldn’t tell me, but that they would have a meeting with my parents.

That’s when things started to change inside me. They were pulling me from leading the bible study but refusing to tell me why? Really? Slowly, my emotions slid from sorrow to anger. I’ll never forget the day my parents when in to a meeting with the pastor and church leaders after the service one Sunday. I was sitting alone in the sanctuary while they all met in a side room to discuss what I had supposedly done wrong. My parents expressed that I should be allowed to attend the meeting, but the leaders wouldn’t hear it. I sat there, alone, wondering what they were saying, waiting for a verdict. I swayed between feeling furious and feeling nothing at all.

My parents emerged to tell me (on the drive home) that there was a rumor that I had been spreading rumors about the church leadership. It wasn’t even close to true. But, alas, that was that. And on that final ride home, my parents told me I would have to start attending church with them again. I could no longer attend Jon’s church.

At the time, I was half angry and half glad about my parents’ decision. They could tell things were getting out of hand and they wanted me to return to their church where I was known and respected and loved by the leaders.

So I did. It was the last time I saw Jon for a long, long time. I had felt so crushed and so angry over the weeks leading up to that point, that I found I could no longer feel anything at all. Never before had I been so misunderstood, so mistrusted, so accused. Never had I lost such a close friend for such meaningless reasons. And then I descended into the darkest, most unfeeling years of my life. The years when I lost most of my ‘Christianity’, but drew ever nearer to Jesus.

*A short prologue/introduction to the book. Thoughts?

Two times during the reign of Saul, the first king of Israel, the Israelite nation was on the brink of total annihilation. Two times the fighting men of Israel despaired, humiliated before the strength of their enemy. Two times, at the last possible moment, a single youth, hardly more than a boy, was filled with the Spirit of God and stepped out in faith to miraculously rescue the kingdom.

The first boy was the rightful heir of Saul’s throne. The second was the actual successor. Yet, somehow, the two were inexplicably drawn to each other. They loved each other as they loved their own souls and they became one in spirit.

And this is their story.

*This is a bit heavy, but I want to express it as I experienced it at the time, as best as possible.

A few months before everything fell apart I had started a prayer and bible study group with my friends. Jon’s dad had asked me to move the group to his house to accommodate some new kids at the youth group Jon and I attended. I agreed, and I led our group every Friday night. It was a very special time—we were a group of young teenagers earnestly seeking to understand what we believed about life, considering the words of Jesus, and the possibility of his authenticity. We had all different kids in that group. An atheist or two, some Wiccans, some Christians, some agnostics. But we all shared openly and the bond between all of us was a truly rare and positive thing.

Jon often asked me to sleep over his house afterwards because I was too young to drive myself home and his house was a half-an-hour drive from mine. Jon, his younger brother, and I would always sleep in the living room and backwards argue who would get the couch—that is, we each insisted one of the others get it.

One Friday night I was staying over—this time I was on the couch—but I was the last to fall asleep because I was overcome with a sense of gratitude. When Jon and his brother were asleep, I slipped off the couch, found a private spot where I wouldn’t wake them, and laying prostrate I began to pray earnestly. That month I had been reading the story of Job in the bible. In the story, God allowed the devil to take everything from Job—his family, his wealth, even his physical health. Job’s friends—and even his wife—told him to turn his back on God. Curse God and die, they told him. But although Job questioned God, but he never cursed him. In the end, God blessed Job and restored him. And I’d like to think that he reunited with his family in heaven when he died.

I wasn’t sure if the story was literal or just an imaginative piece of ancient Jewish literature. It reads more like screenwriting than a historical narrative. But that night, stretched before my God in prayer, I wondered if I could be like Job. I thought about all the things I cherished in life. I thought especially about the wonderful youth group I attended and my dear friendship with Jon. I don’t know if I could worship you with sincerity if I lost all these good things in my life, Abba, I prayed, but I ask that you would one day give me the faith to trust you like Job. Never again will I pray such words so lightly.

The next morning Jon’s dad was driving me home, and I could tell something was on his mind. So I asked him. He was reluctant, but then he said that he had concerns about Jon and me, and especially about how affectionate we were with each other.

It felt like a slug to the gut. I could feel my whole body tighten. Not this. Not now. I can’t lose Jon—my whole life I wished I had a friendship like this.

“Ok,” I told him, “Jon is my friend, but he’s your son, and I will respect whatever boundaries you set—but just promise me that we can talk about this—that you’ll hear me out, because I think about this stuff.”

“Fine,” Jon’s dad said, “I’ll let you know when we can sit down.”

And then there were two weeks of hell. I saw Jon and his family at church. We talked a little, but it was clearly awkward. So I just encouraged Jon to respect his parents. But the tension was palpable.

I kept asking Jon’s dad when we could talk. He kept saying that we would, just not yet. It was torturous for me. I was suspended in this emotional void; I couldn’t place my feet anywhere. At night I would go into my room, lay on my floor on my back, and beg God for the strength to trust him. Beg him not to allow this to end with me losing my friendship with Jon. But I felt the weight of the inevitable crushing me, and the tightness in my chest didn’t leave for a moment during those two weeks. I thought and thought about what I would say to Jon’s dad when we finally talked. I rehearsed a speech a million times. I didn’t want to sound disrespectful. I wanted to assure him. I wanted to argue for the rightness of platonic affection between friends. I wanted to emphasize the importance of friendships between guys. I intellectualized everything—forcing my feelings beneath my reasoning. I thought if I could only make him see the validity of my points then everything would go back to the way it was.

And then the call came. It was Friday, and I was busy preparing for our group meeting that night. Jon’s dad called to say that I could come to his house an hour early and we would talk.

I arrived at his house extra early. Jon was there, but he stayed upstairs. A young lady who volunteered at the youth group, Michelle, was there as well, but I had no idea why. I went into a room with Jon’s dad and mom. They spent about ten minutes telling me their concerns. Telling me that some anonymous person who was new to the group asked if Jon and I were gay. Jon’s parents didn’t want that reputation for their son. They spiritualized it, of course, saying that we could be stumbling block to others or something like that. I listened patiently. I acknowledged their concerns. And then they were finished and it was my turn to speak.

I wanted to balance their concerns with all the positive things happening in our group because of our openness—not just for Jon and I, but the affection all of us shared. I wanted to tell them boundaries can and should exist, but that we should think through them, and not base them all on what one person said. That it was important not to be limited by fear. I wanted to ask them who this rumor came from, and whether they still had the same feeling after being in the group for a week or two. I wanted to say that love and truth take precedent over appearances and rumors.

I wanted to say a lot of things. But all I got out was, “Well, I hear what you’re saying, and I understand your concerns, but I think we can find some middle ground…”

Then Jon’s dad said it. “Benjamin, I know you have a lot of things to say, but we’re not here to discuss them. We have talked about all of this with the head pastor, and he said he would be willing to sit down and have a counseling session with you and hear everything you need to get out.”

I was trembling when I came into the room, but now I froze. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“Michelle is here to teach the group tonight. After we expressed these concerns, the pastor has decided that we are not to let you teach the group.”

My head swam. I couldn’t imagine this was really happening. My hands started shaking slightly. But I didn’t say anything. My vision blurred. I closed my eyes and struggled to take deep breaths. I didn’t know how to react, I was in shock, and I forced myself to retreat inside my mind as my emotions imploded.

Jon’s parents left the room. Michelle came in. I started to cry softly. She hugged me.

I was a strong kid. Not calloused and invulnerable, but strong. So I forced my anger down, I bit back my hurt, and through gentle tears I explained my lesson plan for that night’s meeting to Michelle.

And then I went into the bathroom, washed my face, and sat in Jon’s living room as the other kids arrived and sat in a circle. Many asked why I wasn’t teaching. I couldn’t force a smile. I just said Michelle was teaching. I couldn’t look at Jon. I couldn’t hear anyone talking as the group meeting progressed. I just stared at the floor. Breathed. Kept my mouth tightly closed.

I stayed that way until I got home. Then I went into my bathroom, closed the door, lay down on my back, and silently cried through hyperventilated breaths. I couldn’t fit it all into my head. I could only feel waves of blackness washing over me, relentlessly pushing an emotional void into my being and then carrying my carefree spirit out into an ocean of emptiness. I was coming undone, and I was powerless to stop it.

*To avoid confusion, I should note that this is not an excerpt from my book. This is the true story that happened to me, and out of this experience have decided to begin working on the book.

When I was 14, I fell in love with another boy about my age. I’ll call him Jon. We were both relatively outgoing and leaders amongst our friends, but we were also both introspective. Even as a little boy I had an inner solemnity and longing for truth that affected me in the deepest parts of my being. My older sister has since commented that I was an especially spiritual child; now I may be as cynical as I am spiritual. In any case, although I was always grateful for having good friends, there was a part of me that my peers didn’t understand. Somehow, on some level, this kid got me. And we became like brothers. Soulmates, even.

In the beginning, everything was simple—it was so good to feel understood. Jon and I would sleep over at each others’ houses and talk long into the night about life, God, truth, and relationships. Other times we would take quiet walks hand-in-hand under the stars, just glad to be together in the world. With his hand in mine, I felt settled in my soul—and in feeling settled I felt I could take on the world. Of course, no relationship is perfect, and at times we had disagreements we had to talk out, but there is nothing in the world like having such a close knit friendship.

But the serenity didn’t last forever. It couldn’t, of course, because boys aren’t supposed to be that close, unless they’re gay. And his parents and the leaders of the church we both attended wouldn’t have any homosexuality in their midst—not on their watch.

[Forgive me if I sound bitter. I didn't do everything right either. And those people that hurt me so much—I'm doing my best to forgive them and I hope they forgive me too; they were trying to do the right thing. And that is exactly why these things need to be talked about and our attitudes reevaluated.]

Thing is, we weren’t gay. There was nothing sexual about our relationship. Could the relationship have become sexual over time? Well maybe, I don’t know, but it certainly hadn’t crossed our minds and there was no reason that it should. We just loved each other and understood each other on a soul level, as people can and should regardless of their sexual orientation. And as for being affectionate—well we were affectionate with all of our friends. More so with each other? Maybe slightly, but even our friends never assumed we were gay.

But that’s the clincher, isn’t it? In our culture, we’ve become quick to either assume that relationships are sexual or assert that they should be, and, tragically,
I think we have lost a lot of our ability to develop deep, same-sex friendships in the process. On the one hand, we had homophobic adults assuming our friendship was sexual and therefore condemning it. On the other hand, people from the gay community accused us of denying the natural next step in our relationship. But we had something way deeper than sexual intimacy—we were soulmates. And yes we were affectionate—hugging each other when we saw each other, putting our arm around each others’ shoulders, and even, in some instances, holding hands. But then, that kind of affection is common amongst men in many of the cultures I have been exposed to in my travels; and I come from an affectionate family. In context, for us, it didn’t seem out of place or sexual.

In the end, though, the whole thing became a disaster. The stereotypes and mores of our culture and the people around us forced us apart. I could have vomited I was so disgusted with all of it—the absolute meaninglessness for which I lost my dearest friend (bar Jesus). And we were powerless to do anything about it. Anyways, I’ll write more later about how it unfolded, and how I could feel myself die inside over the months they forced an end to our friendship.

When I was a kid, I lost my best friend because others assumed we were gay (which was unacceptable to them), even though we weren’t; our relationship was platonic. We connected as soulmates, we loved each other as brothers, but they presumptuously judged our motives as sexual and forced us apart.

I’m doing my best to forgive those people—knowing of course that I didn’t do everything right either, and that they’re affected by their culture. It’s not all their fault, of course, but then that’s why I’m writing—because we need change. As for me, I’ve made more friends, found purpose and meaning in my life calling, accepted the lessons on brokenness I learned from the experience, and I continue to work hard at everything I do. But a part of me will always miss my childhood soulmate.

So, I’ve decided to speak out. I’m tired of having to wonder if people will think I am gay if I get too close to my guy friends, or if people will think I’m a player if I am too close with my girl friends. I wish we didn’t over-sexualize everything. I am disheartened by how we have allowed love—authentic love between friends—to be trampled by fear, homophobia, and sexual insinuations.

And I’m certain I’m not the only one who feels this way.

Thus, I’m writing a book. A book that is a metaphorical portrait of a healthy, platonic, soulmate-deep, friendship between two young men. A book that implicitly argues for the importance of close friendships, the goodness of platonic attraction, and the utter inanity of a masculinity-doctrine that excludes the above.

If you feel the same way, please post your story, I’d love to learn from your thoughts as I create the characters in my book.

Let’s speak out together. Let’s speak out in love and humility—but with unwavering conviction and solidarity.