Most everyone at the Starbucks at which I’m now sblogging (being “sitting” + “blogging,” doncha know) is gay. I know this because my wife and I spent 10 years living in the neighborhood in which this Starbucks is located, Hillcrest, which, to quote the Wikipedia entry on it, “is the residential and commercial hub of San Diego’s gay and lesbian community.”
Not that I’d need that history to realize I was in Cafe de’ Gay. It’s not like anyone here is struggling to keep Ye Oldye Closet Door shut.
I can’t believe how ungroomed I feel am. Holy cow. Do I even own a comb? Or a razor? Or a belt? Or shoelaces?
God, I’m like homeless person. With a venti latte.
I just had lunch with the dean of the Episcopal Cathedral in this neighborhood. I don’t know what’s happening in other Christian denominations, but I can definitely tell you that there are a ton of gay Episcopalians. There are at that church, anyway. Cavernous sanctuary fills up, every 10:30 service. Wall-to-wall.
It’s so weird. When I attended First Presbyterian Church San Diego, everyone there considered me a liberal Christian. But when I started going to Saint Paul’s Episcopal Cathedral of San Diego, one mile away, I was considered a conservative.
Two groups. Both Christian. Yet they hold ideas about Christianity—about the very nature of God—radically different from one another.
Isn’t it weird to think that so many Christians who are so sure they’re right about who God, is and what God wants, are actually as wrong about all that as they could possibly be? Just wrong wrong? About God, of all things?
Yikes! Speaking of right and wrong, I just looked up to find a fully-uniformed cop standing directly over me.
She just now wandered away.
Okay, so if life isn’t exactly like those Russian nesting dolls that contain ever smaller duplicates of themselves, then I just don’t know what is.
One love, y’all.