Little Children Burn

Matt here.

Sometimes I think we, gay people, are like little little children. We get our fingers pinched or go in for our shots and scream like we've been set on fire.

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From time to time I hear an argument, usually in the comments sections of articles but occasionally from dear dear friends, that God would not let people be born gay and then expect them to live celibate lives. I understand the appeal of the argument, of course; if God wouldn't command us to be celibate, then we're good to go on the sex thing. Hallelujah!

The problem is that this argument isn't actually an argument—it's just a denial. It's sticking your head in the sand, thinking that if you can't see the consequences, they can't bite you in the butt.

In fact, it's worse than a flat denial. If you say "Gay sex is a sin" and I say "No it isn't," we can argue all day about who has the authority to declare what's sinful and what's not. But if you say "Gay sex is a sin" and I say "God wouldn't let me be born gay if gay sex were a sin," the argument now becomes about what God would not allow, and that list appears to be remarkably short.

Assuming God exists, he either causes or allows an amazing range of horrific events. I flatter myself I needn't list them, though I'm thinking of one particular thing. I was in Hiroshima last week, at the Atomic Bomb Museum, where I was perfectly fine until I saw a mannequin wearing a torn, burned boy's junior high school uniform and I involuntarily pictured my favorite student's face. I was not fine after that.

God lets little children burn to death. Every awful thing that has ever happened, God let it happen. How presumptuous, to say that because God allows a thing it's not a tragedy, and the consequences can't hurt. How ridiculous, for grown men and women to caterwaul that the pain the church asks them to suffer is more than God would ask.

Bitch, please.

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Tonight is my last night in Japan. By the time you read this, I should be back in good ole California.