There are so many bills moving through the Idaho State Legislature right now that it’s honestly hard to keep up. To date, there have been a total of 465 legislative bills and resolutions introduced this session. In just 7 weeks.

With a budget crisis, astronomical housing costs, and chronically low educational funding, you might expect the bulk of those bills to focus on the immense challenges we face.

You would be wrong.

I woke up yesterday morning to heartbreaking messages out of Immokalee, Florida—eyewitness accounts and urgent posts from people I knew during my years there. Before the sun was up, immigration officers and state agencies were sweeping through farmworker neighborhoods. Mothers were taken. Fathers were taken. Kids were getting ready for school and didn’t know why their parents suddenly weren’t there.

Here's one of the early news reports, for broader context.

You've probably seen them around the Treasure Valley: the little signs in yards and windows that simply say, "Everyone is Welcome Here." They're about the size of a campaign sign, but they're not campaigning for anything. Not a candidate, not a ballot initiative, not a political party. They're not a protest sign or a piece of propaganda.

They're just a promise. A simple statement of shared human values: decency, hospitality, dignity. And although it's not intended to be a religious message, it is nevertheless a modern-day echo of spiritual teachings in the scriptures of almost every world religion. Welcome the stranger. Love our neighbor. Seek the image of the divine in every human being.

​Apparently, that's too much for some people.

There will be no comfort in saying “this isn’t who we are.”

We’ve said it too many times.

After every tragedy. After every policy that robs the poor to enrich the powerful. After every cruelty justified in the name of security or prosperity. After every moment our elected leaders make a mockery of the gospel – calling good what is evil, and evil what is good.

​We need to get comfortable with this fact: this is who we are. This is who we've always been.

Being bisexual is a blessing in my life.

Actually, let me pause there for a moment. It’s not lost on me that even my ability to begin a blog post with those words is a profound blessing because, truthfully, it hasn’t always been the case. A few years ago, I likely would’ve named it as a “burden” instead; more on that in a bit. But now, in recognition of Bisexual Visibility Day in the year of our Lord 2023, I’m able to celebrate my bi identity for the blessing it is – personally, vocationally, and spiritually. 
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"Jesus was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended into hell. The third day he rose again from the dead."  These words from the ancient Apostles' Creed form a foundation for Christian faith.

They’re a part of what we believe, and a part of who we are.

Jesus was murdered as voices of hatred shouted out in thunderous support. He died. He descended into the darkest places of existence. Then, he rose from the dead to be with God, with death having lost its sting.

Humankind is made in the Imago Dei – the image of God. This, first noted in the very first chapter of Genesis, is a part of the foundation of our faith, too. The face of each person bears the face of God, simply by virtue of having been created by God.

This, too, is what we believe, and who we are.
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The uncomfortable truth, then, is this:

​We can't speak of the Crucifixion of Christ as if it were in the past tense.
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When I began my ministry at Southminster, one of the things congregants and community members likely noticed was the ubiquitous presence of my pronouns. The church website, my email signature, and my staff nametag alike all have a simple (he/him) designation next to my name as one indication of my gender identity.
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The use of pronouns during verbal introductions and written communication has become more commonplace within progressive circles in recent years, but I suspect some folks may quietly wonder why – particularly for someone such as myself, who rarely encounters misgendering or being called by the wrong pronouns.

Picture it: Sicily. 1912.

...I mean… the mountains of Western North Carolina. September 2019.

​I was attending the final gathering of a two-year Newly Ordained track of the PC(USA)’s CREDO program – easily one of the most important and meaningful initiatives our denomination sponsors.

​Though I certainly couldn’t have known it back in 2017 when I first signed up to participate in the program, this particular gathering also fell just two weeks after moving to Florida to begin a brand new call. It seemed to me the possibilities would be endless. Amid the reds and oranges of the changing leaves, I found a sacred place set apart – the perfect place to reflect upon who God was calling me to be both as a pastor, and as a person.

“What would you do if you weren’t afraid?”

It’s a question posed recently by the host of one of my favorite podcasts, while pondering the choices we make during life’s most challenging moments.

I remember thinking with a tinge of fear (ironic, no?) that I probably already knew the answer to the question. After all, by the time I was hearing this question asked of me I had spent years of personal growth, study, and therapy striving toward greater authenticity in daily living and vocation. My life experiences had all been leading me to a place of courageous vulnerability. And the truth is, I was already beginning to ask myself another important question: what if… I lived… openly?

Recently, my life’s journey brought me to an unexpected fork in the road, having to make a choice between telling my story widely, or having parts of my story told by others.

I didn’t set out to be a bisexual advocate / pastor. At least, not consciously. Yet by God’s many Graces, here I am — (re)claiming my voice.

Happy Pride, everyone!  

I've shared many times about how much the Remaley family enjoys reading together. Storytime is one of our favorite parts of the day! To celebrate Pride Month, I pulled together a few of our favorite storybooks that speak to the experiences of LGBTQ people and themes. Each of these books make regular appearances in the lineup throughout the year (but especially in June, and in the days leading up to and following our local Pride festivals!)

To all my LGBTQ+ family:  You are seen. You are valued. You are loved.