love is my sin they hate

layout CHIARA BOYE photographer TERESA MARTINEZ stylists ZAHA KHAWAJA & ESTHER DASHEVSKY hmua JANE LEE & TARA BHIKHA models VERONICA RASMUSSEN & RICKY MARTINEZ

Iused to crave stillness every summer. It’s the kind of quiet that only happens on mission trips at the end of the week, when the staff comes out with soft worship music and shattered pieces of rock to remind us of our sin.

It began with a prayer, and the sanctuary would go dark. A team member would begin to strum their guitar while the person praying, in soft tones that turned to piercing excitement, started shouting to God that He would touch everyone’s heart. In harmony, we said amen, and the song began. I would bawl my eyes out after the second chorus from feeling so overwhelmed. It felt too perfect, too orchestrated — as if the staff had created this atmosphere of hopelessness and complete vulnerability where you couldn’t help but feel broken, too. In these moments, I wanted to serve God better. With each trip I went on, I would pray for hours, hoping this would finally be the life-changing trip to make me feel whole. Although this feeling was only temporary, the symbols of the church were permanent and would grow to become part of my identity.

I remember stumbling across a small garden while walking around the grounds of this small church in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. The stench of the fresh mulch and delicate flowers immersed me in awe. A small garden fountain was decorated with cherubs, soaring around the stem of the bowl. This petite prayer garden felt serene as I became suffocated in my thoughts on the role of cherubs in the Bible. These baby angels were introduced in Genesis as protectors of God’s Garden of Eden, with flaming swords, and again in Ezekiel, as anointed guardians for their great perseverance. But in the garden, surrounded by nature and light, the cherubs were presented to me in a different way: I saw them as precious babies. They were innocent servants dedicated to their purpose of serving God, and I resonated with that. I myself spent my days serving God and living out a moral life in order to please Him.

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I lived my life out like a cherub. My purpose in the church was to serve: I arrived early and left late. I volunteered what little strength I had stacking chairs after Bible studies. I offered a shoulder to anyone that needed support. I smiled and laughed even in the most uncomfortable situations, wanting each person I saw to feel seen and loved. I devoted my life to God in all the ways a teenage boy could. Going to church was the highlight of my day.

When no one was around, I would join in on a conversation with God. My cherub-like innocence originated from the church, and it taught me to see the world through rose-colored lenses. I was sheltered from being independent and praised for my childlike freedom. I navigated life by being the first to run on the playground or stick my head and tongue out the window when driving. I acted with self-confidence but didn’t know what it took to be confident. My fear of intense emotions and world conflict kept my sensitive heart safe from the immoral and wretched world beyond the church.

I went along with my instructors when they split us up by gender, even though I was apprehensive. The discomfort of belonging to a group but knowing it isn’t home swelled in me until it was unbearable. Any glimpse of real, raw emotion I experienced was buried, shoved deep, and ignored until I exploded with ache. I spent years and years of pretending to fit in and forcing myself into a role that wasn’t my own. In my effort to be the cherub that protected, preserved, and remained innocent for God, I neglected myself. I became disconnected and numb to the world around me.

I did my best until my best wasn’t enough for me. God never disappointed me — my shame did. A new being began to dominate my heart. The darkness flooded in and clogged my arteries. Slithering its way past every organ, a serpent made its way to my heart. My lungs became heavy, and the pressure of being perfect took my breath away. My stomach began to boil, and acid in my belly spewed hate at those that hurt me. As the acid rose up in my esophagus, it burnt my tongue. I no longer wanted to mutter positive words to everyone I crossed paths with. Complete organ failure. The serpent won, and my devoted servitude was no more. Church was no longer my safe space; I was kicked out of Eden like Adam and Eve. I took a bite of the apple, and the consequences followed.

Acceptance was my sacrifice. Fear stayed in Eden, along with hate and shame, but I was free from the only person holding me back: myself. The internal conflict I had is just another story to add in the Bible, right next to Bathsheba with her two clashing titles: the passive victim of David’s temptation or the luring seductress guilty of tempting men. I am both. I am the cherub, shining with innocence and blessed with purpose, and I am the human, bound by contradiction and filled with desires and hopes beyond service. The church treated me like I was a product of temptation, and therefore, I was the temptation. I was given a life some Christian people don’t, and won’t, understand. They see how I dress; they see how I talk; they see my sensitivity. They see who I kiss, and it is blamed on me for giving in to sin. My single “sin” is the only trait they see, so I chose to embrace it.

I was loved there, but they loved the person I presented to them. The few that noticed could only do so much to show it didn’t matter. My innocence lingers two or three paces behind, always following me, reminding me of my desire to love the world like an adolescent.

However, I now walk beside a new version of myself: someone that remembers their past and is nostalgic about those memories but needed distance to explore the possibilities. I needed separation from innocence to create space for new experiences. Experiences that challenged me and allowed me to find a love for myself. I demanded a place where I didn’t have to teach others how to love me and accept me. They would see me and automatically know I am whole. Today, I often try to place myself in that garden and recreate the sweeping emotion I felt. Every sense was engaged with; I can remember the tickle in my nose of fresh florals and the undulating rhythm guiding my ears to serenity by a fountain of water. On that day, my eyes stared into the eyes of cherubs decorating the fountain. Now, when I place myself back there, I see my reflection — a bold cherub loudly guarding my holy place with flaming swords. ■