Liner Notes: "glitter" (Pt. 3)

"...he would meet me, drink in hand, out on the floor."

Photo by peter bucks on Unsplash

picket signs warn of a coming fiery judgement
on those who lose their souls, drink and dance all night
but I found mine with a vodka seltzer this past weekend
and she was resplendent under flashing neon lights
she was smiling, singing, swimming in a sea of bodies
and she seemed perfectly at peace inside her own
when I finally stepped into the early morning darkness
it felt like I was floating all the way home

well, I prefer a Friday night in dance halls full of glitter
to Sunday mornings in cathedrals full of gold
‘cause I have met enough people who feel assured of glory
to wonder if heaven might leave me feeling cold
I know God does not dwell in temples made by people
nor can he be held back by locked church doors
and I like to think that if I asked him to go dancing
he would meet me, drink in hand, out on the floor

Over the past several years, I have come to have mixed feelings about male pronouns for God (which probably surprises none of you, dear readers).

Although male pronouns for God clearly privileged in the biblical text and throughout Christian history, God is not male. Male pronouns for God are a concession to limited human understanding, a symbol that points to a reality that is infinitely greater; to claim that God is male is to mistake the symbol for the reality itself. Even though most of us would readily admit as much, I find myself wondering about the effect repeatedly speaking of God as male may have on us. We might find ourselves thinking—mostly unconsciously, of course—that manhood and masculinity are somehow more revelatory of the divine than femininity and womanhood. Dangerous territory!

(I think of a moment when I was helping to clean up the kitchen after an event at my church when, offhandedly and perhaps owing a bit to the tendency for gay men to privilege female pronouns, I called God “she.” A woman beside me stood straight up, turned to me with surprise and joy on her face, and thanked me in earnest. She had been defending the practice for years. “I’m made in the image of God, too!” she said. She’s right!)

With all that being said, male pronouns for God still have a special place in my heart, not so much because they are familiar or because it is encouraging to be able to recognize the divine image in myself as a man, but more because certain masculine imagery for God (husband or lover) resonates with me in a particular way as a gay man. I am able to understand God’s love for me more viscerally by likening him to a man I love and who loves me, a man whose beauty captivates me, and who is captivated by my beauty.

Reading through the Song of Songs, for instance (which I believe is most truly an allegory for the relationship between God and Israel, between Christ and the Church, and between God and the individual soul, and only secondarily a collection of love poetry about human beings) captivates me in part because it is an invitation to imagine God as a male suitor. The poetry utilizes my emotions, my desire for romance, and directs them—if I let it—to a deeper love for God and a deeper experience of God’s love for me. I mean, how can I not be swept up in passages that describe the longing of the bride?

As an apple tree among the trees of the wood,
    so is my beloved among young men.
With great delight I sat in his shadow,
    and his fruit was sweet to my taste.
He brought me to the banqueting house
and his intention toward me was love. 
Sustain me with raisins,
    refresh me with apples,
    for I am faint with love. (2:3-5 NRSVUE)

Or how can my little gay heart not be stirred by the words of the bridegroom?

You have ravished my heart, my sister, my bride;
    you have ravished my heart with a glance of your eyes,
    with one jewel of your necklace.
How sweet is your love, my sister, my bride!
    How much better is your love than wine
    and the fragrance of your oils than any spice! (4:9-10 NRSVUE)

So it is no surprise, then, why I stuck with male pronouns for God in the lyrics above, and why I chose to portray my own soul as a woman meeting a potential suitor under the flashing neon lights. I am drawing upon that ancient story, that song of songs, that romance of romances—as well as my own story. God sees me from across the room and we both do a double take (his heart is ravished with a glance of my eyes). He approaches, and as he leans in I smell a fruity hard seltzer on his breath, the sweet cologne on his neck (his love is better than wine, and fragrance is better than any spice).

His intention toward me is love; he takes my hand, and we dance.