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It is strange, to know that someone played a profound, defining role in your life when you were barely a blip in theirs.
after being raised in religious fundamentalism, it’s a lens you always have, a language you always speak. I knew that I agreed with the ideas at First Church: how they framed the teachings of Jesus as those of a brown, Palestinian Jew, the son of refugees, the son of a teen mom whose testimony was not believed, a man who would in turn trust a woman with the testimony of his resurrection. The kind of Jesus who would look at me, a queer woman going through a divorce of my own making, and—this church said—treat me with loving kindness. But that was not the Jesus I had grown up with. The Jesus I
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