The Cathedral. Jeff Hood

for BoysTown.

      I don’t think anyone knew I fucked men back in Jefferson. Well, I guess the men I fucked knew but nobody else did. Mississippians are a flamboyant people. Nobody was suspicious of anything. I had the little rainbow flag . . . but that flag is so common these days. When I asked God to heal me, she laughed in my face. I quit asking and decided to live. That night, I prepared my body like I was preparing sacraments for the church. I guess in my mind . . . I was. I put on the nicest underwear I owned. I figured it would help me stand out in the crowd. When I got in the car, I turned on the ventilation system to keep from choking to death on my cologne. Nothing was going to stop me tonight.

      When I got to the club, I used the valet service. Tossing my keys to the young attendant, I felt bad as shit. As the doors opened, I made sure I gently jiggled my ass back and forth all the way to the bar. An older queen I knew back in Jefferson taught me that trick. After ordering a drink, I told all who would listen that I was planting a church. No one seemed too impressed. One man leaned over and said, “We already have churches and we hate them all. Why do we need another?” One woman declared, “God is like shit. The best thing you can do is squeeze it out, flush and be done with it.” When someone asked for my name, I proudly declared, “Christian.” Three people laughed so hard they spit out their drinks. I guess they thought my life sounded like some crazy story or something. Everyone started bringing friends over to meet the guy named Christian who was planting a “Christian” church. Stiff drinks seem to make everything funnier. I got tired of being the blunt end of everyone’s jokes. Humiliated, I knew it was time for me to go. Walking down the street to Balls, I was ready to get shitfaced.

      Stumbling out a couple hours later, I ran into the hottest man I’d ever seen. I still don’t know how much the alcohol factored in. When we started to flirt, I was in heaven. The celestial warmness extended to every crevice of my body. Before I got carried away, I had to make sure he was a Christian. I started preaching:

      “Jesus said, ‘I am the light of the world.’ In these few short seconds, you’ve brought much light into my life and I want to make sure that you know who the source of light is.”

      When I became assured he loved Jesus, I went in full thrust. As we started to passionately kiss, he stopped me and asked for some money before we went any further. Though I didn’t even know his name, I would’ve given him anything he wanted. I was so in love. Before I could get one more kiss in, police swarmed in from everywhere. The female officer informed me that I was being arrested for solicitation of prostitution. My last words as I was being put in the squad car echoed throughout BoysTown, “But I came here to plant a church!!!”

      With no friends or family close enough to get me out, I sat in that filthy Jackson County Jail for much longer than I anticipated. Throughout my time there, I met all kinds of people who were there for all kinds of crimes. I started building my church with those that Jesus referred to as “the least of these.” I led meditations, yoga, lessons, readings and whatever else I thought would get people interested. When I finally stepped out of the cell to go home, I realized that I’d been in that joint for 5 days. The guard told me that the charges were dropped for lack of evidence (aka they lost the tape). I was so happy that I shit slightly in my pants. “God is so good!!!” Over the last week, I’d passionately kissed the hottest guy I’d ever met, I collected a roster of over a hundred people for my new church and God busted down the jailhouse doors. “Hallelujah!!!” Walking out, I knew I was more than just a church planter . . . I was a prophet of God.

      The Start

      “I was in prison and . . . ”

      —Matthew 25:36

      For over two weeks, I fasted and prayed. Jailhouse religion did a number on me. I kept rejecting the idea that I could plant a church with all these crazy ass people. I wrestled and wrestled. The list haunted me. While I knew God was calling me to plant a church, I was having trouble calling all the guys I met in jail. Then, it happened. The story of Jonah hit me like an oversized sack of potatoes. After sleeping with everyone he could get his hands on in Nineveh, Jonah ran away. God commanded him to go back and minister to the community. Just like me, Jonah didn’t want to go back. When he finally did, the Ninevites were restored. Truth be known, I slept with too many men while I was in prison. I’d even enjoyed sex with three people at one time. I ain’t proud of it . . . but that’s what I did. Though I felt like I’d already done more than my fair share of pushing, I decided to heed the call of the queen of queens . . . my fellow sister . . . the Apostle Paul and “push toward what lies ahead.”

      The phone rang three times before I got an answer. “Tony?” “Yeah! Who’s this?” “This is Christian from jail.” “Oh shit! I didn’t think you’d actually call.” “I’m calling to invite you to the first service of our new church.” “Will you and I get some alone time?” “Let’s just keep it church Tony. The service will be at my home in two weeks. I know God is moving.” “I do too. I can really feel it. I’m horny as hell.” “Ok Tony, see you at church.” Obviously, the first call went a little sideways on me.