I walked to the podium and surveyed the hall—one of the largest at my state university, 440 seats, all full, with approximately 880 eyes looking back at me. They were all there to hear me talk about “God and Sex.”
As a senior professor, I had been in places like this many times before, and in fact had often spoken on this and other biblical topics to similar-sized crowds, with only the usual healthy flutter in my stomach.
But this time was different.
During the last month, the largest city in our state had passed an ordinance requiring that anatomically and genetically male citizens who “identify as female” must be allowed access to women’s public restrooms, and vice versa; and in just the past week our state legislature had responded with a bill prohibiting biological men and women from using restrooms for the opposite sex. Suddenly I found myself thrust to the front lines of the culture wars.
Surveying the audience, I noticed many types: large numbers of students, many from my classes; plenty of church folk, the ladies nicely coiffed and the men in their sensitive-guy sweaters or sporting pastor-dude shaved heads; rainbow-haired “transitionals,” lavender lads, and tattooed and pierced “wymin,” some with their smart-phone cameras ready for recording; and—a shock to the system—some familiar administrators and colleagues, including a departmental friend and her clergy-woman spouse.
My internet-era version of the “naked dream” seemed about to come true—exposed on YouTube for the virtual world to see!
How did I get here? Here I am, I reminded myself.
By repeatedly saying “Here am I” when God calls, I reminded myself.
Called out of agnosticism to a living faith in Christ just before my freshman year of college in 1976, I’m still blessed to remember what it feels like to be an outsider puzzled by Christian jargon and yet drawn to Jesus Christ, called to the university as not merely my “mission field” but my home.
I’ve learned that, when colleagues or students are touched by hardship or tragedy, even the most hardened atheist can be softened by the words “I’ll pray for you.”
Called to give account for the hope that is in me—the promise of forgiveness and a “new creation”—I’ve learned that God can use anyone who will show up, stand, and deliver.
“Ride out to meet them,” as the man said.
Recalling all of these calls in that moment, I now saw my predicament as an opportunity, and knew that the only way out is through.
Not a word about toilets—I spoke of sex not as a toy or weapon but as God’s seal of lifelong covenant love between husband and wife, and addressed the longing in every heart for a love that bears, believes, hopes, endures …
By evening’s end, I had messages from those I had feared most, thanking me for a grace that was not my own, but that I had been blessed to share.
Christopher Hodgkins
UNC – Greensboro