faith

Open My Mouth and Let Me Bear

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“Open my mouth, and let me bear
gladly the warm truth ev’rywhere;
Open my heart, and let me prepare
love with Thy children thus to share.
Silently now I wait for Thee,
ready, my God, Thy will to see;
open my mouth, illumine me,
Spirit divine!”

— Clara Scott (1895)
“Open My Eyes that I May See”

What is it that we need to say today?

The loudest Christians, the ones interviewed, the ones that are commentators on roundtables and talk shows and discussions are conservative evangelicals. They are considered the “other side” of the argument when it comes to the value and worth of the lives of trans and queer people. I don’t like the premise. We should not be up for debate on whether we should have marriages, teach your kids, serve in the military, go to a public bathroom, or in some conversations, whether we deserve to live.

On the bright side, there are thousands of churches and many denominations of religion and faith that accept and affirm LGBTQ people as worthy of love and equal status and the right to choose their expression. I have been privileged to attend several churches like that in my life, but I know of many many more. The problem is that we just don’t hear those churches very often on the screens we are watching. Reverend Budde of the Episcopal Church made such a strong statement for the worth and care of every individual on the Inauguration of DT. She had a platform and she used it.

We don’t always get those platforms. Perhaps we are not naturally loud people. But we are going to have to speak up louder because a) people seem to think that Christianity and being LGBTQ are incompatible (they are not–and there are great books and websites which will explain the details to you if you are fuzzy on them or unsure), b) Queer people have been so hurt by evangelical churches that they can’t see the churches that will celebrate their true selves. There are whole denominations of Episcopalian Churches, Presbyterian Churches, United Church of Canada churches, United Methodist Churches, American Baptist Churches, just to name a few, that have fought for queer and trans inclusion so hard as to have endured a split in their denomination to do it.

I heard a sermon Sunday about one such divisive vote in the United Methodist Church.

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My Burden Gladly Bearing

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How do we protect those we love from those who question their very worth, their humanity, their right to exist? How do we protect ourselves from that constant batt-le?

Bears are pretty powerful all by themselves, but sometimes armor is called for. Bears have claws and poundage and teeth and jaws. But these are bears I found inside music–and they work differently. In the Bible, Paul talks about putting on the armor of God–and describes breastplates of righteousness, helmets of salvation, sword of the spirit, etc. Far be it from me to edit SAINT Paul– known for his perfect wisdom about what to do with women in the church, about singleness, about sexuality– but I’m going to anyway.

The bears I had didn’t defend me by attacking others; they defended me by empowering me and equipping me with better armor, better defensive structures.

They gave me a Helmet of Empathy– a way to see others struggling to see me, a way of understanding where they were coming from so that I could see them as worthy of love too; frankly, a helmet of Salvation further divides us into “saved” and “unsaved,” worthy and unworthy. Empathy makes us all worthy of being saved, protected, understood.

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Bear Me Safely Over

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Bear Me Safely Over

In my new job, as a tarot reader (spiritual life coach), I meet a lot of people who have barely survived evangelical churches. A lot. Many of them are queer like me. Others may not be queer, but they too got judged, hurt, ostracized, and/or punished for years by a church.

Our shop, The Sacred Owl and Salt Room is a sanctuary and a destination for people in East Tennessee who want to still connect to their spirituality and their faith but they don’t know if a church and steeple should come with that faith. And that’s completely understandable. Who goes back to the places that hurt you? Or even the ones that look like those places? However, something is still calling to them, and they don’t know what it is, but they want to hold on to part of the faith they were brought up in, but leave behind the exclusion, the judgement.

They want a God who is strong enough to hold them, but loving enough not to hurt them.

They want this for themselves and they want this for their kids.

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Day by Day, He Gladly Bears and Cheers Me

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When I came out in 2009 to my church, it did not go as I’d hoped it would. But it was music that strengthened me. According to Hymnary, a database of all hymns and hymnals online, there are 6,165 bears in hymns that have been used in Christian churches. They might be “bearing the cross” or “bearing one another’s burdens” or ask us to help them “bear the light” or ask God to “bear us safely over.” Many hymns sung every week have a bear in them. Because I identified with the “bear” community of gay men, I felt like this was a little love note sent by God every Sunday to strengthen me, and so I would sing the hymns as I always would, but I’d be extra loud and strong on the word “bear.”

I’ve mentioned before that I had some leftover grief from that time fifteen years ago, some that bubbled up while I was watching Star Trek with Joey one night. I cried so hard and didn’t know why. I thought I’d worked through all of that years ago. So I went on a journey to find healing. Part of that journey involved creating 9 paintings that I want to share with you. They are images crafted by grief and pain and hope. I did them intuitively, just listening to what my heart was upset about, what it wanted to say, what it wanted to see. I discovered all these protective, strong bears were still there in my head and heart. Many of these paintings surprised me, but they also make my heart glad to see them. And I’m glad to start sharing them with you. I hope they make you glad too.

Originals and prints are available in the comments.

“Day by Day, He Gladly Bears and Cheers Me,” (11 x 15) Jerome Stueart, watercolor, mixed media on paper.

The Ascension of Jesus, Attended by Sparrows

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I have to think birds came to Jesus as he ascended into the heavens. In my mind, they would have come to say goodbye, or hello, or just to be playful with the only person they’d ever seen fly. We are told many times in the Bible that Jesus cares about the fates of birds, specifically sparrows, common in Jesus’ area and time, as plentiful and as associated with humans and human habitats as they are today. People thought they were annoying. Some still do.

When I was a child I had a neighbor who killed sparrows on purpose.

He was an older gentleman with the largest house on the block. LD was his name. He had erected a purple martin house at the back of his fenced property, which adjoined the back of our unfenced property (we were living in the church parsonage while my dad was pastor at Braymer Baptist Church). When one puts up a purple martin house, I was told, you want purple martins to come and nest there–not sparrows, or any other bird. It seems to me in retrospect that it’s arrogant to think you open up free apartments and reject whatever birds they attract. He didn’t want those bird houses filled with “nasty” sparrows, so he installed cages at the bottom of the pole of the purple martin house, cages where he placed enticing food to attract sparrows.

So for the birds he wanted, he created homes; for the birds he didn’t, he created cages.

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A Healing Breakfast on the Beach: Jesus and the Restoration of Peter

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Peter learns to forgive himself.

“A Healing Breakfast on the Beach (After Easter Series),” Jerome Stueart, (11 x 15) watercolor and mixed media on paper. 4-22-2025.

A good meal can heal us.

This is a depiction of a beautiful story (John 21) of Jesus, after he comes back from the dead, visiting his friends. It’s not unlike stories from friends I’ve talked to who have had someone pass recently. Stories of healing conversations with loved ones who have died. These stories have a similar theme, though maybe they didn’t see their friend quite so “in the flesh,” but the idea of a healing conversation still rings true and is common. We need to have old wounds resolved and healed after someone dies. Part of grieving is healing wounds that we might be keeping alive inside ourselves.

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Thank you, Friends

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Hey friends, and new friends, I just wanted to take a moment and say thank you. Thank you for sharing my work, “The Gulf of Empathy” to all your friends and on your pages and in your groups, all around the world. I am overwhelmed with gratitude at your kindness.

Many of you have asked for prints, and I am doing some due diligence to make sure everything is in place to sell prints. Right now, my image is under review at RedBubble. If and when it is approved, I will let you know.

I wanted first to make sure that a) I reached out to Bishop Budde and ask her thoughts and permission on any likeness of her, and b) that part of the proceeds goes to organizations that help defend LGBTQ and Immigrant communities. The overwhelming popularity of this image should be used to help as many people as possible.

I have been stuck at home the last few days with a bad chest cold, in and out of sleep. The way this painting zoomed around the world caught me a bit off guard, as no one expects to go viral, but if it had to happen, I am very happy that it happened this way.

I know that it’s the power of Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde’s words during the inauguration that is the real power that compels us to share this work. It certainly was the impetus behind me creating the painting and sharing it first with you. At a time when we needed someone to speak out, Bishop Budde was there–and spoke so eloquently and so simply about the need for Mercy and Empathy.

People need reassurance and they need hope that their lives will be protected, their rights upheld, and that they can continue to be who they are without having to hide themselves, or produce documents, or live in fear of being found out, or have their health care, food assistance, or jobs taken away.

Her words were prophetic, as we found out by the end of the day that the most vulnerable people in the country would be targeted with a flurry of executive orders.

It was her speech that went viral that day, that kept playing again and again to drown out each executive order. I hope that keeps happening and we amplify the people who are helping us. There’s a lot of bad in the news these days, but following Mr. Rogers’ advice, I’m “looking for the helpers”. What they are doing are much more important–and we can be inspired daily by the kinds of people who stand up and use their opportunities, platforms, microphones, keyboards, webpages to speak FOR good, to make sure that the Joy is not all taken by those who want to steal it. It is not about hiding our eyes from the bad, but it is about looking for those who are fighting back, and amplifying that instead of amplifying the hateful rhetoric that already has a bunch of platforms. Crowd that out with Kindness and Mercy. I’m going to look for the people helping us.

They want you to be exhausted and sad and defeated and give up.

Keep dancing (as Dan Savage reminded us) and keep creating beautiful things that remind us of what it is to be kind, merciful, generous.

One of the oldest stories in the world is the story of a woman who tells her husband, the ruler of the nation, one story after the next about mercy and kindness, reminding him to be merciful and what it means to be kind and generous, and eventually it has an effect on him and, perhaps, those who read or heard the stories later. Scheherazade did this for One Thousand and One Nights, though, so we have our work cut out for us. Inspire others with your stories and your creations and keep looking and amplifying voices and tactics and plans that successfully protect others. Do what you can where you are to stop hate in its tracks.

We are not defeated. We are “stronger together” (as Dayton, Ohio taught me) and we will push back, and keep our hopes protected.

Thank you again for sharing one queer artist’s work and for amplifying the words of empathy, mercy, compassion around the world.

As a last note: Please help me in giving proper attribution to my work wherever you see it. Some images I’ve seen do not have attribution, or others are taking credit, and some just have my name spelled incorrectly. I know my last name has a funny spelling, but it has an “ear” in it. Thank you to everyone who has reached out to ask if this work is mine, and for those who have helped correct attribution mistakes. Artists deeply appreciate your efforts. We can only grow an audience with our names and our works.

Yours,

Jerome Stueart

PS. I will be answering all your thoughtful letters and messages as fast as I can, thank you. You have been very kind to me. I should be back in good health early next week, I hope!

The Gulf of Empathy

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“The Gulf of Empathy,” (11 x 15) watercolor, mixed media on paper.*

Protect others. Speak Out. Use your art and voice when you can.

Thank you, Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde, for taking that opportunity to simply ask for mercy. Your words reverberated around the world and spoke to every heart, and especially strengthened mine and others’ hearts in queer communities and queer ally communities.

We pray every heart will hear the call to mercy.

For more about this painting and how and why it was made, read this essay

*due to requests and responses to this image, prints are available through Squarespace/ FinerWorks

*if you want t-shirts, mugs, buttons, please go to the Redbubble Site

Thank you for supporting a struggling queer artist! Many of you bought me a coffee at my ko-fi.com/bearnabas. Thank you!

Coming Out at the Last Supper

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Fifteen years ago, 2009, I came out to my evangelical Baptist church in Whitehorse, Yukon, over Easter week. My last official duties as the Deacon of Worship were to lead the Maundy Thursday service—but I didn’t know they were my “last.” I wrote a poem called “Nobody called it the Last Supper” and read it during the service. I can’t find the poem right now, but the gist of it was that no one knows when the Last of anything will happen. The consequences of our actions, our revelations, may disrupt the future of Suppers with those we love. Mine did. THEN it becomes the “last” in retrospect.

I wanted to commemorate this anniversary (though it moves around according to the moon) by creating a painting of the last supper, but with the chaos that is implied in the Da Vinci painting, and the chaos that happened when I came out to each family at my church individually over dinner during Holy Week back in 2009.

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My Faith in Werewolves

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tumblr_nmlov9kobq1s3y6tro1_1280I grew up with a dangerous love of werewolves.  I wanted to meet them.  I wanted to run with them in the woods behind the house.  I wanted them to break into my room at night and kneel at my bed and whisper all the courageous, adventurous things I could become.

I drew pictures of werewolves. I couldn’t help myself.  Especially when I was 14 and living outside of Caruthersville, MO, on the levy by the Mississippi River, where my father was the pastor of a small country church–those pictures came every day into my head and just bled out of my pencils and pens.  Most of these werewolves were kind, masculine, big brotherly, mentor-like werewolves.  I was not clued-in to my head at the time.

These werewolves came, most likely, from my deeply embedded and hidden sexuality, a love for hairy men that I could not understand–a feeling like there was a wild side of me that I must hide away.  But the werewolves at my window were always free.  Free to run.

These werewolves I drew–the first one made me weep as a teenager–there was something important in that picture, something I couldn’t fully understand growing up in my deeply religious environment.  I don’t regret the beautiful years of being deep in that family and faith (and I’m still a big part of my family and faith) but I regret not knowing what that was.  I’d have been a much different person if I had known I was gay at 15 instead of at 34.

I appreciate the magic and wonder my ignorance left me–and that’s a strange blessing to be thankful for, but it’s a blessing nonetheless. Because I could not believe in my sexuality, I believed werewolves were real.  I musta lived under some really awesome bubble of cognitive dissonance for an A+ student to believe werewolves were possible and still understand and love my science classes.  But there I was–a high school student who kept a space open in my brain for the possibility of werewolves.  It’s not so hard to believe.  For me, son of a Southern Baptist minister, I had a world with angel-demon fights, Jesus talking to you out of the air, fiery chariots racing to the sky, resurrecting dead people, talking donkeys–that’s a world where werewolves can happen, too, isn’t it?  That space I kept open–it’s a similar space open for the possibility of miracles, of faith.  So why not a …sorta faith in werewolves?

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