Freedom March: A True Story
In May 2018, a small group of 40 men and women gathered in Washington D.C. to publicly share their testimonies of Jesus Christ and how He set them free from the bondage of their LGBT lives. This would be the first of many gatherings called Freedom Marches. Near the base of the Washington monument, in the smallest, most rundown amphitheater, they gathered. They raised their hands in worship and their voices in song to proclaim Jesus Christ, first and forever. For three hours, people who had been set free from all manner of sexual sin shared their stories. There were even some folks who had never been LGBT that shared their support for the movement. One by one, they stepped up to the mic and testified to the Bigness of God from the tiny stage. They detailed the goodness of God to walk alongside them as they left their lives of sin behind and were ushered into a new season filled with grace, mercy and restoration. Can you hear them? Can you hear the voices over the decades shouting from the mountaintops that Jesus is a God of restoration? Strewn about amongst the believers were some other nefarious characters: a witch burning incense and casting her curses, an undercover, lesbian reporter gathering intel for what was sure to be a story blasting the event as hate speech or homophobic, and two misguided teenagers who had taken a wrong turn and mistakenly wandered through the amphitheater. They paused just long enough to raise their hands in mock worship, mimicking the participants, before they shuffled out of the crowd. As the last words of testimony fell from the speaker’s lip, a printed banner was unfurled and held aloft. The group gathered at the entrance of the venue. It wasn’t a simple Freedom March that was about to begin. A movement was beginning. A few of the founders of the Freedom March formed a line behind the banner; each of them gripping their section and holding it steady, symbolizing a declaration to the world that the Freedom Jesus Christ had given us from our LGBT lives was about to be proclaimed. The March began. We began to sing. We had taken only a few steps when Marine One, the presidential helicopter flew over-head carrying our President. Tears filled my eyes. It was a surreal moment of stepping up and stepping out and being real. We were making history. We marched as a group towards the White House, worshipping God with a new sense of purpose. Along the path, I noticed two women sitting on a parch bench. One of the ladies took a moment to read our banner. Then silently she raised her hand, turned her wrist and gave our group and our mission a thumbs down in protest. No words were exchanged. In that moment both expressed their opinions in a civil manner and then life as we know it resumed. That first Freedom March was a moment of great triumph for every participant. Freedom was our testimony of Jesus. God had been exalted and satan was put in His place one more time. A few months later, a second Freedom March would convene in Los Angeles. Our numbers since Washington would grow to over 200. Certainly this was not the birthplace of freedom, but for the lost, broken and weary members of our community, it signaled the rebirth of hope.