Reflections on a Wesley Hill post

I recently read a blog post by Wesley Hill on the Spiritual Friendship blog titled, "Will I Be Gay in the Resurrection?" and it provides much food for thought.

In that post, Hill reflects on a piece of writing someone did on her disabled son and she commented, 

Arthur’s limited experience, limited above all in ability to process the world external to himself, is a crucial element in who he is, in his real personhood. An ultimate destiny in which he was suddenly ‘perfected’ (whatever that might mean) is inconceivable—for he would no longer be Arthur but some other person. His limited embodied self is what exists, and what will be must be in continuity with that. There will also be discontinuities—the promise of resurrection is the transcendence of our mortal ‘flesh and blood’ state. So there’s hope for transformation of this life’s limitations and vulnerabilities, of someone like Arthur receiving greater gifts while truly remaining himself. Perhaps the transformation to be hoped for is less intellectual or physical advance and more the kind of thing anticipated in the present when the fruits of the Spirit are realized in relationships.

Interesting isn't it?

And as Wesley Hill often compares being gay to a disability, he wonders if that aspect of him will remain as it is in the resurrection.

I guess I have been wondering about it because, unlike Hill, I'm moving away from thinking of my sexual orientation as a disability and rather as a gift.

That probably transforms the conversation a little, but his writing still made me ponder on many things.

Do disabled people remain disabled at the resurrection?

What does perfection look like anyway?

But more than that, Hill pointed out that we probably do not know much about what the future holds, we look through a glass dimly, and he quotes from C. S. Lewis,

I think our present outlook might be like that of a small boy who, on being told that the sexual act was the highest bodily pleasure should immediately ask whether you ate chocolates at the same time. On receiving the answer ‘No’, he might regard absence of chocolates as the chief characteristic of sexuality. In vain would you tell him that the reason why lovers in their carnal raptures don’t bother about chocolates is that they have something better to think of. The boy knows chocolate: he does not know the positive thing that excludes it. We are in the same position. We know the sexual life; we do not know, except in glimpses, the other thing which, in Heaven, will leave no room for it.

Fascinating isn't it?

I'd recommend all to read the original post although it probably raises more questions than answers them.

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