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Mark Wahlberg on why, as a Hollywood A-lister, he won't deny his faith

"I don’t want to jam it down anybody’s throat, but I do not deny my faith."

via Eva Rinaldi/Flickr

Actor Mark Wahlberg at the 'Contraband' Movie Premiere In Sydney, Australia

Hollywood isn’t a place where people typically talk about their faith. In a world run by free-thinking creatives and people with secular, progressive values, those who hew to more traditional, conservative Christian beliefs tend to be less visible.

But Mark Wahlberg has no problem being vocal about his Catholic faith, which must be refreshing to the approximately 61 million Catholics in America.

Wahlberg spoke about the balance he has to strike between his private and professional life on the Today show on February 22, also known as Ash Wednesday to Christians. The “Boogie Nights” actor wore an ash cross on his forehead to commemorate the holy day.

“It’s a balance,” the 51-year-old actor said. “I don’t want to jam it down anybody’s throat, but I do not deny my faith. That’s an even bigger sin. You know, it’s not popular in my industry, but I cannot deny my faith. It’s important for me to share that with people. But, I have friends from all walks of life and all different types of faiths and religions, so it’s important to respect and honor them as well.”

He also believes in leading through his example instead of pressuring his four children to follow his faith.

“I don’t force it on them,” he said. “But they know that Dad can’t start the day without being in prayer, can’t start the day without reading my Scripture or going to Mass. And hopefully, instead of forcing that on them, they’ll say, ‘Well, if it works for Dad, maybe it’ll work for us,’ and they’ll kind of gravitate towards it on their own.”

Wahlberg can keep his faith strong while dealing with the pressures of Hollywood thanks to his relationship with Father Flavin, a parish priest who helped him make drastic changes in his life. As a young man, Wahlberg was a high school dropout who had multiple run-ins with the law. But Flavin has helped him turn his life around.

“He’s been in my life since I was 13,” Wahlberg said of Flavin. “He married me and my wife and baptized all my children.” It's also believed that Flavin helps Whalberg choose his movie roles that “honor his religious roots.”

The “Father Stu” star says that his faith has helped him develop the discipline to be a successful actor.

"Discipline has always been important for me in life," he told Today. "Once I started getting into movies and transitioned from music, I realized I needed a lot of discipline in my life, and that discipline has afforded me so many other things. I’ve been rewarded for it so much, and I want to share that with people, whether that’s with fasting, working out more, detaching from other things and just spending more time with God, in prayer or in thoughtful reflection. Those things are important."

Wahlberg’s ability to live a life in alignment with his faith is noble in an industry that can easily challenge one’s moral compass. It’s also noteworthy that has chosen to live by example instead of being preachy and is accepting of those who may believe differently.


This article originally appeared on 2.24.23

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Christian ‘purity’ leader Joshua Harris distances himself from his faith and apologizes to LGBTQ community

via Joshua Harris / Instagram

In 1997, at just 21 years old, Joshua Harris wrote the Christian book, "I Kissed Dating Goodbye," which instantly made him a leader in the "purity" movement.

At the time, he was a virgin who had been home-schooled his entire life.

His book claimed that dating was a "training ground for divorce" and discouraged teenage relationships in favor of "courting." It also encouraged parental involvement in relationships and forbade any kind of physical intimacy.

The book instilled suspicion about relationships in young people and caused many to marry the first person they "courted." It also promoted the idea that sex was wrong and impure.

He would go on to become a megachurch pastor at Covenant Life Church in Gaithersburg, Maryland.

However, four years ago, Harris began to publicly distance himself from his Christian faith. In 2015, he left Covenant Life Church to broaden his views.

In a 2017 Ted Talk, he renounced his book, saying that it was inspired by fear. "Fear is never a good motive," he admitted. "Fear of messing up, fear of getting your heart broken, fear of hurting somebody else, fear of sex…"

Recently, he's dropped more bombshells. He announced he's leaving his wife after two decades together and has renounced his faith. He also apologized to women and the LGBTQ community for the views he spread in his books and from the pulpit.

RELATED: Barack Obama celebrates pride month by tweeting an amazing photo of a Sikh man in a special turban

"I have lived in repentance for the past several years," Harris wrote on Instagram, "repenting of my self-righteousness, my fear-based approach to life, the teaching of my books, my views of women in the church, and my approach to parenting to name a few."

"But I specifically want to add to this list now: to the LGBTQ+ community, I want to say that I am sorry for the views that I taught in my books and as a pastor regarding sexuality," he continued. "I regret standing against marriage equality, for not affirming you and your place in the church, and for any ways that my writing and speaking contributed to a culture of exclusion and bigotry. I hope you can forgive me."

Harris drove the point home by posting photos of himself marching at Vancouver Pride. In one of the photos, he posed with gay singer Trey Pearson and the host of the "Queerology" podcast, Matthias Roberts. Both photos have since been deleted.

via Joshua Harris / Instagram


via Joshua Harris / Instagram

His renunciation of his faith, divorce from his wife — whose role was prominent in his ministry — and embrace of the LGBTQ community caused controversy in the Evangelical movement.

RELATED: Her son came out. She called a gay bar for advice. The delightful convo went viral.

His former church was disappointed by the news.

"These updates are hard to hear. We love Josh and Shannon. For most of us, Josh isn't just some distant public figure," wrote Covenant Life Interim Senior Pastor Kevin Rogers in a letter to his congregation.

"He's a beloved former pastor and friend. So this news isn't just a lot to process theoretically. It hits home personally."

Regardless of one's religious views, Harris' decision to move away from being a leader in his faith because of a change of heart is brave to say the least. How many of us would walk away from a lucrative, high-status career because of a change of conscience?

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They fled from murder in El Salvador and were surprised by sanctuary in a U.S. community.

In June 2010, 14 people were murdered on the same day on public buses in El Salvador.

It is from that frightening environment that 19-year-old Araceli Velasquez fled to the United States.

"El Salvador has the highest rate of femicide in the world, and miscarriage is punishable by 30 years in prison," according to the American Friends Service Committee petition made on behalf of Velasquez. Finding safety was imperative.

But when Velasquez arrived at the United States border, she was detained.

"And then in detention, I learned I could apply for asylum because of the violence I was fleeing, so that's what I did," Velasquez said. She was denied asylum but stayed in the U.S. out of concern for her safety.

It wasn't until members of Park Hill United Methodist Church and Temple Micah in Denver got involved that Velasquez was able to live safely in the United States. The two congregations, along with the larger faith community, decided to offer Velasquez's family sanctuary among their own.

For Velasquez, sanctuary "means that I don't have to be fearful that I'll be separated from my family and that I can continue to fight my deportation in order to keep my family together."

In the United States, faith communities are able to provide sanctuary for immigrants because of a 2011 memo.

The U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) document ensures "enforcement actions do not occur at nor are focused on sensitive locations such as schools and churches." It's not a foolproof solution — the Trump administration so far has adhered to the policy but has been known to post ICE agents near sensitive locations. But for the most part, it provides much needed safety to vulnerable community members.

Steve Holz-Russell, coordinator of the sanctuary task force, recalled starting the conversation practically. "Compared to other things we've done as a church, [deciding to become a sanctuary site] went lightning fast," Holz-Russell said. The church took a vote in June 2017, and more than 80% of the congregation favored sanctuary.

Araceli Velasquez and her son, Christopher, attend a welcoming ceremony at Park Hill United Methodist Church and Temple Micah. Photo courtesy of American Friends Service Committee.

There's a history of faith communities sheltering immigrants that reaches back centuries.

Faith leaders and activists helped people immigrate from El Salvador and Guatemala to the U.S. to flee the political violence the U.S. initially refused to recognize as human rights violations. Dating much further back, the tradition of sanctuary can be found in the Hebrew Bible and the Torah, though with a different application.

Today, claiming sanctuary in a faith community means the individual or family and the faith community decide to have a relationship that includes providing the person or people in sanctuary a place to live.

While there is precedent for claiming and providing sanctuary, there is no law keeping ICE agents from entering faith communities to carry out deportation actions. Thus, providing sanctuary is considered an act of civil disobedience.

Velasquez and her family moved in shortly after her interview with the church and temple.

The apartment where the family would be living wasn't complete right away. For about five weeks, they stayed in the youth room until remodeling was finished.

The two faith communities have worked together to make Velasquez and her family comfortable and cared for. Park Hill United Methodist Church's lead pastor, Rev. Nathan Adams, described the ongoing work as very pragmatic. Community members, he said, have been asking themselves, "What needs to get done, and who can do it?"

Temple Micah Rabbi Adam Morris agrees. From his perspective, the two faith communities have found that "we're doing good, and we're pursuing justice and compassion, but the other great part has been … deepening our relationship."

From left: Jorge Jr. Jorge, Kevin, Araceli, and Christopher. Photo courtesy of Ric Urrutia.

One unforeseen outcome of housing Velasquez in sanctuary? The upswell of support from the broader community.

More than 90 people regularly give their time as either door monitors or overnight volunteers. They have come not just from the faith community but also from the broader neighborhood and throughout Denver.

ICE is known for conducting raids early in the morning or late at night. Park Hill United Methodist Church and Temple Micah have protocols in place should agents show up at their building.

"We had a scare where ICE went to Jorge's place of work," said Rev. Angie Kotzmoyer, an associate pastor. Holz-Russell received the call from Velasquez saying she thought ICE was on their way.

Recalling that frightening day, Holz-Russell said, "I called everybody," and Adams added, "And everybody came."

Sanctuary has given Velasquez the ability to keep her family together. It has also shown her that change is possible.

"I really believe that if more churches had the experience that Temple Micah, Park Hill [UMC], and I have had, where we learn to trust one another and share with one another deeply, that that would change the politics and the laws that we have," she said.

Park Hill United Methodist Church and its board are considering sponsoring legislation around shifts in immigration policy as well as declaring support for those living in sanctuary in Colorado. Adams knows that providing sanctuary and considering legislation is just the beginning.

"We see a neighbor in Araceli and her family that are in need," he said. "I think God is providing volunteers, people who are interested and care about this, to make it possible. So, we gotta do it. We gotta put our faith into action."

Ultimately, the hopes of Velasquez and Park Hill United Methodist Church and Temple Micah are the same: that she and her family will be able to return to their own home.

Furthermore, Adams said, "we really want to live in a place where the idea of sanctuary isn't even needed."

To learn more, visit www.sanctuary-phumc-micah.com.

This story originally appeared on Greater Park Hill News and is reprinted here with permission.

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This gay Egyptian woman had a homophobic dad. But he went through a 'miraculous' change.

"It's hard when you are young. And it stays hard, but it gets easier."

For many living in the Middle East and North Africa, being openly LGBTQ is one of the bravest things one can do.

And some incredible queer people in the region are doing just that.    

Dozens of LGBTQ activists joined forces with Human Rights Watch to create a powerful video and share empowering stories about acceptance, faith, and fighting for what's right.

Dalia, a gay Egyptian woman, was one of the activists who shared her remarkable journey of acceptance, growth, and, ultimately, understanding. Recognizing her attraction to women early on, Dalia's family wasn't very supportive. But as Dalia accepted herself and began living her truth, she saw a miraculous ideological shift in her own father.    

[rebelmouse-image 19533454 dam="1" original_size="735x411" caption="Dalia. All images via "No Longer Alone: LGBT Voices from the Middle East and North Africa"/Human Rights Watch." expand=1]Dalia. All images via "No Longer Alone: LGBT Voices from the Middle East and North Africa"/Human Rights Watch.

"My father was against me in every way," said Dalia. "But he transformed from hateful to accepting and tolerant. He accepted me as his daughter and loved me unconditionally. This was in itself a miracle."    

Dalia's experience isn't unique. In a new report, HRW explores LGBTQ activism and identity, debunks myths, and raises important questions about LGBTQ people in the region. By sharing stories of challenging journeys to personal acceptance and helping to change societal views, the video uplifts and empowers queer identities.  

Omar Sharif, Jr., gay Egyptian.

These intrepid humans — many of whom are Muslim — discussed the challenges of reconciling their queer identity with their faith and regional understanding of queerness.  

Hamed Sinno, a queer man from Lebanon who sings in a band, faced these challenges. It took him some time to come to terms with his sexuality in a society that constantly made him feel less-than.

Hamed Sinno.

But Sinno pushed against the ridicule and got to a place where he accepted himself. "What I didn't understand is that there was nothing wrong with me," said Sinno. "It's the people around me who were wrong."  

Norma, a queer Lebanese citizen who decided to not show their face, also went through a long journey to acceptance that began in childhood. Norma talked about one of the earliest moments they felt happy and comfortable.

"I remember the moment perfectly," said Norma. "It was Halloween. It was the first time I wore my sister's skirt and my mom put makeup on me. I still remember that day. How happy I was and how comfortable I felt."

Norma.

These beautiful queer humans prove that persecution isn't going to silence their powerful voices.

As the report notes, many LGBTQ people in the region deal with hostility, criminalization, and governments that refuse to acknowledge and protect their identities. Because of these pervasive societal norms, queer people in the region can face persecution, estrangement, and even death. But, as Abedellah Taïa of Morocco noted in "No Longer Alone," being queer never has and never will hurt anyone.    

"You're gay. It's not a disease," said Taïa. "You're not against religion or Islam. You're not against culture or the state or your family."      

Regional activists also show that there's never a single story, and with time and understanding, things do indeed get better.  

As Algerian activist Zoheir Djazeri told HRW, it's important to not paint the entire region with one brush stroke. "We don't want the image anymore of just being victims," Djazeiri said. "We want to speak about reality, speak about violence, but also to [show what is] positive."

Omar, queer Iraqi.

Living your truth, regardless of what society deems is worthy or acceptable, is the most powerful thing you can do in life.

In the video, and in conversations around the world, accepting one's identity is one of the most important steps in moving toward progress. And, as we've seen over the last decade, societal norms can shift with time. Instead of fighting against the truth, we should empower queer people to create their own spaces and tell their stories.

"At the beginning, I was at war with myself, trying to change myself," said Hajar from Morocco. "In reality, it's not a choice. I cannot change."        

The cause for LGBTQ rights to be seen as human rights is a long, ongoing push for justice. While progress has been made, there are still policies both in the United States and around the world that make queer people vulnerable to continued oppression.

By supporting queer rights, fighting to ensure that all people have access to safe and affordable health care, and holding governments accountable for protecting queer constituents, we can create a world where LGBTQ people — no matter their nation of birth  — no longer feel alone. "It's hard when you are young," said Sinno. "And it stays hard, but it gets easier."    

Watch "No Longer Alone: LGBT Voices from the Middle East and North Africa" below.

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