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Originally uploaded by Justin Masterson.

I am in-between moments of heart-wrenching, sacred pride.

I will tell you about that in a moment. But first, I want to say thanks.



I've received several extraordinary comments, a few emails, and even a couple of phone calls about my last few posts...a sort of still-going chronicle of my fall from the faith or my hopeful toeing right into it, depending on how you look at it.

Thank you. Josh, Jacob, Patrick, Black17, Keith, Ryan, Denis, Anonymous and everyone else...thank you. I've heard everything from, "you're finally evolving [away from fundamental Christianity]" to "I'd like to meet with you, and I promise I won't try to convert you back [to fundamental Christianity]" to "wanna go for a beer and talk? [presumably about fundamental Christianity?]" I feel really loved, and I really appreciate it. Even if you did try to convert me...toward or away from your system of belief...I'd still feel loved, because you care enough to try.

That's all...thanks. I'll keep writing as I keep asking questions and getting answers and finding time between whatever it is I do all the time.




...Now, back to the topic at hand.

I am in-between moments of heart-wrenching, sacred pride.

A couple of weeks ago, my oldest brother married his wonderful and beautiful fiance. It was a gorgeous wedding, held in my parents' home, with a total of ten of us in attendance. I had the great honor of presiding over the ceremony...an honor whose profundity I could not understand until the moment came to actually do the presiding. As I stood between Brian and Maria, standing next to my twin brother and just a few feet from my parents...as I opened my mouth to speak those first words of the ceremony ("dearly beloved..."), it hit me: I have been asked to officiate the uniting of my own brother to his wife. My own brother. My own brother, Brian. My own brother, who I love more deeply than I know how to articulate.

I had the chance a couple of weeks ago to tell you about my twin brother, Matt. Now I'd like to tell you about Brian.

While Matt was my doppelganger present as we grew up, Brian was, in a way, a walking, talking, chest-hair-growing future. He is four-and-a-half years my senior, and acted simultaneously as my bully, my mentor, my spiritual advisor, my mom-ruiner, my hero, and my coal-mine canary all throughout my youth. I followed Brian the way perfume follows your churchy Great Aunt on a Sunday afternoon...just a few steps behind and lingering in the aftermath. Brian taught me how to take a charley-horse, and how to write a rhyming poem. He ruined my mom by breaking all the good rules before I could, so she would tighten them up by the time I got there...then he taught me how to defy her. (Matt needed no teaching in this regard; seemed to come as naturally as a morning pee). He went ahead of me, getting hurt by girls and making best guy friends and discovering clumsy football and taking final exams and picking up an accoustic guitar to see what happens when a guy who can't fix a car or throw a baseball or build a table decides you can be just as much a man with Rosewood and nickel-wounds. He cried over things I couldn't understand yet. He broke curfew doing things I only imagined as I lay in my bed listening to mom worry loudly over the phone to a friend. He was the first to do most everything. He was my brave future, and I loved him for it.

And somewhere in there, we became friends.

I remember when I was 12 or so, when he said, "man...you guys [meaning Matt and I] are cool...it's like you guys actually have personalities now. Like, you're actual people." He was right...when I began to become Justin and not Vince and Pam's son or Brian's brother or "one of the twins," he and I were ready to begin becoming friends. We grew together for the first time...instead of me just following him. We started to open up to each other, to experience life together as peers of a sort, despite our age difference. He soon became the closest friend I've ever known.

Brian and I share most everything. We talk about religion and faith and politics and beer and wives and swearing and philosophy and cars and sex and the Simpsons. I call Brian sometimes with a rhetorical question or one-line joke or a quote from a movie we saw ten years ago...I think I call to reconnect, and I think I call just to hear him. I ask him before I do anything that truly matters to me. I call him when I can't understand my wife, and he tells me when it's probably my fault. I love my time with him, and as he moved out of our house (his temporary digs until he got married), I felt like I was losing another brother, even though he'd be living just up I-71 a bit. I miss him when he leaves, and I love it when I see my message indicator flash on after I've deliberately ignored his call so that he'll leave some ridiculously stupid message. We seem to vibrate at the same frequency, Brian and I, and I think I'm so much better for it. I think I always have been.

Standing that evening, between Brian and Maria...I stood in the past, present and future at once. He was my older brother; a doctor, a rocker, and a traveler. He was still doing the things I've yet to try. But he was also my peer...my friend in a sense so deep I can't possibly express it here. But, in a weird way, I was the older brother for a moment...and perhaps for the first time. I've been married almost four-and-a-half years...I was able to share a few words about some of the pitfallsl, the joys, and the romance of commitment. I got to warn them and encourage them. I got to hug them. And when I got done, and they made their amazing promises to each other...I got to pronounce them husband and wife. It was one of the happiest moments of my life, and one I shall never neglect nor allow to fade.



So now, here I am. My twin brother, Matt, has just passed the Ohio Bar and will be sworn in on Monday. My older brother Brian just got married to a woman I am proud to know, and prouder to call my Sister. I am so damned proud I have no idea how to express it. I wear my joy like a sweater these days.

I'm so proud of you, brothers.

Peace,
Justin