How HIV/AIDS became personal
By Michael Vinson

Michael Vinson with Mary and her brother, James - AIDS orphans in Uganda

Now it’s personal.

I attended last year’s Disturbing Voices HIV/AIDS Conference at Saddleback Church. Two years ago, I would have never imagined sitting in Orange County, Calif., amidst a thousand or so evangelical pastors, church leaders, and lay people. Yet on Nov. 30, 2005, I found myself completely immersed in the single largest health crisis ever to face humanity: the global HIV/AIDS pandemic.

About two years ago, God radically changed my heart. Prior to that, I didn’t care about the homeless. I didn’t care about orphans in Africa. I didn’t care about the sick and the dying. I condemned welfare recipients and was repelled by homosexuals. I used to ‘thank’ God that I was not like those people.

God’s Word, the sacrifice of the Son, the illumination of the Spirit, men who taught me and continue to ground my theology in strong reformed apostolic doctrine, a Scottish pastor, an Irish rock star, a church I love, an African pastor, a small group of committed Christians on Sawgrass Lane, and my wife who is the blessing from God that I did not deserve, all culminated into moving me into action. For what good is our knowledge of God and Christ’s love if it does not result in loving obedience to our Lord?

The least of these in Africa
I remember walking in the Mathare Valley, Africa’s second largest slum, located in Nairobi, Kenya. As many as 1 million residents exist in the 1 x 3 mile slum. There I held orphaned children. I hugged AIDS-infected women and children. I watched a 12-year-old orphan sharing his small bowl of food for the day with his baby brother.

Something happened while I was with the least of these in Africa. They became names and faces and smells and touches and smiles and tears and sweat and, most significantly, human. When I look at pictures or our DVD from that time, I don’t see poor hungry orphans. I see Duncan. I see Isaac. I see Stephen and Douglas. I see Moses. It’s personal. I know them, and they know me.

Removing stigma in myself
As I prepared to go to the HIV/AIDS conference, I asked God to send me an influential ‘man or woman of peace,’ who is open to my vision for the Mathare Valley slum. I also prayed for God to personalize the HIV/AIDS pandemic for me, to put a face on this disease.

When I was at the conference, sitting in the large worship center, Rick Warren spoke about the devastation caused by the stigmatization of HIV/AIDS.

I thought, “How can an African community take an HIV-infected woman, infected by her husband, who is now dead, and stone her to death because they hold her responsible for his death? How can schools in African countries deny children access to education because they have HIV/AIDS? This issue of stigma has got to go!”

And then God spoke to me. He said, “You want to remove the AIDS stigma in Africa, Mike? Why don’t you start with yourself?”

And then in my heart, these words were spoken: “Can I truly care for the dying AIDS orphan in Africa when I am repelled by a gay man dying of AIDS in a hospital bed in San Francisco? How is it I cry for one and condemn the other?”

A face for AIDS
Lunch was announced and I stood catalytically, wallowing in my own self-disgust. I walked out to of the sanctuary and came face to face with a man whose name tag read “John Forbes.” My heart recognized him as I looked from his name tag to his face. I said, “I know you.”

Seventeen years ago, he and I were actors studying at the same academy in San Francisco. For two years, we were the best of friends. We studied together, roomed together, ate together, drank together, worked on stage together, and lived lives separated from God together.

John filled in the blanks of the last 17 years of his life. He told me that at the time he and I met, he had run away from the church. While we were friends, I never knew he had grown up in the church. Over the years, John became an alcoholic and began smoking crack cocaine. He flirted with bi-sexual encounters and ultimately engaged in a homosexual lifestyle. He moved to New York to get involved in theatre. He also learned in New York that he had become HIV positive and was living with AIDS.

I didn’t know what to say. I may have slightly swayed as my heart broke. I stood there quietly, listening to his story, hiding the mix of emotions in my eyes behind my sunglasses. We parted for lunch and promised to meet for dinner.

I ate lunch quietly alone. I tried not to think too much. My moment of repentance from the AIDS stigma in my own life was enough to push me over my emotional tolerance level. God’s divine appointment for me and John Forbes was all I could take.

Finding forgiveness
Later that day, close to the end of the conference, Rick Warren said: “I want all the people living with HIV/AIDS here tonight to come up on stage with me so that we can pray together as we end,” Rick said.

Rick led us in a prayer that I wish I could remember. I cried out to God in my heart. I cried for strength, I cried for the world and the pain of AIDS. I cried because I knew that I could not escape the truth of HIV/AIDS and what God commands us to do about it. I knew that my life had been changed forever – according to God’s good and perfect will.

I opened my eyes, wiped away the tears, and saw John Forbes on stage. There were about 35 people living with AIDS holding hands with Rick and Kay Warren as we all sang Amazing Grace. Then they all lined up in front of the stage.

As Rick tearfully began to hug each person with HIV, a sea of people left their seats and formed long lines in front of each person living with HIV. As I was in line, I watched those in front of me hug John Forbes. As I approached John, I began to shake, fighting back tears. Then, standing face to face, eye to eye, I embraced him in silence. And then words came from my mouth, “Forgive me John.” Still embracing, I looked him in the face with tears I could not control.

And then the Spirit of God fell upon my entire being in a way that I have never felt it. I spoke these words: “John I prayed for God to put a face on AIDS, to make it real, to make it personal for me. John, I am sorry that you have had to live the life you have lived just so I would care about AIDS, just so … that I could love you with AIDS. God made this personal for me John, he gave me you. He gave me you, John, and I am so sorry.”

God answers prayers. He made me care about what he cares about. He broke my heart for the things that break his. He made me weep for the things he weeps about. Forty million people with HIV/AIDS, each with a face and a name just like John Forbes.

Oh God, forgive me for the resources, the time, the money, the influence, and all of ‘me’ I wasted on the things of this world. Oh please forgive me Father for all the hateful words and thoughts I threw towards your precious ones. Forgive me, Father. Forgive me, Father.