#christinthecamera

You may not find Him where you expect —

but suddenly, there He is:

etched on a man’s skin,

hung around his neck,

in a scene not built for church but somehow dripping with sacrament.

It was supposed to be porn.

But I saw devotion.

Crosses. Psalms. Mary’s name. Prayers in ink across pecs.

And I thought — wait.

What if God got here first?

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We were taught to look for Him in pews, not pixels.

In priests, not porn stars.

But what if the last to be first includes the most banned, the most broken,

the ones turned into punchlines or lust objects or lost sheep?

What if the sacred hacked the system?

What if the Spirit said, “Fine. I’ll go there too.”

⸻

This isn’t about fetishizing pain.

It’s about witnessing transcendence in unexpected places.

Because you don’t get that many cross tattoos without some deep ache for the divine.

You don’t say Jesus is Lord on your thigh

unless something inside you is still calling back to Eden.

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So yeah — I said it.

Christ has infiltrated gay porn.

Not to shame. Not to censor.

But maybe to redeem desire

and to whisper “I never left you.”

⸻

We’ve made holiness a gated community.

But I’ve seen sacred symbols more honestly placed on a porn actor’s chest

than on the wall of a megachurch boardroom.

This doesn’t mean the industry is pure.

But it might mean it’s haunted by holiness.

It might mean the gays weren’t the ones who left the church —

but the ones who brought the sacred with them into exile.