Devouring Our Young

Unless you live “off the grid,” it’s been impossible to miss the news coverage that has placed the gay community in the center of a media firestorm this past month. It began with the stories of five young people, all in their teens, who committed suicide as a result of bullying or harassment connected to their real or perceived sexual orientation. During the months of September and October we have heard one heartbreaking story after another of lives cut short due to the cruelty of others.

If you live in the Atlanta area or are connected to a church community, another story that has undoubtedly caught your attention involved accusations of sexual coercion made by four young men against Bishop Eddie Long, the pastor of a prominent mega-church of over 20,000 members in the Atlanta suburbs. In this case, four young men who were part of Bishop Long’s ministry through either his church or boys’ academy have detailed the use of expensive gifts, overseas trips and even cash to manipulate them into sexual relationships and then to keep quiet. All the while, Bishop Long has used his church pulpit as a bully pulpit to spew messages condemning gay people while passing the offering plate to collect millions of dollars from his followers.

And just in case you missed both of these stories, earlier this month a federal judge ruled to overturn the controversial “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” legislation that has been in effect for over 15 years as the military’s policy on gay people serving in the U.S. Armed Forces. That decision, while in effect for only one day, was stayed by swift action from the Obama administration and the Attorney General’s office. Apparently allowing gay people to be open about their sexual orientation would send the military into such turmoil that our national security would be at risk. Really, America? Are people (mostly teenagers and young adults) who have the courage and character to put their lives on the line to defend our country really a threat to national security?

For a blog that is primarily focused on issues facing young gay people, my silence in the face of these recent news stories has probably been rather conspicuous. There are a number of reasons why I’ve waited until now to write. The first is that I haven’t felt I had anything new to add to the conversation. The second is that this blog is typically a forum for me to share my life experiences rather than make political statements. But the third and most significant reason hit me like a Mack truck the other night. I was with some close friends and someone brought up the topic of the teen suicides and the “It Gets Better” project kicked off by the heartfelt actions of Ellen DeGeneres and columnist Dan Savage. We were discussing the videos each of us had seen on YouTube when I, quite suddenly, burst into tears.

I realized last week that the reason I’ve not written about this or even discussed it much is because, emotionally, I just haven’t been able to handle it. These stories have hit me so close to home that I didn’t even realize the subconscious efforts I was making to protect myself from the whole topic. Suddenly I can’t avoid it anymore. This is real, and it could have been me.

As with most teenagers, the high school years were a mixed bag for me. The pressures of overachievement and meeting an unattainable standard of perfection in the eyes of God and the church were looming, yet in the midst of those pressures I was afforded opportunities that many young people never have. I excelled academically and socially at my private, Christian high school and even befriended many of my teachers as well as fellow students. I was elected homecoming king my senior year and involved in extracurricular activities from yearbook to high school musicals (insert snarky comment here…). 

Unfortunately, it is often the more damaging and negative experiences in life that shape who we become in the most obvious ways. For me, the shadow side of my high school experience came from my involvement in two traveling youth choirs affiliated with my church. During my sophomore year of high school I joined and quickly took my place in the inner circle of an emotionally charged, spiritually manipulative, shame-based youth ministry that eventually became the focal point of my social, emotional and spiritual life as a teenager. This group was led by a very charismatic leader and a small group of adults, all of whom I became very close to. What should have been a positive developmental experience instead created more confusion in my heart and mind about who I was, who God was and what it meant to be a Christian than any other experience I’ve had in my life. 

 

Each weekend these youth groups would get together in what I can only describe as a sexually-charged environment, where the ongoing joke was to make fun of “homosexuals” and where the boys in the group were encouraged by the leaders to mimic gay people by sexually groping each other, speaking with an over-pronounced lisp, making sexual innuendos and referring to each other as “homos” and “fags.” This was, of course, all done under the banner of fun and happened under the supervision and with the participation of many of the adult leaders. What happened backstage was a nightmare for some of us, but when the lights came on and the music began playing, all the people in the pews saw was a group of teenagers singing their hearts out to God.

As a gay, Christian teenager who was deep in the closet, the culture of this group terrified me to the core, yet I participated in the joking and abusive behavior just to stay in the inner circle. As I had in so many other areas of my life, I tried to make everyone believe I was perfect, and to pull off that charade in this group meant I had to be a card-carrying homophobe for Jesus. 

The flip side of the sexually inappropriate culture of the group was the way the leaders would then turn around and use the concepts of shame, sin and redemption to whip the group into a frenzy of confession, tears and emotional/spiritual hysteria before each concert. I can remember, on numerous occasions, standing in a circle with other kids holding hands and weeping over the shame I felt, begging for forgiveness from God while terrified at what I knew I was; I was the very subject of the abusive, mocking culture that defined the social structure of this group. And when the weekends were over and I returned home to face the normal pressures of school and family life as a teenager, my mom would sometimes find me in my room at night, with the door closed, shaking with anxiety and fear over what would happen if God didn’t answer my desperate prayers to take these feelings of same sex attraction away. Or, even worse, what would happen if people found out what my tearful prayers were actually about.

Were it not for other protective factors and healthy adult relationships I had during my high school years, my story could have had the same tragic ending as 19-year-old Tyler Clemente, or 13-year-olds Asher Brown and Seth Walsh… Need I go on?

I began this post by mentioning three news stories that have become the focal point of a heated debate in America. Talking heads on both sides of the “gay” issue have debated each other, cast blame on the alleged perpetrators of abuse, and even in some cases accused the gay community of using the deaths of these young people as propaganda for advancing a “gay agenda.” So my question to the American public, the American media and the American church is this: When will we stop devouring our young?

Let’s begin by shifting the conversation to the kids out there at this moment that could become the next teen suicide victims, and then move heaven and earth to preserve their lives! Let’s forget about egomaniacal, fat cat preachers who bilk the poor by spreading messages of bigotry and hate and instead rally around these four brave young men in Atlanta who risked ostracism by their families and communities to take a stand against spiritual abuse. And let’s challenge the policy makers in this nation who would sooner send a teenager (of which I see hundreds every week coming to and from the Atlanta airport) to the front lines of a war than afford them the dignity of being true to who they are.

I want to be able to tell young, gay Christians that it will get better. It did get better for me. But it only gets better when we adults make it better in our churches, our schools, our government institutions and our culture at large. So I ask again, when will we stop devouring our young?

Dear God, Please Save Me from Myself

If you watch much television or go to many movies you are undoubtedly familiar with the stereotype of a gay man in America. It’s the guy with the quick wit and caustic tongue; the guy who has few outside obligations on his time or affections and is quick to flee the scene or devour the wounded at the first sign of weakness. It’s the guy who likes things in a state of apparent perfection, whether it’s his clothes, his fabulous living space or his gorgeous friends (because, of course, gay men don’t actually have unattractive friends. Duh.). This image of the quintessential gay character adds a dash of comedic spice to any romantic comedy and almost every network sitcom shown in America. And the formula works because, just as with any stereotype, this one is also based in reality (or a snapshot of reality, anyway).

I get why people think this is funny. After all, at the base of our humanity all of us secretly wish we could sometimes just live for ourselves, break free of the people and things that need us, and freely spend all of our resources (whether they be time, ambition or money) crafting a “perfect” world with ourselves at the center. This is one of the basic features of human nature that we all share. Thank God there are other forces at work to counter these desires, or the world would be a place where committed relationships didn’t exist, children ran around parentless, the elderly were left to die alone and the sick suffered in obscurity. Wait, I’m talking about an alternate future, right?

I have a theory about this narrative of narcissism that has formed the basis of the gay stereotype in America. At least from the perspective of a gay Christian, it begins with the messages that gay people receive growing up. I’m specifically referring to the messages that tell young gay people what they cannot and should not ever have or experience in their lives. The list is long and includes the following:

• You cannot have a partner of the same sex.
• You cannot have children.
• You cannot be a part of this family.
• You cannot be a part of this church.
• You cannot serve openly in the military.
• You cannot have job security in the professional world.
• You cannot get into heaven.

Growing up with those messages ingrained in one’s psyche takes a toll. It strips away a great deal of hope for one’s future and one’s quality of life. Just look at some of the statistics on LGBT youth who are the targets of these messages (for more, check out The Trevor Project’s website)…

• Lesbian, gay, and bisexual youth are up to four times more likely to attempt suicide than their heterosexual peers (Massachusetts 2007 Youth Risk Survey).
• Questioning youth who are less certain of their sexual orientation report even higher levels of substance abuse and depressed thoughts than their heterosexual or openly LGBT-identified peers (Poteat VP, Aragon SR, et al – Journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology 2009)
• LGB youth who come from highly rejecting families are more than 8 times as likely to have attempted suicide than LGB peers who reported no or low levels of family rejection (Ryan C, Huebner D, et al - Peds 2009;123(1):346-352)
• It is estimated that between 20 and 40 percent of all homeless youth identify as lesbian, gay, bisexual, and/or transgender (2006 National Gay & Lesbian Task Force: An Epidemic of Homelessness). 
• 62% of homeless LGB youth will attempt suicide at least once—more than two times as many as their heterosexual peers (Van Leeuwen JMm et al – Child Welfare 2005).

For a gay teen inside or outside of the church, just making it through adolescence alive requires the development of formidable survival skills. If you’re rejected by your family and have to make it on your own (which often happens with LBGT youth from conservative evangelical homes), you learn how to protect your emotions from the pain of that rejection, fend for yourself and then work your tail off for the things you need such as money, shelter and safety.

Is it any wonder, then, that when these young survivors reach their thirties they have effectively learned how to cut a person off at the knees using only their quick thinking and caustic words? Is it any surprise that when they finally accumulate nice things they want to enjoy those things for themselves? Don’t the simple principles of Social Darwinism explain why these individuals would want to avoid needy people who may want to take something from them, whether emotionally or physically? Our media has manipulated this tragedy into comedy, but I see (and have experienced) the betrayal that lies at the core of the stereotypical narcissism within the gay community. I see it imbedded within parts of my own heart and daily pray and fight for it to be rooted out.

For me, it comes out in a variety of ways. I’ll be invited to a friend’s brand new condo for dinner but rather than appreciate the invitation and celebrate my friend’s success, this sniveling voice inside me roars “I must have this condo. I MUST live here!” That’s become such a common phenomenon that my friends can now see the look on my face and speak the words even before I can. Oh, and it makes me an unpopular guest at housewarming parties…

Less comical is how this is played out in relationships. I’ve said goodbye to a potential life partner because I couldn’t fathom giving up my own space and merging possessions. I’ve more often been on the receiving end of this sickness as I’ve said goodbye to people (both friends and lovers) who, when the rubber met the road, willfully chose to take advantage of me or cast me aside when my own best interest required them to make a sacrifice. Like the sacrifice of a three-year partner choosing not to sleep with a stranger while they were on vacation with friends. Or the sacrifice of a close friend choosing not to become involved with someone I was seriously dating at the time. Or the sacrifice of a partner choosing to be there for me on a rough night when I was struggling with depression and they had a party to go to. These may seem like small sacrifices for grown adults to make in the best interest of a significant relationship, but in each case they were deal-breakers. For many gay people who have been told “no” their whole lives, the mere threat of being asked to give up the right to say “yes,” even to pass up a momentary thrill, is something they simply are not willing to do.

I realize that many gay people who read this blog may interpret these as the words of a self-loathing individual. While I can’t guarantee there’s not a little of that floating around inside me, I can honestly say that I write these words as a call to something higher rather than a condemnation of where people are on their journeys. On the same token, I'm not making excuses for self-centered behavior. I'm simply connecting the dots as I've seen them in my own life and relationships, and in the lives of people who are close to me. And there are plenty of dots to connect...

As gay people, as humans, and especially as Christians, if we sign up to be more like Jesus or even just for a deeper experience of intimacy in our relationships, then fighting this wave of narcissism that plagues our culture and community must become priority number one. I can tell you what that’s meant for my life, but it will look different for every person. What I know for sure is that it means letting people in, and letting them in far and deep enough to inconvenience you, to take from you when you're not in the mood to give. And it means that through those very same relationships we learn to trust people to not only take from us but also to give back those things that we have learned only to receive from our own efforts and accomplishments.

The times I’ve experienced the deepest levels of safety and security in my adult life as a gay Christian have been the moments when I've let people in, given myself up, and then watched with fear and trembling as God used those very same people to save me from myself.

Open Letter to a Concerned Evangelical

The recent Prop 8 decision has the interwebs buzzing once again with opinions both supporting and decrying gay marriage. It’s always fascinating for me to see the wide array of people that feel they are qualified to speak or write on the topic. But then again, it is the Internet and it’s an open forum! In most cases it makes for some thought-provoking, or at times just entertaining reading. What probably troubles me the most, however, is when the conversation shifts from a debate about gay marriage to a debate about gay people. Debating about a legal or religious institution is one thing, but behind this issue are very real people who often become the targets of some not-so-kind assumptions and arguments rather than the backdrop for a policy discussion. This is when it gets personal.

  

Since my blog is about the experiences of a gay Christian in America, it has drawn the attention of a few people within my extended social circle who have opinions -- both about Prop 8 and about gay people. For the most part, the comments and discussions have come from a genuine place and have been interesting to read and follow, yet there have been some personal e-mails I’ve received recently that have led me to, once again, marvel at the way many within the evangelical church communicate with people who do not share their interpretation of scripture or life experiences.

Among the e-mails I received recently was one from a person I knew through my church back in high school. He read one of the blogs I shared on Facebook, and also some of my own. Although starting out with the reassurance that he was not speaking from a place of “hate” or “bigotry,” he proceeded to accuse me in no uncertain terms of interpreting scripture through the lens of my own sin, with a bias toward homosexuality. Furthermore, he likened my journey toward acceptance of my sexual orientation to that of a friend of his who left his wife because he fell in love with another woman and then justified it by saying that God wouldn’t have wanted him to stay in an unhappy marriage. After explaining that my situation (having same sex attraction) was no different than his temptations to lust (also a sin), he strongly suggested that if I were to just “step away” from my struggle I would be able to see things more clearly.

Now I’ve had all of these accusations leveled at me more than once over the years, but what made this e-mail more interesting was that I had not had any communication with this person in over 15 years. Not a word. This is the struggle I have with many evangelical Christians. There seems to be a mandate within evangelical culture to confront people and wield the bible as a weapon in the process, and whatever you say is fair game as long as you tell your intended target that you’re saying it out of love.

I’m a firm believer in the principle that “Truth without love kills, and love without truth lies.” This is something I live my life by. But if you haven’t communicated with someone in 15 years, you have no platform of love from which to speak the truth. And in situations like this, it almost always feels like a sting of death rather than words of life.

So, as a favor to the evangelical church of which I am still a contentious part, I offer here my open response to the e-mail I received. I offer this openly with the hopes that other well-intentioned Christians will read this and rethink their approach to reconnecting with an LGBT person within the current, politically and emotionally charged context that exists around these sensitive issues.

"Thanks for your e-mail. I've intentionally waited a little while to respond in order to allow myself time to process what you are saying, and to respond rather than react to some of your comments. First of all, I do not assume that you are speaking from a place of hate. Although it's been over 15 years since we've had any substantive interaction, the person I remember you to be was not a person of hatred. So let's just take that off of the table. Secondly, you are right in acknowledging that we do not know one another anymore. So, in the case of your e-mail to me, you are not writing to me as a concerned "friend." Friends earn the right and the credibility to say certain things to other close friends that strangers or acquaintances do not have the right to say. Many of the things you have said in this e-mail you have absolutely no right saying to me, since we are at this point in time, acquaintances. However, regardless of the fact that I feel you've crossed a few lines here, I have taken your words to heart and I'd like to thoughtfully respond, because I believe your intentions were good...

Regarding the biblical debate, this is not a battle I will ever win with you, nor is it an argument that I want to have. The Bible is not clear about homosexuality as it is on other topics such as serving the poor, loving your neighbor as yourself, etc. Any honest theologian or Biblical scholar would likely be willing to admit that. So I'm not going to argue with you about scripture. I've found only one of the passages (Romans) to be specifically addressing same-sex relationships outside of temple prostitution or the prohibitions found in the holiness code of the Old Testament. Many Biblical scholars agree, but I'm sure you would discredit those scholars so I think it's best to leave that alone. I do, however, take issue with the comment you made about my interpretation of scripture being very biased over the years. This is simply not true. I struggled through these scriptures for decades, and the very reason it has been such a struggle for me is because I did NOT take a biased approach to scripture. I mean, after all, I was a Free Methodist pastor with a degree in religion focusing in Wesleyan theology. If anything, my bias for most of my life has been against homosexuality, not in favor of it. So I have to disagree with you on that point.

Also, regarding your assertion that I interpret the Bible in light of my own situation rather than interpreting my situation through the light of the Bible, I'm sure that, at times, I am guilty of that. I think most of us are when it comes to certain topics. But I can tell you from the bottom of my heart that this is not what I endeavor to do. I will say, however, that I choose to interpret the entirety of scripture through the words of Jesus, rather than interpreting the words of Jesus through the words of Paul or any other Biblical author. So, when I look at the Romans passage, I also take into consideration the many other writings from this same author that were contextual to the time. For instance, Paul writes in one of his letters that it would be better for a man not to marry. But you are married, and no one has a problem with that (including me). You are honoring God to the best of your ability within a marriage, even though you could possibly dedicate more of your time, attention and energy to serving God if you were single. And Paul also limits the role of women in the church. Well, you and I come from a denomination that ordains women equally with men, so we've obviously taken liberties with that one as well. In my opinion, what we’ve done with other issues raised by Paul and other biblical writers is to interpret their words through the lens of Jesus' words and ministry. And through that process we are able to more clearly identify what are the "priority" issues of God, namely loving God and our neighbor as ourselves. Marriage, women in ministry and same-sex relationships don't seem to make the top of Jesus’ list of barriers to serving God.

Your story about your friend who left his wife for another woman is a sad one. That must have been a very difficult experience for you. As devastating as this is, your friend’s story has nothing to do with mine. Your friend broke his vows, hurting many people in the process, and then distanced himself from you after you confronted him. I intentionally did not get married, and even left the pastorate so that I would not break my vows to either a spouse or my denomination. Since then, I have painstakingly walked side-by-side with other followers of Jesus during the last 10 years since coming out. Even the people who have confronted me and hurt me within the church I have remained close to. I have not left my Christian community, although that would have been much easier. I keep people very close to me who ask me the tough questions, who keep me accountable, yet who also see my heart and know my honest pursuit of a life that honors God. This seems much different to me than what happened with your friend.

The last thing you said, and perhaps the thing that stung the most, was that I should just "step back away" from my struggles. This underscores for me the depth to which your misunderstanding of sexual orientation goes. This is not something I can "step away from." Although my sexuality is not the only defining aspect of my identity, it is an integral part of who I am. I did not choose it. Nor was I abused and then ended up gay. This was part of me from the beginning. Like you, I too can choose not to give into lust, and I fight that battle just like any man. You are a married man, and are able to leave your computer after reading this and enjoy your wife and family, so you really have no idea what it means to be a gay person who has been told that this is not an option for them. The type of same sex relationship I am looking for will be just that, companionship and intimacy within the context of commitment. It is not about lust anymore than your relationship with your wife is about lust. Asking me to "step away" from my sexual orientation for a moment is an insensitive thing to say. I have tried that. I've been through entire programs to help me step away. I do not believe that process holds God's best for me, and I did not come to the conclusion easily.

I guess what I'd like from you is the same thing I'd like from many of my evangelical brothers and sisters. That is for you to sit down, be quiet, and listen. Gay Christians like myself who have grown up in the church have spent a lifetime listening to the opinions and arguments against homosexuality. We know the arguments well. We also are painstakingly aware of your commitment to a literal view of scripture. And we know from personal experience that many evangelicals have very few appropriate boundaries when it comes to forcing a specific understanding of scripture on people who may interpret it differently. So all I'm asking (and I think you are doing this, in part, by reading my blog) is for you to let go, for a while, of your need to get your point across. Try to listen with your heart. Try to listen with the guidance of the Holy Spirit. But try not to be planning your next argument or attack while you do so.

I started my blog to share my story, and it is the story of tens of thousands of gay Christians much like me who fill or have filled the pews of churches across this country and the world. You can argue scripture with me all day, and I won't be able to win. But you also won't win any of us over that way. You will only win the right to be heard if you spend time listening, even when it makes you uncomfortable. You cannot argue with my story. It is just that, MY story. It is the truth of my experience, and woven throughout that story is an even more powerful story of the grace of God meeting me at times and in ways that have saved me to the core.

I recommend that you pick up Andrew Marin's book "Love is an Orientation." I think you would appreciate and benefit from it. Andrew is an evangelical Christian who would agree with you on the scriptural interpretation, but he has some valuable things to say about where to begin the conversation with gay people. I appreciate your heart, but must tell you that you have begun the conversation in the wrong place. If you begin the conversation this way with other gay people, they will not hear you.

Thanks for engaging in this dialogue with me. Some of the things you wrote did sting a bit, but I'm still willing to be part of the conversation. And part of the reason is that I am open to the possibility that I've gotten this wrong. There, I said it! I realize and accept that I could be wrong. But it is with that admission and in the spirit of that possibility that I rest in the grace of the God who created me. God knows my heart and my life-long struggle to seek God in the midst of this journey. And I'm willing to rest in the knowledge that, at the end of the day, that's all any of us really will get by on anyway."

Take Me 'Out' to the Ballgame

This weekend my dad and I went to a baseball game together. That may not seem like a big deal to most people, and in most cases it probably isn’t. I can vividly remember going to Detroit Tigers baseball games numerous times with my dad as a kid and loving every minute of it. What made this a bigger deal than your average outing to the ballpark was that this time my dad and I were part of a mostly gay entourage celebrating the birthday of one of my friends. My dad knew this ahead of time and was still enthusiastic about going and had a great time getting to know some of the people that are important in my life here in Atlanta. For me, this was more than just a baseball game with my dad and a handful of friends; it was the most significant milestone I’ve passed in a decade-long journey toward acceptance within my family. And it was definitely a home run.

Coming out to my parents ten years ago was one of the most difficult things I’ve been through in my life. I was one of those kids who had a very close relationship with both of my parents, even through the challenging transitions from childhood to adolescence, then from teenager to young adult. We could always talk about nearly everything and they allowed me to spread my wings and make my way in the world. Many of my friends envied the closeness I had with my parents, that is until the day I sat them down to explain to them that I was gay, and had been dealing with that reality secretly since adolescence.

My mom’s reaction, although unexpected, is one I can now laugh about. As they were seated together on the living room sofa after I delivered the unsettling news, my mom looked at me and simply said, “No, you’re not. I know that you’re not. It’s not possible.” I was prepared for tears, rejection, anger or disgust, but I most certainly was not prepared for that. After spending quite some time trying to explain to her that I was, indeed, sure that I was gay (an exercise in futility), I left the house without much reaction from my father.

Nearly a month later, my car broke down just down the street from my parents’ house. My dad came to help me, and it was the first time I had seen him since that fateful conversation. Even though this was the same man who had taken me to New Kids on the Block, Debbie Gibson and Janet Jackson concerts as a teen, the news of my sexual orientation had completely blindsided him (go figure?). What began as an awkward silence sitting in his car at the repair shop was broken by words that pierced me so deeply I will never forget them. Without looking at me, my dad said, “It’s like you died. The son we knew is dead, and now we have to start all over again getting to know this new person who has replaced him.”

Even now, ten years later, I can’t type those words without them taking me straight back to that moment in the car and feeling like someone has knocked the wind right out of me. Those words cut me so deeply to the core that the tears come quickly even though I’ve replayed them thousands of times since that day.

Through a long journey filled with dramatic ups and downs, fits and starts, and even more than one “coming out” conversation (apparently they forgot I was really gay about five years after I told them), my parents and I have arrived at a much better place together.  Getting to this place only came about because we made a mutual commitment to each other. We committed, even amidst the heartbreak of that initial coming out moment, to try to understand each other and most importantly to love each other no matter what.

This has been no easy task, and the struggle can be attributed in great part to the way many within the evangelical church in America have used the issue of “homosexuality” to divide families. Through a series of lies about the nature of human sexuality and the roles of mothers and fathers, organizations like Focus on the Family and the Family Research Council have pitted parents against children, wives against husbands and congregations against their own. When families have a gay son, their pastors and the authors of countless child-rearing books tell them that the fault lies with the father; that he hasn’t been involved, hasn’t been a strong disciplinarian, or hasn’t modeled true masculinity to his son. My father deserved none of these accusations and was, in fact, a stellar example of calm, consistent strength and integrity. But he was blamed nonetheless. And to his credit, he never countered those attacks with equally false blame against my mother for being overbearing or overindulgent and thereby creating a gay son (another popular lie promulgated by self-named "experts" on the subject). Why the evangelical church has intentionally caused families to turn on each other during these already painful moments I will never understand, but this happens over and over to fathers who might otherwise embrace their children regardless of sexual orientation.

Just a few months ago I was home for a vacation to the Midwest to celebrate my niece’s one-year birthday. I was having such a great time with my family that I extended my trip a few days just to have some down time with my parents. One night, the whole family was gathered at a bakery waiting to gather the leftovers for distribution at our church and we got to talking about food allergies and pregnancy (as my sister is pregnant with her second child). I have a life-and-death allergy to peanuts, and my mom casually commented that she used to crave peanut butter by the jar when she was pregnant for me. My dad pointed over toward me and said, “Yeah, and look, this one came out GAY!” The entire family burst into laughter. I was stunned, but this time in a good way. Had we really made it from tragedy to comedy in a mere TEN YEARS? This had to be a good sign…

I’ve known my whole life that my dad loves me.  He often tells me how proud of me he is, and that means a lot. But this past weekend I flew him down to Atlanta for the weekend as a belated birthday and Father’s Day gift. He was so happy. We talked about my career, things going on in our family, and his worries about the wellbeing of everyone he has taken care of in his life. The most somber topic we discussed were his instructions to me in caring for my mother and the family when he is no longer here. We shared a steak at one of the best steakhouses in America, ate ice cream and took my puppy to the dog park.

And to kick it all off, we went to a baseball game with a bunch of gay guys.  It may not seem like a big deal to most, but I’ll never forget that night for the rest of my life.

Belonging, Part 3: Where My Boys At?

Something very sad happens in the hearts and minds of young gay Christians early in adolescence. It’s rooted in the debilitating cloud of guilt and shame that begins to settle over you from the very first moment you notice that the boy or girl in your classroom at school, who is the same gender as you, gives you butterflies in the pit of your stomach. Or maybe it begins the first time you hear the story of Sodom & Gomorrah told by your youth pastor… You know, the part about God destroying those cities and their inhabitants with sulfur and fire because “homosexuals” resided there. I can’t pinpoint exactly when it begins, but I can tell you with certainty that it starts with a feeling of self-doubt, then blossoms into self-hatred and ultimately grows into a fundamental belief that you do not deserve to find happiness or belonging solely because you are gay. And this belief becomes an underlying assumption affecting most of your major life decisions as an adult.

For me, this toxic way of thinking (which, by the way is a lie) has negatively impacted not only my ability to have a successful romantic relationship, but also my ability to form friendships within the gay community. I’ve been so conditioned to believe that “gay” is wrong that when I meet other gay people who I could befriend, they always begin at a deficit in my mind. I expect that them to be shallow or flaky, or I assume that they have the wrong motives. Basically, I project all of the negative images that I was told to believe about gay people and that deep down I fear are true of myself onto perfectly innocent bystanders. And sometimes when you expect the worst out of people, you bring out the worst in them. Thus begins the vicious cycle of the self-fulfilling prophecy. 

Anyone who is close to me will tell you that my friends and family hold the highest spots on my priority list. And I will tell you that I have the most amazing, long-lasting, fulfilling friendships on the planet. Those friendships are what have sustained me throughout the past ten years and long before that. What is interesting about these friendships, however, is that 99% of them have been with straight people. In fact, if you did a demographic analysis of my social circle, you’d find that my average friend is a 50-year-old, single, straight female (OK, that might be a slight exaggeration, but it’s pretty close). I wouldn’t trade these friendships for the world, but it does make for an early bedtime when hanging out on the weekends…

The bottom line is that I’ve never allowed myself to believe that I could have fulfilling friendships within the gay community and I’ve put up a lot of walls when it comes to those relationships. In fact, even to this day I experience a high level of anxiety anytime I’m entering an environment where the crowd is predominantly gay. It’s a very self-defeating thing to experience.  But recently, something has begun to change, and for the better.  

In the past two years since relocating to a new city I have, for the first time in my life, found friendship with a group of gay guys that has brought about a whole new layer of healing in my soul that I didn’t even know how to reach. It’s a group that I pretty much stumbled into, but it has allowed me to see myself with new eyes and perhaps even more importantly has shown me a whole new profile of the face of God.

My straight friends, especially those who’ve known me for over 20 years, really do get me most of the time. But even though they get me, there are still some things that I just can’t expect them to understand. There are just some things you experience as a gay person in America that non-gay people can’t quite understand. Having to be at least partially “in the closet” at work and worrying about your job security, for instance. Or going on that date where the guy you are really into tells you that he’s HIV positive. Or living in a reality where you have to think about HIV at all. Or living with the fear that you may be assaulted on the street or in the park just because you’re dressed too fashionably and don’t look tough enough to defend yourself. These are things that gay men have to think about every day, if not consciously then subconsciously.

Fourth of July weekend was a tough one for me this year. It was one of those times when I could barely find the will to leave my house. Feeling depressed, isolated and generally miserable, I finally mustered the courage to meet some friends for drinks for just one evening of the holiday weekend. After a valiant but failed attempt at social lubrication, I found myself sitting on a curb next to my car, head in my hands, crying my eyes out (not a good look for a thirty-something year old). At that very moment I got a text message from one of these friends who has become a lifeline for me. He’d seen me a few minutes prior and saw something in my eyes that he recognized all too well in himself and thought I just might need some help.

An hour and a half and a box of snotty tissues later, I finally got up from my friends sofa to head home. I had poured out my heart to him while he listened and just supportively held my hand. There was nothing sexual about it, nothing self-serving in the least. What was actually so amazing about that experience is that I wouldn’t have had to say a single word. My tears were enough. He got me.

These guys all get me. They get my faith commitment because they share it (I met two of them in a Bible study, after all!). They get what it means to be a single gay man trying not to “settle” in a shallow pool of dating prospects. And the best part is that I would trust any one of them with my life. They love me for who I am. I don’t have to change or hide a thing. This has been my breakthrough of friendship, and just as my breakthrough at LaSalle Street Church helped reconcile me to a community of faith, this new bond of friendship has helped reconcile me to another community that I am inextricably linked to; a community of gay people that is more tightly connected and supportive than I’d ever given them credit for.

Thanks, boys (and you know who you are), for teaching me about the tenacity of true friendship that is possible within our complicated yet resilient little world.

Belonging, Part 2: Recovering Evangelical

Exactly one year after taking my first steps out of the closet I had finished graduate school, gotten an amazing job opportunity and packed my bags for a big move to the big City of Chicago. The year leading up to that move was, to date, the worst year of my life. I was adrift from my moorings in so many ways and feverishly grasping for something to hold onto be it my faith, my family, a relationship… Anything.  The more I clamored for these things, the more they seemed to slip through my fingers only to be replaced with a deep-seeded anger and resentment that was welling up  (and often boiling over) from inside. The excitement and hope brought about by the opportunity for “freedom” was tempered by a nagging desperation to find a place where I belonged.

Upon arriving in Chicago I had two existing connections I was counting on heavily to make the transition easier. One was a mentor of mine from an urban studies program I had been a part of during my last semester of undergrad. She had been in the periphery of my life since I was in middle school, but had become an important role model for me during my last year of college where I had studied urban ministry in Chicago under her leadership. I had no idea how significant a role she would play in my life a little later on, and had I known I might not have kept her at arm’s length while I put all of my eggs in another basket, which was with the boyfriend I had made in Chicago prior to moving there.

Needless to say, every last egg went in the boyfriend basket and within about three years those eggs had all been shattered. And so, a few years into my Chicago sojourn I found myself sitting in a pew at a place called LaSalle Street Church at the invitation of my mentor, with my basket of broken eggs in tow. And by this time that basket of broken eggs carried with it a dark cloud and a foul stench of anger, heartbreak, bitterness and resentment. I counted on that stench to keep people at arm’s length, even as I sat in the pew longing for a do-over, a chance at connecting back to a community of faith where I was worried I wouldn’t fit anymore.

I hadn’t abandoned my faith during those first years of coming out. In fact, it wasn’t even an option in my mind. But as a young gay Christian unwilling to deny his sexuality, finding an open and affirming evangelical church in the Midwest was about as easy as finding a PFLAG meeting at the Vatican.

I had visited numerous churches in Chicago during that time period, but services were inconveniently scheduled during the morning hours immediately following Saturday nights. I’m not sure who first planned this, but it certainly makes church attendance difficult if one’s first priority is to find his place among the fun-loving gay scene that is Boystown, Chicago. These boys definitely know how to party, they just don’t always know how to stop before the sun comes up.

Needless to say, the search for a church (half-hearted as the effort was) had not been successful, that is until my third or fourth visit to LaSalle Street Church over the course of about a six-month period. There was something different about this church. I only knew one person there, and although she introduced me to a few others I can admit that what really made me come back was the fact that people simply left me alone. I could come in late, sit in the back and leave before the dreaded coffee hour, and no one seemed to mind. I felt no judgment when I came in late, eyes bloodshot, voice raspy from dehydration. Eventually I started showing up on days other than Sundays… It wasn’t long before I even began showing up to church events that were scheduled (gasp!) on Friday nights. I didn’t know it yet, but something had shifted deep down inside. Hope had sprung up ever so slightly and the sweetness of it began to clear the stench from what had been dying inside of me a little bit more every day, for a long time.

I realize now that although some of the alienation I felt from the church was very real, a great deal of what I had experienced wasn’t a reaction to the revelation of my sexual orientation. Instead, some of it was a response to the anger and resentment that characterized my demeanor when I encountered people from the evangelical world. I was always prepared for rejection; so tuned into my loss of belonging that I had created a wall of cynicism that impaired even my own vision.

It’s almost laughable now when I think about my first interactions with people at this church. Everywhere I went I was that angry gay guy just waiting for someone to start a conversation about the Church and its impact on society. I eventually took part in a six-week study on human sexuality led by one of the many ordained ministers who attend LaSalle. How difficult I must have made that study as I sputtered and spewed my anger and resentment week after week, at times all but shouting “But I just want to HAVE SEX!” at the top of my lungs to a room full of patient but visibly concerned people.

What I was really doing was bleeding. My soul was wounded and just bleeding all over everyone. And you know what? They let me bleed. Nobody got bent out of shape about the mess. No one tried to tie on a tourniquet. They just let me bleed, and in the process the wound started to heal.

This is why LaSalle Street Church was home to my first breakthrough of belonging: This was not a “gay church” by any definition, nor was it a fundamentalist church in the business of making a political point. This was a church of self-proclaimed “Recovering Evangelicals” that had become a refuge for all types of people not belonging in other religious circles. This church embraced me through my anger, loved me to a place of healing, and then called me to live an integrated life of service to others. This was the community of faith that broke through to me.

Ten years ago I began searching for a place of belonging in the Church where I could be true to my faith and honest about my sexuality. I knew I had found that place in LaSalle Street Church, and now I’m so grateful to be connected to a faith community that took the hard road and has affirmed that spirit of belonging for so many others just like me.

Just last month I received word from a number of my friends at LaSalle (where I’m still a long-distance member) that the Elder Board had unanimously passed a resolution stating that LaSalle Street Church will not deny lay leadership positions to anyone solely because of sexual orientation, but instead will look at how his or her life reflects the core values of the Church community including authenticity, faithfulness and genuine service. To me, these are words of life and healing of a depth that I cannot even describe.

I received the good news about my church recently while in the presence of three people who have brought me to the second breakthrough of belonging in my adult life, a breakthrough brought about by a rich bond of friendship within the gay community.

Belonging, Part 1: No Man's Land

When I first came out I had some grasp of the fact that my place of belonging in the evangelical community would change. I was so immersed in that community that the thought of losing my spiritual home was more than a little disconcerting. Still, I knew I needed to tell the truth about who I was, and I believed it was the worth the risk.

What I also believed, on some level, was that I would be welcomed into this mythical "gay community" I had heard so much about (mostly bad things, but that was irrelevant). I imagined that after taking the brave steps of coming out to my family and church community I would stroll into the local gay bar in my community where the dance music would be pounding and a whole entourage of fashionable, sophisticated and sensitive gay men would throw me my very own gay pride parade, complete with rainbows, streamers and even a few chiseled backup dancers (obviously extras from the most recent Janet Jackson video)!

This was not what happened. I did stroll into the local gay bar and I did meet people, but for the most part what mattered to the guys I met was the fact that I was gay, and a new (reasonably cute) gay at that. Some people were friendly and others were flirty, but with most people I met in "the scene," the moment the conversation shifted (in a rare moment of sobriety) to my interests and life experiences, things came to a screeching halt at the mention of my Christian faith. When I say a screeching halt, I mean you could actually hear crickets once the words Christian or Jesus left my lips. And the cricket sounds were quickly followed by either snobbish looks (you've seen these looks from gay caricatures on television) or even worse, half-baked theological arguments which were almost too painful to listen to as a former pastor with actual theological training.

The lesson in all of this? My sexuality had no place in the church, and my Christian faith had no place in the gay community. And there I was, clamoring for acceptance from both. Now I realize these are sweeping generalizations, but the church community I had been immersed in really did not have a place for me as a gay man, and the gay party scene I had stumbled upon with false hopes was not the place to be "outed" as an evangelical! I would have gotten less dirty looks if I'd walked in and asked the nearest gay guy to follow me into the bathroom and do coke off of the toilet seat!

There are lots of reasons why the gay and Christian communities have such animosity for one another. In fact, if you're interested in learning more about this conflict I recommend picking up a book entitled "Love Is an Orientation: Elevating the Conversation With the Gay Community" by Andrew Marin, an evangelical Christian who has committed his life to building bridges with the gay community in Chicago. While this is a good read, especially for evangelicals, this book stops short of fully addressing the experiences of people like me who have always identified as both Christian AND gay. As a young, gay Christian fresh out of the closet, I found myself on an island of misfit toys where I experienced equally sharp pains of exclusion from both the Church and the gay bar scene. And depending on the day, I longed to fit in just as much in one as I did the other. I wanted more than anything to belong, and I ended up making a lot of harmful decisions while trying to do just that.

It's been a full decade since I entered that no man's land of not belonging. Sadly, the first half of that decade was a painful time marked by deep depression and a sort of flailing around in an angry haze of depression, drinking and prescription painkillers. Not a good look for someone who’s been nothing but the Christian Golden Boy all of his life. Thankfully, about three years into that journey came the first of what I consider two "breakthroughs of belonging" as a gay Christian.

My breakthrough of faith came just a few months after setting foot in what is now my spiritual home, LaSalle Street Church, in Chicago in 2004.

My breakthrough of friendship came just last year when I stumbled into the unexpected; a group of gay men who embraced me as a gay Christian with the kind of unconditional friendship I had heard about in the gay community but which for me had been nothing more than an elusive longing for so many years.

I’ll start with my breakthrough of faith, because this is truly the reason I'm even around today to write these words…

Gay & Christian? Part 2: Adventures in Missing the Point

I remember the experience like it was yesterday. Just weeks after coming out to some of the important people in my life, a few of my closest Christian friends staged what I would consider a well-meaning intervention by signing me up for an Ex-Gay weekend conference in a nearby city. To their credit, they signed up for the conference, too. It was a married couple (the husband having recently come out as gay) and a straight female friend of mine who convinced me this would be an important step in sorting through the issues around my recently revealed sexual orientation. I have to admit, it was a tremendously important step for me, but probably not in the way it was intended.

As I sat through workshops and plenary sessions conducted by men who claimed to be healed of their same-sex attraction, the most vivid feeling I can remember was the sensation of someone taking a dull knife and trying to sever the connection between my spirit and my physical body. I know that sounds dramatic (the conference itself was rife with dramatic flare as well, imagine that!), but what was happening inside me was a gut-wrenching, visceral experience. As one of the more prominent ex-gay converts pranced around the stage, swishing and lisping while giving too much detail about the fulfilling sex life he had with his ex-lesbian wife, I remember thinking to myself:

"This cannot be the answer. This is a charade. There must be a more genuine, less self-centered way of life than what is being acted out on this stage. There must be a different way to be a gay man and please God at the same time. This cannot be the only option!"

The minute the conference was over I remember driving directly over to my then-boyfriend’s house, walking through the door and collapsing onto the floor in a pile of tears. For the next three hours I sobbed my heart out, to the confusion and concern of my boyfriend who couldn’t believe I’d agreed to this in the first place. It felt like I had just exhausted the only option the church would ever extend to me as a gay Christian. I knew I could never be a true ex-gay, and with that admission came the realization that I could never fully be part of the evangelical Christian community again. Although I didn’t realize it at the time, on that Sunday evening I took my first critical step down a brand new path; a path I hope to see opened up for young gay Christians who, like I did, feel they have reached a dead end in their journey toward an honest joining of their faith and sexuality.

For me, the first step on a journey toward wholeness was to give up the fight I was waging against myself. Many people will likely take issue with this statement out of concern that young gay Christians will hear these words as an admonition to stop living Godly lives. That is not at all what I’m saying. It was my experience that in order to have the energy, resources and resolve to begin the real struggle of reconciling my sexuality with my faith, I had to stop focusing every fiber of my being on beating myself up and then hiding the bruises from the whole world. In order to keep the truth about myself a secret, I was spending all of my time and energy on the wrong struggle and thereby neglecting the more important process of developing a life that reflected the true priorities of my faith.

This is exactly where I believe the evangelical community and the ex-gay movement (which often overlap) have caused thousands of Christians to miss the point. Let’s think about it… For most gay and lesbian people, same-sex attraction is as inseparable from one’s identity as being right-handed or left-handed. When we first had feelings of attraction in adolescence, it was toward people of the same sex. While others were having those first dreams and longings for a life partner of the opposite sex, that longing for us was focused on someone of the same sex. Our bodies and minds simply awoke to this orientation as naturally as any adolescent’s body wakes up to those first feelings of sexual attraction as a normal stage of development. There are LGBT people with different stories, but for many (myself included), being gay has always been as natural as breathing.

In order to change something as fundamental as one’s sexual orientation (and the jury is still out on whether this is even possible in most cases), a person would have to become solely focused on that task for years or even a lifetime. All of one’s energy, emotions, spiritual practices, finances and relationships would have to become centered around one thing: Sexuality.

Somewhere during the course of my ex-gay intervention weekend, the question that came into focus for me was two-fold. First of all, if I really committed my life to the process of changing my sexuality, what would I have left of my life to give to other endeavors? More specifically, wouldn’t Jesus rather have me acknowledge my sexual orientation, entrust that sacred part of me into God’s hands, and then use my life to love and serve other people and make a difference in the world? It occurred quite clearly to me that to make my life’s work the changing of my own sexual orientation would be a narcissistic (and likely futile) endeavor. I wanted to have room in my life to serve other people, to love and be loved by other people, and to allow this one aspect of my identity to shrink back down from the all-consuming monster it had become. In that moment, I began to embrace a way of life that I believed would please God with all of who I was.

That moment was the beginning of a journey filled with struggle and failure ultimately leading to a life of openness, integrity and freedom. These are the stories I want to tell through this blog.

As someone who gave up the fight against myself and forged a new path at the age of 24 without a wife or a family, I realize that my experience has been much different from that of many friends who’ve faced these decisions with the lives of people they love at stake. For most of these friends, they entered marriages because they were told and believed that marriage to someone of the opposite sex would be part of their deliverance from being gay or lesbian. I can only imagine the heart-wrenching pain of dealing with these decisions in the context of a marriage. However, regardless of one’s life circumstances, I’ve seen that the path of openness leads people out of shame and shadows and into a place where one can honestly forge a path that honors God while coloring outside the lines the church has drawn for us in the past. There are paths that lead to either honoring or ending existing marriages. There are paths that lead to both celibate life and loving same-sex relationships. None of these paths are without their own perils, but each is scattered with surprising encounters of grace.

I sit here on a Sunday morning nearly a decade after my journey began. Right now there is gospel music playing softly in the background. As I sip my coffee and write these words I am overwhelmed by the excessive grace I feel in this moment. I write with the hope that someone will read these musings and have the courage to take a more complicated and honest path toward wholeness. I write with the hope that the parent of an LGBT child will be able to offer something more than alienation when affirmation is so desperately needed. I write with the hope that a church leader will become a champion for the tortured and confused young Christians looking for belonging in a congregation.

Coming out as gay and Christian isn’t the end of the road; it is the beginning of a meaningful journey for those who aren’t satisfied with a disjointed existence characterized by fear and shame. Thanks for riding along for a few miles of my journey...

Gay & Christian? Part 1: A Study in False Dichotomies

Quite possibly the scariest moment in the life of a closeted, evangelical, gay teenager is the moment when you realize that the fight is over and the jig is up. It’s scary not because you’ve discovered something new about yourself, but because you’ve given up the one charade that kept you safely hidden within the communities of belonging that have defined your life until that moment. I’m talking here about one’s family, friendship circles and church.

The unfortunate lie behind this paralyzing fear is that once you’ve admitted the truth about your sexuality you have to make a choice to either live a lie or abandon your faith. You can either hold onto all that is familiar in your life or become part of an “outsider” community of people whom you’ve been conditioned to believe are sinful, freakish and depraved and who possess an agenda to destroy the family and the church. It sounds extreme doesn’t it?

It’s very Star Wars-ish in the sense that you’re either on the good side or the dark side of the force. Now, if that sounds a little fantastical, it’s supposed to. This is the way that evangelicals have been whipped into a fearful frenzy by folks on the extreme right who know that the more fear they stir up, the more money these folks will put into the coffers of their organizations. But let’s save that for another blog. I want to focus for a moment on the false dichotomy of this choice that so many young, gay Christians believe they must make. It is at the point of this choice that countless many of my LGBT brothers and sisters have lost themselves in a life-or-death search for belonging.

So what happens when young people are faced with this impossible choice? Well, for gay Christians my age and older (and I’m in my mid-thirties), we’ve typically been given only two options, neither of which have very happy endings.

The first choice, as I mentioned above, is to hunker down, pray like hell for God to change you, and insulate yourself safely from the outside world within the culture of the church. Next you find a nice girl (or boy) to marry; well, one who isn’t that concerned with having much sex, anyway. This option allows you to stay in good standing with the communities that were familiar to you. It is less scary and doesn’t require you to give up much in terms of belonging or reputation. And for many this works pretty well for those first few years of marital bliss. If you just turn off your mind (many churches will help you with this part), suppress the deeper longings in your body and keep up the appearance, you can “fake it until you make it.” The only problem is you really never “make it,” and this way of life flies in the face of everything that Christian community is supposed to embody: Openness, transparency, integrity, truth and accountability.

The other problem is that when those secret desires surface, shame can drive you into some very shadowy places. Places where your secret actions have deadly consequences. Places where what you do can hurt not only yourself but also the people who’ve unwittingly come with you on this journey. Actions that betray your spouse, devastate your children and disappoint your community (Ted Haggard, anyone?). From the countless people I’ve seen in this situation, it’s not a matter of “if” this happens, but rather “when.” It’s a story we’ve seen play out time after time with the same results, and it is heartbreaking.

The second option isn’t any better than the first. For many young gay Christians, the desire for a place to belong leads them far from their families, churches and the friendships that shaped their childhoods. In the search for a place to belong, many young people subconsciously narrow their criteria for “community” to just one facet of who they are as a person: Sexual orientation.

Never mind that your new group of friends wants nothing to do with the Church and pokes fun at your overly developed conscience after failed attempts at virtue. Never mind that the subculture may embrace risky behaviors with reckless abandon. You see, after living a life paralyzed by fear and shame, all that matters is that these people affirm your sexual orientation. They celebrate what your parents grieved. They encourage what your church prohibited. And the sad thing is that in order to fully belong you end up kicking your faith to the curb, shutting down an integral part of yourself and letting your soul grow cold to the idea of a God who doesn’t accept you.

Isn’t there a more life-giving option for a young gay Christian than either turning off your mind and body or shutting down your soul? Isn’t the God reflected in the life of Jesus a God of wholeness rather than brokenness? Didn’t Jesus even say that he came “not to kill and destroy but that they [gay people included] might have life, and have it abundantly”? Neither of the above scenarios seems like an example of abundant life to me.

As you can probably tell, I was never satisfied with either of the more popular options on the table for me as a young, gay Christian. I couldn’t imagine living a lie for the rest of my life just to fit in on the outside. And abandoning my faith seemed as untenable an option as the first. My faith was as much a part of me as my sexual orientation. Neither the denial of my own truth nor denial of my faith was a viable option.

As it turns out, the refusal to take one of these common paths started me on a complicated journey that I am still on today. It is a journey toward belonging; a journey toward an integrated life; a journey that should be offered to all young people who dare to embrace themselves in wholeness with the knowledge that they are not one of God’s mistakes.

To be continued…