Why I Say ‘Gay’
Tell me about yourself. What a loaded question. A question I have been asked time and time again throughout the process of discerning my call to ministry. Such a simple question with such a complex answer. Where to start? What to include? What information would be best to leave out? What level of vulnerability is appropriate?
These are thoughts that have gone through my head countless times over the past several months as I begin the process of seeking ordination in a denomination that has been very open in many regards… unless you happen to be gay. Like me.
It would be easier if I just left that piece of my identity out. If I conveniently forgot to include that little detail in my call story or in the conversations I have with various faith leaders. Not only would that lie via omission become blatantly obvious when I communicate with the voice that God gave me or use the mannerisms and demeanor that the Holy Spirit uses to articulate my movement; if I left out this fundamental piece of my identity, I would be putting a bushel over the light of the holy spirit and stifling a fundamental piece of why God has called me to serve.
I don’t endeavor to speak on behalf of all gay Christians, but I can speak to my own experience of growing up gay in an evangelical Christian household in rural Southern Missouri. What I can say about my upbringing many aspects were great, but there were also many challenges as well. You see, for me, I was gay long before I noticed that men were attractive or donned my first rainbow tank top. Simply by taking my first breath, I began practicing my homosexuality. By simply existing I am queer.
As a child, my cousins referred to me “Seth-erena” because of the octave of my voice and the sashay of my walk. At a family gathering when I was about six or seven, my female cousins decided to lather me in make up and throw me in an old bridesmaid dress from my grandma’s closet. As I strutted out into the backyard where the adults were gathered, I immediately noticed a mocking look from my aunts and uncles and a mortified look wash over my mother’s face. I was immediately rushed back inside the house, aggressively scrubbing hint of makeup off my face, and doused in a heaping load of shame.
When I was a child, another thing that I loved more than anything was to physically twirl around. With a never-ending load of fabulous energy built up in my body I couldn’t help but to let it flow out of my fingertips. I excitedly awaited the olympics when my childhood icon Nancy Kerrigan would take the ice twisting and twirling with grace. When I begged to be enrolled me in dance classes, I was immediately shot down with a level of ferociousness that let me know, without a question, to never bring up a topic so preposterous ever again. And why? Because the faith communities that my family relied for moral guidance when raising kids condemned homosexuality as a mortal sin.
When I did grow old enough to understand that I was attracted to males, not females, and my parents discovered me expressing my homosexuality in the only way available to me, through internet ‘research’, I was immediately ushered to a dinner at Hooters where my father instructed 12 year old me how to objectify the busty female servers in their notoriously skimpy uniforms. Why all of this? Because they were taught by faith leaders that there were few worse sins than for their son to be gay.
As I grew up and the shame continued to mount, all in the name of God. Alcoholism and suicidal thoughts began to dull the sparkle that the Holy Spirit had placed in my heart. The first time I openly discussed with others my desire to end my own life I was in the sixth grade. After several failed attempts at suicide and a stint in prison for drugs, I was homeless and broken. The gifts that the Holy Spirit had given me laid waste. A lifelong friend told me that I had “lost my sparkle”.
Luckily we are all blessed with the grace of God. A grace which was at work in my life long before I was willing to recognize it. A grace which broke through the pain and desperation in my heart. Few people truly understand God’s grace like individuals in recover. On the brink of death, we are forced to deconstruct what individuals and institutions have told us about who God is. We must build a genuine relationship with God, however we can conceive or understand God. I am blessed to have come into contact with institutions and Christian leaders who have encouraged me to grow in the light of the Holy Spirit and Jesus Christ, but all over the world there are queer Christians who are dying due to God being closed off to them due to the very identity that God created them to be. Currently, all around the world, Christians are mutilating the body of Christ one premature death or estranged individual at a time.
So sure, life would absolutely be easier if I just left that little detail out of my story or communicated in a more heteronormative way. But in doing that, I would be denying a fundamental piece of why God has called me to serve. I would delay my ability to aid in the healing that so many individuals are hungry for. A task that I am prepared to dedicate the rest of my life to.
