Oh Father God, I need You now. We’ve talked before, of course. A million times we’ve talked like this, but I need Your peace again. Every day I need it. You told me that the wages of sin are death, but you’ve told me that if I believe in my heart that Jesus is Lord and that You raised Him from the dead, then I would not need to fear. You’ve told me that you come in the gentle whisper, not in the storms. Not the fireworks. You’ve told me to be still, but I’ve been told by others to run, because the faster you run, the less you have to be afraid of the monsters under your bed. Stillness and escape. Peace and fear. Whose cup do I drink from? Whose reality is mine?
Feel free to stop reading here. You have heard above the Gospel of Christ, and below you will hear my story. The former is much more important.
When I opened my eyes in this world, a child with siblings to tower over me and parents to rock me to sleep, I knew love. I knew the love that had called me into life just as boldly and certainly as it called to being the cosmos and the atoms that breakdown and reform and continue the work of Creation. Stars grow, and erupt, and consistently coalesce from the constituent flecks, begin anew. That is Your Creation, and that is what brought me here. To grow and learn and love the world, to mimic the greatest love that saw fit to create me and the world around me.
It didn’t take me long to discover that the way I loved was different.
It was not long before I realized that the people who drew my eye were not the ones who were supposed to. You can know you’re gay before you have a word for it. I knew. I always knew, but where could I take this? Nowhere to turn, and yet You, my God, said You were there waiting for me, ready to hold me close, I did not bring this to You. If I spoke it, or thought it, or even let it be a dream, then I would have to accept that it was a reality.
Worst case scenario reality.
End of days reality.
Because I knew even then that this sort of “different” was a different that would take everything away from me if they ever knew. So even I wouldn’t know. I would deny it. I would ignore it. I would explain to myself how everything was fine. Phase. Phase. Phase.
But life has a funny habit. It likes to dig. It finds the neatly tended garden where the bodies are buried and grabs a shovel.
Because I was not a special adolescent. I was not somehow free of the certain curse of catching feelings. Teenage love is still love even if we pretend it makes more mistakes than adult love. So I’ll say love, even though there seems to be a ban on that word before age eighteen, twenty-one, thirty… I didn’t say love back then. I didn’t think I could love unless I loved her and I didn’t love her, I loved him or him, and my mind could not be sorted out. Despair was only certain when I found the girl of my dreams and still knew that we could never be together.
And the slide began then. In the wake of a straight relationship, I began to descend dangerously close to rock bottom.
But I did it with a smile, because, although the closet was lonely, it was too warm to leave. Out of the closet was cold. Out of the closet was a place for people with more strength than I could ever possess, because what would they say? Because who would I be on the other side of the door?
And I felt lost in the world, forgetting my Savior’s words when he proclaimed that He had overcome the world and that I had nothing to fear.
When I did look to the Church, the message was clear. Definitive. Of course, such a lifestyle was unacceptable. Well, of course, I’d have to be alone. I knew they had to be right because these were the people who loved God. These were the people who studied the Scriptures, and yet why did their words bury knives in my ribs?
My curse became a calling? A calling? My calling had nothing to do with who I wouldn’t and would marry. It was the certainty that God put me here to minister to kids who, like me, never felt safe. Called to be single? I didn’t see that anywhere. But it must be true. It had to be because nothing else was acceptable. Other options were deception or destruction.
Called to be single.
Funny that that was when I fell in love. And love is a vitriolic virus. Love is an ingrown toenail. Love is a breath of air coming out of the water. Love is a warm blanket and a day off and the knowledge that life is bigger than report cards and paychecks. I realized love is not simply attraction. I saw clearly what it would be to become one with another person. Suddenly, it was something I couldn’t not have. Love swung me around like a baseball bat. Then love tossed me aside like a baseball bat. Swing and a miss. Destitute and alone because he would never love me in return, I realized that I was much weaker than I had thought myself to be.
And finally I realized that my God’s strength is made perfect in my weakness.
Finally I said “Lord, I need you.”
Salvation is said to be the moment when you accept Christ and become a child of God. I’m not sure. I think salvation might happen every day.
So, in a quiet car, on a dark road, I sobbed and told the car’s one passenger that I am gay, and for the first time someone heard those words come out of my mouth. I had borne the burden for too long. The moment I put it down, I realized I would never pick it up again. The conversations became easier as I peaked out of the closet, reached out with one hand, and then tumbled out onto the floor.
I had chance after chance to walk away from the Lord. Sometimes, it was all I wanted.
He said no.
Now I get to see what a rare breed I am: a follower of Christ and a gay man. Within the mainstream, these things don’t meet often. This is a tragedy. We are called to make disciples of all nations. We speak often about how we’re open to all people, and yet condemn lifestyle, as if Paul said nothing about this. As if he never wrote that the Jews need not require the Gentiles to follow their customs in order to enter the Kingdom of God. As if it is the Church’s job to determine who passes through the narrow gate and not the Creator Himself.
The Church is a home for me because I was lucky enough to realize first that I am child of God before anything else. For many other gay people, that luxury is out of reach. For now, I’m happy to be a bridge between worlds, but I’d rather be part of a church where people like me are not a novelty. I want to see the Kingdom of God grow. I fear we’ve reached capacity on our ship, unable to bring in anymore for fear of capsizing.
So I pray to You, my God. I pray that fear and shame lose their grip on my brothers and sisters throughout the world. I pray that we can mend the wounds inflicted by both sides, wounds like words said without thought to their repercussions. Wounds like conversion therapy in shadowy church basements. I pray that before any more blood is shed from gay wrists, there is an invitation. “Hey, come to church with me.” You could sit and argue about what is and is not sin, or you can go serve. Let’s serve.
I pray for the strength to commit my life to the path that has been set out for me, to discuss with a heart deeply devoted to reconciliation, to make a world that is not just a bit better, but really reflects Your Glory. I pray that I have the words that are Your words, capable of ministering to the young people around me. I pray for my future, my family, my children, and for all that is yet to come. I pray that the world my children will be born into will be one where Christ’s light is the first light they see, and where they do not need to fear falling in love.
All glory and honor are Yours, Heavenly Father, forever and ever.
Amen.
