I’ve been thinking and praying about this thread for the past few days, and I feel a need to respond to this. It’s not particularly part of the debate; I’m sorry for that.
Just because we aren’t questioning it at this moment in time doesn’t mean we haven’t, Brutus. I’d like to offer myself as an example.
For the sake of context, here’s a bit about me. I’m 20 years old, openly lesbian, and have been out of the closet for quite some time. I’m also a devout Methodist. I’m from Southern Delaware, and my family can pretty much be characterized as one of those that middle America can point to and say “Yep, that’s familiar.” Mom and Dad are both teachers; we live in suburbia with our requisite pets. M & D are centrists, leaning slightly towards Democrat. My elder brother and I are both model students- we were never troublemakers and have always excelled in academics, sports (him more than me), and the arts (me more than him). Middle class and white, in case that wasn’t obvious.
Mom and Dad were raised Congregationalist and Lutheran, respectively, but converted to Methodism at some point along the line. It’s what I was raised as, and in our family faith was a constant. What I mean is that even though we didn’t always talk about religion or go to church every week, our faith in God was an unquestioned assumption, something that was steady. We are Christian, this is right, this is what fits us. Growing up Mom always said that no matter what, we had each other and God.
So with this particular life comes a certain set of assumptions. One of them was that having a diverse (well, diverse for Southern Delaware) group of friends and ideas was worthy. Another one, a much stronger one, was that there were certain things “not in the family.” It’s well and good to have gay friends or black friends or what have you, but it’s not something that’s in the family. Does that make any sense? My parents are strong believers in the path of least resistance- they want our lives to be as easy as possible given the circumstances, and this means “sticking to our own kind” in terms of dating and not challenging all of those pervasive middle-class standards (Money is good, stuff is good, ect…).
I don’t remember when I first found out what gay people were. Sometime in grade school, probably- you know how playgrounds are. We even had gay neighbors next door, for a time, although I was young enough to not understand.
Gay people, more than any group that was not like me, upset me greatly. It felt wrong- the messages that I got from around me was that heterosexuality was the only option. You could have racial balance, you could have equality of the sexes. This was normal and to be sought after (my family are also social justice types). But being gay was something, well, different.
The Bible comes into this. I was not raised on Bible verses that condemned; Methodism tends to be more of a “Jesus loves you” sort of deal. Any particular verses that might endorse racism or sexism, for example, were never introduced into my worldview (or rather, when they were they were explained to be incorrect). Ones that condoned homophobia, though, were now and then, and never corrected. Being anti-gay wasn’t something that got you in trouble in school, unlike being racist. So it clearly wasn’t a bad thing.
Lord knows the media didn’t help. Mincing fairies, stomping bulldykes… they all tended to get killed off anyway, and they spread AIDS and did all sorts of icky things. And the idea of gay sex was frightening. I got the message clearly- while being gay wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, it certainly wasn’t good.
So by the time those formative years hit I was pretty well indoctrinated against homosexuality. Big shock, I know.
All though my youth I had crushes on girls. I didn’t think about them very much- I think that crushes/admiration of other people regardless of gender, especially teachers and others who were however much older, are pretty normal before you hit the double digits.
And then when puberty kicked in- early for me, I was nine when I got my first period- I became hyperconsious of other girls. But where my female friends became boy-crazy, I just didn’t get it. I could appreciate the asthetics of men, but there just wasn’t really any attraction. I played along, hoping that something would click.
In the meantime, it was convenient to dismiss my feelings for other women. I knew what a lesbian was by then, of course (this was when I was about twelve) but I wasn’t one. They were big and scary and looked like (and wanted to be) men. I had long hair and wore dresses. I might think girls were nice, but I did not look like what I thought a lesbian looked like, so I was not one.
In 7th grade one day I was sitting in science class thinking about how pretty Sharon, the girl who sat next to me, was. And then the clue fairy came 'round and hit me with a stick. I was a girl, she was a girl. This was bad and wrong and disgusting.
I couldn’t talk to anyone about this, so I turned to my faith. I prayed, I fasted, I read the Bible like a maniac. I did not want to be gay.
For a long time I would pray every night very simply- “Please God, I don’t want to be gay. Please change me, please make this go away…” Variations on a theme. I would often pray until I would fall asleep from exhaustion by my bed. My mom found me asleep sitting on my floor with my head on my bed often enough that she thought I was rolling out of bed on a regular basis.
I tried to like boys. I dated boys, I tried to admire boys, I tried to want them, and I kept on praying. Months and months passed, and it didn’t work. I became severely depressed. In time rumors went around about me and I was shunned by my peers; I became bulimic, suicidal, and isolated. I would take over the counter painkillers on a regular basis to try to get through the day. And still I kept on praying, and still I didn’t change no matter how hard I tried. I then tried to abandon my faith, but I couldn’t stop believing in God. There’s some things that you just can’t give up, and for me my faith was one of them. It was my rock, you know? In this time I went through a fundamentalist phase- those people that I associated with seemed so sure of themselves, their paths, and that God was with them, and I wanted that. But every time homosexuality came up, which it did often, I couldn’t stand to hear that it was a wicked sin. I was trying so hard, and the feelings kept coming. I could hardly stand it.
In January of 8th grade I tried to kill myself. Went downstairs at two in the morning, took out a knife, and held it against my wrist. The moon was out that night, and it was shining through the window. For some reason the light shining off the knife entranced me. I watched it for awhile- how long I don’t know- and then went back to bed. I always had associated God with light, and it seemed to me that there was a point to the moon shining that night.
Something had to give. I realized at this point that there were four options before me.
- God does not exist and I am gay.
- God does exist and hates me because I am gay, although I have tried my best not to be.
- God does exist and made me gay but never wants me to act on it even though not doing so was killing me.
- God does exist and made me gay and wants me to live my life serving Him as best I can and I might as well accept that and run with it.
Option four was the only choice.
With the help of some faithful friends, a lot of prayer, and what I felt was a pretty clear indication from God that I was going to be okay, I cleaned myself up, came out of the closet, and got out of my downward spiral.
It was hard on my family. I’d kept most of my depression from them, and we had a lot of fights and tears. It took our church’s minister to turn the family away from complete distintigration- she came in and starting talking to us about a variety of things that have already been mentioned in this thread. She told my parents that I was still their daughter and that God loved us all and did not want the family to fall apart.
I’m not the daughter that I thought I’d be. It took my parents- mom especially- years to accept me. We all still have our moments and trials. But now I’m proud to be yet another well-adjusted homosexual ™.
But if there’s anything that is central to my belief system (which yes, I still struggle with and think about and wrestle with), it is that I am who I am for a reason. I try to live my life as best I can according to how I think a Christian should live, although like everyone I falter often. But I do not falter because I love women- it is no more of a sin to me than breathing is. It’s just one of the things that make me who I am, just one of the traits that God chose to create me with.
I’m grateful for the insights into human nature that being gay has given me. I’m grateful for the community and for the women who I have loved. I wouldn’t change it anymore. I’m proud of myself, who I’ve become, what I’ve accomplished, and the work I do with other gay teenagers. And I feel like there’s a point to it all.
Like I said, I don’t like to talk about my faith very often. The journey that I went through and the conclusions that I reached are so personal that I have a hard time explaining them. But I hope that all of this mess that I’ve written makes sense to some of you and that you understand my reasons for sharing now.
Best,
Andy
