Last night I had a phone call from a current seminary student (25 years old) who is struggling with accepting himself as a gay Christian. He goes to a very conservative school, but I'm friends with one of the more liberal affirming profs there who connected us to talk.
The pain I heard was so familiar. He talked about praying the same prayer I prayed a thousand times, begging God to heal me, to take away the feelings I could not understand, to make me like the all the other guys around me. Like I did, he prays desperately for forgiveness, fearing that if he died in the night, he would be doomed to hell for the rest of his life.
He talked about warnings from pastors, professors, little judgments, comments from Sunday school teachers and family members so familiar to me, Words and phrases that cut to the bone and leave you mad, bleeding, hopeless, suicidal.
He talked about how he remembers at the earliest ages of childhood, attraction to the same sex. He talked about how everyone tells him it's a choice, but how it is all he ever remembers. I shared that I could relate as I can trace my first "same-sex" crush back to 4th grade. I still remember his name and every little detail that infatuated me about Peter.
He talked about pretending to like girls in high school, the fear that every time he glanced at a boy "they would know," and about cramming the sports pages every night to "fit in." All things I can relate to.
He talked about feeling like if he prayed enough or "saved" enough people, or preached enough sermons, or helped enough old people, maybe God would make him "normal." How I could remember the pain and the fear and the self-hatred and loathing from the days I thought like that.
He talked about gay closeted friends who took their lives. And about his suicide attempts. I shared mine.
We talked for hours. I hope to God something I said made a difference for this young man. I shared lots with him, but I shared with him that ultimately, I realized that my anger towards God for not keeping his end up the bargain - i.e., fixing or saving me - wasn't necessary. I came to the point where I realized he didn't need to fix me - I was perfect the way I was. I hope one day the church can see how much hurt, pain, and death, condemning their LGBTQ+ brother and sisters causes.
My heart breaks for those who still can't come to accept that God (whoever or whatever that may be) loves them.
LOVE is the Answer…Doesn’t matter the Question.
