“Don’t come back to church.”

The toughest part of my coming out journey has been disappointing many of the people who have supported me. It is almost unbearable to consider those who now see me as reprobate, and lost. To the faith community of my childhood, I am pariah. The bitter gall is, however, I was once lifted up in their eyes. My mind floats back to Psalm 42, a poem I used to read at my bedroom window: “These things I remember, as I pour out my soul: how I would go with the throng and lead them in procession to the house of God with glad shouts and songs of praise.” I once directed them in worship—arms here, eyes there, mind clear. I struggled to make them satisfied with the leading. I fasted. I prayed. I abstained. 

“You are a sad abomination unto the lord.”

It was because of my commitment to my local Christian community that I decided to pursue a seminary education. I felt that I was destined for the pulpit. Battling with my sexuality in the middle of my seminary career, I began to think that this was out of the question. From the beginning, I have only wanted to do what is right. During my time in Cleveland, I encountered a number of ‘straight’ Christian men who were married, but were having sexual affairs with other men. I decided that I would have no part in that. That’s the abomination, honey.

“Nobody is pleased.”

All of these were messages that I received in the days that followed my coming out. I learned, pretty quickly, that many of my childhood heroes were merely happy with me. They had not reached the depths of blinding joy by way of my existence. My then community was simply pleased by the choices I had made. The smiles were all undone by my expression of truth. I question what was actually there.

“You said you need help. I am here to help.”

Oh, blessed help! But, not that kind of help, sweetie. I am indeed a broken vessel, standing in the line for the Savior’s healing. But I am not broken in the ways that you might think. My sexual identity is not broken. I do not need to be fixed. Like the southern-fried counselor said to me: “Honey, there is nothing wrong with you.” If help and prayer means attempting to bend the individual back toward some sort of heterosexuality, then you’ve missed the point entirely.

Some of my dear friends have made staunch demarcations: if you are not LGBTQIA-affirming, then you are part of the problem. I cannot, with all my experience, state the same. You do not have to agree. Diversity of thought is what it’s all about. What won’t work, though, is to reach across the line to tell people that they are bound for Hell. It won’t work if you say it nicely, and it certainly won’t work when it’s meted into a spit-filled tirade from behind the wooden pulpit. However you dice it, it’s hate mail, and I ain’t here for it. You may disagree, you may call homosexuality a ‘lifestyle’ (very curious that we have the Christian ‘way’ and the homosexual lifestyle, as though these are polar opposites. It is doubtlessly illogical to compare a faith-system and a form of sexual expression; I think, however, that one of the principal reasons for this is a desire to demonstrate the supposed incompatibility of homosexuals and the life of the Church), but you still don’t have the final word.

Christ has the final word. And Christ affirms.

 

Writer, poet, typewriter collector. If it's old, I'll probably like it.

2 Comment on “Hate Mail

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: