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Nuance

Well, yesterday’s post proved to be interesting. I had written the essay–dashing off 2,700 words in 90 minutes, and I never write that fast–to be posted to Facebook. It was only after I was finished that I thought it might be nice to post to my blog. The result is the most-viewed 24 hours I’ve ever had, which is particularly surprising since I publicized that entry less than usual.

And now I deal with the aftermath. Oh, that sounds more dramatic than I intend, but I figured there would be consequences to what I wrote–in fact, I believe that is true of every word we utter. Perhaps the biggest challenge is addressing misunderstandings regarding what I wrote. And I dashed it off quickly–I’ve already had to do some copy-editing since posting it, and ordinarily, something of this magnitude I would have written several drafts of beforehand. My argument is not as tight as it could be. So today I attempt to fill in the gaps and clear up the confusions.

I believe the simplest way to do this is to explain what I am not saying:

I am not saying that I expect people’s religious convictions to disappear, or for religion to disappear. Never mind the fact that I have operated within the religious worldview and understanding the thought processes, reasoning, and motivations intimately. From a far more pragmatic perspective, religion isn’t going anywhere. It’s been with us for thousands of years, and doesn’t show any sign of disappearing anytime soon. I know some atheists who won’t be happy until every vestige of religion has been wiped off the planet. Aside from the lack of respect involved in such a stance, I wouldn’t doom myself to a life of unhappiness in that way.

I am not saying that I don’t want people to abide by their convictions. After all, am I not asking for the same? What I am saying is that those convictions don’t have the standing to create laws by which some human beings are treated as inferior to other human beings. Yesterday I laid out why having a secular government is necessary for the protection of religious liberty, and why creating a theocracy not only punishes those whose views vary, but is no guarantee that your own religious views are going to be respected. But I am not trained in the law, and I don’t know how better to explain why this works than I did yesterday. I can tell you that, if you believe God gave you a brain, then God gave you a brain for a reason, and that God would want you to look deeply and contemplate whether what I have to say is true. Not just feelings and conviction, but reason and logic–wouldn’t you say that God gave you those as well?

I am not saying that you’re not free to believe that marriage should be between a man and a woman, or that business should close on Sunday, or whatever. I am saying that this belief is insufficient to justify laws that make me and millions of other people inferior in the eyes of the law. As one old friend, a conservative evangelical pastor, put it, “I need not approve of something to allow it.” That is using reason and logic. That is using nuance. Understand, though, that the belief is going to make it a good deal more difficult for us to be absolute-besties-forever. Some kinship of mind is most helpful in one’s closest relationships. On the flipside, one cannot negate the impact of shared history. It’s nuanced, see?

I am not saying that you are not allowed to express those convictions. You are free to believe and say whatever you want. But I am free to decide who to have in my life. It took me a long time to figure that one out, to gain the self-respect necessary to decide that people who are adamant in making my life worse do not have to remain in my life if I so choose.

I am not saying I only want to surround myself with people who agree with me. Heaven knows* that’s not the case in my life. I am saying that if someone maintains that the law should be written so that I am treated as less than a full citizen, it’s absurd to assume that that person can truly believe that I am their friend, since the word “friend” implies equal footing, not a relationship between superior and inferior. And if you think the law should see me as inferior, you are implying that you see me as inferior, whether you intend to or not.

I am not saying that I just don’t want to be offended. Some people who rail against politically correct speech get all in a lather about how it’s absurd for us to constantly worry about offending people. This line of reasoning misses the point. It’s not about offense, but respect. You have no control over whether you’re offending someone. That is in the other person’s court. You have complete control over whether you’re respecting someone. And not just saying you respect someone, as the owners of the NFL team in Washington say about their name. When the only people whose opinion on the team’s name really matters say it’s not respectful, the owners are betraying their intents when they say, well, we’re respecting you anyway and we just don’t understand why you don’t feel respected. Respect entails listening and honoring someone’s reasonable wishes. When you say you believe I should be treated as inferior to yourself in the eyes of the law, that is not respect.

I hope I have clarified the matters that sprung up from yesterday’s post. I hope people understand that I’m not trying to cut people out of my life willy-nilly. I am trying to develop a reasonable and healthy habit of establishing boundaries within my relationships so that all of us can lead the healthiest lives possible. Sadly, sometimes the exercise of those boundaries entails having to say good-bye.

*Understand I’m using the phrase idiomatically, and not betraying an actual deep-seated belief in heaven.

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Friends

I just posted this essay to Facebook. It is largely addressed to certain individuals on my friends list. However, I thought it might be useful to post here as well.

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This is going to take me a long time to write. I’m writing it as a Word document first because I want to get it just perfect before I post it to Facebook. The things that I have to say need to be careful and measured and precise. But in the process, I cannot remove the fire and emotion that is motivating this post in the first place.

I was an evangelical Christian for a long time. I was at church three to four times a week, not counting special events. I studied the Bible and prayed every day. And I talked with everyone I could about becoming a Christian. I had been convinced that the only way they could avoid eternal pain and torment was to become a Christian. I didn’t want anyone to endure that agony; therefore, I wanted everyone to become Christians.

But then two life-changing events happened to me, at about the same time. First was the growing realisation that I was not turning into a heterosexual. I had only been attracted to males all my life, clear back to when I was a preschooler. Never mind that I had a hang-up on Greg Brady when I was three years old—all of this was certainly and undeniably a choice, my church told me, and the only way God would *really* love me (as opposed to just “loving” me the way he “loves” the people he sends to hell) was if I worked my absolute hardest to be attracted to women and not to men at all. But I wasn’t even most concerned about my going to hell. Instead, I was worried about being a “stumbling block.” If you’re not familiar with the term, it basically means that your words and actions can cause someone else not to consider God and God’s true character so they will not choose God and they will end up going to hell. And, remember, I didn’t want anyone to go there.

And so I went to “therapy” to turn into a heterosexual. I put it in quotes because no professional medical organization considers this to be genuine therapy. In fact, they consider it to be dangerous to those who pursue it. Given that, for the entire ten years I was involved in this “therapy,” I was either suicidal because my trying my absolute hardest to please God wasn’t working, or I was in a dead fog with no aspirations in life, since I had to put all other dreams on the backburner until I turned into a heterosexual, I concur with these experts. But after a full decade of figuratively (and sometimes literally) beating my head against the wall, after working my absolute hardest and seeing absolutely no change whatsoever, I realised that maybe this didn’t actually work. More audaciously, I thought that maybe I didn’t need this therapy for God to love me.

I came to this radical conclusion—that God might actually love me without my going to therapy anymore. I assumed I would never date a man, let alone have sex—I still assumed God wasn’t okay with this. I was simply saying that I wasn’t going to turn into a heterosexual, and that God was okay with that. But the church I was going to was not okay with this, and they of course knew exactly what was okay with God. When I asked them if I was welcome to continue with the church, they said that I was always welcome, but, because they loved me, it was their obligation to constantly tell me what a horrible mistake I was making and that I was sending myself and others to hell. I replied that I could not be expected to maintain that kind of unequal relationship. Never mind the fact that there were members of the church who were known to engage in premarital *heterosexual* sex and who were also budding young alcoholics who were in the same positions of leadership in the church I had been barred from for not turning into a heterosexual fast enough or perfectly enough.

The second event wasn’t so much an event as a person. I have always had a difficult time making friends. I grew up in a household with severe abuse and neglect issues which have left me with some social impairment. I’ve fought mightily to overcome these obstacles, but more often my fighting has backfired, my best efforts thwarted as I’ve struggled to fit in. The same was true in college—the school in which I was enrolled when I was attending the aforementioned church. I was always reaching out to make friends with my fellow students, in spite of the fact that, as a nontraditional student in classrooms full of folks fresh from high school, I didn’t fit. It only occurred to me later that I was so desperate to reach out to my classmates because my only other relationships, the ones at my church, were far more strained and abnormal than I could admit at the time.

So when I clicked with a classmate, I rejoiced. I befriended a classmate who was kind and funny and smart—pretty much anything you’d want in a friend. He was also planning on becoming a rabbi.

My church had taught me that I had to reach out to absolutely everyone, and do my absolute best to convert absolutely everyone to Christ so they wouldn’t go to hell. But here was this friend who would never, ever become a Christian. It seemed absurd to try. But it also seemed absurd to abandon our friendship over this one issue. After all, I was taught that the greatest commandment was to love, *not* to convert.

All of these things happened over a decade ago. I have changed so much. I am an out and proud and (sometimes) confident as a gay man. Not only am I no longer a Christian, but I am now an atheist. Yet the echoes of those experiences hit me full force on a regular basis—particularly because I am now on the other side of the equation. I have friends who tell me that I need to turn back to Christ, that they’re not going to give up on me. I have friends who tell me that I can’t possibly be an atheist for no other reason than they can’t understand how it’s possible.

To those friends, I say this: which is the greatest commandment, to love me or to convert me? Will you love me as I want so much to love you, even if I reject your religion out of hand? Or will you consider this a case of “pearls before swine” and move on? I’m always going to be here. But if you can’t respect my request that you not proselytise me, then I’m asking you to leave. You will only be dragged down further in your guilt over your not converting me (trust me, I get it, I was drowning—unnecessarily—in that guilt for the longest time), and we both will only ever be exasperated.

Now I wish to address those who believe we need to ensure that the laws of the land dictate that marriage—a legal contract, I don’t care how you slice it, since the government can recognise a marriage not carried out in a church, and a church can choose not to recognise a marriage the government deems valid—must only be between one man and one woman. The only arguments I have ever seen that even pretend to hold water are Biblical in nature.

Let me explain why a Biblical standard for law in the United States doesn’t work. I will keep coming back again and again to the Golden Rule—to do to others as you would have them do to you—and the Great Commandment that we are to love our neighbour as we love ourselves. This is, as I was taught, the cornerstone of the Christian faith—all the Law “hangs” on the commandment.

First, I get the desire to want to follow God, and to have that desire to inform every decision. But the way you live your life does not of itself form the standard to rule a country. There’s this idea that we are a “Christian nation” and that the laws must conform to Christianity. (More on this later.) I ask, whose Christianity? Methodist? Pentecostal? Lutheran? (And, of course, this gets into the eternal argument of who is “really” a Christian, which I’m not going to engage.) This country was started by folks who wanted the freedom to practise their own understanding of Christianity rather than conform to the Church of England. If you decide that your version of Christianity is the one to form the laws of the United States, then you are doing the exact same thing the Church of England was doing. Never mind the fact that there are a number of Christian denominations (and other religions) who support same-sex marriage rights. You’re denying them the same freedom of religion the Church of England denied the Puritans. Do unto others…

And none of this even touches the subject of other religions. I get the idea that you think that your worldview alone is correct and all other religions are wrong on every level. I used to live deep within that understanding. I get it. But here’s the thing—that standard can’t be used for the governance of an entire country, particularly a country as diverse as the United States. The standards of law must apply to all citizens—even those who do not conform to a particular religion, or any religion. That’s why the law must transcend the tenets of any particular religion. There have been any number of Islamophobes stirring up the false notion that Christians in the United States are somehow being forced to abide by Islamic law. In terms of manufacturing fear, it’s a smart move. Folks don’t want to be forced to conform to a religion they don’t belong to. Bear that in mind when I say: Do unto others…

Speaking of stirring up trouble, there have been a number of organisations and personalities over the past 35 years who have been spreading lies to Christians and threatening them with accusations of being unpatriotic or un-Christian if they dissent. When I was in high school, a gentleman came to my church to teach us our “rights as American Christians.” What he had to say was pretty familiar to us now: that the United States is a Christian nation, that the Founding Fathers were Christians who wrote the Constitution to conform to Christian law, etc.  But one particular statement stuck in my mind. The gentleman declared that Thomas Jefferson had intended his doctrine of separation of church and state to be a “one-directional wall,” by which the state keeps out of the church but not vice versa. And he gave a *quote* from Thomas Jefferson in this regard. But here’s the thing: You can track down this quote as much as you want in vain. Jefferson never said any such thing. The man in my church *lied*.  People are lying about a lot of things. They are lying about the intent of the Founding Fathers. They are lying about the intent of same-sex couples. Do your research. Challenge every notion. Learn the truth. The truth will set you free.

And now I want to pull this discussion back to more personal concerns. I have people who say they are my friends, but who say that they cannot abide by the law allowing me to marry someone on the same basis they would choose to marry someone. I’ve already made all the arguments as to why your religious opinions shouldn’t inform our nation’s laws, and why this actually benefits you. Still, this means nothing to some of you.

This is how I hear it: that this issue exists only in the vacuum of your own theories, and that we must conform to the laws in this vacuum of your theories. But guess what? This is affecting real, flesh-and-blood people. I don’t live in a vacuum. I have a long, complicated story that’s led me to where I am—a story some of you haven’t bothered to ask about or wanted to listen to, telling me that my story is impossible. And I am one of millions of flesh-and-blood people not living in your vacuum.

Now, my mother always taught me to put myself in someone else’s shoes, so I’m going to ask you to do that now. I want you to go back to when you were in junior high, high school, to the first time you fell in love. Now I want you to imagine your parents finding out and kicking you out when you’re 13, 14. I want you to imagine yourself tiny and afraid on the brutal streets.

I want you to imagine going to school and managing to get to class and do homework in spite of constant harassment and threats. (This is *me*, by the way.) I want you to imagine worrying you’ll get beat up or worse on the way out of school every day.

I want you to imagine getting fired from your job because someone saw you out on a date the other night.

I want you to imagine you and your spouse. I want you to imagine going to a restaurant and getting kicked out when you hold hands. I want you to imagine the two of you going on your dream vacation, only to have your reservation rejected because you want to share a room. I want to imagine you having kids, and the school only allowing one of you to pick them up from school. I want you to imagine your kid sick in the hospital, and only one of you allowed to visit. I want you to imagine *yourself* in the hospital, and your spouse not being allowed to visit. I want you to imagine that you die in that hospital, and your relatives swooping in and leaving the spouse you leave behind utterly penniless.

Because of current laws and social norms, everything I’ve said is real life—not theory—for millions of Americans. I’m talking about baseline empathy, the minimum standards I’d hold someone to in terms of basic morality. And if you can sit there and tell me that you’re okay with the fact that millions of human beings equal to yourself go through such ordeals and more, then you have no empathy. Moreover, it means you’re okay for *me* to go through these things, even though you’d say you’re my “friend”. I don’t need you dragging me down in my life. I don’t need to feel like one of my slave ancestors, who has found his freedom, only to have his former master chasing him down at every turn trying to drag him back to the plantation. You say that I do not deserve the same rights and protections under the law as you. You—who say that you’re my friend—thus see me as inferior, whether you care to admit it or not. I can’t see how that can be called a friendship.

If you have the guts to maintain this stance, then you have the guts to defriend me. I want you to. I want my Facebook friends list to be shorter in the next week, because people have read this and can’t assent to the idea that human beings ought to be treated like human beings. The only way I want to see this number stay the same is that you’ve actually bothered to read what I’ve said and have taken it to heart. I left a relationship with a church because it was built on inequality. I’ll leave a relationship with an individual for the same reason. But I have some slight glimmer of hope that folks will take what I’ve said to heart. It’s up to you.

And if you can’t assent to any of this, if you do drop me from your friends list, then my parting words to you are to please raise your children to be loving and kind. If I can’t have hope for you, I can at least have hope for them.

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Read the follow-up to this essay here

Unbalanced

I originally posted this story to I’m From Driftwood in May 2010.  It seemed an appropriate follow-up to yesterday’s stories.

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This is hard for me to write.  I risk incriminating people with whom I am making peace.  I now recognize that they, as well as I, were operating out of ignorance.  Yet I must tell my story on behalf of those with similar stories.  Many of them are unable to speak for themselves, either because they live in fear, or because they have already lost their lives.

I realized I “had homosexual temptations” during my senior year of high school.  I had no one to turn to with it.  I felt uncomfortable discussing it with church leaders, and the other youth group members spoke gleefully of “flamers” going to hell.  My last week of church camp before heading off to Bible college, I opened up to one of counselors.  He recommended I let the authorities at my college know about my “issue” so they could help me through it, so I could grow closer to God and be a witness to others, so that they might not go to hell.

I did so almost immediately after arrival.  They said I’d best not let other students know about my temptation, as I might upset them, and they strongly recommended counseling to help me overcome my attractions.  However, I convinced myself I could conquer my temptations on my own.  I’d read that I was probably just going through a phase.  God had the power to conquer any sin, and I was a Christian, a child of God.  This would ultimately be as simple as staying close to God.

However, it burdened me to hear other students speak of their own issues with sex, alcohol, and so on, whilst I was to remain silent.  I decided to confide in a few students I deeply trusted, for advice and spiritual support.  I fell in love with one of them.  Try as I might to guard that information, it leaked to the authorities.  They informed me that if I was to remain in school, I must attend regular counseling to overcome my “issue”.

The first two counselors claimed their technique could conquer any “sin issue” in six to eight weeks.  This proved to be wildly optimistic.  Making simple behavioral changes did not alter what went on in my mind and my heart.  It didn’t change my thoughts, desires, and hopes.  It didn’t change the dread I awoke with whenever I dreamt of holding hands with a man.

I then met for about two years with a counselor who had previously held a position of authority over me and with whom I still had some connections outside counseling.  In secular practice, this is forbidden.  The counselor is to approach the client with a clean slate, and influence outside the office taints the delicate nature of the counseling relationship.  However, in the church, authority figures routinely counsel those under them.

Those sessions proved difficult for me.  Despite my following my counselor’s advice to the letter, I still thought about men.  I wanted to hold hands with them, to kiss them.  I would fantasize about sharing my home with a man for the rest of my life.  Interestingly, thoughts of sex with men were rare.  I tried to shut down my sexual drive in order to avoid the inevitable guilt and shame.

All the while, my mental health spiraled out of control.  My lifelong depressive state began alternating with rapid, uncontrollable thoughts—paranoia, terror, self-destruction.  I felt that my evil homosexual desires were destined to be known regardless of what I did, that my Christian witness would collapse and I would cause people to go to hell.

One night, a random comment from an acquaintance tipped the scales.  I realized that I was a Christian, but I was also gay.  I had always been told that Christians go to heaven and gays go to hell.  I was thus a contradiction, and in my whirlwind mind, contradictions couldn’t exist.  I had to do something.  I had to end the contradiction.

I almost did it.  I almost flattened myself from a leap off an overpass.  But at the last minute, I called a suicide prevention line.

I spent ten days in the hospital.  They determined what others had suspected, that I had bipolar disorder.  I struggled to put my life together after my stay, but ultimately, it was best for me to move back to my hometown to recuperate.

Once home, I thumbed through the Yellow Pages and discovered an ad for a counselor who promised to deliver clients from homosexuality.  I leapt at the opportunity.  Here was a specialist, someone who would understand exactly what I was going through, someone who had helped others overcome their temptations.  Perhaps now I could conquer my shame.  Perhaps I could one day walk down the streets without strangers yelling, “Hey, faggot!” at me.  Perhaps now I would not cause someone to go to hell.

For two years, I got the same message.  “You have homosexual temptations because your father was distant and your mother was smothering.”  But my mother was pretty lenient.  Also, why didn’t my brothers have this issue?  “Well, it wasn’t that your father was distant and your mother was smothering, you just perceived it that way, and your brothers perceived it differently.”  We argued a lot.  If I was doing what he told me to do—stay devoted to the Bible and pray—and it didn’t have the desired result, he would tell me I just wasn’t doing it right or doing it enough.  If I fell away from the practice, he berated me for not staying close to God, that I clearly wasn’t serious about being healed of homosexual temptation.  He began demanding that I attend the same church as he, since his was the only local congregation who had ascribed to his therapeutic practices.  In the end, he closed his practice owing to finances.

Looking back over my journals from that time, I see I was already expressing doubts about these treatments.  I had had no results in nearly eight years.  But the message of the counselors and churches remained—I simply needed to work harder.  Until the point that I had no doubts that I was in fact a heterosexual, I would not have a close relationship to God, I could hold no position that even looked like a leadership role in the church, and I would be a “stumbling block” to others—I risked causing others to go to hell.

Two more years I continued with counseling from different leaders at church.  They told me nothing I hadn’t already heard.  Any doubts I had were quashed by the proclamation that I was not right with God.  Yet one reality grew clearer to me: the more I tried to draw close to God in the way these counselors had told me, the further from God I grew.  It is said that the definition of insanity is to do the same thing repeatedly expecting different results.  By this definition, I was insane.

I approached one of the counselors.  I told him it was clear to me that what he was telling me to do was actually pulling me further from God, not drawing me closer.  What if I were to remain in the congregation admitting that I was a homosexual—that I was gay—and that that was okay?  I didn’t even bring up whether I thought it would be okay to date or have sex or anything—I hadn’t reached those conclusions yet.  He told me that I would always be welcome in the congregation, but because they loved me, they would constantly warn me of the error of my ways.  I decided I could not live in that kind of unbalanced relationship.  That was the last day I attended that church.

It has been quite a journey since then.  I moved to Minneapolis, “The San Francisco of the Midwest.”  I have affiliated with religious groups who audaciously claim that God loves me—and everyone else—just as I am.  I am not beholden to mere human opinion.  My relationship with God is much closer than it was in my younger days, though its shape is much different from what I expected a close relationship with God would look like.  God is replacing bitterness with grace, resentment with reconciliation, and despair with hope.   Perhaps one day I will build a home with another man—or perhaps I will be single the rest of my life.  Regardless, I know that the love and acceptance I sought in God’s representatives, I have found in God.

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Interestingly, in the 1 1/2 years since I wrote this, I’ve grown increasingly agnostic.