I wasn’t sure what to expect when I shared my coming out post recently. I didn’t know how I would feel or who would respond or how.
After I hit the “publish” button, I sat at my dining room table and sobbed. That moment was a touchstone in an incredibly intense journey.
It was not long before comments began pouring in. To everyone who sent messages of support and encouragement, thank you, from the bottom of my heart. They have truly been uplifting for my soul. I felt the love and care. It matters so much to me. Thank you for standing with me and offering me your love and support.
Thank you, too, to those of you who reached out to Matt with love and support. This process has been difficult for him, as well, and he needs kind words and encouragement, too.
I was overwhelmed by the comments and messages I received, and I am still sorting my way through them. I have such a high capacity for intense emotional engagement, and even I have been exhausted by people’s thoughtful responses to what I shared!
Several people came out to me. Thank you for trusting me enough to share this deeply vulnerable part of your story.
And several of you messaged me to say that my post made you think. Maybe you are not affirming, or maybe you have tacitly accepted your church’s teaching of homosexuality as a sin, or maybe you aren’t sure where you stand, but you want to know more. You want to have conversations or want to know what books I might recommend so that you can better understand me and others who share my perspective. I am – and always will be – 100% here for that. I appreciate your curiosity and desire to engage thoughtfully, and I am thankful for your honesty in trusting me with where you are at right now.
I actually received no truly hateful messages, and for that I am thankful, as well.
I did receive a fair number of messages from people who told me they loved me while at the same time asserting their non-affirming positions as what they believe to be absolute truth. It’s interesting to me that all of these messages came privately. What does that say to you?
I would like to share with you a little bit about how receiving these private messages feels – because I know you, dear Christian people who sent them. I’ve loved you. I used to be you. And I know that you mean well, and you are doing your best to negotiate your adherence to a belief system that you think demands that you reject homosexuality as immoral and wrong while also caring for me as a person. You’re trying to, “love the sinner, hate the sin.” And you think this is what you should do.
I know you’re trying to be kind. That’s not how it feels, though.
It feels like rejection.
For me, it feels similar to how it would feel if you were to have a conversation with me about my God-given gender. I am a woman, and that identity is inextricably linked to who I am. If you were to have the perspective that being male is unequivocally better than being female, you might say something like, “I love you, and I consider you a good friend. I just wish you weren’t a woman. In fact, God says that it’s wrong to be female and that He prefers males. In being a woman, you are broken and inadequate, a manifestation of this fallen world in which we live. I understand that you can’t do anything about being born female, but it’s still a shame. It is not as beautiful for you to be female as it would have been for you to be male. You and I have different perspectives on this. But I still love you.”
No one would say that. It sounds ridiculous. You couldn’t love me – a woman – wholeheartedly while rejecting the goodness and beauty of my femininity. Are you sure that you can love me – a gay girl – while rejecting the goodness and beauty of my sexual orientation?
I think these attempts we make to love each other are so important. Jesus tells His followers, “Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another” (John 13:34-35).
That means that the love Christians show one another should be so incredibly beautiful and overwhelming that it distinguishes us as Jesus’s followers. People should be able to look for that sort of love and know that it comes from Christians.
I asked several people to read a draft of my coming out post before I published it. One of them questioned why I left the door open for negative feedback. He said, “I think that even if someone has theological/political/moral/other firmly held views that same-sex relationships are wrong…it is unspeakably cruel to state those views in response to someone coming out.”
I was honestly overwhelmed by the love and support I was shown in response to my public coming out. But most of it didn’t come from evangelical Christians. And from multiple evangelical Christians, I received responses that this person would characterize as “unspeakably cruel.”
And so, today, I am asking you, my Christian people, to consider these thoughts. My coming out post was probably the most vulnerable post I have ever written. It was my honest attempt to be authentic and real and follow God by acknowledging the ways in which He made me and the person He is enabling me to become. If you believe the only option available to you, in response to that, is something that is more easily characterized as unspeakable cruelty than beautiful, overwhelming love, then do you think there might be something not quite right there? Does that perhaps warrant a closer look at your belief system?
I say this not in anger or in a plea for emotional support. I don’t really need anything from you.
I say these things because I care for you, and I care for the other people with whom you will be interacting. I believe the choices you make matter, both for you and for those around you. As we are in the midst of Holy Week, I am identifying with the disciples who are forced to confront, in tangible ways, their failures, their denials of Jesus. I met up with someone recently whom I hurt tremendously by my own failures and denial (by my actions) of the truth of who Jesus is and how He loves us. It is painful to confront our own sin. It requires humility. But it is so necessary. It is much easier to keep moving forward on the path of least resistance, believing what our churches tell us to believe and doing what they tell us to do. But what if they are imperfect institutions led by fallible men, who don’t always get it right?
Maybe you won’t answer any of these questions the way I do today. Maybe you won’t tomorrow, and maybe you won’t ever. But I hope that if your son or daughter or friend or co-worker someday comes out to you, you may be able to offer a response characterized more by beautiful, overwhelming love and less by unspeakable cruelty.
And as for me? I am so happy to have come out. Still emotionally exhausted? Absolutely. But I am no longer hiding. I am being my authentic self in every arena. That feels so incredibly freeing.
This past weekend I was able to listen to and sing along with worship songs I’d felt phony with until I came out, and I cried tears of joy. I am coming to God and standing before all of you as the real me. I don’t know exactly where I’m going, but I am content with where I am.
To those of you standing with me and walking alongside me on this journey, thank you again, a million times. I cannot tell you how encouraging that support is. Thank you, thank you, thank you. This is a good place to be.