Patrick, my old nemesis from Liberty, messaged me the other day and asked me how I could claim to love Jesus and be gay. I told him that I did love Jesus, and he told me that I may love Him, but Jesus doesn’t love me. Just like that, because the label of my orientation changed, he says that the gospel doesn’t apply to me anymore.
Four of my other friends got together and let me know with one clear voice that they could not condone my decision. They said that upon my “repentance,” not only would my relationship to Christ be restored but also my relationship to them. But until that day, they could no longer, in good conscience, continue to be my friend.
These were just a few of the responses that I received after sharing the news, but these few hurt the most. Pastors, friends, enemies…
Karma really is a bitch.
~~~
I take Shawn’s advice, and in the weeks following our conversation I spend as much time as possible in the small gay district of Nashville. I read books in the LGBTQ bookstore and drink coffee in the LGBTQ café attached to the bookstore. I eat dinner and drink beer and spend more time with Shawn at Tribe, and I try to make friends whenever possible with the only community that doesn’t judge me for who everyone believes me to be. I feel benign resignation, and with each trip I make to Church Street, I become more comfortable. The people whom I always considered moral pariahs are becoming my grief counselors, the “abominable” my only support structure in a time when I need love and acceptance the most.
On Wednesday nights at Tribe, from 6:00 to 8:00, well drinks are only a dollar, and the result is a crowd. A huge crowd. A huge gay crowd. I still find it slightly unnerving to go from a life in the pew to a life on the barstool, but I am content with the change. I approach the bar in the third room, attached to the restaurant, and see someone I know. Tending bar is my childhood best friend! When he sees me he grins.
“Tim?”
“Will? Oh, my God, is that you?”
Will runs from behind the bar and hugs me. “I was so happy to get your message. I was hoping I’d see you one of these nights,” he says excitedly. After coming out, I’d e-mailed him to share the news, and I have hoped for weeks I would get the chance to reconnect with him.
“How’ve you been?” I ask. The reunion brings back a flood of memories from my childhood…and, more recently, the day I found out he was gay.
“I’m great. Still in school. I don’t know if I’ll ever graduate!” Will is dressed in a tight t-shirt and jeans, and his hair is spiked. He looks good, and he looks happy (contrary to everything his mom has told me). “Let me buy you a beer. I want to hear how life has been since you dropped the bomb on your family.”
~~~
I met William when I was six years old and we were in Cub Scouts together. Our mothers became instant friends, bonding because they were both homeschooling their young children and because of their conservative faith. So for years, Will was a big part of my life. We played t-ball together, did our school work together, and he came to my high school graduation. But Will was always different from my other friends.
Two years before my experiment, I bumped into Will at an American Eagle in the same mall I worked at, and he introduced me to his fiancé. But after talking with him for a few minutes and then hearing the news about his engagement, I felt perplexed. Will wasn’t like the guys I surrounded myself with, and I even wagered with a co-workers who knew him that he was secretly in the closet. I hope he’s not just another queer, I remember saying; but in the back of my mind I always had the suspicion. Several months later, Will got married, the mall I worked at closed down, and we lost touch once more. I decided I was probably wrong about his being gay.
A year passed, and I bumped into Will’s mom at the grocery store. She seemed very upset when I asked how Will and his wife were doing, quickly changing the subject without answering. I gave her my phone number, but just like that, my childhood friend was once again out of my life, and my curiosity about Will was again left unanswered.
In February, four months before the fated night with Liz, Will’s mom called me, and it didn’t take more than a few seconds to hear her crying on the other end of the line.
“Oh, Tim…” She took a deep breath. “I’ve got a problem and I need your help.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Will’s marriage is over. His wife caught him making out with another guy, and they decided to get a divorce. And now Will thinks he’s gay, and you’re the only one who could get through to him. I know he’s devastated…We are all devastated about it. I just know that the devil is influencing him.” She paused for a second, taking a few deep breaths.
“Me? What could I possibly do?”
“Would you please talk to him and try to help counsel him out of this? You’re in ministry—if anyone can do it, it’s you. Please just try.” She sounded desperate, and her confidence in me inflated my ego.
“I’ll try. What’s his number?” I took down the number and told her I would pray for her and for Will. “I’ll do what I can, and I’ll try to show him that what he’s choosing is going to hurt him, but that’s all I can do.”
For the next two months, I called Will nearly every day, multiple times. I left voicemails and sent emails. I showed up at his work (he wasn’t there at the time) and I talked with his Christian friends about him. I even met up with one of his closest friends and had a strategy meeting about how we could “show him the light.” And all this time I was talking with his mom about him, trying to get the latest intel on what he was doing, so I could finally catch and convert him.
But nothing happened. Will never answered his phone, never responded to my emails, and even stopped talking to the friend I had met with. Looking back, I can only say I am happy he did. My approach wouldn’t have done any good because it was not the approach anyone ought to use. There was no love in my methodology. I became an Inspector Javert, trying to hunt down a moral criminal. Though I believed I was fulfilling my moral obligation, I became an antagonist in the story of Will’s life.
~~~
“So how’d your mom take it?” Will asks with concern.
“She seems to be taking it okay, but it’s obviously not what she would have chosen for one of her sons.” The understatement of the century.
“At least she’s trying.”
I know what Will is inferring. “About that…” The pang of guilt washes over me. “Will, I really need to apologize.”
“Why? Tim, you don’t need to apologize to me.”
“Yes, I do. I harassed you! I was trying to change you. My intentions were flawed from the beginning. Your mom called me when you came out and wanted me to help counsel you out of it. I feel like an idiot.”
Will’s eyes show sympathy. “I appreciate that, but don’t worry. You weren’t the only one. She still refuses to believe that I’m not that perfect little child she always thought she had, but she’ll figure it out eventually.” Will smiles. “I’ll be okay. And Tim, you’re forgiven.”
“I saw you, and the first thing I felt was guilt because of how I treated you.”
“I’ve been treated much worse, believe me.” Another understatement.
“So I saw you’ve got a boyfriend! He seems like a nice guy. Has your mom met him yet?” I ask.
“Yeah, but she won’t have anything to do with us together. He’s not even allowed at my house, and they won’t see us together,” he says. I can see that he’s struggling with his mom’s less-than-warm welcome. “God only knows why he’s putting up with it. Makes me love him more, though! I see him dealing with my parents who don’t like him, and I can’t help but be thankful for him.”
“So he treats you well?”
“He’s a prince.” Will’s face lights up when he talks about his boyfriend, and I can see he’s in love.
“You deserve a prince.”
“I’m just going to give my mom time. She still thinks her ex-gay therapy groups will straighten me out; but until she realizes I’m bei
ng me, we won’t be able to move forward.”
I can’t imagine. If my mom tried to shove ex-gay literature at me, I’d probably throw it right back at her. Reparative therapy, they call it. They should call it “repression therapy.”
“Well, it looks like you’ve got a line of thirsty men,” I say.
“And a few that want a drink, too!” he says with a laugh.
“It’s awesome seeing you. We need to hang out soon.”
He nods. A few steps back towards the bar, he stops. “Oh, and one more thing: Do me a favor and realize that in every community there’s good and bad. Don’t get caught up in the bad, now, no matter how much you may want to.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re free of the closet, but don’t lose yourself by acting out. Take your time acclimating and don’t rush into anything. I see too many guys come out, and in the happiness of it all, make some very unwise decisions. Break the stereotypes, Tim. This is an opportunity to break the stereotypes.” He turns and walks back to the bar where a line of people wait to order drinks.
“I will,” I say, even though he is too far to hear me. I’ll have to ask him to elaborate, but for now I am so caught off guard by Will’s concern for me that I don’t know what to say.
I wonder what’s worse: rejecting someone for being gay or accepting him with ulterior motives. Will’s mom, who has always been very sweet and caring, is not only permitting a wall between herself and her son—she’s helping to reinforce it. I just don’t get it. How can someone separate themselves from another person, especially a child, using theology as bricks and dogma as mortar? It makes no sense.
I think that’s a problem with conservative theology: it allows one’s beliefs to keep one from a relationship. And unfortunately, she has fallen into the trap. Will is her son, and by keeping his boyfriend at arm’s length, she’s keeping her son at a distance. I feel distraught for Will, and I wish his mom would love him without trying to change him. Even more, I wish the same for myself. Loving without motive seems like the more Christ-like way to go, but maybe it is more easily said than done. Maybe this year I’ll get to a place where that is not only my mindset, but my habit, too.
Church Street
One of the great theological fundamentals, instilled in me for as long as I can remember, is that we are all born into this life with an albatross of sin hanging around our necks. This weight and pressure is designed to force a sense of spiritual immediacy and urgency as we live and share the Gospel of Jesus. It is a belief that says all of us are broken and unable to enjoy a relationship with our creator until we repent and turn away from our sinful selves.
Coupled with this idea that we are unable to know God until we repent is the idea that those “living in sin” are incapable to knowing salvation. For gays and lesbians, it doesn’t matter if you’ve been raised in church, love Jesus, and are fluent in the religious language; God’s truth will simply evade you until you turn away from your same-sex attraction and give your struggle to the Lord. That is, you cannot know God and be an unrepentant homosexual.
So I am surprised as I eavesdrop on a conversation at the bar. It is more of a religious debate, really, between a well-dressed man drinking a cranberry vodka and a bartender with both nipples pierced and wearing a spiked dog collar.
“I’m just telling you,” the businessman, a regular, says, “that I believe that what the Bible says is true. I don’t believe that we could evolve in trillions of years, much less billions. Randomness doesn’t allow for that kind of order.”
“Ben, get serious. I’m not saying the Bible isn’t a great book, I’m just saying that I don’t think Genesis 1 and 2 should be taken literally,” the bartender says. “Or much else, for that matter.”
“If you think it’s a great book, why can’t you have faith in it?”
“I’m not saying I don’t agree with a lot of it! Just saying that I think this planet has been around a helluva lot longer than six thousand years!”
Is this even possible? Are they actually debating young-earth creationism? The implications of this are overwhelming to me. I’m in a gay bar, for Christ’s sake! I wish my high school Bible teacher were here…though I doubt he would be listening. He used to refer to bars and lounges as “upholstered sewers.”
“I respect your opinion, don’t get me wrong,” Ben says. “I’ve just found that the evidence people cite for evolution doesn’t seem to hold much water.”
With each second that passes, I lose patience. It is the first time I have been at the bar and heard people speaking my language. I have to interrupt. “Excuse me, but are you guys actually talking about young-earth creationism?”
Both men turn towards me, and the bartender nods. “What do you think?” Ben asks me.
“That’s an irrelevant question, I think. I wasn’t there, so I don’t really know how everything came to be. I definitely believe in God, and I’d like to think the creation accounts are literal, but I don’t really know what I think, nor do I really care.” I was inundated with young-earth creationism in science and college at Liberty University. To believe in evolution was tantamount to being pagan. If the first two chapters of the Bible aren’t true, then how can anything else be? At least that’s what my teachers always said, coming from the perspective of biblical literalism.
“So you’re a Christian?” Ben looks at me, engaged and genuinely interested in what I might say. The bartender, sensing an opportunity to escape, moves towards another regular at the other end of the room.
“I am a follower of Jesus…But honestly, I don’t know what that means anymore.” This is the truth. Several weeks have already given me a sense of disillusionment, and I am overcome with doubt. If the people of God, who claim to know him better than anyone else, would treat me the way they have, it is hard for me allow myself to believe blindly what I have been taught by them.
“I completely understand. It sounds like you’re searching.” Ben smiles and moves to the stool next to me.
“You have no idea.”
“If you’re searching, you will find the answers. I’ll pray for you.”
It is the first time in weeks that prayer has come up without a deeper motive attached.
“Thank you, but…Would you mind if I ask you a personal question?”
“Not at all,” Ben says, sipping his drink.
“How can you be gay and still be so conservative in your faith? I was listening to your conversation and you sound, well, you sound like a Southern Baptist.”
Ben looks down thoughtfully before answering. “I’m fairly conservative in that I take most of the Bible literally, but I don’t believe the Bible addresses ‘gay’ as we know it. I guess I just try to follow the two great commandments above anything else. And yes, for the record, I do go to a Southern Baptist church.”
“So what would you say in defense of your being gay and being a Christian?”
“I believe God knows me more than I can even know myself, and I believe He loves me more than I can ever love myself. And if that’s true, what else is there to know?”
Ben’s humility is a breath of fresh air, and it takes me a second to remember I’m not talking to a typical believer. But is his faith really legitimate?
“Fair enough,” I say, fearful of the direction the conversation might take me. If it is possible that Ben actually has a relationship with God, then what the church has told me all along could be wrong—and the consequences of that are something I do not want to contemplate right now. I am not ready for it. I am still struggling to understand the effect of what I consider to be unrepentant sin on a relationship to God.
“I saw you talking to Will the other night. You guys old friends?”
“Yeah. We grew up together but have just reconnected,” I say.
“He’s a great guy. A total lover. He loves everyone who comes to this bar, and everyone loves him back.”
“That’s not hard to imagine.”
“So what’s your stor
y? Are you new to Nashville?” Ben asks. His enthusiasm is contagious.
“No. I’ve lived here since I was two.”
“Why haven’t we met here before?” Ben probes innocently.
“Well, I just came out in January,” I reply nervously.
“Really?” Ben’s inquisitive expression turns into an all-out grin. “I’m so happy for you!” And before I can respond, he hugs me. Of the thousands of hugs I have had in my life, this one feels different. I feel a totality of acceptance, a sense of overwhelming support, and I feel valued. Ben isn’t just hugging me; he is sharing his heart with me, and I am ill equipped to respond. “Devon, get Tim here another beer. We are celebrating his coming out!”
“Seriously? This one is on the house.” The bartender pours me another Blue Moon and puts an orange slice on the edge of the glass. “Welcome to freedom,” he says, putting the beer in front of me.
“Cheers to your new life, your search for faith, and to gorgeous men!” Ben toasts and our glasses clunk together, spilling a few drops of beer on my thumb. I cannot help but laugh.
“Hell, yeah, to gorgeous men!” I say.
“Here here!” the bartender says.
~~~
After another hour of conversation, I’m convinced of two things. The first is that Ben is perhaps one of the most interesting men I have ever met. The second is that Ben defies most of the stereotypes I have ever held about the faith of an openly gay man. Until now, I had not met someone who claimed to believe the Bible literally and still openly referred to himself as gay. I was taught that gay Christians are Universalists (meaning that if there is indeed a Heaven, then everyone goes there, regardless of their deeds, beliefs, or sexual orientation); that they hold a non-literal view of the Bible (to hold a literal worldview would mean their sexuality is a sin); and they only attend churches whose parishioners are predominantly gay or lesbian. But Ben seems to be every bit as conservative as I am, and he goes to a run-of-the-mill Baptist church. Not only is he a young-earth creationist, he believes in the divinity of Jesus, the necessity of repentance in salvation, and, most surprising, he believes in a literal Hell.
The Cross in the Closet Page 6