Coming Clean (Past Perfect)

My church family found out I was gay before my biological family. Well, maybe I should rephrase that: I came out to my church several years ago; I still haven't told any of my relatives, though some of them may have their own suspicions about my sexuality, independent of direct communication from me.

A few years back, in hopes of breaking down façades of holiness and encouraging greater transparency, I offered to share a testimony with my congregation. [In Christian parlance, "sharing a testimony" can refer to: a) formally telling the story of how God saved someone (usually as part of a church service); b) formally sharing any work that God is doing/has done in one's life; c) (uncommon) informally telling a friend either of the above.] When I gave the testimony about my struggle with homosexuality, the response was overwhelmingly positive. Certainly my church family didn't (and doesn't) endorse a gay lifestyle, but they affirmed that my confession didn't make them view me any differently. One friend came up to me with lachrymose eyes and apologized for her persistent efforts to set me up on dates. Even the most thug member of our congregation approached me with a handshake: “Yo dawg, it’s coo, it’s coo. I always thought you were a little…you know, different. [Use of air quotes.] Now it all makes sense. But I ain’t bothered by it—we still tight, aight?”

There were misunderstandings about what I shared, mostly from older church members who heard second- or third-hand accounts of my testimony. No one approached me directly with his (and it seems all the objectors were brothers) concerns, but things percolated to me through the church grapevine. This was the same avenues of information through which the objectors had heard of my testimony, but this time news was traveling in the opposite direction.

"I heard he endorsed homosexuality as an acceptable 'alternative lifestyle' from the pulpit."
"Didn't he say that being gay is permitted in the Bible?"

Initially I was disappointed that my brothers hadn't confronted me out of reverence for God's Word. If I were espousing heresy, shouldn't they stand up for the truth? Then I was hurt that they hadn't approached me out of concern. If I were wrong in my theology, didn't they care enough to correct me in love?

The most difficult battle came later, though, when I began volunteering in our youth ministry. One church member recommended that in a letter sent home to all the parents of the high schoolers, the pastors promulgate my struggle with homosexuality. I suppose this was intended to "warn" parents of potential danger or complications that might arise from my same-sex attraction.

Bryan, the youth pastor came to my defense. To this concerned colleague, he replied, "How would you like it if we sent a letter home to each family at our church, and told them about the sins you struggled with? We have never adopted a policy like this, and I don't see why this is an occasion to begin one. This volunteer has been very forthcoming with our church about his struggle, and he wouldn't have been so honest if he had any intent on harming our youth." This argument summarily ended debate, and I was admitted as a volunteer without further protest.

So I felt greatly indebted to Bryan, and offered this agreement: he could trust me to tell him everything relevant to my "situation," and I would trust him to use that information to make the best decisions for the youth ministry--namely whether I should stay or go. And at that time, it was an easy agreement, because I had not engaged in any activities that warranted disclosure on my part.