Coming Clean (Past)

I spent some time abroad about a year ago, and during that time I hooked up with a few guys. (Actually, the first time something happened, I felt "dirty" afterward, and rushed back to my room to shower. I began to understand the Old Testament concept of being defiled before God.)

Because of my arrangement with Pastor Bryan (see preceding entry), I knew I would tell him what had happened as soon as I returned State-side. Because I'm a protestant, this decision had nothing to do with confessing to a priest for absolution--that is a very Roman Catholic notion. Beyond the desire to uphold our agreement, I wanted his counsel on what to do; I wanted his prayer support to help me through the aftermath of my adventures; I wanted to know whether he would still trust me.

I arranged a time to talk with Bryan over lunch, a practice that was not uncommon especially since I was working with him in ministry, and had just returned from my trip. Normally loquacious, I felt my mouth seize up when I attempted to explain what had happened. It was impossible to make eye contact; my gaze shifted from my napkin to his flatware, to the other patrons, then finally on my own hands, folded as if in prayer, asking God for a little help in an awkward conversation.

"You know," Bryan said to dispel the silence that had settled over our table, "if you're not comfortable sharing something with me right now, you don't need to tell me."

"No, no. I am ready. I'm just thinking how to tell you."

"Okay. Well, take your time." But that patient response only encouraged a second round of vision bouncing: from ice cubes in a tall glass, to black and white photographs on the restaurant walls, to the hostess behind the cash register.

He interrupted my optical dancing again. "I'm not just your pastor; I'm your friend, too. You can tell me something in the context of being friends. Then later, if you feel ready, you can also tell me as your pastor." This distinction didn't assuage my anxiety, nor did it make me more comfortable telling him. Yet somehow it got me talking.

"During my time overseas, I..." Here it comes. "...I had sex with some guys." The truth was out. Triumph at last!

"I'm sorry, could you say that again? I couldn't hear you, the waitress was clearing the table next to us."

OMG, I thought, you've got to be kidding. He totally heard me, and is now punishing me for what I did. This was, of course, a totally baseless claim, one utterly opposed to Bryan's nature. So it had to be God who was divinely orchestrating the cacophony of dishes, cups, and forks as punishment for my sin. I would be like Sisyphus, but instead of rolling a boulder uphill, I would repeat the line "I had sex with some guys" into perpetuity.

"When I was overseas, I had sex with some guys." Saying it the second time was easier, and less impeded by guilt, just like the second time having sex(!)

Bryan was remained calm. Either he still hadn't heard me, or wasn't surprised. "What exactly did you do?"

"Well, not anal sex, just oral. But it's still sex..." How candid does he want me to be? Is this the right time to explore the sexual gradations between fellatio and sodomy?

A succession of other questions followed: how many guys were there? (Three.) How did you meet them? (At gay clubs.) Were the events premeditated before you left for your trip, or was it something you decided to do once you arrived? (The former.) Was this the first time this has happened? (Yes.)

"I'm glad you felt safe enough to tell this to me as a friend," Bryan said. Then he added with a smile, "if you feel ready to tell 'Pastor Bryan', I'm sure he'd be very understanding, too. Not happy about this, but understanding." OMG: have this same talk again? And what's with the self-references in third person? I consented to letting Bryan know in his official capacity, but he wasn't sure exactly what steps to take regarding my involvement in the youth ministry, so he asked for time to think and discuss with another one of the pastors.

* * * *

A week later, after his consultations, Bryan returned to me with the following verdict: I should tell my small group so that they could keep me accountable and pray for me; I must take a four-month break from teaching in the youth ministry (since teachers are held to a higher standard); I should seek Christian counseling.

I told my small group (who did pray and provide some accountability); I took time off from teaching in the kids; I went tried several Christian counselors for a few months, but stopped after my schedule got too busy. For a while, all these measures kept the beast of my homosexual attraction at bay.