As a senior, I will soon be released into the real world, into a world filled with unknowns. I will have to face daunting questions: How will I pay off tuition? Where will I live? Will I even find a job in this economy? While this degree of uncertainty is new to many of us, it is all too familiar to me – not with respect to the next step after graduation, but with respect to my sexuality and all the questions that surround it. Now, I am not going to tell my entire life story – read the other essays and you will get a pretty good idea of what it was like. Rather, I would like to discuss the questions that haunt me, the questions that plague my thoughts when I hit rock bottom, questions that most of you will never have to face yourselves.

Let’s start from the beginning. One, I love Jesus. Two, I am sexually attracted to guys, not girls. The question is obvious: What do I do with that? From the time I realized I was different until about my sophomore year of college, I thought I had to choose between my faith or my sexuality. Years later, after many flawed attempts at heterosexual relationships and nights of crying out in prayer, I realized this question was eating me from the inside out. I couldn’t simply choose one or the other: Both my faith and my sexuality are integral to who I am.

I experienced a paradigm shift at the end of my sophomore year at Gordon. Since I could reject neither my faith nor my sexuality, I determined that the only option was reconciliation. If you’re thinking, “How can anyone who says they are a Christian think that?” or, “That’s impossible!”, then I am right there with you. I used to think the same thing; however, through my experience and prayer, I have come to understand that it is possible. Additionally, I realized the alternative was significantly worse. Not only would I be lying to myself, but I would emotionally cripple myself from doing anything for the Lord.

Many people I talk to believe reconciliation between my faith and sexuality to be impossible, and they are entitled to their own theological opinions. What they cannot do is use rhetoric to make me feel like a monster, an abomination unto God. After all, am I not created in God’s image too? They tell me, “If you really love God why don’t you change?” They tell me, “If He’s not removing this from you, then your heart must not be right.” They tell me, “Pray harder with more sincerity.” And they tell me, “How can you do this to us.” Their words force me to question all that I believe. If Christ is all about love, how can those who profess to be Christians treat this sinner – me – as if I weren’t a “real” Christian, as if I did not really love Jesus. Let me assure you that I do.

It is true that I am often uncertain of what course I should take regarding my faith and sexuality. But, if anything is certain it is this: God loves me. Yes, He even loves this homosexual. He knows that I struggle because I want to please Him. He knows that I love Him, and I know that He loves me regardless of the course I take. Should you think that a homosexual cannot do anything for God, I say this: Aren’t we all sinners? And whatever the sin, is God not great enough to use us for his Glory?

When I was a child I asked my father where children go when they die; I knew the options were either heaven or hell, and I had precise visions of both: heaven existed in the clouds with the angels, and hell was a place filled with wailing and screaming where people were burned alive. My father answered that, according to Jewish culture, children were not held responsible for their actions until they reached something called the Age of Accountability – thirteen years old. I’ve known I was gay from a very early age, and I always hoped God would take me before I hit thirteen.

But thirteen came and went, and hell felt ominously close. I believed that I was precariously hanging by a thread, always on the verge of falling into eternal damnation. I begged God to remove my homosexuality from me. I went to more altar calls than I can count, each time thinking that maybe Jesus would save me from the fires of hell this time. I had conflated the idea of salvation with heterosexuality, and assumed that if I wasn’t straight, then I wasn’t truly saved.

Pastors would preach about Jesus being able to accept you just as you are, and in the same breath blame the downfall of Christian culture on homosexuals; I would nervously fidget in the pew. I was only thirteen, but I accepted the burden they put on me, believing myself to be depraved. Disgusting. The worst of sinners. However, I was most damaged by the forced isolation. I was thirteen years old, living with the terror of going to hell, but I had to pretend nothing was wrong when someone asked what was bothering me.

As a teenager I spoke about this with certain people I respected, yet their solution was to try to cast demons out of me and then tell me that I wasn’t gay anymore. The disillusionment set in, the same kind that I would get the morning after an altar call, when the emotions were gone and I realized I was still gay. I no longer knew whom to blame. And I found my soul desperately yearning for an answer I later learned was also sought by my Savior, “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachtani? My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

I began to succumb to the possibility that my sexuality might never change. And I wept. I wept for the salvation I wanted so badly but didn’t feel I deserved. I wept because I was alone. I wept because the only community I had ever known, the Church, would forsake me. I wept because I would be forever condemned by the One who actually knew me.

Or so I thought.

In East of Eden, John Steinbeck describes the difficult and often painful process of growing up. “When a child first catches adults out,” he says, “when it first walks into his grave little head that adults do not have divine intelligence, that their judgments are not always wise, their thinking true, their sentences just – his world falls into panic desolation. The gods are fallen and all safety gone… It is a tedious job to build them up again; they never quite shine. And the child’s world is never quite whole again. It as an aching kind of growing.”

When this happened to me – a kind of conversion itself – the fountain of answers seemed to dry up, and I traded in fears of hell for uncertainty concerning the existence God. My world was collapsing. Everything I ever thought I knew was up for grabs. I lay in the dust sorting through the shards of what I had believed, trying to find something to salvage.

Eventually I came to realize that my faith in God was as much a part of my identity as any sort of sexual attraction. And it was here, broken, that I began to understand Christ’s message of Grace.

I’ve been asked whether I wish I had never had to deal with this. Honestly, I can’t say that I do. Through being gay I have learned resilience and perseverance. I know that I am strong. I have learned compassion. I can empathize with the downtrodden, the outcast. I have been compelled to critically engage with the world around me. I am thoughtful. Above all, I have been given the humbling privilege of understanding Grace.

Growing up has been a very long and painful process. I still haven’t completely shaken off the terror of hell, nor have I come to a conclusion about how I’m going to live with my sexuality. But at least now I have hope. I’m not sure what I’m hoping for, but it feels like spring is coming. There’s a crisp scent of newness in the air along with the reassurance that things are changing.

I don’t really understand who God is or how to interact with Him. But I find the message of Christ beautiful, and I cling to Grace. I’m taking life one day at a time, and I don’t yet know where I’m going, but I do know I’m following a Holy light.

Vile. That’s the first word that often comes to mind when people think of homosexuals. Some of my Gordon friends believe homosexuals have chosen to make a lifestyle out of sin. Others say homosexuals are destined to spend eternity in hell. One of my friends referred to it as something we have inherited because of the fall, like how humans aren’t meant to have cancer but it can attack their bodies anyway. I feel that as Christians, it can be especially hard to accept homosexuality because the Bible condemns it.

On the other hand, the Bible condemns lying, and one Catholic priest told me even most holy men lie every day of their lives. As humans, we all fall short of biblical mandates, and I believe that everyone has shortcomings in one area of life or the next.

I am friends with many of you who are reading this right now, yet I know that if I told you I was attracted to both people of the same sex and the opposite sex many of you would think differently of me. Some of you would stop associating with me completely, while others would slowly pull away from our friendship. According to many of you, my salvation would be tarnished, if not completely destroyed.

But I am neither a sex addict nor a fiend. In fact, I am a virgin. Unfortunately, society’s constraints have rendered me incapable of telling the vast majority of you my true feelings on the subject of homosexuality.

Hell, I fit in with you guys pretty well, making fun of “faggots” just as much as the next person. The only thing you don’t realize is that I am making fun of myself; hurting myself at the same time. It’s a shame that gay people take the brunt of many jokes. Some of my best friends are gay, lesbian, or bisexual and they’re some of the nicest, most caring people I know. They are not sex addicts, losers, demon possessed, pedophiles, AIDS infested, or any one of the horrible things that they have been stigmatized to be. Just remember, everyone has feelings and deserves to be loved; the world is hard enough as it is.

People shouldn’t be judged based on their sexuality and be told they are wicked because of whom they are attracted to. We cast judgment upon people in a manner to which only God has the right. As far as I am concerned, we are all equally sinful before God, and it is Christ’s saving blood which redeems us. Jesus doesn’t mention homosexuality once in the Gospels. Sometimes I wish He did so that I knew where our Redeemer stood on this topic. Regardless, I’m sure even gay people make it to heaven as long as Christ is at the center of their lives.

My struggle with my sexuality has  always been the most stressful, ongoing source of pain in my life. I’m sure you have heard the phrase, “Be yourself!” And I’m sure that being someone you are not for even a couple of days is straining. But I have lived my twenty years as someone I am not, and I have never felt secure or whole as a person.

It is difficult to write about because I would love to say that there is a final resolution or happy solution to my problems, but there isn’t.

I grew up in a Christian home with amazing parents and siblings but, at an early age, I knew there was something different about me. Most boys liked the Red Ranger because he was cool, but the reason I liked the Red Ranger was a bit… different. Because I grew up in the church and in a Christian family, I was taught that certain things were wrong, especially being gay. So, growing up with the constant reminder that I was always “in sin” was difficult, to say the least. In addition, my dad believes that homosexuality is the greatest of sins; he doesn’t realize that he is putting me in that category.

My middle school and high school years followed a similar trend; finding a certain guy attractive, telling myself not to sin, then forcing myself to think about girls. Sophomore year I became really depressed because I knew that my dealing with this issue was not just a phase as I had hoped. Also, during this time I was really involved with my youth group and was being mentored by my youth pastor. He was the first person I told that I was having problems with my sexuality. It was good to have someone to talk to about being gay, but he told me that prayer would be the answer. His suggestion just plunged me deeper into depression because I spent the next three years praying that God would take this away from me, and I wept countless times for this affliction to be removed. I had hoped that coming to Gordon would help, but it only made me feel more alone.

I have had two relationships with girls, the first during freshman year of high school with a girl who I thought I had a crush on. We started dating the summer after my senior year, and even though it seemed perfect, it wasn’t. I was uncomfortable and felt forced to be someone I was not. This was not fair for her because she deserves someone who is willing to love her more fully, and I was not capable of doing that. The second relationship just confirmed that I was gay. A friend of mine gave me a piece of advice that I will always remember: “To use a girl to ‘fix yourself’ is just like using a girl for sex.”

I have told some people at Gordon about my sexuality, and they have been really supportive. Even though some don’t share my same views, they still love me. The same could be said about all my close friends and siblings back home. I have even found a group on campus where we talk about this issue because silence is not a solution.

I wish I could say that I have everything figured out, but that would be a lie. Right now, my relationship with God is shaken, for obvious reasons, and I don’t know how my sexuality and Christianity tie together; the Church has done an awful job addressing this topic. But three things are certain: I’m Christian, I’m gay, and I’ve never been happier or more proud of who I am; the rest, God and I will figure out.

So tell me a little bit about your story.

Well, I grew up in a typical Baptist home. I was always taught that homosexuality was wrong and that people like that suffered from a condition that was either mental or some other clinical thing that could be treated. I didn’t really discover who I was until middle school, when I figured out that there was something wrong between me and my buddies, and they’re all talking about girls, and I didn’t feel the same way as them.

I pretty much grew up in the typical right-wing, literal-interpretationist – you know, “this-is-the-way-it-is-if-not-you’re-going-to-hell” – type of family. I’m one of seven kids from a very reverent family and they all agree with what they were raised to be.

When did you first know you were gay?

I’ve known who I was since 5th grade, but I didn’t want to admit to anyone outside of my head that I was gay. So I finally came out to my parents over Valentine’s Day of 2010 because I never had a girlfriend.

Oh wow. So pretty recently.

Yeah, definitely. I went through sophomore and junior year of high school trying to fix myself by getting involved with women. But, I felt like I was lying to my family, so I finally came out to them by saying:

“Mom, I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time. I know we agree on a lot of things, but this is a major thing that I know we’ll disagree upon and I need to know that you’re still going to love me.”

How did she react?

I told her and it did not go over as expected. She immediately teared up and went all Baptist on me (laughs). By the time my dad got home like five minutes later she recapped what had happened for him. And it just went downhill from there. She pulled the whole “You’re a dishonor to this family, we won’t be able to have communication with you because you’re the prodigal child. We’re still going to love you, but we’re not going to be able to support you anymore – like, financially in college.” That happened on Valentine’s Day this year.

So basically, the reaction that I got was that I was no longer able to stay at the house and I needed to have scheduled visitation times. They were no longer going to be supporting me in college. I was emancipated from my parents. So this is a huge story. I’m like going to cry.

You can if you want.

(Laughs) So ever since then it’s been a long process of trying to re-communicate with my parents, and they still hold to the beliefs they do. And I respect them for it. I’m not going to undermine their authority by doing anything that would make them mad, like staying at the house or anything like that. So the situation right now is that I am in the process of getting everything in my name and supporting myself through college. That’s pretty much it, really.

So how does your faith play into this? Do you feel like you’ve had to abandon faith?

I don’t think this is an issue that should separate someone from who created them. I believe that there is a God. I believe that He created humans intricately. And I don’t believe that He made any mistakes. I don’t believe that He miswires people to be “suffering” with this. I do believe that I’m a very spiritual person. But I do not believe that people who are homosexual are condemned to hell. I don’t think that this is an issue that can separate me from my Creator.

So in terms of the way you grew up and the way you understood faith you don’t feel that this issue has separated you from God at all?

It’s drawn me closer. Like hello? My parents are abandoning me, my family is kicking me out, so it really shakes a person down to what they’re really made of.

Now, feel free to answer this question or not, is there anyone at Gordon who you’ve told that has made you feel uncomfortable?

Absolutely not. This semester the theme in chapel is “Real Life.” And this semester has been real life to me. A year ago if someone were to ask me, “Are you gay?” I would say no because I was not comfortable and could not accept the truth. If someone asked me on campus today I would be completely real and open with them. Everyone I’ve talked to has been awesome. We’ve agreed to disagree unlike my parents who believe there’s only one way. So I wouldn’t say that there’s anyone at Gordon who made me uncomfortable. As a matter of fact, I think the best support I’ve had has been here at Gordon. Everyone I’ve talked to has been in complete support.

And speaking of that, all of my friends in high school are basically saying to me “we’re not going to be friends anymore: you’re gay and it’s a choice.” And it’s not a choice. I mean, there’s a degree of choice in the way it manifests itself physically, like whether you’re an extreme “flamer” or stereotypically masculine. But I don’t believe people are able to change what God wired them to be like.

Is there anything you would want the campus to know, and by campus I mean both students and faculty?

I would like the Gordon community to know that, like the Bible says, a wise person is quick to listen, slow to speak; and to listen to people is to not judge a book by its cover; to not make accusations before you really understand the situation. Because when people do that it’s not persuasive. And I don’t dig that.

Being gay is a pain. Being a gay Christian is much worse. Being a gay Christian at a Christian college is… well, let’s just say two negatives in this case don’t make a positive. Starting my freshman year in 2004 as the above is probably why I failed a couple classes, fell into a depression, and played too many video games while indulging in Scotty Burgers (a delicacy I miss too much). While I didn’t expect such a difficult experience, I did intentionally enroll at Gordon, because like many gay Christians, I thought enveloping myself in a Christian community would help me continue on the path to fixing myself.

However, this is what my college experience actually looked like:

Freshman year

Stay in room. Don’t make friends because of trust issues. Develop negative ways of dealing with the stress of having attractive guys on the floor.

Sophomore year

Still in the room because I squatted. Still have trust issues. The negative stress relievers get worse. The guys on the floor become better friends while I remain awkward because they’re still attractive. Prayer isn’t working. Fail some classes.

Junior year

Move to another dorm with guys I know a little. Feel even more isolated. The few friends I had known moved. Why the hell isn’t prayer working? Oh great, another F. When are girls gonna start getting me excited? At least my roommate isn’t attractive. Damn, I’m depressed. Complete mental breakdown. Tears.

Senior year

Give up on prayer. Off campus. Feel like I can breathe better. Still depressed, though. I want to experience a relationship for once. Don’t have the credits to graduate. Doesn’t matter. I don’t know what I want to do anyway. What’s this? A support group? For once Gordon actually has something to help me with this (besides the counseling center)? I decide to go.

After sneaking out to support group drunk because my nerves couldn’t take it

Damn (said in the context of positive exclamation, like, “Damn, why does the Grilled Stuffed Burrito at Taco Bell taste so good?”)! Other human faces! Christian faces with similar stories! Most worse than mine but we’re still similar. I’m going back. Slowly become more happy with myself. Think I’ll pick up running. Get rid of video games. Thank you God. Prayer starts up.

Fifth year

Doing much better. Off campus. Tell my roommates. Feel good. For some reason I start to feel close to people. Trust? Relationship with God gets better. I start asking questions. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with me. Life seems better now that I’ve accepted myself. Funny how that is.

In a way I did fix myself… from fixing myself. You can spend so much time destroying the precious years of youth believing that you’re some awful creation in the sight of God, when the whole time – and this is what I think – it’s really not that big of a deal. I don’t mind telling my friends that I’m gay, because for whatever reason it makes me feel closer to them, and that opens the door for an honest friendship.

Because I know how much fear goes along with being gay, I feel the need to offer advice to any “closets” who may be reading: Please, please tell someone! Regardless of whether you think it’s right or wrong, please tell someone! It will make your life easier!

It still surprises me a little. Almost every time I tell people (and it comes up more often than one might expect) that my patron saint is Joan of Arc, the reaction is general distrust and skepticism. “Wasn’t she crazy?” they ask.

Well, no. I don’t think so. And neither, fortunately, does the Catholic Church. It only took them 25 years to rectify the error in judgment that led them to burn her at the stake (only 25 years? That’s practically overnight service, as far as church history is concerned) and pronounce her not only innocent, but a martyr.

The problem these days is that anyone who claims to hear voices is immediately condemned as mentally ill, her message written off entirely. But Joan was no fool. During her trial, she flabbergasted her inquisitors on numerous occasions by making both clever and honest answers to their leading questions.

Nor would she have been allowed to lead the French armies if Charles VII (the French king she served) had even suspected her of insanity. You see, Charles VII’s father – unsurprisingly, Charles VI – believed he was made out of glass. It’s safe to say that the younger Charles would not have had trouble spotting insanity.

The truth is, Joan was killed mostly because she was extremely politically inconvenient. She had heard the voices of St. Catherine, St. Michael, and St. Margaret telling her to drive the English and Burgundian oppressors out of France, and within a few weeks time of being given charge of the army, she was well on her way to doing just that. But then she was captured by her enemies, and her foes took the tack of claiming she was a heretic, since that was the swiftest way to ensure death for a woman of any political stature in those days.

The second thing people ask after the patron saint question is why the hell I converted to Catholicism at all. I’m gay, you see. And the Vatican has made it pretty clear how it feels about that. So why wouldn’t I go to one of those open, welcoming churches that festoons its front doors with rainbow flags and bids me enter with promises of equality and dignity? I did for a while. As I began to tentatively limp back to church after my coming out, rainbow-flag churches were the only ones I would go near.

But the truth is, I love the Catholic Church. I love how it treats the sacraments, and how, at its best, it cares so deeply for the poor. I love how it absolutely does not require you to dress up for Mass, but, it doesn’t require you to dress down in order to feel comfortable either. I love its tradition of mysticism and, yes, how it dogmatically affirms that just because a person is dead doesn’t mean you can’t talk to them anymore: The souls of the saints, of those we’ve loved, have not gone beyond hearing.

When I started going back to Mass, I would generally sneak into the rear of the sanctuary, looking around furtively, as though I were sneaking into a peep show. I was afraid of catching someone’s eye, giving myself away, meeting that stare that can only mean one thing: queer. But on one of those recent occasions, as I snuck into the pew, eyes fixed to the floor, wondering why I’d come at all, I realized something at last. Why had I come? Because I’d felt called to Mass. Because I ached to be there. Because – and with this, I almost lost it, right there in the last pew at St. Theresa of Avila Parish – God wanted me there. And there was no person, not even a priest or a bishop or the Pope, who could tell me truthfully that I was not welcome.

Do I think being gay is wrong? I did. For many years, I did. But when I realized that the struggle to straighten myself out was killing not my homosexual desires, but some of the very deepest, most compassionate parts of myself, I began to believe that it was not. I believe – yes, I take it on faith, the same way I take the death and resurrection of Christ, the presence of the Holy Spirit, the continued existence of my mother’s soul – that being gay is the way I was made, by God, for His glory. I believe that He delights in me, just the way I am.

I may believe wrongly, and I tremble. But I have no other ground on which to stand.

And the truth is, if there is a hell, and I am going to it, I have a feeling it’s not because I am attracted to women, and have acted on those attractions. If I am going to hell, it’s probably for the time I got angry and said cruel things to the parking lot attendant who had to charge me a full day’s fee because I lost my ticket. It is probably because I rejected ovations of friendship from a girl in my fourth grade class – Lily Thomas – just because she didn’t have any friends, and I wanted to be popular. It is probably because I have enjoyed the moments when I’ve said things that I knew would make someone feel less intelligent than me. It is for these transgressions that I weep, for these that I long for forgiveness and the strength to do better.

But being gay, and being honest about being gay, has only ever humbled me, has only ever made me more compassionate toward those on the outside, has only ever reduced my self-righteous certainty to ashes. And for that, I am so grateful.

So I cling to Joan. I talk to her, who believed so surely that even impending death could not deter her, who did not let her gender or her age or her class keep her from doing and being what she knew she was called to do and be. And it is in her spirit that I enter the Catholic Church each Sunday with my head held high, knowing I am welcome by God in His house. It is in her spirit that I preach good news to the queers: You, yes, you too are welcome. Blessed are you whom the Church has heavily laden. God is bigger than the Church, and He aches for your presence.

The closet is a quiet place for a while. No one knows your secret. No one is aware that while you hide, you experience a silent thrill while playing with your sister’s Barbie dolls, while your G.I. Joe action figures sit on the top shelf, still sealed in the original packaging and collecting dust. No one understands why you don’t already show an attraction to girls, and you’re quietly mortified by the countless mothers in your church who, rather vocally, hope you will one day ask for their daughter’s hand in marriage. Perhaps they think it’s funny. No one can feel your anxiety when you think of having to fake everything with a woman for the rest of your life. No one watches that handsome guy look towards you to exchange an innocent, friendly smile with such suave that it makes you weak at the knees. You’re worried he may have noticed how you choked on your own breath, because you’re taught it isn’t normal. No one can support your insides from collapsing when, once again, you hear the old, condemning sermon, where you’re described as an abominable pervert. You wonder if you’re it. You wonder if the pastor will ever decide to address any other sin. It seems like this sin is worse than all the rest.

As time goes on, it isn’t going away. No one is there to wipe away your tears or listen to you barely mutter a nightly prayer begging for a miracle, which might range from waking up the next morning feeling completely changed to never waking up at all. It’s strange, but both seemed so appealing.

For the longest time, my family, my church and my closest friends kept me chained to emotions of guilt, shame and silence. There were moments when I wanted to believe that I was a prisoner to these emotions, and I became calloused toward the pain. If I ignored the hurt long enough, it would subside, if only for a while. Eventually, the feelings of loneliness became a natural emotion and the reality of my dark future began to encompass me. One can only gasp for air for so long before they suffocate. Believe me, it seemed like the best option sometimes.

So often, the strangling hands belonged to a loved one, a friend or even a church member. I suppose I don’t completely blame them. I’m aware of the countless numbers of people who believe that it’s a sin, but I never understood why there was such hatred towards homosexuals. I’ve heard to hate the sin, but love the sinner. Never did I think that hating the sin would constitute belittling a human being.

Through the years, it was both difficult and exhausting waking up every morning with an attraction to men. I started bargaining with God, promising whatever I could, if only He would change me. Most people I knew would call it a phase anyway. During high school, dating girls became an option. I figured that eventually this strange attraction for men would vanish, and I would start to like women. I believed that formulating thoughts of attraction for women would actually be healthy, but I didn’t know where to start. I felt comparable to any disgusting womanizer who uses girls for selfish desires. Was there any difference? I never considered how this news might affect these women or their families. Forget discussing this problem with a church leader; most would say I was doing the right thing. Eventually being a boyfriend wasn’t as difficult as I expected. One could suppose that I became an expert – holding hands, cuddling, kissing were practiced and executed, but none of it felt natural. Months passed by, and my attraction toward men continued. I didn’t understand what I was doing wrong.

My own faith was up for question every Sunday. I found myself confessing my attraction for men before I took communion, lest I ate and drank judgment unto myself; though, I never apologized to God for using one of His daughters for my own personal gain. Each week, I tried to pray my confession a little differently, wondering if God was listening or if He’d given up on me altogether. Kneeling by my bedside, I identified best with the 1970s fictional character, Margaret, who grew up with our mothers and perhaps some of you, asking, “Are you there God?”

Being somewhat of a golden child and a darling of the church leadership, I learned that it was necessary to maintain appearances. Heaven forbid that people knew I struggled with the abominable. Perhaps dating girls wasn’t enough. I devoted every moment of my free time to my church. At the time, it seemed like a viable solution, and I was certain that these “unhealthy, sinful” thoughts wouldn’t follow me into church. This seemed to work well until I began attending a discipleship group for guys my age, where accountability was at the forefront of every discussion. I wasn’t about to discuss in detail how I lusted. Instead, I learned to fabricate my struggle to avert my eyes from girls at school and asking for my “fellow brothers in Christ” to pray earnestly that my mind be cleansed of these carnal thoughts. I suppose this allowed me to have an impressive lust recovery story, but no one could know. It was my secret, and it was easier to stay in the closet.

I learned to keep my emotions to a smirk when I heard someone allege that these feelings were a choice. It can be difficult, not to mention hurtful, listening to my own friends and family refer to homosexuals as disgusting, immoral deviants, who threaten the sacred institution of the family. If only they knew the amount of times I cringed, wanting to ask them if they thought I was a vile deviant seeking to debase familial relations across our society. I wonder if they’d even consider relinquishing their accusations. After all, I didn’t ask for these feelings. I questioned if there’d ever be a day when I wouldn’t feel like I needed to hide this part of me.

Even after years of lying to myself and those who knew me, this deception continued to eat at me. You reach a point when the thought of telling the truth to family members or longtime friends is both liberating and nauseating, yet choosing a life in the closet is horrifying. I realize that this is something that has been part of me for longer than I can remember, though my sexuality does not completely define me. I am a man, a student, a Christian, and I’m completely human (with feelings, thoughts, passions, concerns, fears, ideas and desires). And, I’m gay.

I was finally able to admit it – not to the whole world, or even the majority of my friends. I was ready to admit it to myself. Since I first heard and understood what homosexuality was, I was taught to associate it with a filthy part of society. I still remember asking my counselor if it was possible for me to be both a Christian and gay. With a puzzled look, he replied, “Of course, why wouldn’t you?” I sat and wept. It was as if my old self, full of turmoil, self-hatred and bewilderment was finally set free from the bonds of ignorance. For the first time in my life, I was comfortable with who God had made me to be.

Now, the skeptic may argue that being gay is a subconscious decision, perhaps derived from an experience from one’s upbringing – a distant father and an overbearing mother? Sexual abuse? Perhaps it’s a strong temptation that someone finally succumbs to. To rule out temptation, could someone explain why it never presented itself like another temptation, such as lying or stealing? Why didn’t I ever experience an attraction to women, with a tempting attraction towards men? Why hasn’t God taken this away?

Regardless of why I’m gay, I didn’t choose this. I didn’t choose to be made fun of throughout my childhood and adolescence. I didn’t choose to make both of my parents weep for days, wondering if they could have done a better job with their son. My parents are still too embarrassed to bring up the subject with their closest friends.

After over a decade of sitting quietly in the closet, refusing to believe I was even there and lying about my sexuality, I am finally able to open the door and walk slowly into the room of acceptance. However, this challenge to accept myself is always coupled with people who will never understand or acknowledge this part of me. It’s a constant battle. You learn to tell the people you are certain will support you, rather than to those who will ridicule or disown you.

Whether you’re aware of someone’s sexuality or not, hurtful words of shallow, narrow-minded discrimination penetrate the closet doors causing fear and silence. The closet is a dark and lonely place. May these words be an encouragement to those of you who sit hushed in the corner of your own closet. Regardless of your sexual orientation, our faith in Christ makes us “heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in His sufferings in order that we may also share in His glory” (Romans 8:17).