A Year of Pride

I came out as bisexual one year ago today. I chose June 30th because I wanted to get the message out before Pride month ended. It was a symbolic gesture, sure, but one that meant a lot to me. I recognized then, as I do now, that coming out as queer also means becoming part of a community of love, support, and solidarity. Over the last year, finding belonging among those who share some of my feelings and experiences has been a powerful force for good in my life. In fact, this June has been the first full Pride month I got to celebrate as an out queer man, and it has been a blessing to be included in this brave, precious, and beloved community.

Overall it has been… a year. In many ways a rich and rewarding one, in others a pretty harsh one. On the one hand, my friends and loved ones have been stalwarts of support and encouragement and my family has continued to embrace me without condition or second thought. I recognize how utterly gifted I am in this regard. Too many LGBTQ folks are met with hostility and rejection from their friends and family when they choose to come out. On the other hand, I have experienced a few suddenly-strained relationships, including many within my spiritual community. Evangelical Christianity, it turns out, still has some ways to go in loving and including LGBTQ folks. And I knew that before I came out; I had simply hoped that, in my case, with these people who have known me for much for my life, relationship might take priority over doctrinal agreement. In retrospect I can see how that was a bit naive.

The choice to come out, particularly in such a public way, was not an easy one to make. I spent my last whole year of seminary in therapy processing what coming out might mean for my life, career and relationships. I agonized over how I might be rejected by the people who meant the most to me, but I had no choice. Living in secret was eating away at me. I knew I wouldn’t survive another year of it. That fear of rejection motivated me to meet with and come out to my closest friends and loved ones, whose opinions mattered most, before coming out publicly. This would ensure that, by the time I came out, I would already have the support of the folks from whom I needed it most, so if anyone else rejected me, I could survive it.

My reasoning behind coming out in such a public way (via facebook video) was multifaceted. First, I’d already told a number of my closest friends and loved ones, and while I didn’t expect any of them in particular might spill the beans, I did recognize that, the more folks who knew, the greater chance that the information would gradually leak out until everybody was talking about it. At that point I would have no control over the narrative; rumors would dictate how others in my community saw and understood my sexuality. Second, I wanted to be incredibly specific in my messaging, to carefully unpack what my proclamation meant, as well as what it did not mean. Too often stereotypes and mischaracterizations guide how our society understands queerness, particularly bisexuality, so I took special pains to craft a message unpacking what my sexuality means for me. Frustratingly, even after taking that time, energy and effort, some people continued to speculate and spread misinformation about my situation. This is regrettable, but I do recognize that the method by which I chose to come out ran this risk. It was a true double-edged sword, in that it did grant me a degree of specificity and control of my narrative, but it also got everybody talking about my sexuality all at once. If I could do it over again, I don’t believe I would do it differently, but I do wish I’d known to guard my heart for how much some of these betrayals would sting.

Overall, even considering the moments of pain and frustration from the last year, I am so grateful that the truth is out there. Everyday since coming out I breathe a little lighter. Everyday I feel more fully known and loved. Everyday I am grateful to be living authentically, not in secret but in the light of day. It is the best, indeed only, way I know how to live.

While this journey is still very much en route for me, I did want to take this time, my anniversary of coming out, to reflect back on my first year out and share a few lessons or encouragements for the road ahead. These are for me, but they’re also for you. For my queer friends and loved ones, those who are out, those who have yet to come out, and those who may never be. For all the straight allies in my life, whom I love so dearly. For my brothers, sisters and siblings in Christ. For all of you, I have a few insights I hope may guide you toward greater love and wholeness in your days to come.

1. You are not alone. In the days following my coming-out, almost a dozen of my friends and loved ones reached out to me via social media to confide that they, too, are queer. Some had plans to come out themselves, others confessed they might never do so, but in all cases they thanked me for telling the truth, as it helped them feel less alone. In turn, their support made me feel a lot less alone, too. Shame tends to isolate us from other another. Telling the truth breaks down barriers to connection and helps us realize that we are never really alone.
2. You are beloved. For many LGBTQ folks who experience trauma, estrangement or rejection at the hands of the church, faith itself can become painful and elusive. Many of my queer friends and neighbors grew up in the church only to be rejected by it, which often motivates them to let go of faith in God entirely. I understand this, and I cannot blame them for it, but it grieves my spirit. My mission, as a queer Christian, is to follow in Jesus’ steps in announcing His Good News to all people, including (and especially) those who suffer at the hands of the hard-hearted religious establishment. It is the most Christ-like thing we can do, to remind those who have been hurt by the church that they are loved by their Creator. You are beloved of God, full stop, as am I.
3. Love yourself. One of the pitfalls of Evangelical Christianity, which borders on the pathological, is its inherent mistrust of human bodies, feelings, and experiences. Due to our impoverished and misguided theologies, we implicitly (or explicitly) train each other to resent, or even hate, our very humanity. This is misguided at best, heretical at worst. God made us good. God made our bodies good. Granted, there is such a thing as sin in the world, and it affects our lives and relationships, but it does not undo that God made us each in God’s own good image. We are, every one of us, beloved, and beautiful, and this gives us all the reason we need to love ourselves. But this is hard. It’s a journey, one Sufjan Stevens sings about beautifully in his Pride anthem, Love Yourself. 

As I said, all this stuff is still very much in-process for me, but I hope it might be of some use to you. I wrote a couple other Pride posts earlier this month, one about Jesus’s love for us and the other about the Holy Spirit’s tendency to break down barriers to unite God’s people. In any case, thank you for accompanying me along this journey so far. Please keep me in your prayers, as you also pray for LGBTQ youth who suffer at the hands of unaccepting parents or unwelcoming churches, or for trans women of color who are killed in the streets at epidemic rates without the dignity of news coverage. Pray for all God’s beloved children, especially those most in need of grace, peace and help.

Happy Pride, and God bless!