For many years now, I have lived in communities that are accepting of homosexuality and that support gay rights almost unequivocally. But I grew up in a community that was not. Not that no one was accepting or supportive, but the default position felt like either you were against it, or you stayed quiet–or possibly discussed and debated amongst a small circle of trusted friends. The basis for this position was and continues to be a deeply held religious belief that homosexuality is a sin.
I have a complicated relationship with members of my community and some members of my extended family largely because of this belief and the particular type of faith that it stems from. I’m not gay. I lived with a boyfriend for five years–a practice that is sometimes referred to as “living in sin” in southwest Missouri. But one that, unlike homosexuality, is basically ignored or subtly encouraged to change with friendly: “So, you two thinking about maybe tying the knot sometime soon…” I think some tried to entertain the illusion that we were living together and not sleeping together. (Yes, an illusion, of course.) Others might have actually felt relief–given my androgynous looks and my zealous participation in women’s athletics. It could have been much worse, right? I could be gay.
There were and are, of course, many gay people in my hometown. But I didn’t know anyone who came out while living in Bolivar. Rather than coming out, most have been driven out. Not with pitchforks or anything like that. It’s not that kind of place. The people in my hometown are, for the most part, really warm, generous, kind, thoughtful people. But they believe that gay people are going to hell. And they see it as a mission to save them from eternal damnation by doing anything they can to change their sinful ways. For them, taking anti-gay action does not come from hate but from a type of love. This is sometimes a hard concept for people in my current community, New York City, to understand. It feels counterintuitive that a religion that is supposed to be based in love acts so negatively toward a group of people who just want to be able to have their own love accepted.
And it is ironic that this fundamental Christian desire to save others from damnation after death does, so often, result in making people’s lives on earth into another type of hell.
But faith is not logical. And it is not arguable. I remember going to church camps as a kid where they would have upbeat, fun worship services that would ask over and over again, “Are you 100% sure you are going to heaven?” And everyone said yes. Over and over. All the people around me, people I loved and looked up to, all said, “Yes.” And I used to feel so guilty for questioning it.
But I’m glad I ultimately did. Not that I could really help it. I just had doubts. I had questions. And my life is richer for pursuing my own answers to those questions. Letting go of a fundamentally Christian view of the world did, of course, mean opening myself up to the possible reality that life is very unfair and that there may not be a God who is going to make it all right in the end–which is a terrifying thought. And I, myself, might very well be wrong. But letting go of religion has also allowed me to have friends with different backgrounds, and to have friends who are gay, and friends who have divorced, or who have pre-marital sex. And I don’t have to try to change them or pray for their souls. These friends are wonderful people. They are ethical people. They are creative, funny, caring, intelligent people. They make mistakes, as all people do, but they also do their best to treat others well. And to me, that’s what’s important.
And as much as I sometimes miss being able to have a simple, heaven-and-hell, right-and-wrong view of life, I feel so grateful to be able to live a life rooted in open-minded questioning, acceptance of differences, and love of my diverse neighbors. And I feel sorry for those whose beliefs prevent them from doing that–and sorrier for those who are deeply hurt by feeling like their loved ones or communities can’t ever really love them as the amazing people they are.
I wish I had stood up long ago, when the question of being 100% sure was first being asked, and said, ”Wait! Why? Faith shouldn’t be arbitrary or something drilled into a child’s head. Questions are not bad. In addition to a Bible, we have big ole brains (that God, some would say, gave us). Let’s use them. In fact, between a book that is full of inherent contradictions (and that no two people interpret the exact same way) and our (potentially) God-given brains, does in not make sense to rely on our brains?” But I know, again, that faith is not arguable. And I am not expecting to change minds. I am just making my own beliefs known.
For a long time, I have been afraid to say these words to many people from my home community. But I think, with yesterday’s huge step forward–toward true freedom, civil rights, and an actual separation of church and state–that it is also time to think about complete acceptance and love of our neighbors. There is a logical argument for gay marriage and separation of state that even fundamental Christians can (and often do) stand beside. After all, that separation protects their own freedom to practice how they see fit. And I think that that argument for the legality of gay marriage will become a widely accepted truth relatively quickly–especially as people realize that the ruling will not affect them really at all if they are not gay. But I am asking for more.
As more gay people make the decision to come out and make public declarations of their love, I challenge straight people from Bolivar and southwest Missouri to have the courage to show support for them. Out loud. Publicly. I know there are people who quietly feel the same way that I do, and I encourage anyone who will completely accept and not try to change their gay friends, family, and neighbors to actually say the words. Do it on Facebook, in church, at school. I am 100% sure that would make a positive difference for at least some of them.
