It’s always the Baptists… they just always get to me somehow

The stories of my childhood in a rural, fundamentalist, independent Baptist church in the South aren’t really stories I have too often told others. Being “saved” at the age of 8, growing up practically shadowing “Preacher” and all the challenges that came along with coming to terms with who I am are all stories that are hard to tell and, I guess for some, hard to hear. Oh, yes… people have heard some of the stories, but many have yet to hear the entirety of it. Needless to say, the emotions and memories associated with those stories are ones to which I try hard not to return.

Many of those feelings came flooding back to my mind on Wednesday night in Albany. Our Northern van route of the Right to Marry Campaign had a stop in and around Albany and its suburbs, including the towns of Troy, Saratoga Springs, Fort Edward and Glens Falls.

On Wednesday evening, with the gracious assistance of the Metropolitan Community Church in Albany, we held a screening of a PBS marriage equality documentary. The group of those who gathered was supportive, mostly gay, lesbian and bi, and loving, Christ-centered folks. We watched the film and kind of casually discussed the issues in groups that formed quite naturally.

Near the end of the evening, as we were packing up the snacks and the projector, computer and speakers, a group of young folks just like us walked in. One was a bit older, late twenties I’d guess, wearing a suit. The three others, two women and one guy, were younger, closer to our age.

Rob, one of the campaign participants, walked over to meet the group and welcome them. I eventually walked over to join Rob. The group of folks and I got into a discussion about coming out and coming to terms with my sexuality and my faith. They quickly identified themselves as Baptist and, being Baptist myself, the admission was a warm and welcome sight (Baptists certainly aren’t as numerous up north as they are in the South). I don’t think I picked up on anything unusual from the group, although I certainly thought that they must be straight. But I had no clue or idea of what would come next.

We had to leave the church because the church members who had let us use the space needed to get home, so we all waked outside and sat on the steps facing toward the street. It was outside of this beautiful, old Baptist church, after this group had already gained my trust and, in some ways, my respect, that I heard the real reason for their visit. Rob had already felt that something was a bit odd with them and so had some of the other Campaign participants. Somehow these feelings flew right past me and never entered my mind for a second. Perhaps it was because I was so happy to be talking with who seemed to be folks like me… accepting, loving Baptists.

The group was there to tell us about being “ex-gay” and about “finding freedom from homosexuality.” I felt betrayed as I heard them explain their point of view. Brian, another Campaign participant who had also participated with me in this past spring’s Equality Ride, and I naturally took up the conversation and engaged the four “ex-gays” in a peaceful, respectful dialogue about our faiths, our life experiences and our perceptions of our faith in light of our experiences as gay Christians.

During the Equality Ride I had found it difficult to maintain my peaceful state-of-mind for longer conversations, but for some reason I was able to talk for almost an hour without any indication of moving away from a non-violent spirit.

But it was when we began to discuss our deeply personal faith journeys and relationships with Christ that I began to crack. For me, coming to terms with my sexuality was something that I had to do in order to live and survive. If I had not have come to terms with my sexuality, I can guess that I would be in one of two places: A conservative Baptist church following in the footsteps of my Preacher and teaching a congregation that gay people are worthy of death and absolute exclusion from the life of our world and church, or buried in a pine box six feet under the ground.

My relationship with Christ is a personal one. I can truly say that I have a deeply personal relationship and walk with Christ. I’m not perfect… I’m no where near it, but of course Christ knows this; He is my Saviour, after all. My walk with Christ is between only me, Christ, my God and, if I so choose, my family and my pastor. My walk with Christ is not subject to the thoughts and feelings of others who wonder and judge what I am, who I am or if I am worthy of God’s love.

As I began to cry, I practically begged the group of “ex-gays” to respect my walk with Christ. If I can, as a part of my duty to support and encourage my fellow believers in Christ, respect their personal decisions in their walk with Christ, then why can’t they respect mine? I had to leave the church of my childhood. I had to leave a place where, from the pulpit, I was taught, “Put all the queers on a ship, pluck a hole into the side of it and send it out to see.” If I had remained at that church, or if I had not have come to terms with who I am, then my walk with Christ would be entirely different. I’d go far enough to say that my walk with Christ would be less personal and, I think I might say that I might harbor hate in my heart for God.

I eventually had to get up and leave the conversation. We’ve been taught to approach situations with a non-violent spirit – meaning no violence of the fist, the heart and spirit or of the tongue. In the emotional state I had gotten into, there was no way I could have continued in that non-violent spirit, especially because of all the tough memories brought back into my mind.

I felt betrayed. My trust had been broken by a group I thought was friendly. No matter how nice their words sounded and no matter how much they couched their hate-filled words in what amounted to nothing more than fancy gift and bubble wrap, their words – in my mind – were no different than my Preacher’s: You aren’t worthy of Christ and God does not love you. You aren’t worthy of life.

It has taken me years to mend those wounds; in fact, many of those wounds have still yet to heal. But to have finally realized that despite what I was taught as a child, my God does love me… that is truly amazing and wondrous. He will always love me and Christ will always be there for me… gay or straight. That is the truth. That is, truly, my redeeming message. “Be still and know that I am God,” He says. I know and I will not let anyone tell me I am not worthy of His love.

Posted in Anti-LGBT, Ex-gay, Religion, Right to Marry Campaign, Sexuality |