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The seemingly deepest parts of my life are on display for the world to see. And yet there are a few things that I keep close — secret — from those closest to me. Because I am afraid of being vulnerable with them. I'm not talking about "coming out" — I'm talking about the matters at my very core that influence my actions in ways few could ever imagine.
I've pretty much always been attracted to guys in one manner or another. Some times more obsessively and explicitly than others. Some times more emotionally than physically. And for whatever reason, never sexually.
Joshua Harris pastored my church for over ten years. To our surprise, he recently announced he is divorcing his wife and and that he is no longer a Christian! Additionally, he has adopted a "Side A" gay-affirming belief. Despite all this drama and the church's many other issues, this place has been of some help to guys dealing with same-sex attraction.
Ah, straight guys — also known as "the normal ones." What a load of complicated feelings I have toward them. I see straight guys now and again in groups together. It evokes more of an emotional longing. A deeply profound longing. It's a feeling of wanting to be like them, to be one of them. To be normal and accepted by ordinary men and be like ordinary men. But it can't be that way. I'm different.
I couldn't go back through this whole crap again! I couldn't go back to being worried every single minute over how to pay for my apartment. I couldn't go back to not eating for a day or two. I couldn't go back to being tempted to selling myself to the first "generous" guy that came my way. I felt the heavy weight again, and I felt like a total loser.
I believe what Scripture says regarding a traditional sexual ethic. But more than that, I believe in the God behind that ethic and that his Word is still good for me, even if it's not always easy to follow.
Right on cue, in walks that cute guy again. Instantly, I'm back to spiraling, back to wondering if this faith thing can really work out in the end, or if I'm actually as crazy as I sound when I tell someone I'm pursuing celibacy. It's in these moments that God feels like the eternal God of "no" — no sex, no boyfriend, no husband, no romance, no intimacy. No love. God becomes the God who won't let me eat the fruit from the one tree I'm craving, instead of the God who provided an entire garden just for me.
Stories have power, and people love them for it. As such, that power can misused. The power of a story can be wielded in a way that causes untold damage and pain. As I've done more and more to reach LGBTQ+ individuals outside the church, I've had to face a stark reality: Christians have abused select people's stories to the detriment of the Gospel.
It didn't even feel like sexual lust. I just wanted intimacy. I just wanted a man. A man who will come and carry my responsibilities with me. A man who will pursue and lead me for a change. I want a man who will be there for me in everything. I want a man who will make me feel pursued, valued, and loved.