<p class="MsoNormal">I was nervous. Hands dug into my pockets, I made my way across the street to the church building, wondering if I’d made a mistake in agreeing to this. Afraid of what I would feel around all these people. Feelings that have become too familiar in this setting: hypervigilance, sweat, stiffness, discomfort, insecurity, and defensiveness all surfacing. I was with someone I trusted though, and she had assured me there would be a lot of people there like me- queer in some way- so I was holding a little bit of hope deep down that maybe this time it would be different.</p><p class="MsoNormal">I have had a lot of experiences in churches. Growing up, my family was the type that was at the church “every time the doors were open” growing up, which included at least Sunday morning, Sunday night, and Wednesday night services, not counting special conferences, meetings, or other events. I went to a Bible college that was even more conservative and legalistic than my parents ever thought of being. I <i>chose</i> that. I was “serious” about serving God. I wanted to go into ministry in some way and show God that my life was totally in His hands and that he could use me in any way He wanted. There were good things about my experience at Bible college, but I have also spent years untangling many of the unhealthy messages I received there about how I relate to God.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Bible college is where I first realized I was attracted to women. I fell in love with someone and tried valiantly to hide it, but eventually landed in the office of the vice president and the way those rumors were handled was pretty traumatic for me. My sexuality got buried for many years and I didn’t deal with it besides acknowledging in my head that “I am sometimes attracted to girls.” Layer on top of that several other difficult and hurtful church experiences, sometimes with families in leadership, factor in that I am openly gay (well, in certain spaces), and it becomes an even scarier prospect to go back to church. To say I have a complicated relationship with church would be understating it a bit. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Even with these hurtful experiences and church and difficulties in my relationship with God, I tried so hard for so long to continue to go to church. I attended two different churches every weekend for over a year. I was faithful to multiple small groups. I invited people out for coffee, desperate to make friends and feel accepted again in a church, as I had been for much of my life. The truth is that I was struggling. I was still defensive and angry at God. My questions were not being responded to very well and I felt like a problem, a “downer” to everyone’s good time. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">After another visit to a new church over two years ago, I gave up. I stopped attending church and I stopped looking to find a new one. I would occasionally go to church (sometimes with accompanying low-key panic attacks) with friends of mine if I visited them over a weekend but other than that, I stopped trying. That was hard to do, because I was holding onto that one proof that I was still “trying” as a Christian, despite my questions and anger and struggles with God. I was trying to prove to myself and others that I was still “ok” because I hadn’t given up on church yet. That choice to allow myself to rest and stop making myself go to church was difficult but ultimately needed for my healing. Once I came out to myself as gay about 9 months ago, trying to find a church felt even more anxiety-provoking. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">So, as I walked into this supposedly “affirming and inclusive” church a couple of weeks ago, I was unsure it would feel any different than any other church had felt to me the past several years. The lobby was pretty typical and their fellowship room where we sat for coffee and bagels before the service began seemed like a place I would have frequented as a teenager or young adult. An older lady pointed at me from across the table to get my attention and asked me to get her “one more sausage patty” from the breakfast spread. It all felt very….normal and familiar. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">But I was already noticing some differences. My friend introduced me to a couple of gay friends of hers right away. I saw others around me that were clearly queer in some way. Frankly, they looked it. They weren’t hiding anything about themselves or trying to pretend to fit into some kind of code or cultural norm. But for once, I wasn’t trying to hide anything either. I walked in with my friend, who is also a lesbian, who is out to the people in this church. I look like a dyke (That’s still hard to say sometimes because of leftover internalized homophobia, but I am aware of the facts on the ground). People surely had my number in this situation. They probably peppered her later with all kinds of questions about me and our relationship status. Although even that felt…good. The people at this church would be happy about anything romantic happening between us, just wanting her to be happy and healthy instead of judging her or I in any way. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Then there was the service and the overall vibe of the place. Everything that I witnessed fit the setting, from the use of pronouns and inclusive language to their explicit affirmation of openness to the LGBTQ+ community and their full invitation to be involved in every part of the church. It was “youth day” so there were some extra opportunities for youth to be involved in the liturgy, music and in serving communion. There was a wide age demographic in the church, a diversity of races, and as mentioned before, clearly queer people serving and leading in worship. I found myself relaxing into my seat, feeling more comfortable next to someone who has found an accepting place in this community and knowing she hasn’t been rejected because of her identity or past. Feeling genuine excitement and authenticity around me. A nice, fresh energy that did not seem to be hiding any covert agenda or seeming to put up a front to impress anyone. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Of course, no group of people is perfect, and I don’t know these people at all, but I do know that I did not feel on guard in a church service for the first time in a couple of years. The (female) pastor discussed what it might mean at the “end of all things” but kept an openness in her interpretation that brought peace and comfort to me. My reaction is particularly ironic since this subject is one of the most controversial theological issues in fundamentalism. I didn’t feel frustrated by the ambiguity or uncertainty in what was being discussed about the Bible. I found myself grateful for the work I have done and the healing that has taken place to allow even this approach to a difficult topic to be a good experience for me. <o:p></o:p></p><p> </p><p class="MsoNormal">This would not have been possible for me a year ago: to be in a church surrounded by queer people, to be ok with the inclusive language and the humility in the presentation of the sermon, and most significantly, to be ok with myself in this kind of environment. Before, I would be so insecure and uncomfortable, being in this space with all this “ambiguity” and all these queer people, because I knew what was true about myself deep down but hadn’t been able to fully accept it. But here I was, fully ok with my gayness, very ok with uncertainty in my faith, and (more comfortable) with other people around me enjoying worship, even if I can’t quite get to the point of enjoying it myself yet. I know I’m on a journey and I am amazed at how far I’ve come already, especially in the last year. Going to church and being “ok” in church was a nice step in my journey that I am thankful to have made.<o:p></o:p></p>
💕 They love it! 💕
6
There are no comments to display!