by John Herrick
All that time he’d spent seeking someone to trust. Hunter marveled at how fast months and years could accumulate.
Hunter drew his knees closer to his chest, wrapped his arms around them again, and cradled himself in a tight embrace.
The darkness of the linen closet brought peace. And though Hunter felt empty, he savored the comfort he found in this moment of solitude.
In this closet, no one would discover him or judge him. No one would find humor at his expense.
Nobody would tell him how filthy they thought his soul was.
CHAPTER 44
“Am I going to hell?”
From the other side of the desk, Hunter watched Pastor Chuck’s expression morph into grave concern.
“Why would you think that?”
“So I’m not?” Hunter lifted his head and met Chuck’s kindhearted stare. “That’s one of the biggest things that have bothered me all these years—the fear that I’ll end up in hell.”
“Because you’ve felt attracted to the same sex?”
“Yeah.”
“Hunter, you’re not going to hell.”
“But what if I go too far one day? What if I act on those attractions? What if I act on it again, then act on it again, and it’s in progress the day I die? I mean, Gabe and I haven’t done anything, but …” He trailed off, at a loss for how to complete his thought. “A lot of people seem to think I’m on my way to hell.”
Chuck studied him as though trying to pick precise words for his reply. That was one of the qualities Hunter appreciated most about his pastor: his willingness to slow down and prepare a helpful response rather than offer a platitude.
“Do you know anyone who has stolen something?” Chuck asked.
“How often?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Are you talking about a burglar, or just someone who took a towel from a hotel where they stayed?”
“Either.”
“Of course. The hotel thing, anyway.”
“Do you think they’re going to hell?”
“Because they took a towel?” Hunter said. “No, I don’t think so.”
“But it’s still stealing, right?”
“Of course.”
“And the Bible calls stealing a sin.” Chuck paused for a beat. “Have you known any Christians who drank more than they should on a regular basis?”
“Like going one drink too far? Sure.”
“The Bible tells us not to overindulge in alcohol,” said Chuck. “Do you think those people are on their way to hell?”
“Of course not. It’s just an issue in their lives, one of those areas where they’re vulnerable. A lot of them are sorting through something difficult and there’s no easy answer. It doesn’t mean they love Jesus any less.”
“Hunter, your salvation came by faith. You didn’t earn its entrance into your life,” said Pastor Chuck, “and you can’t earn its staying power. Your salvation isn’t based on your actions; it’s based on your willingness to believe and let God have your heart.”
“But what about in the Bible, that verse in Leviticus, where it puts a spotlight on homosexuality? It doesn’t just call it a sin—it calls it an abomination.”
“In God’s eyes, one thing is no worse than another. That verse in Leviticus existed under an old covenant between God and man, a covenant filled with requirements—what we call the Law—designed to show that man could never live up to God’s perfection,” Chuck said. “God designed His Law not to punish us, but to show us our need for a Savior. When Christ died, He took all our shortcomings with Him to the cross. He fulfilled the Law on your behalf. Everything the Law mandated, Christ satisfied on your behalf. So when you gave your heart to Him, you entered a new covenant with God, one that isn’t based on your performance. It doesn’t require you to earn anything. No action that conflicts with God’s Law is any worse than another. They’re all equal in God’s eyes—they prove our equal need for a Savior, regardless of what we’ve done.”
“But if God went so far as to call it an abomination, don’t you think He meant to designate it as worse?”
Chuck reached toward one corner of his desk and grabbed a leather-bound Bible. Hunter recognized the Bible as the one Chuck carried with him to the pulpit when he preached. Chuck turned its pages and settled on the book of Proverbs, angling the Bible so Hunter could read the words. Hunter leaned in and noticed Chuck had turned to chapter 16.
“God calls other things abominations, too. Would you like to see some of them?”
Hunter read verses 16 through 19, where he counted seven items: a proud look, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that devises wicked schemes, feet that run toward mischief, a false witness that lies, and a person who sows discord.
“Did you see homosexuality listed there?” Chuck asked.
“No.”
“And I don’t know about you, but I’ve told a few lies during my Christian life. I’ve also caught myself looking on with haughty eyes here and there over the years.”
Chuck’s words brought comfort to Hunter’s heart, yet Hunter didn’t know how to respond.
“In Romans chapter 3,” continued Chuck, “the Bible says we’ve all sinned and fallen short. Each of us fights a fight of faith, and each has different battle fronts. But God’s kingdom isn’t a physical place on earth, and though physical works are appropriate, His kingdom isn’t based on our physical works. Jesus said His kingdom exists in human hearts. It’s a spiritual kingdom that exists inside His people, and His number-one interest is where your heart is toward Him.”
Hunter fingered the edge of the Bible, focusing his eyes with such intensity on the columns of text, his vision doubled. He breathed deep.
“I didn’t choose to feel gay,” Hunter said at last.
Warmth emerged in Pastor Chuck’s eyes, his crow’s-feet more prominent as empathy lifted them.
“I know you didn’t,” he said.
“You do?”
“You’ve spent your life trying to deny those feelings exist, trying to find your way out of them, afraid someone will find out,” Chuck said. “I don’t believe anyone chooses to be gay. I believe, for whatever reason, the conflict emerged in your life. And that isn’t your fault, Hunter.”
“How can it not be my fault?”
“Think about the apostle Paul: In the Bible, he mentioned struggling with a thorn in his flesh. He didn’t specify what the thorn was, but it was something that emerged in his life. He didn’t choose it and it wasn’t his fault, but that didn’t remove the struggle from his midst. It doesn’t mean you’re a phony or a terrible Christian; it’s part of your journey, that’s all.
“We don’t always choose what happens to us,” Chuck continued, “but we choose how we respond. We make decisions, we fall short in some areas, we learn from our mistakes and make adjustments. And Jesus is there with us, standing shoulder to shoulder. He smiles on you as you journey because He’s on the journey with you.”
“I’ve seen myself as a failure because of all this,” Hunter said.
Chuck leaned forward against his desk. “Hunter, I promise you, nobody is perfect. Every one of us is in process in this life. As we grow in our relationship with Christ and interact with other people, we walk through the process, step by step, and we grow.”
He caught Hunter’s eye and held his glance.
“You’ll find your way through this journey, Hunter. You and God. You’ll find it together.”
CHAPTER 45
Two weeks later, Hunter swore he could feel himself thaw in the mid April sunshine. Earlier that day, he had finished his third interview with the sales department of a small, local software company that specialized in skill-training software.
Hunter’s regional experience at a large company impressed them. This local company, on the verge of expansion, wanted Hunter aboard. The team members needed to interview two other candidates and, because of the company’s small size, needed to finish a large project befo
re activating the new sales position. But they had expressed a strong interest in Hunter and had implied he was their preferred choice. Hunter wouldn’t know their decision for a few more weeks, but his latest interviewer had told him—off the record—that his chances of getting the job were 90 percent. As it turned out, the company that downsized him had provided the experience he needed for an exciting new challenge.
God works in unexpected ways, Hunter mused to himself. He perceived God taking care of him.
To reward himself for a successful interview, Hunter had headed home that afternoon, changed clothes, and decided to shoot hoops on the basketball court at church.
In the months since Hunter’s secret had come to light, rumors had spread and people had gossiped. Hunter had removed toilet paper from the tree in his front yard more times than he could count. Cars—driven by high school students, he assumed—had cruised down his street at night, stopped in front of his house, and issued a series of sustained horn blasts before squealing away.
Meanwhile, according to what he’d heard around town, Reverend Harper’s words had grown more aggressive as the weeks wore on. The pastor had ended his sermon series and graduated to posting a few soapbox videos on the Internet—Reverend Harper called them “public service announcements” on the video page—for the world to watch. Hunter had visited the video page and found it had received a total of 74 views. He’d watched the short, angry blasts and heard, once again, that Hunter (though not mentioned by name) had corrupted his community and that hell might lurk in his future. After his visit to a church service and looking around at the people in the sanctuary, Hunter wondered who in the man’s congregation knew how to create a web video.
In the end, however, Hunter had decided to walk in love and avoid seeking vindication. He figured someone needed to act like a Christian in this situation.
Nonetheless, despite the insults, he sensed God’s arm around his shoulders. At night, he would lie in bed and talk to God in prayer before drifting to sleep.
Hunter had reached a place of peace. As the initial humiliation wore off and he discovered more and more residents in town knew about him, Hunter had grown less fearful of what they thought of him. More and more individuals, in fact, had let him know they cared. God would walk with him through this, just as God had stuck beside him through every past challenge.
The basketball clanged against the rim and hit the backboard before returning to his arms in a freefall. One more try.
These days, Hunter noticed a sense of freedom he hadn’t expected when the humiliation had first occurred. True freedom like he’d never felt. The freedom of holding no secret whatsoever. Nothing to fear. Nothing to guard. After all those years clenching it within dark, iron chambers of his heart, those bars had disintegrated. The issue itself hadn’t disappeared, but dread no longer bound him in its emotional cage.
In a way, Hunter felt happier than he’d ever felt. He’d had no idea how much pressure had built up since adolescence. He likened it to the molecular bombardment about which he’d learned in chemistry class. The molecules in his life had bounced and collided with increasing force inside a contained space until the beaker exploded and they broke loose. Despite the negative fallout and the unknowns that lay ahead, Hunter felt joyful. Relieved. Free.
Perhaps he’d wanted to be exposed. Maybe, on some deep, psychological level, he’d relented, putting himself in a risky situation with Gabe to dare others to find out about him so he wouldn’t need to verbalize it to anyone. Good-bye, terror. Hello, daylight.
Hunter readied another free throw. This time, the ball slipped through the net, but Hunter didn’t get to hear the swish he so enjoyed.
A screech of tires in the parking lot startled him. He fumbled with the basketball before securing it in his arms. The screech sounded like a car slamming on its brakes, a driver trying not to hit a kid who had darted into a street.
Hunter turned and saw Gabe slamming the car door shut. Gabe ran toward him.
“You haven’t answered your phone!”
“It’s with my car keys over there.” Hunter nodded toward a bench thirty feet away.
“I’ve looked all over for you! Ellen didn’t know where you were. I checked your house. I tried coming here by chance because I knew this is where you shoot hoops.”
Out of breath, Gabe panted. He looked worried.
“What’s wrong?” Hunter asked.
“Remember that minister you talked to? The one who’s been railing against—”
“What about him?”
“A kid at his church just killed himself.”
“What! When?”
“A few hours ago.”
“How? The kids aren’t even out of school for the day.”
“That’s where he did it: at the high school, underneath the stadium bleachers. He must’ve sneaked out of class.” Gabe retrieved his cell phone from his front pocket, opened the Internet browser, and navigated to the News page at a local television station’s website. He handed the phone to Hunter. “A client told me about it at work.”
Sure enough, Hunter found a BREAKING NEWS header at the top of the page. The story provided minimal detail beyond the approximate time of death, the location, and the cause of death: a self-inflicted gunshot in the mouth. Because the victim had turned eighteen years old a few weeks prior, he was no longer a minor, so the news station released his identity. His most recent yearbook photo, from the previous school year, accompanied the story. Even a year earlier, he appeared small for his age and looked closer to fifteen years old.
A lanky kid, judging from his photo, a standard head shot. Blond hair, which looked as though his habit was to push it to the side. An aquiline nose. The kid had a small patch of acne near his chin.
Hunter studied the student’s photo closer.
And realized he had seen him before.
It was the teenager Hunter had noticed at Reverend Harper’s church. The one about whom Hunter had sensed profound isolation.
The recognition sent a sucker punch to Hunter’s belly. A taste of bile emerged in his mouth. He felt lightheaded, on the verge of vomiting.
According to the reporter, the student’s name was Lucas Hampton and he had left a suicide note. While the reporter provided an extract of the note, not its full text, she quoted enough to reveal Lucas’s motivation for ending his life: Lucas was gay.
As it turned out, in the course of vilifying Hunter and Gabe from the pulpit, Reverend Harper had hurt another individual. Someone who sat in the pews.
As his pastor’s rhetoric grew more and more condemning, the teen felt he could no longer go on. In Lucas’s own words, as an extract from his suicide note read, “I realized there’s no more hope for me. My family, my church, and my friends will be better off without me. I don’t want to face what those two guys are facing today.”
Hunter could only assume “those two guys” referred to Hunter and Gabe.
Lucas’s note continued, “I love you, Mom and Dad and Kelsey …”—according to the story, Lucas had one little sister—“… so don’t blame yourselves for what I did or who I was. It’s not your fault. It’s mine.”
Lucas’s words were enough to make Hunter question every cruel, offhand remark he’d ever spoken to anybody, regardless of the subject matter. Hunter knew firsthand how words hurt—and still hadn’t understood how much they could hurt a person until now.
He tried to swallow but found it difficult.
“I told him …” Hunter murmured to himself.
“Told who?”
When he noticed Gabe had heard him, Hunter met his stare.
“The kid’s pastor,” Hunter said. “I tried to warn him someone could get hurt.”
Hunter chewed his thumbnail. Sorrow enshrouded his heart.
“I tried to tell him people need to know they’re loved …”
CHAPTER 46
On Saturday morning, Hunter awoke to the sound of loud, incessant rapping on his front door. Half awake, he turned
onto his side. He checked his alarm clock and discovered it was only 7:34.
The knocking stopped. He wondered if it was a dream, the kind that occurs when you’re on the verge of sleep, drifting in and out of consciousness. His head fell back onto his pillow and he started to doze.
The doorbell. More raps on the door, louder this time.
Hunter grunted. He threw off the covers. If this was a prank, he couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t explode in anger at whoever was on his front porch.
He padded barefoot into his living room and threw open the door. Ellen stood on the other side, her face solemn. Something was off-kilter.
She examined him in his T-shirt and boxer shorts, then said, “Come on.”
“Where?” Even to himself, his voice sounded groggy. He rubbed the heaviness from his eyes.
“I need you with me.”
“Why?” Confused, Hunter shook himself out of his sleepy haze.
“Just come.”
Hunter sighed. Heading back into his house, he brushed his teeth, then threw on a pair of jeans and a baseball cap.
* * *
In the early morning, with the temperature in the upper 30s, a fog crept across the windshield as their body heat filled the interior of the car. Ellen turned on the defroster, then returned to her hand to the steering wheel, gripping it with both hands. A relaxed driver, Ellen never gripped the wheel with both hands except when navigating a snow-covered road.
Hot air blew through the heating vents beneath the dashboard. Seated on the passenger side, Hunter positioned his legs near the vent and lifted the edges of his jeans a few inches above his shoes, exposing his sock-covered ankles to absorb the heat. He was glad he’d thought twice and grabbed a hoodie on his way out of the house.
Hunter had no idea where Ellen had decided to take him. He’d asked, but she’d refused to tell. In fact, she had said nothing else during their ride, her hands glued to the steering wheel and her eyes glued to the road ahead. The silence thickened, but Hunter didn’t want to turn on the radio: He could tell Ellen was preoccupied. Life had drained from her eyes, in such sharp contrast to her normal demeanor, he decided to tread with caution rather than ask her what was wrong.
