by Ella James
"I know we're in a world right now that can be individual-centric. And sometimes overly focused on the 'me' parts of life. But this is not that. This is something different. This is looking at yourself—as honestly as you can look—and really seeing what you see there. And look at what you could do better. Where you're being selfish or afraid, or weak. Or not giving your best. And you try to up your game.
“And then you look at what you can't change. The parts of you that are just you. The messy you, that just isn't going to have the cleanest car. The you that isn't organized and buys a planner every January first and doesn't fill it out. The you that isn't eating 'right' and doesn't know how to cope with a bad day right now any better than eating a big bag of donuts.
“And self-love, the real self-love, the self-love God wants us to have for ourselves—so we love ourselves like God loves us—is just being able to say 'I'm okay like this. This is the version of me I am today, and that me is all right. Maybe I want to improve, but if I never do, if I binge eat when I’m stressed out, I’ll still be okay. Lovable and wonderful, and a good person.’
“We as a culture...I think the reason we're having this moment where people are feeling really focused on self-care...is because for a long time, we weren't thinking like that. There's a long history in our country and in European and Euro-Asian cultures of being stoic. And that stoicism really is...is almost a form of dishonesty. This idea that you should look and act a certain way—like you're okay, like you've got this—even when maybe you aren't. And you don't.
“And I think that goes hand-in-hand with a culture that is overly focused on should and not focused enough on is. The root of all of this is honesty. Being real. I'm a fan of this new movement. Whether it's being called that, I think the concept of self-care and its popularity right now online, on Instagram and Twitter, its inclusion in our conversations, represents a cultural shift. Where we as a collective are acknowledging, 'Hey, when I'm honest, my mental health is better.' Mental health. That's a word we're all using now. And talking about. And that's vital.
“Denying who we are, and how we're doing…lying, putting on a façade…those are things that can kill. They might not kill us quickly, but they kill us over time. These things steal the color from our lives, make us less able to form real connections. To share our truest selves with one another in a way that makes it most likely that someone else reciprocates, sees us and loves us.
"I think we as a culture are realizing these things. That honesty and acceptance actually go hand in hand with trying harder. Being better. And that being authentic is the only way to form real connections. With each other and with God. And all this has been happening around us. As it's happened, people have been thinking more about how we should treat others when they're honest. And something happening alongside all this is that LGBQT-plus stigma is decreasing.
“To put it another way, if there's any time to come out of the closet, as the old term goes, that you are gay, or trans, or pansexual, or bi, or just queer in whatever way, that time is now. People are feeling more accepting about all of this. I'm going to be honest with you, though. Like I've been saying. Practice what I preach here. I have not felt comfortable enough to do this.” He sucks in a quick breath, and my heart aches as I watch him pause on the small backstage TV screen. “And I still wasn't comfortable when someone filmed me with my now-husband and that video was leaked online.
"My parents...were incredible. And they both loved me. I was fortunate to be born to parents who were emotionally intelligent, or tried to be. And they cared deeply about my wellbeing. My mother is alive, as most of you know." I see him wave on the screen. "Hi, Mom. My father passed. And I'm their only child. So I'll tell you my story. Just a little about that, and then I'm going to take questions. About me. About the Bible. So you feel like you understand where I am on this, and you can think about where you stand on these issues, too. And you can know where Evermore stands.”
Sky holds the mic in both hands for a moment, taking a few, paced steps with his head down. And then he lifts it. He squares his body so he’s facing the audience, which is jam-packed.
"I was six,” he says, “when I first had a thought about another boy. I won't name him, but he was a kid I played with in a certain setting. I just really liked him. Not the same as I liked other friends. This kid was...someone I wanted to be like. And be near. I thought everything about him was just awesome. So I would hang around with him, try to play with him. There were a lot of us boys, and we all played together. But when I played with this boy, I felt...better. He made me feel...not happy…but...I guess maybe you'd say buoyant.
“I didn't think about it at all. I just thought of it like I liked him, maybe a little extra. Over the next year or two, the more I was around this boy, the more I liked him. Sometimes I would feel like I hoped he would look at me. Or smile at me.” I blink as tears fill my eyes. “And then one day around that same time, someone mentioned something about getting married. Said something like, ‘oh Luke, you should marry Allison’. A made-up name. And I said, 'actually, I'm going to marry Samuel.'”
There’s a pause here, and I know his cadence well enough to know that it’s intentional. He wants to give them all a second to think extra on what he said. Tears drop down my cheeks, surprising me, so I shut my eyes and try to send my love and strength to sweet Sky.
He continues, "I had learned already that two people with the same outwardly gendered bodies weren't supposed to get married. And couldn't have kids. But I thought that was stupid. I already knew, when I was an elementary school kid, that when I got married, I wanted it to be with Samuel. Or someone like him. Someone brave and strong and fast, that I could run from and chase on the playground. The girls were nice, but I figured I wouldn't want to marry one.
“So I told someone this. Someone in an authority position. Who was overhearing our conversation. And that person went and told my dad. And I got sat down, and my dad said...basically...this is not what we McDowells believe. This isn't the way we do things. He didn't say it was wrong or bad—which was important, and I'm grateful for that. But he said what amounted to, 'We don't do that. Doesn't matter if you think it's stupid. We don't make the rules.' He said we'd talk about it later, but we didn't. My father never brought it up again.
"And I did what I thought I should do." There's a brief pause, followed by a harsh laugh. "I tried not to be gay.” Another pause; the audience is riveted, and my chest hurts so badly I can barely draw air into my lungs.
“Let me stop right here and say, I'm not telling you this so you'll feel sorry for me. I've had some hard times, but we all have. I'm also not trying to minimize my own pain. It's been hard...to live with this. And have my last name. And my job. It's been something that's taken a toll. Something I wished many times that I could change. It's weird how it's still...something that feels shameful to share. I'm not totally comfortable talking about it. You can maybe tell, it makes me a little nervous.
"But this is who I am. I was born this way. I'm a child of God, and when I love romantically, it's men I love. Gay love has been stigmatized and mocked and talked about impolitely for a long, long time. I don't need to repeat those things here. We've all heard that talk. Every time someone who's gay hears those jokes, or those small, off-color comments, it's like having a rock thrown at you. Maybe it's just a little one—the size of a skipping stone—but it hurts for a second. And when you've had a lot of little rocks like that thrown at you, eventually you start getting scared of rocks. When's one coming? How big will it be?
“When something about you—a trait of yours—is talked about in a negative way, repeatedly, you will start feeling self-conscious. I promise that. People experience this with our weight, too, right? Even those of you who run on the thin side. I've got a friend who's got ears that just stick out a little further than some ears. And he's self-conscious. People of color know this far too well. People who are darker-skinned, they'll hear those remarks and after a while, little kids who hav
e beautiful, dark skin could start to feel self-conscious. Small remarks add up. And you absorb—especially as a young person—you absorb what you hear. Pretty hard not to.
"That's why as a group, what we do matters. Because every one of us is exposed to hundreds of people almost every day. Small things, passing glances, passing comments. These things add up. You talk to someone in a wheel chair, and they'll tell you. Someone with a facial difference, someone with a stutter or a lisp. You'll find every little frown, every little wide-eyed look, that stuff sticks.
"So anyway. You’re a Christian child in the '90s, in America, and you don't want to be gay. You're receiving nonverbal cues and verbal cues and hearing small comments, and you realize that's not the way you want to go. I don't know if hearing someone talk about this—if hearing me talk about this—could cause pain, but I bet it's a trigger point for someone listening. Probably a lot of someones. And I'm sorry for that. I'm so sorry for your pain. Because I know how it feels. I spent—" I think he swallows here, to steady his voice. Then he starts again. "My whole life, almost, has been spent hating that I'm 'on this team'. You hear batting for that team. I didn't want to bat for this team. No one asked me.
"I have a friend who was born without an arm, and no one asked her either. What you get is what you get. And there is beauty in these lives of ours. There's lots of beauty, but we have to swim up to the surface like the mermaid in the Ariel movie. The Little Mermaid, right? We have to swim up and open up our eyes and see it. Sometimes look around for it. We have to want to see it.
"Let me tell you what I've learned, and that's this: There is no way to love yourself from a place of shame and hiding and dishonesty. I think it cannot be done. I've tried, believe me. When I wasn't out, when I wasn't open that I'm gay, I couldn't make any authentic connections with other people who aren't straight. I couldn't meet someone with whom romantic love would be fulfilling for me. Me as someone who desires men.
“Statistics tell me—and they're probably skewed toward people reporting that they're straight when they aren't—but stats tell me ninety-five percent of you watching are women who desire men as partners. You like men because you do, right? You like the little things. The way their hands look. How their hugs feel. Nobody asked you if you wanted to fall in love with men or women. That's just what you got. Me too.
"And men, the ones of you who identify yourselves as straight. You just want women. When you're upset and you think about somebody loving on you, you're probably imagining a woman. Everything about a woman is what appeals. You're sick in the hospital, you're a single guy, you're not going to close your eyes and imagine getting a long, soothing hug from me. If you're a straight man, you probably hope if you're going to be touched or soothed, or get lost on a desert island, it's a woman who's with you.
"These are basic little things. Now, I know there are others of you. Some are bisexual." I hold my breath, but he says, "For you, or you who are pansexual, or you who identify in a variety of other ways. I know this doesn't apply. You could fall in love with a wider variety of folks. And that's good, too. God created every one of us. He didn't create some of us in His image and others of us in an image that's not like Him. He didn't create some of us imperfectly and others as he thought was really suitable. What kind of God does something like that? I don't believe that He gave some of us physical manifestations that are okay, brains and bodies that desire a kind of partner that's okay, while giving others of us a set of desires that make us wrong or sinful. And I definitely do not believe he meant for some of us to be alone.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, wipe at them, and look back up at the screen.
"Sometimes we don't find partners. It's something we mourn, if we want someone but can't locate that certain person. But...to not even be allowed to look? To try? When our bodies desire being with another person physically? To be told that our desires are wrong because they're in the minority. Remember how we talked about the bacon? Lots of us like bacon. And we're eating bacon. Why? Because it tastes good. That's why. If a lot of us liked being with people of the same sex romantically, I'll tell you what I believe: I think a long time ago, we would have decided as a society that that's okay. That this rule some of us perceive to be an ironclad rule is maybe like the bacon one.
"I'm dumbing things down. Those of you who are theological scholars know it. These issues are not this cut and dry. I can get further into theology if someone asks. I'm going to write an op-ed soon on Evermore's website. It would take a long while for me to get through it. And I've talked enough.
"But I want to conclude with this.” He stops, his whole body stilling as he says, “I am a gay man. And I'm not bisexual. I've never closed my eyes at night, in bed, and longed for a woman. I've dated women. And I loved all of them, as much as I could. I regret the ones of them I might have hurt. Because each time, I ended every one of those relationships.”
I swallow hard.
“I didn't think it was fair. I'm a gay man, and I need a male partner. Just the way you need whatever sort of partner you need. I was made by God, in His image. I don't believe I'm less than, or this part of me is sinful. Every part of me is beautiful. Every part of you is beautiful. These are things I've told you for a long time.
"In the past, I wasn't sure about it when it came to me. I've got some work to do there. And I'm working with someone. Not a friend or fellow pastor or a mentor—a psychologist. Someone who knows how to help when I hit hang-ups that relate to how I see myself. I'm not ashamed of that, and you shouldn't be ashamed of your mental health either. I was hesitant to see someone. Because of my job. But there's no shame in talking to a professional about your mental health. Loving ourselves is what God wants.”
I see his shoulders rise and fall, as if he’s getting a quick breath.
"Finally…I want to say I'm sorry. I know I don't have to, and I don't have to feel ashamed for doing what, at the time, was the best I could do. But it would be a lie not to admit that I do have...if not regrets...a sense of sadness that I couldn't do this sooner. I wish I could have. For you. My siblings who are like I am. We are beautiful and we are loved. We are just as worthy, deserving, and in need of authentic love and connection as everyone else. And to those of you who've felt this and affirmed this with your voice for a while...thank you for opening doors for those of us who have been afraid.” He looks down, and back up. “I'll take questions."
24
Vance
I can barely breathe as he steps closer to the podium. Pearl's hand on my shoulder squeezes. As she starts to move it off me, I grab onto it.
"First one's a softball," she murmurs, so quiet that only I can hear it.
Hands go up, student-in-the-classroom style, and Luke walks to the left stage, pointing into the sea of bodies, people seated on long, cushioned, wooden benches that are called pews.
"Blue shirt," he says, his voice even and congenial.
The man stands. "Chris, from Walnut Creek. I was wondering if you would tell us more about what the New Testament says. About this issue. Most of what I know comes from Old Testament."
Okay…so he's asking about the parts of the Bible. The Old Testament is basically book one, and the New Testament is the second part, which happens during the life of Jesus; that's the part that Christians seem to put more stock in. I'm not totally sure why, but it makes sense given the importance placed on Jesus.
"Thanks for your question, Chris. And the answer is the New Testament doesn't say much." I chew my lip, trying to analyze Luke’s tone as he explains that concepts of sexuality and sexual orientation were unheard of at the time of these texts' writing. "Jesus didn't talk about it. Not once. In First Corinthians and First Timothy, sodomites are mentioned in a general list of ne’er-do-wells, but no one knows exactly what that means. Probably male prostitutes. But these behaviors are listed along with others that were regarded at the time as inappropriate. And we should remember—Jesus didn’t shy away from prostitutes or criminals. Prostitutes today, even, shou
ld be treated with love and acceptance. Jesus never said otherwise. And He never spoke about committed, loving, gay relationships. We can only guess, based on the rest of the things he said, how he might feel. My take on it is that Jesus wanted us to love and be loved.”
The question-asker nods twice, says “thank you,” and sits down.
That was easy.
The next question Sky takes—from a woman named Sally, who has long, brown hair—is more of the same. It's about the Bible and its various texts. Again, Sky explains Jesus never spoke on gay relationships. Sally says her son is gay, and she's so relieved someone like Pastor Luke thinks that's okay.
I can tell Luke is loosening up as he takes a third question—this one more a statement from someone who says it's never right to be unkind or judgmental of anyone, even if what they're doing is considered wrong. The man mentions a verse about not casting stones—which I’ve gathered is one of the cornerstones of the Christian faith. At least in theory.
Luke agrees about not casting stones, but he reiterates that it’s not wrong to be gay.
The fourth question is from a teenage girl, who describes herself as a lesbian. She says her parents kicked her out because they think being gay is a sin. Luke gives a thorough answer, telling her other people's sins are no one's business. Being gay hurts no one. If something is rooted in love, it's probably not a sin at all.
"The next one is a woman in the back," Pearl tells me quietly. "Watch and the camera will zoom in on her."
The camera zooms in on a woman with shoulder-length blond hair. That's what I'm seeing when I hear shouting.
Pearl understands what’s going on before I do. She moves forward, toward a sound/tech table set up just behind the curtain, and then people are all around me, rushing toward that table and the wall-mounted TV, making it so I can’t see what’s going on. My heart pounds too hard as I hear more shouting. I’m standing up, moving toward the curtains, when someone grabs my arm—too hard—and says "You can't go out there."
