Don’t Push Me Away:
A Narrative of the Traumatic Effects of Anti-Lgbtqia Theology
Lorrayya Williams
Checking my facebook messenger, I noticed that someone who claimed they “cared” about me had blocked me just like that; no warning, no explanation. The reason was glaring right at me. She blocked me because I was gay. It wasn’t solely my gayness but my comfortability in my identity. It was the fact that I was learning how to love myself as I was. It was my authenticity in it. That’s what bothered her most. It isn’t like I was extra gay around her; no more than with my other friends. When I finally texted her for an answer, I was met with a chilling coldness. That got me thinking about the broader implications of a reality I had been running from. The church hates gays. Now, before you jump on my back and say that isn’t true or say no not MY church or we hate the sin, not the sinner, let me explain.
Take a seat, get comfy as you are about to hear the story well my story with the Church big C and my sexuality. Growing up, I wasn’t familiar with the LGBTQIA community. I don’t even think I knew any LGBTQIA people and the ones I heard of were the exact opposite of a good Christian. Shows were immediately turned off if they depicted any sort of homosexual love. Homosexuality was rarely spoken about when it was, it was always negatively and in hush tones. When I would hear a sermon on homosexuality, homosexuals were always shown as lost. They almost always found Jesus and became “straight.” LGBTQIA activists were depicted as highly problematic. There was something inherently wrong with homosexuals. They were mentally ill (Side Note: Mental illness is never something to be ashamed of, but the people in the aforementioned context thought it was) or damaged in others ways. Homosexuality was just an expression of that damage. So heading into my teenage years, I believed homosexuals were pretty messed up people.
When I entered my teenage years, I began to notice the homosexual feelings I had. I most definitely thought women were more attractive than men. Despite a minimal attraction to the opposite gender, I continued to deny the fact I was queer. The Church had taught me that being queer was wrong in a million ways, so I did everything I could to run away from it. For better or worse, it was catching up with me. I tried so hard to be straight. I’d talk to boys more than I should to compensate for the way I felt. I thought it was normal to ask yourself if you were a lesbian and not just know you were straight. In reality, it wasn’t. When I finally couldn’t run anymore, I made the realization I was queer. Now, in the subsequent months, the church didn’t even have to do the work of condemnation. I had learned enough to condemn myself. I remember I would read the clobber passages and cry. I’d would pray so fervently for God to just make me straight. I couldn’t even enjoy church. I was constantly condemning myself. I wanted so desperately for things to change so desperately not to be the way I was. While there were many Christians, who supported me in my journey. The overall institution that is the church had greatly contributed to my self-damaging behavior. I remember feeling so terrible all the time that I would think about suicide regularly to the point of once writing a suicide letter and standing there with a handful of pills in my hand. I knew that if I continued this cycle of self-hatred. I wouldn’t last much longer.
I felt like I was suffocating under a mass of guilt. Why was I like this? What had I done wrong to be like this? I felt that God hated me to the very core. I knew I needed something so I reached out. While some people were genuinely kind and desired to understand, I was pushed towards celibacy. I was told that I was an abomination. More kindly, I was told to date or marry a woman was a sin, and I should remain celibate or get into a heterosexual relationship. I couldn't understand why God would ban love because it looks a certain way. These people who were trying to help me and lead me in the "right direction" pushed me further towards some of the darkest months in my life.
After many months of internal battling and emotionally draining thought pattern, I began to choose to see things differently. I wasn’t broken. I began unthinking the negative thoughts that the church had perpetrated. Overcoming my own self-marginalization, I would talk about girls I liked like I used to talk about boys. This was normal. As I grew to learn to be ok with myself to stop wanting death, to realize God loved me, and to understand that I could be queer and a Christian. I came across significant rubs. Some people wanted me to stay the miserable self-hating person I was. That’s when my friend decided to cut me off when I decided to be happy. She knew the context. She knew my journey, but those in the church would rather have self-hating suicidal queer folks that eventually self-destruct than people, who are their authentic selves. That hit me like a ton of bricks. I was told by multiple people to revel in my suffering that was highly unsustainable that with the hopes of some grand progressive sanctification. I knew that if I kept on going I was eventually going to literally and figuratively going to fall apart and worst of all irreparably hurt myself. The reality is the system of the church doesn’t care if I fall apart. They wanted me to fall apart because a dead gay is better than a happy and live one. This sort of mentality is destroying lives and perpetuating hate.
I know most people are well-meaning, but perpetuating narratives that promote straightness as the ultimate end goal is harmful. To harp on the inadequacies of LGBTQIA people is wrong. All of the negative things I would tell myself I had learned from the church. I had learned I needed to be straight. I had learned I had turned away from God. I learned many things which simply weren’t true. They ate me alive. People ignored what their bad theology was doing to me. They had me hoping for something that was never going to happen. That was unfair. The worst part about it was not only the false hope but the condemnation if you don’t believe in the false hope. The social isolation of choosing to love yourself. In the end, rather than pulling me closer to the God I love so much. The church as a whole has pushed me away. They have shown I and other LGBTQIA people what it means to hate others deeply. They believe they have the divine right to hate something they don’t fully understand.
On the same token, the homophobic part of the church was pushing me towards something better. As I was socially isolated and condemned by those who judged me for the way God made me, I was moving closer to something better. I was able to interact with other Christians who were allies or LGBTQIA themselves. This was mind-blowing. I was taught that being Christian and gay couldn’t happen together. You had to give up one for the sake of the other, but this wasn’t necessarily the case. In that community, I found a love that was new fresh and revitalizing. A love that gave me hope that maybe I did belong in the church and that I wasn’t simply fighting an uphill battle. I think that hope embodied in those who fully embraced every part of my identity gave me life. In finding that life, I came to the right answer, the truth. There was simply nothing wrong with me. I was spending hours and hours trying to figure out how to fix something that wasn’t even broken. I know it probably sounds cliche but that’s how I felt. I was shown a side of Christianity that could bring the life I was looking for instead of the condemnation and death that constantly consumed me.
There is always hope. Always. I want people to know that despite the way they may have been treated by the church there is a place for you; a seat at the table. I have experienced multiple levels of marginalization within the church, but there is hope despite the hopelessness. Despite my misgivings and doubts about the CHURCH big C. I would encourage others not to give up. Jesus loves you just the way you are. The gospel is a doctrine of love. Those who are not sharing that love with others will be held accountable for their actions. On the other side of the spectrum, I would compel those who are anti-LGBTQIA to evaluate their actions as they can be emotionally and mentally harmful to others. The goal of the Christian faith is love, not legalism. People won’t remember what you said or what you did but how you made them feel. Making LGBTQIA people feel terrible for being who they are is exactly what pushes people away. Being LGBTQIA is not a sin not an issue of salvation and absolutely not something I or anyone else can change or should hide.
