One of the ābreaksā in my life, as might be seen by anyone āoutsideā me, is my sexuality as paired with my usually conservative religious bent. Iām Eastern Orthodox ā and yet I identify as gay. I donāt use āhomosexualā or even āsame sex attractedā for Iām quite willing to be āin the midst ofā my gay brothers and sisters. I like the rainbow flag. Iām here. Iām queer. Get used to it.
But Iām not a Gay Christian. Iād use the lingua franca and say, āIām a Christian who happens to be gay.ā Yet thatās not 100% right either. Truth is I identify more with my Christian fellow travelers ā even the ones who reject me ā than I do with much of the Gay Community. I think Iām obligated to do so by my religion: if I am a faithful Christian, my refusal to scandalize my brothers and sisters in the faith is far more important than my freedom (sexual or otherwise). And in the end a preacher who slams all gays, qua gays, is just, in my book, as ignorant as a gay or lesbian person who slams all Christians, qua Christians. Both come in so many shades and fetishes that any attempt to label āallā is stupid.
I reject āGay Christianā because Iām willing to admit Iām wrong. Iām not pitting my 45 years of experience in my skin against 4000 years of Judeo-Christian moral tradition. I donāt expect my halting theological steps to be yours: but even so, I might be wrong.
The Church does not need to change: by Godās grace Iām man enough, adult enough, to be challenged by a preacher, thanks. And Iāve heard it all my life. Iām still here.
I know there are people who are not strong enough to be criticized. We hear from them all the time: Jews who donāt want to be told that we believe they rejected their Messiah; divorcees who donāt want to be reminded that we believe they should not have gotten divorced; mothers whom we believe have murdered their children in utero. These people demand not only that the church change ā but that she stop saying what she believes. Why? I know what some Jews say about my Jesus ā there are entire sections of Yiddish dictionaries devote to slamming the man I believe to be God-in-the-flesh. So what? They say what they want. I say what I want. Thatās ok ā and lifeās more colourful that way!
Likewise my sex life. Sin is ā anyone who has been honest with herself knows that sin is. Yet itās not that we āareā sin: rather we are sinners as surely as we are breathers. All of us. And I can trust Godās grace to supply his riches in my weakness. But I donāt mind being told I might be ā or even am ā wrong. It forces me to question, to challenge my desires, to deal with the realities of my sin.
The real fault here is in imagining this is āWho I *am*.ā Weāve seen all kinds of mistakes in ontology ā beingness ā in our history. We constantly imagine āthe otherā to be evil, hyper-sexual, and sin-filled. All black men have huge penises and want to rape white women (or white boys in prison). Iāve been hearing a version of that all my life. Itās one reason Iām less afraid and more titillated when Iām surrounded by persons of colour. The Yiddish terms for gentile boys and girls (not āGoyimā for gentiles in general) convey the same ideas of hyper sexuality and loose morals and titillating temptation for āgood Jewsā. Likewise Grecian, Roman and Russian attitudes to ābarbariansā. But then we discover they are just people, just a different sort of being. All these things St Paul implies are not who we are in Christ, “neither Jew nor Greek, neither slave nor free, neither male and female”.
What we know about human sexuality today will change tomorrow. And what we know tomorrow will change next year. Today itās a genetic thing and yesterday itās hormones in the motherās womb and who knows what tomorrow will bring? But we keep telling ourselves āNow we finally know, reallyā when what we usually mean is āWeāre hearing something that confirms our suspicions.ā The blame is on us, really: for telling ourselves āthis is *who* you *are*ā. As created in God’s image, we are neither gay nor straight.
Who I am has changed at least once a decade for the last 45 years. Iām dying to know who I will be tomorrow. And I mean that. Gay is not who I am: itās what I do in bed. It doesnāt get better if you imagine āthis is who I amā. Cuz I know itās not who I am that matters at all: Itās who Iām struggling to be.
Iām a failure most of my time in the Christian half of the equation as well: I fail to love, to forgive, to turn the other cheek. I fail in the easiest of commands: we are told āresist not evilā. Iād much rather fight, thanks. I fail in charity and I fail in greed. In these failures I know I am wrong. Whatās to prevent me from being wrong in my assumptions about human sexuality?
My goal, however, as a Christian (and if youāre not a Christian, this is not your goal)ā¦ my goal is to become so open to God, burning and flowing through me that I become divine. This is salvation as taught by the Church: not some twopenny morality, not some platitude about ābeing niceā, neither some irritating piety that grates on the teeth. Nothing short of divinity will satisfy me. To this end I wake and sleep, eat and drink and yes, make love and pray.
I might be wrong.
The problem is that we donāt like that one sentence. We donāt like the challenge of that possibility; the assurance that in our humanity we are not infallible God. I might be wrong about the very things that I think I know the best: my insides, my wiring. I might be broken, somehow, through no fault of my own. The very thing some folks want me to say āis meā might be the very thing thatās broken. The very thing that the world insists – even demands – is my identity… this might be the very thing that is the weakest link, the thing that isn’t me at all.
I know thatās not my experience: and I know thatās not what I feel. But it’s possible. When millenia of human experience and moral teaching say otherwise, I might, you know… we few moderns living in the latter half of one century and the first half of another, in one “language sphere” out of all of history… we might be wrong.
More importantly, I know what the fathers and mothers, the Saints, say about it: in all things Eucharist. Man is the priest of the universe commanded to make thanksgiving (eucharist) in and for all things. I am commanded to bring me ā myself, my life, my all ā to the altar and to raise it up. By Godās grace it comes back to me not as āmeā but as God. What will that be like? I donāt know. I know I can bring my sex life (or lack of one) to God. It won’t be the same when it comes back though.
Maybe itās gay. Maybe itās not. Maybe I wonāt know for a long time yet. But until I do know, Iām happy in my agnosticism. I will yield it to God.
When I manage to be a Christian at all, of course, I am still gay. I get the jokes, I speak the language, I understand the culture. Iām still an American as well. Maybe some part of me breaks free from sex and birthright. Maybe not.
But I feel no need to label myself as a āWhite Christianā, āAmerican Christianā or even a āMale Christianā and, indeed, all those things are supposed to go away in Jesus. Maybe gay does too? Not in a ācureā sense but in a ādoesnāt figureā sense. I am gay. I am Christian. I am not a gay Christian.
Happy (belated) National Coming Out Day.
Doxos 