The Three Little Pigs (The Remix): How NOT to Respond to Someone Struggling With Sexuality

Some people respond well to big news.  Some do not. And some struggle miserably.

I had a relatively positive response to my “coming out”, especially considering that I waited until I was thirty years old.  I knew that I was gay for my entire life.  But others had come to know and expect different things from me, some placing me on an unachievable pedestal.  Some people saw through the façade, but others were quite surprised when I told them about my sexuality.

As discussed in my last post, my family responded terrifically well.    My parents and siblings accepted the news with grace and love and have continued to support me in this journey.  There were some concerns at first, mostly concerns for safety and protection.  Not because they were afraid I would be beaten or killed…wait...that sadly still happens to homosexuals in the United States today.  Maybe this was a concern.  As progressive as our country wants to appear, there are still vast numbers of people who adamantly oppose the LGBTQ community, not to mention horrible systems of injustice for people of color, the poor, women, immigrants and others. Family concerns also centered on how the church would react, considering that faith has always been important to me. Other concerns were more comical.  I remember one family member asking if this meant I would start wearing make-up and coming home in dresses; I had to assure them that I, in fact, enjoyed being a man and had no intentions of ever changing that. 

The support extended beyond my nuclear family.  All of my grandparents responded similarly.  Most of my aunts and uncles in like-manner, some of them helping my mother through the first couple of months.  I experienced tremendous love and support from my cousins, several of them expressing it through written or verbal sentiments.  My family proved to be a network, a web of encouragement.  I feel so lucky.  I feel so blessed.  I feel so privileged.  There are many other people who have gone through the same struggle for identity, and they too had to come to terms with their sexuality.  And when they told their families, they experienced nothing but hatred and rejection.  For them, my heart breaks.  It breaks for those who lost loved ones.  Loved ones whose dogma and convictions superseded love and goodness, who could not reconcile differences or accept change.  It breaks for children who are kicked out of their homes and have no place to live.  It breaks for those who experience malice and bullying.  For those who could no longer face the harassment and took their own life.  For their suffering.  For their brokenness.  For their unnecessary shame. 

For me, it was a mostly positive experience. But there were a few who did not handle the news well.  A few who could not get past their own agendas or feelings or convictions or beliefs.  Some who were unwilling to compromise.

I’ll walk you through three such examples.  I will avoid using names.  I encourage you to read with empathy.  Whether you agree with my sexuality or not, place yourselves in my shoes.  And place yourself in the shoes of everyone who has had to do this, especially with those who were not loved in the process.

Before I share these experiences, I want to emphasize that I understand that there are plenty of people who do not agree with my sexuality.  Who do not agree with the decision that I have made.  Who have different political opinions.  Who have different religious beliefs.  It is not my expectation that everyone agrees.  That everyone supports.  That everyone compromise their convictions.  However, I do expect to be treated as human.  I do expect people to treat me with dignity and respect, in the same manner that I treat those with whom I disagree.  I expect to sit and have mature discussions, expressing opinions and beliefs, and honestly listening and trying to understand one another.  We can disagree, but that doesn’t make either one of us less human.  It doesn’t make one better than the other.  It doesn’t give one the platform to stand, judge and condemn.  People who hold beliefs and are unwilling to hear and respect the beliefs of others are dangerous. And often judgmental. And often very hypocritical. 

So this is The Story of the Three Little Pigs. The remix. Three examples of how not to support someone wrestling with their sexuality.

The first was a friend.  A close friend.  In fact, probably one of my best friends at the time.  We had met each other at church and both served on the music ministry.  Slowly, my involvement and responsibilities began to increase.  Eventually, I was leading worship regularly.  Sometimes weekly.  Sometimes three to four services a week.  I supported his family.  I supported his ministry goals. He supported my involvement with the church and even spoke at my ordination service.

When I turned thirty, I decided that I wanted to record a short album.  I’m not the best singer. But I love praise and worship.  And I had written several original songs, about seven in total.  I wasn’t expecting the music to become a smash hit or to make me a superstar.  But I was at least going to promote it in my direct sphere of influence. I had decided that I did not want to live life with regrets.  With lists of “What would have happened if I…” or “I wish I would have…”

So I decided to record the songs.  And I requested the help of this friend.

He said yes, and we began working. 

We began recording the music during my year of self-reflection. When I decided to “come out” to my family, I wrestled for a couple of weeks as to whether I should tell this individual.  I knew his convictions about homosexuality and was afraid of the repercussions of telling him.  After a while, I decided that it was the right thing to do.  It was right to share my decision with him and to allow him to make the proper moves accordingly.

So I did.  We were about to work on my music one night, and I told him that I needed to have a serious discussion and share some things with him before moving forward with the project.  We called another mutual friend, and we made our way to TGI Fridays. 

The conversation lasted for over two hours.  I shared it the exact same way that I did with my family.  I shared my lifetime struggle.  I shared my theological belief, stressing that I did not think homosexuality was a sin as traditionally viewed by evangelicals. 

I wasn’t met with empathy.  Not with compassion.  Not with grace. There were times that I think he tried to express those things, so I’ll give him a little credit.

Throughout the conversation there was a fair share of “Bible thumping” and theological discourse.  Reminder’s that homosexuality is sin.  That God is totally holy and completely pure.  That in His holiness he does not tolerate sin. That as His children, we are called to be obedient.  That we must adhere to the Scriptures.  At times, it felt like he thought this was my first time hearing the Bible.  I had to assure him that I knew the few verses to which he was referring and that I was very aware of his view of homosexuality.  I tried to express my theological beliefs and point out an alternate view of Scriptures.  I tried telling him that I did not think homosexuality was sinful, and indeed, if I thought it were, I would choose to abstain and “fight it”. But it fell on deaf ears.  Ears that were not open or willing to hear what I was saying. 

He also shared some of his struggles in life and compared them to mine.  It was an attempt to relate.  And, if he had struggled and conquered, or was at least still fighting, shouldn’t I?  He strongly encouraged me to “fight the temptation”, girding myself up with prayer, Bible study, counseling, or whatever else might help me to “win”.  That if worse comes to worst, I should commit myself to a life of celibacy and remain loyal to God’s plan for my life, even if that meant living single and experiencing deep loneliness. 

I tried pointing out how easy that advice is to give when you’re not walking in those shoes.  He was married.  He had children.  He experienced and was experiencing the type of love that I desired.  At one point, he went as far as saying that he would follow God to any extent, even if that meant forfeiting his wife and children.  I began seeing the absolute waste of time that the conversation had become.  Because, in fact, God was not calling him to forfeit all that he held dearest to him.  And I don’t think that God would.  And if God did indeed, for some reason beyond human logic, ask him to forfeit wife and children, the decision to do so would be much more difficult in the moment.  And until that moment came, he was unqualified to give the advice he was giving.

After two hours, it was evident that the conversation needed to stop.  Again, I was encouraged to fight and stave the temptation. And he promised to be there for me.  To pray through the struggle with me.  After all, brothers are there for each other in the midst of great struggle and temptation.  The next day, he did not reach out.  Nor the next.  Or the next.  In fact, it was nearly two weeks later when I heard from him again. 

Exactly what I thought and felt during our conversation was true.  He was passionate and concerned in the heat of the discussion.  But he would go home.  His life would go back to normal. He wouldn’t struggle through the “temptation” with me.  He would forget about it.  Now, I’m sure that he didn’t actually forget about it.  And I’m sure he was praying for me in his personal prayers.  But in reality, the tangible stuff, I was left walking alone.

He eventually told me that he could no longer work on the recording with me because he did not support my lifestyle.  So, it stopped dead in its tracks.  I find this comical.  Sad. But comical.  My sexuality disqualified everything else about me that had been respected for years.  He forgot about my love for God.  My love for God’s people.  All the previous ministry that we had been involved with together.  All of the times that I prayed for him and with him.  All the times that I encouraged him.  Nope, I was gay.  And that was more than enough to cause him not to continue working with me. 

I was told that we would remain friends; however, if I were to get a partner, he would spend not time with us as a couple.  We would not be doing double dates with him and his wife.  I wish this wasn’t a mountain that people had to die on, but it is.  I don’t think that my homosexuality should nullify the friendship.  But it did.  And the friendship died.

The second story, much like the first, happened in church.  This time with a pastor.  And again, it was because I felt an obligation to be truthful.  I had been attending a church in New Jersey.  I had recently begun singing on the praise and worship team.  Jeez, it sounds like the first story all over again!

I knew the church was quite conservative.  So I decided that it would be best to have a conversation with the pastor.  I knew it was likely that I would not be “allowed” to serve in ministry any longer.  But I didn’t want to be living a double life.  I didn’t want to have to sneak around.  Live in lies any longer.  Put on any more masks.  No more charades. 

I set up a meeting.  It was the first time I had really spoken personally with him.  I will give him a lot of credit.  Before I unloaded my “news”, he took time to try getting to know me personally.  And when I did tell him that I was gay, he did not blink or bat an eye.  He did not become uncomfortable.  He did not throw Scriptures in my face.  He did not try to relate with me. In fact, he apologized.  He apologized that I had struggled for so long. He apologized for the hurt that I experienced.  He apologized for my suffering, for my brokenness.   He said that he would never know what it was like to do so.  As we spoke, I felt loved.  I felt cared for.  I felt valued. 

But it wasn’t perfect.  During our conversation, the pastor asked about my childhood.  Two questions arose, and I have should have expected them.  He asked about my father. And he asked if I had been raped or molested.  And after telling him about my pretty stellar childhood and my unbeatable father, he told me that I was an anomaly.  I will remind you, I am not an anomaly. 

He strongly encouraged that I do counseling.  He asked if I had started “living the gay lifestyle”, and if not, if I would be willing to struggle for the next sixth months under the care and concern of a pastor who could better understand my struggles.  He told me that he would be reaching out to some other pastors and counselors to find someone who could best walk me through it. 

So when I left, I was waiting to hear from him.  Waiting to see which pastor was going to try to “save me”.  And he never responded.  He never referred me to another pastor or counselor.  He never called me back. He didn’t e-mail. 

Once again I was left alone in a struggle that I had been fighting alone for a very long time.  And once again it cemented in my head that much of the Christian church completely misunderstands the LGTBQ struggle and community and has incorrect theology that leads to blatant prejudice.

He would allow me to continue serving in ministry; however, he said that if I did choose to actively engage in a homosexual lifestyle, our conversation would look very different.  I no longer serve at or attend the church.

The third story, much like the other two, is rooted in the Christian tradition.  Shocked?  I didn’t think so.  And, like the other two, it stemmed out of my desire to maintain my integrity.  I worked at a Catholic school.  And once again, I knew the church’s position about homosexuality.  I knew that there was a risk that I could be fired, but I took that risk in order to be open, honest and transparent.

When I finally told the priest, it was a mixed bag.  The meeting was already going badly because of other issues that had happened that week.  In the midst of the chaos, I told him.  Because he was already upset, he told me that I had no right to question if he would understand.  How dare I assume that he wouldn’t?  Slowly his anger quelled, and he began speaking quieter and softer.  And I genuinely felt loved and accepted.  I felt cared for.  I felt secure.  Finally, finally, I had told everybody that I felt obligated to tell.

Well…….

It went downhill from there.  I remember sitting in an evaluation with the priest and the other two school administrators.  It was supposed to be a professional discussion about my performance at the school; however, the priest began asking personal questions.  I had never had a discussion with the other two administrators about my sexuality, although it sure felt like the administration had discussed it.  How are your life changes affecting your work here?  I found myself sharing things I thought I would never have to share in a professional meeting.  And the things that I shared were completely misconstrued.

For example, at one point, I admitted that I was experiencing things in my life for the first time.  Things that thirteen and fourteen year olds experience.  I was referring to things like “first love”.  The first kiss with a man.  First time holding his hands. Later I learned that it was interpreted as sexual things, even though that was not true.  I didn’t trust the other two administrators   At all. And I was beginning to lose my trust and respect for the priest. Why were these conversations being had in the first place?  I thought this was a performance review?  Why is my personal life the topic of discussion?

It went from bad to worse.

Contracts were about to be renewed.  The priest called me into his office.  A three hour meeting took place.  He began asking very personal questions.  I was told that he needed faculty that he could trust, that were not coming to work drunk.  He made assertions that I was doing illegal drugs, drinking heavily, and attending wild sex orgies.  At one point, he even asked if I knew what bondage and submission was.  And he proceeded to ask if I was into whips and chains and such.  He brought up inappropriate posts that had been made on Facebook, such as a picture of my partner and me with a caption of “Just the two of us”.  I know.  Promiscuous.  Dirty.  Dangerous.  Offensive.

Of course I defended myself.  After all, the priest had known me for four years.  I had to sit and assure him that I never, not one time, had come to work drunk. I did not do illegal drugs.  I was not going to orgies.  I was not a sexual deviant.  I had to tell him that not all homosexuals were.  He responded by telling me that I didn’t know his experience with the homosexual community.  Apparently, as a gay man, I was unqualified to comment on the gay community at large.  And apparently all gay men are not committed to meaningful relationships, only desire raunchy sex, and get fixed with drugs and alcohol.  I had to remind him that I still held my Christian values closely.  I was still attending church and involved. I still read the Bible.  I still prayed.  I still valued marriage and fidelity. 

Ultimately, he said, he needed to consider the well-being of the students.  After four years.  I had taught three different subjects, mostly theology courses.  I had coached track and volleyball.  I had planned cultural heritage celebrations.  I created a retreat system.  I planned prayer services.  I assisted with liturgies.  I had taken students on trips to New York, Philadelphia, Washington D.C., Baltimore.  I assisted with college visitations.  I helped with after school activities.  The list goes on.  But yes, I must be a threat now.  Because I was gay?

In this meeting, I kept going back to my professional performance.  Was I not doing my job well? Were there improvements that I could make? But this verbal assault had nothing to do with that.  It was all targeted to my personal life. 

The next day I was in his office doing morning announcements.  Afterwards he asked me how I felt about the conversation from the day before.  I told him that I was feeling quite negative.  The next hour consisted of the priest yelling at me.  Full volume.  Red in the face.  Veins in his neck.  He told me that it was his duty and obligation to uphold the Catholic tradition of the school and maintain safety for the students.  He told me that I was too sensitive, that he needed to walk on egg shells with me, that I could not handle difficult conversations.  This is laughable.  I think I take professional criticism pretty well.  Not perfectly.  But of course I’m going to respond with sensitivity to the discussions that he was holding.  They were deeply personal and extremely intrusive. 

He essentially informed me that I had nowhere to run, that the archdiocese would not support me due to the Catholic Church’s position.  He took credit for the amazing way that he handled the situation, and the blame was entirely laid on my shoulders.  He had done nothing but love and support me.  And then he asked why I wouldn’t “let him in”.  That I was so cold that I would freeze hell over.  That I was distant. 

I was furious.  Angry.  Hurt.  Betrayed.  I spoke with my partner immediately after the conversation.  I called my parents and vented.  A couple of friends encouraged me to file a lawsuit, and apparently I would have had a pretty strong case. 

Instead, I determined it was time for me to leave the school. It was time for me to move on to a place where I was fully accepted and not encouraged to live in a shell. And I have done just that.

There is a fourth and final story that I would like to tell.  One that I think exemplifies how to respond, even in the midst of personal beliefs.   Still, to this day, I am not 100% certain of this individual’s personal opinions about homosexuality.  We have never sat and deeply discussed them.  I have been friends with her for years, since I moved to New Jersey. I’ve visited her family.  She has visited mine.  At one point, we were very close. 

One night when she was visiting the city, my partner and I met her and another old friend at a bar.  Both of these women were deeply compassionate and supportive.  I expressed my thanks to them.  And later, I said in a text, “Thanks for being loving!”  Her response: “It would be harder to not love you, Jason.”

Those words have stuck with me to this day.  In fact, this was one of the most significant moments in the months that it took me to disclose my sexuality to everyone.  “It would be harder to not love you, Jason.”

I don’t know if we disagree. Don’t know if we agree.  Don’t know her theological opinions.  I have a guess but am not totally confident.  But she chose love.  She could have judged.  She could have Bible-thumped.  She could have ended the friendship.  She could have ridiculed. 

Instead, she loved.

She chose to love.

And that is what each of us must choose to do every day.  We must choose to love.  We may not agree with someone’s religion or sexuality or political opinion or a host of other things.  But we choose to love.  We choose to find the “human” in each and every person.  We choose to uphold the dignity of each one.  This doesn’t mean that you have to “like” every person, in fact, you won’t.  But you always have the opportunity to love.  And sometimes love is absurd.  It won’t make sense.  It is irrational.  But we can choose it anyway.  Mercy.  Kindness.  Compassion.  Patience.  Forgiveness.  Grace.  Community.  Longsuffering.  Goodness.

Love.