I've recently read a post from a friend that talked about his coming to terms with homosexuality in his family and how it personally affected him. It was an honest assessment of his attitude toward homosexuality, one that prompted me to do the same. As a recovering evangelical there is a lot of baggage that comes with the issue of homosexuality, so unpacking it took some effort. My attitude and actions reflected the fundamental and legalistic requirements of the Southern Baptist Church I used to attend, which now in hindsight I would call that doctrine bigoted at the very least and potentially dangerous within the most extreme radicals, Fred Phelps and his Westboro Baptist Church a prime example ( I don't want to suggest that the members of my former church were bigoted, just that the doctrinal beliefs espoused about homosexuality could certainly foment bigotry). Though I never shared Phelp's hatred for gays and lesbians (nor do I personally know anyone with that kind of hate), I would have to admit that I peddled the Biblical dogma standard among many evangelical Christians today, even though I never could fully accept it intellectually. But, when among your peers, you tend to toe the line, and I did, much to my regret.
Several years ago I developed a friendship with a fellow I worked with. He was a breath of fresh air. He stirred clear the of usual male banter; sex, sports, more sex, vehicles, even more sex. We had conversations about art, music, travel, food. He introduced me to the music of Rachmaninoff and Debussy, and singer Renée Fleming. He'd take month long vacations to Europe and regale me with the stories of his travels when he got back, always with pictures to illustrate. We would discuss just about anything. He was always interesting and engaging, and for some reason liked my company. He is also gay.
I remember a time he was particularly agitated. I could tell he wanted to talk, but he also seemed to be reluctant. When he finally did open up I understood his apprehension. The voters of California had voted in a constitutional amendment banning marriage for gays and lesbians. His partner was in the United States on an education visa. Without it he'd be deported. Gay marriage was an opportunity to ensure his partner would stay in the US. He wanted to talk, to vent his frustrations, but he knew I was an evangelical Christian and didn't share his views. My heart sank because I was torn by the anguish he was feeling and the fact that my religious convictions would only make it worse. I tried to share the least offensive evangelical platitudes floating around at the time used to argue against gay marriage, like he could acquire the the legal documentation to take care of inheritance or hospital visitation issues. Also, I mentioned the institution of marriage was legally protected to provide a safe, healthy environment for children, by heterosexuals. In my effort to be unoffensive I had, in essence, called him a radical activist that couldn't be trusted with children. It's amazing we stayed friends.
Now that I've moderated my views and realize that fundamental Christian doctrine does not fully reflect Biblical teaching about homosexuality, I look back at that incident with horror. Somehow I'd allowed religious conviction to blind me to the pain that another person, one no less than my friend, was experiencing. I had relegated his feelings, his love, his pain to below those of a heterosexuals. And though it made me sick to my stomach to propagate doctrine that I felt could be in error, I couldn't work past the control of my religious belief. Control is the best way to characterize it, too. Human sexuality seems to be the easiest behavior to stigmatize and use to convict someone of sinfulness. Just an impure sexual thought is all it takes to convict the saint of sin. It's through fear of sin and it's punishment, eternal damnation and agony, that religious institutions control the flock, sex being the easiest control mechanism, and homosexuality being the most vile of sexual indiscretions. I have to admit that I permitted that same irrational fear to control my actions, and in this case, to hurt a friend.
I don't see my friend as often as I used to because I've moved to a different office. When I do see him, we're friendly and I get the impression we could easily slip back into a comfortable relationship like before. I haven't had the guts to tell him that I've changed and don't hold those same views that so long ago hurt him, and that I'm sorry. I need to. For now, I feel good knowing that we could have that conversation. In fact, I'd like to have that earlier conversation on gay marriage over again, now that the ingrained fear of fundamentalism no longer controls my thoughts. Things would be different.
If you would like to read the post that inspired this one, click here.
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