Status: On Hold.
I Am...
Three
As I walk into my new church, my husband at my side, a sudden fear grips me. It's been so long since I've been in a church, that I can hardly remember what it's like. There is one thing that I can remember, though. One thing I remember clear as day. The day that I got kicked out of my old church. The day they told me I was disgusting. Sick. Perverted. The day I was told I was going to hell by the people I thought loved me. Cared for me. Wanted me to be happy.
I was a part of the church for as long as I can remember. My parents attended as well as my brother and sister. I thought of the people there as my family. In Sunday school classes and church services we never talked about controversal topics. Abortion. Homosexuality. Suicide. Infidelity. Everyone was aware these things existed, but they were never spoken of in our church. We talked of topics such as lying, stealing, loving thy neighbor, but never anything else. We learned all the stories of Moses, of the prophets, of the disciples. We would read bible passages, memorize the ten commandments, recite the lord's prayer.
I loved church when I was younger, but when I got older and moved into the young adult church (for members ages 18-26) we began to speak of those controversal topics that we had long since avoided. I found out that some of the very things they were talking about were going on in our church. They would gossip about couples who had gotten divorced, saying it was wrong. I disagreed. If two people aren't happy, they shouldn't be forced to stay together because of morals. They spoke of suicide and how it was a selfish move. This affected me deeply. A friend of mine killed herself in high school due to depression. I had been upset over it for months after it happened. I didn't agree with what they were saying, but once again, I said nothing. They spoke poorly of a young girl in our community that had just recently gotten an abortion. They made comments about how the girl was going to hell for her actions. They called her a murder. A baby killer. An abomination. I knew what girl they were speaking of. She was twelve years old. She was also raped by some guy at a party. I wanted to scream at this. To tell them that it wasn't her fault and ask them what they would do if they were raped. Once again, I was silent.
One day, they began to speak of homosexuality. The things they said ripped through me like a knife. They spoke of how homosexuals were evil. Possessed by demons. How they should burn in hell. Be sentenced to death. They said it was disgusting. Wrong. A sin.
I had been coming to terms with the fact that I was attracted to men. I had experimented with guys and girls, but quickly realized that I only had an attraction to men. I came out to my parents. They were accepting. They told me they would always love and support me. I told my girl friends, they thought it was cute. I told my best guy friend. He told me he didn't care. I told another guy friend, he called me disgusting. It hurt, but I moved on from it. I began to date. A wonderful man had entered my life. His name was John and I had grown to love him in the four months we had been together. I didn't care who saw us together. I loved him. He loved me. We were happy.
I sat in that room and listened to them condemn homosexuals. Condemn me. Condemn us. Condemn my lifestyle. I couldn't stay silent anymore as I listened to their comments. "I don't think there's anything wrong with it" I finally spoke up. A dozen pairs of eyes turned to me. Stared at me. Judged me. "I don't appreciate the things you are saying and I don't agree with them" A couple people smirked. "Evan" One of them said. It was Paul, a boy that I had grown up with at church. "Why do you care so much? Are you a homosexual?" Anger surged through my body. I didn't care anymore. "Yes I am. And there isn't a damn thing wrong with it" I said, losing my temper and walking out of the church.
When I went back on Sunday, I took a seat next to my mother as usual and began to take out my bible. I was interrupted by a tap on my shoulder. It was the youth pastor and the childrens church teacher. "Excuse me, but we're gonna have to ask you to leave" "Why?" I asked, confused. "We don't want people like you here. It's not safe, especially for the children?" They said. Then it all hit me. They were kicking me out. Because I was gay. Because I liked men. Because I wasn't normal. Because I was an abomination. "People like me?" I'd asked, trying to act like I didn't know why they were doing this
The people around me were now looking at us curiously. My family was starting to get into it as well. "Now listen here" My father spoke up "My son has done nothing wrong" The woman from the childrens church looked right at my father and said "Mark, your son is a homosexual. We don't want people like that here. We need to protect our youth. We don't want him recruiting them." My father grew angry at this. More angry than I'd ever seen him. "My son is not a pedophile. This is ridiculous." He raised his voice. "If he has to leave, then I am leaving as well." My mother stood up as well as my sister and brother. "Yes" She said "We will all leave. You aren't going to treat my son like this." I loved my family so much for standing up for me. I knew how much this church meant to him. I knew that they didn't want to leave, but I also knew that they didn't want me to be treated like this. As we walked out that day, about ten people turned around and yelled things. "Your going to hell" "God hates you" "We're glad your leaving" "Your sick" Those were just a few things that were yelled.
None of us ever went back after that. It's five years later. I'm still with John. We got married last fall and it was the happiest day of my life. I love him more than anything and I'm so glad I never gave him up. This new church claims to be very accepting of gays and lesbians according to the flyers they passed out at the pride parade that I attended two weeks ago. I really hope so. I need God back in my life. I grip Johns hand tight as the pastor walks up to us. I wait for him to say something rude. To ask what we're doing here. To stare at our hands in disgust. He doesn't do any of these things. "Hello" He said "I'm pastor Harry. I see that your new here. Welcome to our church" He smiled at us and we smiled back, glad that we had finally found a place to share our love for the lord at last. As we took our seats in the pew, memories of my old church flashed in my brain and I felt a pang of sadness as I thought of all that had happened there.
After all, I am the man who stopped attending church, not because I don't believe, but because they closed their doors to my kind.
I was a part of the church for as long as I can remember. My parents attended as well as my brother and sister. I thought of the people there as my family. In Sunday school classes and church services we never talked about controversal topics. Abortion. Homosexuality. Suicide. Infidelity. Everyone was aware these things existed, but they were never spoken of in our church. We talked of topics such as lying, stealing, loving thy neighbor, but never anything else. We learned all the stories of Moses, of the prophets, of the disciples. We would read bible passages, memorize the ten commandments, recite the lord's prayer.
I loved church when I was younger, but when I got older and moved into the young adult church (for members ages 18-26) we began to speak of those controversal topics that we had long since avoided. I found out that some of the very things they were talking about were going on in our church. They would gossip about couples who had gotten divorced, saying it was wrong. I disagreed. If two people aren't happy, they shouldn't be forced to stay together because of morals. They spoke of suicide and how it was a selfish move. This affected me deeply. A friend of mine killed herself in high school due to depression. I had been upset over it for months after it happened. I didn't agree with what they were saying, but once again, I said nothing. They spoke poorly of a young girl in our community that had just recently gotten an abortion. They made comments about how the girl was going to hell for her actions. They called her a murder. A baby killer. An abomination. I knew what girl they were speaking of. She was twelve years old. She was also raped by some guy at a party. I wanted to scream at this. To tell them that it wasn't her fault and ask them what they would do if they were raped. Once again, I was silent.
One day, they began to speak of homosexuality. The things they said ripped through me like a knife. They spoke of how homosexuals were evil. Possessed by demons. How they should burn in hell. Be sentenced to death. They said it was disgusting. Wrong. A sin.
I had been coming to terms with the fact that I was attracted to men. I had experimented with guys and girls, but quickly realized that I only had an attraction to men. I came out to my parents. They were accepting. They told me they would always love and support me. I told my girl friends, they thought it was cute. I told my best guy friend. He told me he didn't care. I told another guy friend, he called me disgusting. It hurt, but I moved on from it. I began to date. A wonderful man had entered my life. His name was John and I had grown to love him in the four months we had been together. I didn't care who saw us together. I loved him. He loved me. We were happy.
I sat in that room and listened to them condemn homosexuals. Condemn me. Condemn us. Condemn my lifestyle. I couldn't stay silent anymore as I listened to their comments. "I don't think there's anything wrong with it" I finally spoke up. A dozen pairs of eyes turned to me. Stared at me. Judged me. "I don't appreciate the things you are saying and I don't agree with them" A couple people smirked. "Evan" One of them said. It was Paul, a boy that I had grown up with at church. "Why do you care so much? Are you a homosexual?" Anger surged through my body. I didn't care anymore. "Yes I am. And there isn't a damn thing wrong with it" I said, losing my temper and walking out of the church.
When I went back on Sunday, I took a seat next to my mother as usual and began to take out my bible. I was interrupted by a tap on my shoulder. It was the youth pastor and the childrens church teacher. "Excuse me, but we're gonna have to ask you to leave" "Why?" I asked, confused. "We don't want people like you here. It's not safe, especially for the children?" They said. Then it all hit me. They were kicking me out. Because I was gay. Because I liked men. Because I wasn't normal. Because I was an abomination. "People like me?" I'd asked, trying to act like I didn't know why they were doing this
The people around me were now looking at us curiously. My family was starting to get into it as well. "Now listen here" My father spoke up "My son has done nothing wrong" The woman from the childrens church looked right at my father and said "Mark, your son is a homosexual. We don't want people like that here. We need to protect our youth. We don't want him recruiting them." My father grew angry at this. More angry than I'd ever seen him. "My son is not a pedophile. This is ridiculous." He raised his voice. "If he has to leave, then I am leaving as well." My mother stood up as well as my sister and brother. "Yes" She said "We will all leave. You aren't going to treat my son like this." I loved my family so much for standing up for me. I knew how much this church meant to him. I knew that they didn't want to leave, but I also knew that they didn't want me to be treated like this. As we walked out that day, about ten people turned around and yelled things. "Your going to hell" "God hates you" "We're glad your leaving" "Your sick" Those were just a few things that were yelled.
None of us ever went back after that. It's five years later. I'm still with John. We got married last fall and it was the happiest day of my life. I love him more than anything and I'm so glad I never gave him up. This new church claims to be very accepting of gays and lesbians according to the flyers they passed out at the pride parade that I attended two weeks ago. I really hope so. I need God back in my life. I grip Johns hand tight as the pastor walks up to us. I wait for him to say something rude. To ask what we're doing here. To stare at our hands in disgust. He doesn't do any of these things. "Hello" He said "I'm pastor Harry. I see that your new here. Welcome to our church" He smiled at us and we smiled back, glad that we had finally found a place to share our love for the lord at last. As we took our seats in the pew, memories of my old church flashed in my brain and I felt a pang of sadness as I thought of all that had happened there.
After all, I am the man who stopped attending church, not because I don't believe, but because they closed their doors to my kind.