When I felt compelled to be anti-gay (see my sidebar for why I use that relatively neutral term), I had some thoughts about gay issues which I would never share with anyone. One of those regarded the then-hot topic of gay marriage. Underneath all of the rhetoric about sanctity, was this hope:
"Maybe this will discourage people from being gay."
Maybe if we didn't allow them to marry, they would fall out of love. Maybe if we made it as hard as possible to be gay in this society, far fewer people would be. Maybe we could "correct" them. Maybe being straight, or trying to, would make them more open to Jesus.
This was my secret reasoning back then, about ten years ago. And I know this thought had to have occurred to others. So whenever I hear political arguments against LGBT protections, I know the real reason they oppose these laws. I know that for at least some people, it's about punishing us. It's about making it more difficult to be gay. And I wonder if this secret thought is more widespread than anyone admits.
I know this is some people's reasoning, if not most. I wish they would at least be honest about it. But maybe most are not being honest with themselves. Because if they admit that they are trying to punish people into being straight, that looks bad. That may make them feel bad. So they avoid that pain and embarrassment, by talking about something else. Something prettier. Something nicer.
This might be excusable if we could easily choose to be straight. But even the other side knows that it's not easy to change, or else there would no need for "ex-gay" programs. ("Need." There shouldn't be a "need.") For some of us change is ultimately impossible. Or at least, it is if we want to live a happy life. Maybe you should listen to those who fail to change, and not just those who succeed.
The other side knows this. I knew this. I knew you couldn't make people submit to possibly years of intense (and expensive) conversion therapy unless they were miserable already. So naturally, it was up to us to make them as miserable as possible being gay. Or at least, to maintain a miserable status quo. It was our loving duty to keep gay people unhappy. For their own good, they could not be allowed to be happy.
I am using language that is more frank than I would have used at the time. I am being blunt. If this thought process describes you, you would probably use nicer terms. But it doesn't make the idea nice.
Conversion therapy made people unhappy. Lifelong celibacy made people unhappy. (Look at how many young marriages there are in churches. People want sex, and won't admit its importance to them.) I knew there were not equal standards--that some gay people just could not fall in love with the opposite sex. I could say that celibacy was a gift, but I knew it was a gift I didn't want--or didn't want to keep forever. How could I blame a gay person for not wanting it either? God gave some people choices, and others burdens. There had to be an incentive to carry this burden.
So I know you're trying to punish me, underneath all the other arguments. At least some of you are. I wish you were honest. I know you feel like you can't be. Most of all, I wish you knew you didn't have to punish me. I wish some of you didn't want to. But I don't think that's most people, and I pray for a time when no one has to be hurt.
Friday, April 19, 2019
"I Have Gay Friends": Why This Phrase Hurts Us
When you have actual gay friends, you know people are made fun of for saying "I have gay friends." Doesn't make sense to you? Let me explain.
A lot of people use the phrase "I have gay friends" to defend an argument that their gay friends would never endorse. And we feel used and hurt because of it.
I knew a young woman in college who, whenever challenged on her beliefs about homosexuality, used the phrase, "I have gay friends." And I see many others using it too, even politicians who try to implement policies that hurt us. (And yes, those policies do make our lives worse, sometimes very much so. A gay person would know.)
But to go back to my example, this person also used words like "choice" and "lifestyle" when referring to homosexuality. Words that no gay person would ever use. She was not listening to us. If she was not listening to us about ourselves, to whom was she listening about us? Why weren't her gay friends good enough to speak for themselves?
It had probably never even occurred to her to ask us about our own lives. Had it been a choice for us? What did we think of the words "gay lifestyle" when so many of us were monogamous, and at the time were fighting for the right to get married and settle down? How did her politics affect our lives? These questions probably never entered her mind.
And yet she called us her friends. Who doesn't want to know about their friends' lives, loves, pains, and experiences?
Given that she listened not to her "friends" but to her friends' opponents, my guess is that she did not actually have any gay friends. She thought she did. But really, all she had were gay people in her life who had to get along with her. (Or who wanted to witness to her about love, just as she hoped to witness to them about her own beliefs.)
Sometimes people think they have a gay friend just because a gay person is nice to them. I have heard from people who are counted as "my gay friend" by someone they consider only an acquaintance. In reality, they only consider friends those who believe in their love. They don't want to be hurt, even by people who don't mean to--who love them. They don't want to be used in an argument, much less one they don't agree with.
So, when straight people aren't around, occasionally in conversation one of us will say sarcastically, "But I have gay friends!" and the rest of us will laugh bitterly. We've all been hurt by this. We've been good enough to bolster an argument, or even to spend time with, but not good enough to listen to and believe about our own lives. The people who call themselves our friends, listen to our enemies instead of us. Our "friends" let our enemies speak for us. And it hurts.
This is one part of why you probably consider gay people so angry. A lot of people use anger to cover hurt--I've seen it on both sides, especially in politics. There are angry gay people--just like there are angry "Christians"--but sometimes when you see us, you're hurting us. Intentionally or not.
When you say, "I have gay friends" while making arguments against our love, we feel used. And that hurts.
A lot of people use the phrase "I have gay friends" to defend an argument that their gay friends would never endorse. And we feel used and hurt because of it.
I knew a young woman in college who, whenever challenged on her beliefs about homosexuality, used the phrase, "I have gay friends." And I see many others using it too, even politicians who try to implement policies that hurt us. (And yes, those policies do make our lives worse, sometimes very much so. A gay person would know.)
But to go back to my example, this person also used words like "choice" and "lifestyle" when referring to homosexuality. Words that no gay person would ever use. She was not listening to us. If she was not listening to us about ourselves, to whom was she listening about us? Why weren't her gay friends good enough to speak for themselves?
It had probably never even occurred to her to ask us about our own lives. Had it been a choice for us? What did we think of the words "gay lifestyle" when so many of us were monogamous, and at the time were fighting for the right to get married and settle down? How did her politics affect our lives? These questions probably never entered her mind.
And yet she called us her friends. Who doesn't want to know about their friends' lives, loves, pains, and experiences?
Given that she listened not to her "friends" but to her friends' opponents, my guess is that she did not actually have any gay friends. She thought she did. But really, all she had were gay people in her life who had to get along with her. (Or who wanted to witness to her about love, just as she hoped to witness to them about her own beliefs.)
Sometimes people think they have a gay friend just because a gay person is nice to them. I have heard from people who are counted as "my gay friend" by someone they consider only an acquaintance. In reality, they only consider friends those who believe in their love. They don't want to be hurt, even by people who don't mean to--who love them. They don't want to be used in an argument, much less one they don't agree with.
So, when straight people aren't around, occasionally in conversation one of us will say sarcastically, "But I have gay friends!" and the rest of us will laugh bitterly. We've all been hurt by this. We've been good enough to bolster an argument, or even to spend time with, but not good enough to listen to and believe about our own lives. The people who call themselves our friends, listen to our enemies instead of us. Our "friends" let our enemies speak for us. And it hurts.
This is one part of why you probably consider gay people so angry. A lot of people use anger to cover hurt--I've seen it on both sides, especially in politics. There are angry gay people--just like there are angry "Christians"--but sometimes when you see us, you're hurting us. Intentionally or not.
When you say, "I have gay friends" while making arguments against our love, we feel used. And that hurts.
Wednesday, January 16, 2019
How I Stopped Being Angry At Anti-Gay Christians
I do hope that I don't turn people off because the things I say are hard to hear. Frankly, they're hard to say. They bring up a lot of painful memories for me. I have tried to present the effects anti-gay beliefs and actions have on us, while also acknowledging that the other side sometimes has good intentions.
I am not trying to attack anyone. If I hurt you, I didn't mean to. And please know how much it also hurts me to talk about this. I know you think God makes you oppose us. It still has the same painful effect, whether from God or man, love or hate.
There is the stereotype, among evangelicals, of the angry lesbian or gay man. And from my perspective as a gay person, it is entirely understandable. Anti-gay Christians literally call us disgusting, and call our real feelings of love a sin--when they are not fighting, politically, for laws and limitations that would make our lives worse. (Sometimes I think that most anti-gay Christians really want to make it as difficult as possible to be gay and have a good life, so that we will submit to the miseries of conversion therapy. I know that was my thinking, in my more honest moments, when I myself was anti-gay.)
So when you see us, you are usually at least standing before us as a reminder of our very painful anti-gay childhoods, and maybe of our rejection by our families. And that's if you're not expressing anti-gay beliefs or sentiments yourself, or on the other side of our battle for a better life.
No wonder we are angry.
However, anger is not a healthy state to be in. It robs you of the good and joyous life that you have a right to, whether gay or straight. It wears out your adrenals, steals your happiness, and may interfere in your relationship with God. Indeed, how can you praise God, when you are full of "righteous indignation"? Not only do I seek out happiness, but my relationship with God is just as important to me as any straight Christian's is to them. (I may have different beliefs than you, but it is. Beliefs don't always indicate sincerity.)
So one day I sat down and thought about anger. There are many emotions that serve us individually and as a species. Love makes us care for our children and elderly. Fear makes us run from danger. Even desire leads to procreation and bonding. But what purpose does anger serve--other than to make us kill each other?
Then I realized that anger was not real. Anger is not a real emotion, but a cover for other emotions. Anger is an attempt not to look weak, whether to others or yourself.
Lasting, deep anger is a cover for one of two strong emotions: hurt or fear.
I have been on both sides of this divide, and felt everything.
When gay people are hurt, they say, "These are my real feelings of love, I am not hurting anyone, and they call them disgusting and an abomination." When gay people are fearful, they say, "They want to take away our rights, put us in prison, take our children, fire us, or stone us to death."
When anti-gay people are hurt, they say, "My son is gay--that's not the way we raised him." When they are fearful, they say, "God will punish our nation for gay marriage."
All of these sentiments and more, on both sides, may be disguised as "anger."
And you can hear it in other politics, too. "They are taking our jobs," is fear. "They are killing babies," is hurt, or more specifically grief. "They are destroying the environment," is fear. "They are testing on animals," is grief.
We are taught in our society that it's not okay to show the "weakness" of being hurt. Bullies on TV and in real life mock us by fake-crying and asking if our feelings are hurt. It's also not easy to admit, even to ourselves, when we're scared. Men especially are taught never to have these feelings, but these toxic teachings affect everyone.
Sometimes we are even mocked for caring too much about other people's feelings. "Political correctness," for example. (A term only used anymore by people who are denouncing it.)
So it's hard to face our own fears and hurts. But facing mine feels a whole lot better than being trapped in anger. It hurts when people are angry at me for being gay. It hurts that people genuinely believe that my harmless and sincere love is a sin. It hurts to be taught from a young age that God hates my love. It hurts, of course, to called a false Christian when I know my own sincerity. And it hurts, that some people think that hurting me is an act of love.
I feel fear, too, sometimes. I am afraid for my life. Anti-gay sentiments range from not interfering with LGBT protections, to preaching in the pulpit that I should be stoned to death. They may be false Christians, but if they had their way, I would still be truly dead. And the true Christians would never defend me from the false. They aren't now, with their words, so they won't later, with their actions.
How many Christians hid homosexuals from the Nazis? How many Christians in Medieval times argued against burning at the stake? How many Christians today are hiding homosexuals from ISIS? How many anti-gay Christians spoke up against the "Kill The Gays" bill in Uganda? (Searching the internet, I could find nothing on any of these things.) The anti-gay people who say they love me would never protect me. They don't even bother saying to my would-be killers that I shouldn't be killed.
I know, too, that if you think being gay is a choice, then a loved one "choosing" to be gay or come out can seem like a rejection of your beliefs, and by extension, you. You would probably be hurt by this, if that's your perception. And I too have felt afraid that God would punish the whole nation for people being openly gay without some sort of punishment, stigma, or controversy.
And it doesn't feel good to be hurt, or afraid. But at least now I can take an honest look at my feelings, and deal with the underlying issues rather than surface anger. Now I can deal with my grief or fear, and move on.
I realize that I may have opened myself up to ridicule by openly admitting that my feelings have been hurt. (That's what blocking is for, I guess.) But I hope to have helped someone understand their own anger, whatever their beliefs about homosexuality. Maybe I have spared a gay person someone's anger. Most of all, maybe together we can make the world a less angry place.
I am not trying to attack anyone. If I hurt you, I didn't mean to. And please know how much it also hurts me to talk about this. I know you think God makes you oppose us. It still has the same painful effect, whether from God or man, love or hate.
There is the stereotype, among evangelicals, of the angry lesbian or gay man. And from my perspective as a gay person, it is entirely understandable. Anti-gay Christians literally call us disgusting, and call our real feelings of love a sin--when they are not fighting, politically, for laws and limitations that would make our lives worse. (Sometimes I think that most anti-gay Christians really want to make it as difficult as possible to be gay and have a good life, so that we will submit to the miseries of conversion therapy. I know that was my thinking, in my more honest moments, when I myself was anti-gay.)
So when you see us, you are usually at least standing before us as a reminder of our very painful anti-gay childhoods, and maybe of our rejection by our families. And that's if you're not expressing anti-gay beliefs or sentiments yourself, or on the other side of our battle for a better life.
No wonder we are angry.
However, anger is not a healthy state to be in. It robs you of the good and joyous life that you have a right to, whether gay or straight. It wears out your adrenals, steals your happiness, and may interfere in your relationship with God. Indeed, how can you praise God, when you are full of "righteous indignation"? Not only do I seek out happiness, but my relationship with God is just as important to me as any straight Christian's is to them. (I may have different beliefs than you, but it is. Beliefs don't always indicate sincerity.)
So one day I sat down and thought about anger. There are many emotions that serve us individually and as a species. Love makes us care for our children and elderly. Fear makes us run from danger. Even desire leads to procreation and bonding. But what purpose does anger serve--other than to make us kill each other?
Then I realized that anger was not real. Anger is not a real emotion, but a cover for other emotions. Anger is an attempt not to look weak, whether to others or yourself.
Lasting, deep anger is a cover for one of two strong emotions: hurt or fear.
I have been on both sides of this divide, and felt everything.
When gay people are hurt, they say, "These are my real feelings of love, I am not hurting anyone, and they call them disgusting and an abomination." When gay people are fearful, they say, "They want to take away our rights, put us in prison, take our children, fire us, or stone us to death."
When anti-gay people are hurt, they say, "My son is gay--that's not the way we raised him." When they are fearful, they say, "God will punish our nation for gay marriage."
All of these sentiments and more, on both sides, may be disguised as "anger."
And you can hear it in other politics, too. "They are taking our jobs," is fear. "They are killing babies," is hurt, or more specifically grief. "They are destroying the environment," is fear. "They are testing on animals," is grief.
We are taught in our society that it's not okay to show the "weakness" of being hurt. Bullies on TV and in real life mock us by fake-crying and asking if our feelings are hurt. It's also not easy to admit, even to ourselves, when we're scared. Men especially are taught never to have these feelings, but these toxic teachings affect everyone.
Sometimes we are even mocked for caring too much about other people's feelings. "Political correctness," for example. (A term only used anymore by people who are denouncing it.)
So it's hard to face our own fears and hurts. But facing mine feels a whole lot better than being trapped in anger. It hurts when people are angry at me for being gay. It hurts that people genuinely believe that my harmless and sincere love is a sin. It hurts to be taught from a young age that God hates my love. It hurts, of course, to called a false Christian when I know my own sincerity. And it hurts, that some people think that hurting me is an act of love.
I feel fear, too, sometimes. I am afraid for my life. Anti-gay sentiments range from not interfering with LGBT protections, to preaching in the pulpit that I should be stoned to death. They may be false Christians, but if they had their way, I would still be truly dead. And the true Christians would never defend me from the false. They aren't now, with their words, so they won't later, with their actions.
How many Christians hid homosexuals from the Nazis? How many Christians in Medieval times argued against burning at the stake? How many Christians today are hiding homosexuals from ISIS? How many anti-gay Christians spoke up against the "Kill The Gays" bill in Uganda? (Searching the internet, I could find nothing on any of these things.) The anti-gay people who say they love me would never protect me. They don't even bother saying to my would-be killers that I shouldn't be killed.
I know, too, that if you think being gay is a choice, then a loved one "choosing" to be gay or come out can seem like a rejection of your beliefs, and by extension, you. You would probably be hurt by this, if that's your perception. And I too have felt afraid that God would punish the whole nation for people being openly gay without some sort of punishment, stigma, or controversy.
And it doesn't feel good to be hurt, or afraid. But at least now I can take an honest look at my feelings, and deal with the underlying issues rather than surface anger. Now I can deal with my grief or fear, and move on.
I realize that I may have opened myself up to ridicule by openly admitting that my feelings have been hurt. (That's what blocking is for, I guess.) But I hope to have helped someone understand their own anger, whatever their beliefs about homosexuality. Maybe I have spared a gay person someone's anger. Most of all, maybe together we can make the world a less angry place.
Sunday, January 6, 2019
I Wish You Knew: A Love Letter
To all of my brothers and sisters in Christ, who are afraid to be affirming:
This may be hard to hear, but it's even harder for us.
I wish you knew the anguish we go through, though I wouldn't wish it on you. The anguish of thinking that something is wrong with you spiritually, I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. I think for most gay people raised Christian, the problem isn't that we refuse to repent--it's that we can't stop repenting. Because how can you not obsess over something that you are told jeopardizes your very soul? It is terrifying, even if you have been saved. I was taught to be disgusted by what I later found out I was. I wouldn't wish that pain on you, but I do wish you knew you could sympathize.
I wish you knew how much anti-gay teachings are hurting us. How many hour-long sermons are dedicated to other sins? Even with abortion and divorce, these sermons are not nearly as common. And that is not counting what we hear in your voice when you talk about us or our love. Some Christians even defend their disgust at us. How many other sins, if they're being honest, do they find just as disgusting? And we are subjected to these things by others, even if not by you personally. Even if homosexuality is said to be equal to other sins, it is treated as if it were much, much worse.
A lot of you may assume that I am a "cultural Christian," or that, like a character in a Christian novel, I never knew that I had to have my own relationship with Christ. I, too, have accepted Christ as my Savior, and if sincerity counts for anything, I know I have been saved. I, too, have a relationship with God. And He tells me that I am a beautiful and beloved creation--no ifs, ands, or buts. And that He loves me--and likes me--just the way I am. I have been saved, and I hold my beliefs as strongly as you hold yours, even if you don't agree with me. And I do read my Bible--in fact, I research the original Greek and Hebrew words of the Bible. I hope you know all this about me.
And most of all, I wish you knew you didn't have to hurt us. I know your first instinct is to say that you're not hurting us--but how would you know? You're not us. I have seen many anti-gay Christians praised as gentle and compassionate--by straight people. But how do they know how their words impact the people they are actually talking to? They usually don't even ask.
I have never liked the "No Hate" campaigns, because hatred is not the point. Please don't tell me that you don't hate me. I don't hate you either. I love you too. But the pain is just as great, whether you love us or hate us.
There is no way to be anti-gay, and outspoken about it--or refuse to come to someone's wedding--and not cause pain. And I know that some of you really wish otherwise. I know some of you tell the truth when you say that you love us. And I love you too.
I know it often hurts you, too, to be anti-gay, though not as much as it hurts us. (I've been on both sides of it, and it hurts more from this side. It hurts more when the "sin" is in you, and not the other person.)
That is why I wish I could simply fellowship with you, and be accepted as a fellow believer. Not "confronted" or "lovingly rebuked." Simply accepted, like any straight person who professes the name of Christ. I can also wait for marriage, and not lust, even if you think my marriage is fake.
And most of all, I wish you knew you didn't have to hurt us.
I'm praying for you, fellow believer. Arguments probably won't do it. I know I am using words against the strong forces of either anger--bordering on hatred--or fear. And I assume you are not one of the angry Christians. You fear for us, or yourselves, if you should become affirming of our love. God did not give us a spirit of fear, and only God can deliver you from this fear.
I hope I have been compassionate but not condescending, as I wish others to do unto me.
With much love,
A Gay Christian
This may be hard to hear, but it's even harder for us.
I wish you knew the anguish we go through, though I wouldn't wish it on you. The anguish of thinking that something is wrong with you spiritually, I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. I think for most gay people raised Christian, the problem isn't that we refuse to repent--it's that we can't stop repenting. Because how can you not obsess over something that you are told jeopardizes your very soul? It is terrifying, even if you have been saved. I was taught to be disgusted by what I later found out I was. I wouldn't wish that pain on you, but I do wish you knew you could sympathize.
I wish you knew how much anti-gay teachings are hurting us. How many hour-long sermons are dedicated to other sins? Even with abortion and divorce, these sermons are not nearly as common. And that is not counting what we hear in your voice when you talk about us or our love. Some Christians even defend their disgust at us. How many other sins, if they're being honest, do they find just as disgusting? And we are subjected to these things by others, even if not by you personally. Even if homosexuality is said to be equal to other sins, it is treated as if it were much, much worse.
A lot of you may assume that I am a "cultural Christian," or that, like a character in a Christian novel, I never knew that I had to have my own relationship with Christ. I, too, have accepted Christ as my Savior, and if sincerity counts for anything, I know I have been saved. I, too, have a relationship with God. And He tells me that I am a beautiful and beloved creation--no ifs, ands, or buts. And that He loves me--and likes me--just the way I am. I have been saved, and I hold my beliefs as strongly as you hold yours, even if you don't agree with me. And I do read my Bible--in fact, I research the original Greek and Hebrew words of the Bible. I hope you know all this about me.
And most of all, I wish you knew you didn't have to hurt us. I know your first instinct is to say that you're not hurting us--but how would you know? You're not us. I have seen many anti-gay Christians praised as gentle and compassionate--by straight people. But how do they know how their words impact the people they are actually talking to? They usually don't even ask.
I have never liked the "No Hate" campaigns, because hatred is not the point. Please don't tell me that you don't hate me. I don't hate you either. I love you too. But the pain is just as great, whether you love us or hate us.
There is no way to be anti-gay, and outspoken about it--or refuse to come to someone's wedding--and not cause pain. And I know that some of you really wish otherwise. I know some of you tell the truth when you say that you love us. And I love you too.
I know it often hurts you, too, to be anti-gay, though not as much as it hurts us. (I've been on both sides of it, and it hurts more from this side. It hurts more when the "sin" is in you, and not the other person.)
That is why I wish I could simply fellowship with you, and be accepted as a fellow believer. Not "confronted" or "lovingly rebuked." Simply accepted, like any straight person who professes the name of Christ. I can also wait for marriage, and not lust, even if you think my marriage is fake.
And most of all, I wish you knew you didn't have to hurt us.
I'm praying for you, fellow believer. Arguments probably won't do it. I know I am using words against the strong forces of either anger--bordering on hatred--or fear. And I assume you are not one of the angry Christians. You fear for us, or yourselves, if you should become affirming of our love. God did not give us a spirit of fear, and only God can deliver you from this fear.
I hope I have been compassionate but not condescending, as I wish others to do unto me.
With much love,
A Gay Christian
Tuesday, December 25, 2018
How To Talk To Us About Our Homosexuality (And Reduce The Hurt You May Cause)
Hello and welcome to my new blog. I am a gay person, and I can't help seeing that every professing Christian claims to love us, but only some actually bother to speak to us kindly--as if we are loved. So I thought I could tell the people who actually do love us, how to love us. Or rather, how to actually put that love into action.
I know many people feel compelled to say something to their gay loved one about his or her "lifestyle." (We absolutely can't stand that word, for reasons I don't have room for here.) I have been anti-gay before, and I know how terrifying it is to hold such beliefs. I try to be fair to those who have good intentions, for that reason.
BUT you should know that you are not the only one in pain. I have been on both sides of this divide, and I am here to tell you that it is worse for those who are gay. I was raised to be disgusted by what I later found out I was. It is especially painful when gentler Christians let their angry brothers and sisters go unchallenged, just because the people they are clearly hurting or insulting are sinners. You don't have to agree with homosexuality, to defend our dignity as human beings beloved by God.
If there was a falling-out, after a coming-out, you're not the only one suffering. You may have even hurt your loved one before they came out. The damage could be severe, depending on how you described homosexuals before you knew . You may not even remember what you said. But they do. Harsh words always echo.
You may feel compelled to say something to them, now, about their homosexuality. And I could not stop you, so I won't try. But there are better and worse ways to handle this subject, and that is what we are going to be discussing today.
When you oppose someone's love or future love, there is really no way not to hurt them. But don't let that make you apathetic. There are ways to reduce the hurt, though you will not be able to entirely eliminate it without changing your anti-gay beliefs. But since you probably love this person, you will want to cause as little hurt as you can, even if you feel bound by your beliefs.
I pray for a world in which no one has to be hurt. I pray that you will someday discover that you don't have to cause pain to us. (And sadly, yes, your beliefs do cause pain.) But until then, listen to this gay person about what hurts gay people--and do as little of it as possible.
I will have more specific suggestions soon, but the most important things to remember are empathy and honesty.
By empathy, I mean that you must mentally put yourself in our shoes as much as you can. How would you like to be approached by someone who genuinely thinks you're sinning? (Thinks you're sinning--whether you are or not.)
Would you like to be "confronted," as a friend of mine had it described it him? ("I must confront you about your lifestyle.") Or would you like to be approached softly? ("Can I talk to you about something that concerns me?") Remember, you can always be confrontational later, if you really feel you must. But if you're not kind first, by the time you get to being kind, it's too late.
And by honesty, I mean emotional honesty. Anyone can say, "Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve," but it takes real guts to say, "You know what I believe, and I am truly scared for you." Don't cover your fear with anger. Don't argue with us, right out of the gate--you can argue later, if you must. Have the courage to be vulnerable, and we may do the same. And all of this starts by having the courage to admit to yourself that you're scared for us.
(For more about telling the truth to yourself and others, see "Telling Yourself The Truth," and "Telling Each Other The Truth," both by William Backus. The first is only two dollars as a Kindle book. He is a Christian author, and his books are heavy on Scripture. He is also anti-gay himself, so you know I'm not trying to trick you. Back when I thought God wanted me to be anti-gay, these books changed my life. I believe they will improve all of your relationships--even the one with yourself.)
And please remember, these are not tactics designed to "trick" us into agreeing with you or becoming heterosexual. These are tools you can use to save or improve your relationship with us, which I presume is important to you. They can also help soften the blow of what you feel you must say.
But please know, if you believe that gay love is a sin, there is no way to soften the blow entirely. If you oppose our love, you will cause pain. But don't let that make you stop caring about your approach. If you truly love someone, you will want to hurt them as little as possible. Remember, you can always use whatever tactics you want later on. But be kind first.
I know many people feel compelled to say something to their gay loved one about his or her "lifestyle." (We absolutely can't stand that word, for reasons I don't have room for here.) I have been anti-gay before, and I know how terrifying it is to hold such beliefs. I try to be fair to those who have good intentions, for that reason.
BUT you should know that you are not the only one in pain. I have been on both sides of this divide, and I am here to tell you that it is worse for those who are gay. I was raised to be disgusted by what I later found out I was. It is especially painful when gentler Christians let their angry brothers and sisters go unchallenged, just because the people they are clearly hurting or insulting are sinners. You don't have to agree with homosexuality, to defend our dignity as human beings beloved by God.
If there was a falling-out, after a coming-out, you're not the only one suffering. You may have even hurt your loved one before they came out. The damage could be severe, depending on how you described homosexuals before you knew . You may not even remember what you said. But they do. Harsh words always echo.
You may feel compelled to say something to them, now, about their homosexuality. And I could not stop you, so I won't try. But there are better and worse ways to handle this subject, and that is what we are going to be discussing today.
When you oppose someone's love or future love, there is really no way not to hurt them. But don't let that make you apathetic. There are ways to reduce the hurt, though you will not be able to entirely eliminate it without changing your anti-gay beliefs. But since you probably love this person, you will want to cause as little hurt as you can, even if you feel bound by your beliefs.
I pray for a world in which no one has to be hurt. I pray that you will someday discover that you don't have to cause pain to us. (And sadly, yes, your beliefs do cause pain.) But until then, listen to this gay person about what hurts gay people--and do as little of it as possible.
I will have more specific suggestions soon, but the most important things to remember are empathy and honesty.
By empathy, I mean that you must mentally put yourself in our shoes as much as you can. How would you like to be approached by someone who genuinely thinks you're sinning? (Thinks you're sinning--whether you are or not.)
Would you like to be "confronted," as a friend of mine had it described it him? ("I must confront you about your lifestyle.") Or would you like to be approached softly? ("Can I talk to you about something that concerns me?") Remember, you can always be confrontational later, if you really feel you must. But if you're not kind first, by the time you get to being kind, it's too late.
And by honesty, I mean emotional honesty. Anyone can say, "Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve," but it takes real guts to say, "You know what I believe, and I am truly scared for you." Don't cover your fear with anger. Don't argue with us, right out of the gate--you can argue later, if you must. Have the courage to be vulnerable, and we may do the same. And all of this starts by having the courage to admit to yourself that you're scared for us.
(For more about telling the truth to yourself and others, see "Telling Yourself The Truth," and "Telling Each Other The Truth," both by William Backus. The first is only two dollars as a Kindle book. He is a Christian author, and his books are heavy on Scripture. He is also anti-gay himself, so you know I'm not trying to trick you. Back when I thought God wanted me to be anti-gay, these books changed my life. I believe they will improve all of your relationships--even the one with yourself.)
And please remember, these are not tactics designed to "trick" us into agreeing with you or becoming heterosexual. These are tools you can use to save or improve your relationship with us, which I presume is important to you. They can also help soften the blow of what you feel you must say.
But please know, if you believe that gay love is a sin, there is no way to soften the blow entirely. If you oppose our love, you will cause pain. But don't let that make you stop caring about your approach. If you truly love someone, you will want to hurt them as little as possible. Remember, you can always use whatever tactics you want later on. But be kind first.
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