My Journey From Homophobia

I grew up in a small town in North Georgia, about a half hour from the college town we live outside of now. The town is filled with good people. Good people who support the high school football team even though they have a terrible record. People who come out for the annual BBQ festival, who talk to you in the grocery store, and make you a casserole if you have surgery. People who give you a ride home from ball practice and check on you if you haven’t been to church in awhile. It’s the kind of place where if you cuss at the gas station your mama’ll know about it before you get home. 

In this context I got some overt and many subtle messages that homosexuality was immoral and   disgusting and that the gays were choosing to live in sin. My family was indifferent. We never talked about it. We did accidentally go to Disneyworld during Gay Pride week when I was in high school, but that was more about scheduling than supporting. It was the late 90s and homosexuality wasn’t on the news that I know of, with the exception of don’t ask don’t tell references now and then. I’d never met a gay person. To me, they were a distant group of sexual deviants that I had nothing in common with. I feared what I did not know.

Armed with this conviction and a holier-than-thou attitude, I didn’t question the information that I had. It feels good to be the side that is right with the Lord, after all. I said things at school that were not tolerant, that were not supportive, that would have been hurtful to anyone who was gay. I backed it up with things I’d heard the Bible said, but I hadn’t taken the time to investigate. I was the worst kind of Christian. I was too naive to know that many, many of my friends would later come out, and my words were likely contributing to a culture of intolerance and reinforcing a fear that they wouldn’t be accepted.

I graduated from that small town and moved a half hour and a half a world away. I’d still never met a gay person (or didn’t know I had) but as often happens, college changed me. There was a flaming gay guy in one of my classes first semester. He was beautiful and he rocked baby blue capri pants with confidence. He was funny, he was beautiful, he was smart, and he was nice. He  was complex and interesting, and did I mention beautiful? There didn’t seem to be anything vile about him. He didn’t even seem to be ashamed that he was gay! I was mesmerized. 

What my home town offered in kindness and community it lacked in diversity. Moving away offered me the chance at exposure to people who were different economically, socially, politically and sexually.  A social work major, I took classes in women’s studies, social work, and psychology. I explored issues of social justice, cycles of poverty, cultural competencies, and mental health. My academic life and my social life were challenging me, and I started questioning many of the things I believed in, and why I believed them. Ah, the college experience. 

I was still a Christian, but I questioned how God could hate entire groups of people. I met people who were different than me, and I wondered if they were really going to hell just because they didn’t grow up the way I did. How did grace and love fit in? I didn’t like that interpretation of God’s judgment, and I wondered if there were other things that I’d picked up along the way that could be interpreted differently too.

Then one of our high school friends came out to us sitting in a booth at the Applebee’s. It changed nothing, and it changed everything. He’d long been teased and denied being gay, so we weren’t surprised he was gay.  I guess I was surprised that he admitted it. I stammered through what I hope was some show of support, because I loved him and this revelation didn’t change that. He was still loving and compassionate and kind and funny and smart, and I didn’t want to lose him as a friend. In hindsight I think it took a lot of courage to come out to me, after I’d been judgmental and closed minded. I’m ashamed to think that someone would ever question if I would accept them. 

As time passed I became more tolerant, and my tolerance grew into acceptance and then advocacy. I met Christians who believe that Jesus loves us all and made us who we are. I met Christian pastors who preach acceptance and inclusion, that we’re all in it together and aren’t called to judge. I embraced that kind of Christianity, and though I'm still not sure about everything I believe, I felt better about those Christian ideals than the judgment I was spouting before. 

I don’t mean to say that I took my judgement from the gays and put it onto Christians who don’t agree with me, that wouldn’t be any better. I saw an article recently called An Explanation of Why Christians Don’t Accept Gay Marriage. I don’t mind when people disagree with me (hello, I’ve been on both ends of this issue!) but I didn’t like the article’s assumption that all Christians have to feel the same way on all issues. There are a hundred kinds of Christians, from the kind who bomb abortion clinics to those who only go to church on Easter, and 98 kinds in between. It feels freeing to be able to interpret things differently and still celebrate the things we interpret similarly. 

A dozen of my high school friends have come out, and I hope that I showed some level of support along the way. Some of our very best friends are gay, and they asked me to give a toast at their wedding. I was honored to, and took that responsibility seriously. They are now unofficial gay uncles (guncles) to our boys, and I’m so glad my boys have role models for healthy relationships of all kinds. I wouldn’t trade that for anything. 

I was outspoken and bold when I spoke out against homosexuality. And I was wrong. And I am sorry. And now I am outspoken and bold for equality and love and acceptance. May no one ever wonder again if I will be accepting of them.

I texted one of my best childhood friends after the SCOTUS decision on gay marriage to tell her congratulations that our country considers her an equal. I told her that I shutter to think about things I said in high school that weren’t supportive, and that I’m sad and sorry for those things. It’s something I hoped she knew, but I’d never said. 

She wrote back with grace, saying “so much of who we are in life now is defined by experiences we’ve had and although (our town) was awesome in many ways, lots of us had yet to experience life and we hadn’t had the opportunity to become the people we are today. At least you can say you’ve grown…some can’t. I know I have!” And then she encouraged me to write about it. 

And that, that, is what grace and love are about. Showing love and mercy to the one who persecuted you. Reserving judgment for the one who judged you. Getting love and forgiveness when you deserve none. The irony is not lost on me. 



"Let all that you do be done in love." 1 Corinthians 16:14