In the fifth grade, I weighed 150 lbs. The reason I know this is because my mother took me to the doctor to inquire about my weight problem. That it was a “problem” was evident to me well before I stepped on the doctor’s scale for my classmates diligently reminded me every day on the playground, in the hallways, and on the bus. In that eleventh year of my life, I started to understand that bodies have meaning and that some bodies were bad. As luck or fate or God would have it, I got one of the bad ones (or so I thought).
Last week, my friend Veronica approached me about writing a piece on the Intervarsity “theological purge” controversy. Veronica, as you will learn below, was deeply involved with Intervarsity for several years and is a great advocate for her LGBT+ friends. With feet in both worlds, the news has affected her personally, and because I found her response to be helpful and insightful, I’d like to share it with you today. As part of our Consider This Perspective series, Veronica’s views shared here are her own, and we are glad to share them with you.
By: VERONICA TIMBERS
Editor: HEIDI WEAVER-SMITH
Recently, Intervarsity Christian Fellowship USA, an organization that works in campus ministry, missions, and publishing, announced a policy that would result in hundreds of individuals losing their jobs for having a theology that affirms same sex marriage.
The news appeared in Time, where journalist Elizabeth Dias reported that Intervarsity employees who support gay marriage or disagree with the organization’s new theological position on sexuality would be fired starting in November. Employees are expected to out themselves on the topic, initiating a two-week termination process. Dias calls the situation a “theological purge.”
Do you remember Kmart? My local store had a little eatery in the back that served soggy French fries—a smell that always hunkered down in the toy section. And who could forget the Blue Light Specials, which were never as special as that whirling blue light promised (at least to a child who would have preferred a two-for-one deal on G.I. Joe action figures instead of Windex).
The first place I got lost in my life was at Kmart. I was 5 years old and my mom was trying on dresses. When she went into the changing room, I was instructed to “stay put.” But those dresses were magical. As a small child, you can enter a rack of clothes like entering C.S. Lewis’s wardrobe. The fabrics were so soft and enveloped you with what felt like a thousand fingers each with a loving touch.
When I emerged on the other side of that wardrobe of dresses, I found myself in an aisle I didn’t recognize. Instead of turning around and going back or staying put as I was advised, I moved forward. I went through a sea of coats and then a jungle of belts and scarves and finally landed in a scary territory of tools—sharp and dangerous. It was then I began to cry.
I’ve been lost a lot since that experience in Kmart. As a gay Christian in the church, I’ve been lost without even leaving my pew. At first, it was the sense that I had to lose a part of myself (the sexual part) in order to be found a faithful Christian. I didn’t know how to reconcile a sincere faith with my deep desire to be in a sexual relationship with a man. And it wasn’t a question simply asked. So, I found it easier to hide this part of me in a wardrobe instead of walking through it into some unknown land that very well could be sharp and dangerous—where God might not be present.
But one can’t hide forever. There is no dark place the Lord’s light won’t find. But one can’t hide forever. There is no dark place the Lord’s light won’t find. I was found in my acting out—in my growing addiction to pornography in the early days of the Internet. In those days, the technology was so new that I didn’t realize that what seemed hidden was in fact archived and tagged like rows of clothes in the men’s section of Kmart. A number of people went through that section of my life. Many showed considerable grace for what they found on my racks of shame. Not everyone was kind, but some were and those folks started traveling with me as I tried to find grace for myself in the midst of sexual feelings that made me feel very lost.
Today, my lostness in the church has taken a slightly different form. Now, I’m lost in a family-centric community that doesn’t quite know how to invite a single, gay man into a flourishing life in their midst. I suspect many single people in the church, whatever their orientation, feel this same tension. How do we become the parts of the body that the church needs us to be if the entire focus of church life is centered on couples and kids (or helping singles get coupled)? Of course, that’s an overstatement, but just barely.
In that tool section in Kmart, a kind sales associate with a Blue Light Special lapel pin found me weeping and alerted my mom over the loud speaker. I wish being found was that easy in the rest of my life. God doesn’t often use a PA system. But he does use people and nature and music and the sacraments and the Bible and even our own sin to lead us like a shepherd.
I’m still very much on the journey to being found. Along the way, I’ve often recalled my mom’s words—stay put. I pray more gay people and single people will join me in staying put in the church. Yes, you will feel lost there at times, but oh the joy when the clouds part, like a sea of dresses, and you see your mother standing right where she has been all along.