Is Pride the Antidote to Shame?
a good church girl contemplates coming out in midlife
When my high school crush told me he was gay in the summer of 2002, I was devastated. Beyond my very obvious self-interest in wanting to make out with him, I worried about him falling victim to the “gay lifestyle” I’d heard of on Christian radio, which, as we all knew, was a one-way ticket to a life of dangerous sex, depression, drug use, and AIDS. When none of that came to pass, and when, one by one, almost all of my high school friends came out as gay, lesbian, or bi (we were theater kids, after all) I started to think that maybe James Dobson hadn’t been entirely honest with me. But it would take another two decades to realize just how much I had internalized the church’s anti-queer shame.
Since my teens, I’ve considered myself an LGBT ally. In college, I argued with my theology professors about the validity of gay marriage. When my youngest brother confided in me that he was gay, I scoured Amazon for books on being gay AND Christian and bought every single one I could find—all two of them. It was 2004, the year both Republican and Democratic presidential candidates went on the record against legalizing same-sex marriage. It would take another eight years before Obama came out in favor of gay marriage, eleven until Obergefell v. Hodges made it legal across America.
In my early twenties, I became obsessed with advocating for LGBT inclusion in the church. I joined advocacy groups and marched in “Christopher Street Day” (the European version of Pride.) I learned about LGBT Christians who were pushing back against the church’s exclusion and researched arguments against the Bible’s so-called “clobber verses.” But I could not admit my own self-interest in this topic. I was just an empathetic person. I liked boys! I even married one! End of story.
Sure, there were some bumps in my narrative: the weird feelings I had toward a girl in my high school sewing class. My extreme defensiveness when a lesbian friend teased me by calling me “church dyke.” If I thought women’s bodies were beautiful, well, didn’t the whole world of fine art agree?
After growing up in purity culture, I had a lot of baggage around experiencing sexual attraction at all, let alone attraction to both genders. After being numb for such a long time, reconnecting with myself took time and practice. In the end, the final straw was a jokey listicle. It was full of Jeff Foxworthy-esque tidbits like “if you’re always saying things like ‘everyone is a little bisexual,’ no, it’s probably just you.”
Alone in my room, I tried saying it out loud, “I am bisexual.” It felt true.
What kept me in the dark about my sexuality is both particular to being bi and common to the LGBT experience: I was ashamed and scared of owning this aspect of my identity; since I was also attracted to men, it was easier to hide. I’d long said I was an ally because I feared my gay friends would lose their place in the church and perhaps even their salvation. Really, I was worried about those things happening to me.
I’ve long debated whether coming out publicly really matters, at least in my case. Part of me feels like Toad in this hilarious SNL sketch about this a Mario Kart prestige dystopian drama, (“Name’s Toad. Also I’m bisexual.”) Like, is this necessary information at this point? When I came out to my brother and a close friend they both asked me if I was getting divorced. Otherwise, why would I even bring it up?
The reason, I think, is that pride is the opposite of shame. The LGBT community created Pride events as a way of celebrating sexual orientations and gender identities that political and religious leaders have long said should remain a shameful secret. Pride is about standing up for ourselves and for each other. And this solidarity has worked—just look at how much has changed since 2004. Apart from the legal successes, we now have organizations like Church Clarity which explicitly spell out the degrees to which various churches include or exclude LGBT members. It’s become more common for churches to march in Pride and many major denominations support full LGBT inclusion.
But for all this progress, there are new waves of anti-trans laws, draconian book bans, and backlash against stores selling Pride merchandise. Politically and culturally, we still need solidarity because there is still work to be done. Spiritually, pride means honoring our authentic selves. As I wrote about last week, I think God the good parent wants us to become more fully ourselves.
In 2013, still in denial about being bi, I unsuccessfully pitched an article to The Presbyterian Record, the official magazine of the Presbyterian Church in Canada, where I interviewed four gay men about their experiences in the denomination, which ranged from expulsion and conversion therapy to warm welcomes. Re-reading this article now is a bit cringe, but this paragraph was a pleasant surprise:
“Jesus came to tear down the barriers between ethnic groups, class, race, and gender; between the so-called ‘righteous’ and the unrighteous. As Ephesians 2:11-13 says ‘Therefore, remember that formerly you who are Gentiles by birth and called ‘uncircumcised’ by those who call themselves ‘the circumcision’ (which is done in the body by human hands)— remember that at that time you were separate from Christ, excluded from citizenship in Israel and foreigners to the covenants of the promise, without hope and without God in the world. But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far away have been brought near by the blood of Christ.’” (emphasis mine.)
While the me of today is far less certain about her spiritual beliefs, I still hold that any god worth worshipping would be someone who tears down barriers; a god of longer tables, not higher fences. This Pride Month, my hope is that we all can find belonging in community while being our truest selves.
Discussion/Journaling Questions:
Where/when do you feel the need to put on a mask or hide parts of yourself? What would it feel like if you could be fully yourself there?
Have you ever questioned your sexuality or gender? If not, can you imagine what that would feel like?
What is the most eyeroll-inducing corporate pride sponsorship? Is it this Gay Whopper?
I love this piece so much, Katharine!
First of all well done you on the vulnerability it takes to own and share this valuable piece of yourself. I have not questioned my sexuality but as someone who has wrestled with church teaching on LGBTQ issues and come to a place of affirming I have felt in the smallest measure the anxiety and fear of rejection for simply holding that view.