Diatribe: Being Gay and Christian

I go to work, do laundry, have dinner, watch TV, and pay my bills. But of course, I am gay and that affects who I am.

To me, being a gay man means:

Contentment when my boyfriend puts his arm around me on the sofa. I love to sit in the driver's seat, with him as the passenger in my car, and rest my hand on his shoulder. There's an electric charge when our two pairs of lips touch ever so casually. Being gay is awareness of being sexual. It means being capable of firey attraction and heart-pounding lust and powerful love with other men. But there's more.

Being a gay man means:

Appreciating bright colors. Delight at the newest line of kitchen gadgetry at Crate and Barrel. Being able to tell my coworker that the song, "June is Bustin' Out All Over," is from the musical Carousel, not South Pacific. But I don't fit every stereotype. I'm the only gay man I know who doesn't own an iron. I spend about 5 seconds on my hair every day. And yet I'm gay.

To me, being a gay man means:

I can stand in a long line at Arby's and be unconcerned as strangers watch my gay friend fix my shirt collar.

To me, being a gay man means:

The sweetness of new love, the promise of a long term relationship, commitment to having a life together. Then, bitterness at the failure of a relationship. And the comfort of being reminded that I have just as much right to be divorced as a straight person.

To me, being a gay man means:

Beaming with pride when family members who 20 years ago couldn't say the word gay, not only belong to P-FLAG, but stand as activists and counsel others who suffer the same struggles they once did.

To me, being a gay man means:

Remembering how I couldn't communicate with grandparents about the truth in my life. The closest they ever came to discussing it was once asking of a same sex couple, "which one of you does the cooking?"

To me, being a gay man means:

Having to think about relationships in ways that most straight people just take for granted. Who leads while dancing? Who pays for the date? What are our roles with each other? Should we try to achieve something like marriage or define something new? Should we try to have children? We can't accidentally have them - we have to really want them first, work hard to get them and be committed to them because we can't take for granted that they won't be taken away.

To me, being a gay man means:

Being active in church my whole life. Getting a seminary education. Using my training and talents to teach, write and preach, working like a dog to help the church change the world. But not feeling like I could take my boyfriend to the Sunday School picnic. Realizing that no matter what I've done for the church, my gifts were considered invalid because I am gay. Finally leaving that church behind. Living without church. But yearning for that community. Believing in that vision. Continually called by God to find a new niche where my gifts and training are welcomed and affirmed, my relationships not only acknowledged but celebrated.

To me, being a gay man means:

Driving along a busy street, windows down in the perfect sunny weather, a car full of boys pulling up, yelling "faggot" and worse. Driving faster to get away only encourages them. To shout back could be dangerous. But to then go to church and tell my congregation what happened and to feel their shared outrage and support is to know that there might be some sort of holy redemption and hope.

To me, being a gay man means:

Living with HIV and AIDS, regardless of whether the virus resides in my own body.

I had this conversation on a date: He says,"This is my favorite restaurant. My first boyfriend took me here." I ask, "Do you ever run into him here?" He replies, "No, he's dead." We don't talk about it much anymore, but many of our friends and lovers are gone.

There is grief when AIDS takes loved ones away. I have fear when my own body is weakened by HIV - my energy compomised as a virus tries to undo my health. There is pure rage when families (and for that matter, churches and governments) will not support, care for, or comfort those sick with HIV. But just as often, I see HIV bring out the goodness in people. I'll never forget how proud and touched I was as I watched my mother step in to attend the hospital bedside of a person very sick with AIDS when his own mother would not.

To me, being a gay man means:

Living and loving, as fully as possible, knowing that I am a whole, valued, child of God. I am more aware of my sexuality than nongay men because I have to affirm it regularly. Slowly, gradually, the majority of society ceases to fight me on this. Whereas I was once challenged to educate every single person about myself and my orientation, I now almost take it for granted. Straight people may not approve or understand, but the responsibility is now on them to deal with it. And gradually, I think they might just be starting to get it after all.

Finally, to me, being a gay man means:

Pride. Every last Sunday in June, thousands and thousands of people of all orientations walk, sing, dance, and flounce down East Colfax Avenue. I feel absolutely exillarated because I belong in this diverse community of lively, colorful people.