Appendix: A Benediction for Inclusive Worship
Footnote
Notes
Author’s Note: Resources and Disclaimers
Acknowledgments
About the Author
This is a book about me, and also not a book about me.
It’s a memoir about the battle I’ve fought to make peace with who I am and to unlearn a lifetime of shame and fear. In my case, this centered on the vast tension between being gay and being Christian.
When I asked on social media, “What would you like me to include in my memoir?,” hundreds of you responded. A common theme was: “I identify as part of the LGBTQ+ community too. I wish there were more books I could relate to about growing up dealing with identity struggles. Reading those would make me feel less alone.” Others of you said, “I’m straight, but I want to understand what it’s like to be gay, so I can be a better ally. Your story could provide one example of that.”
Some messages I received said, “I believe the Bible teaches that same-sex relationships are sinful. Can you explain how you understand the Bible on this topic?” Others said, “I’m nonreligious and work in the corporate world, where I’m championing diversity. Your memoir could shine a light on the harm it does when you can’t be your authentic self at work. It could encourage businesses to take better care of their staff’s well-being.”
I decided that all of these suggestions were important, so I chose to use them as my guide. Also, I decided that unless I was going to get vulnerable enough in the writing process to wonder whether I should really be putting certain things in print, the book was unlikely to help anyone. So prepare for me to share (and perhaps overshare) about the highs and lows of my teens, twenties, and thirties; about how I finally found the courage to come out, leaping into the unknown; and about what life has been like since.
Some of you, I hope, will feel a resonance—a sense of “me too.” Others of you reading this who believe that LGBTQ+ equality goes against the teachings of Bible, thank you for giving this book a chance. I hope you’ll keep the door of your heart open as you travel through its pages.
Right now, the issue of same-sex marriage threatens to split the global church. In news headlines, in political campaigns, and on social media, people with polar views are debating this heated topic. It’s reaching boiling point. Juggernauts like the Anglican Church, with its 85 million members worldwide, teeter on the edge of a split. This book is only a drop in the ocean of that vast situation, but it’s my attempt to show that LGBTQ+ people of faith, and same-sex marriage, should be fully affirmed.
So, yes, this is a book about me and my story.
But it’s also a book that’s not about me. At least, not only about me.
It’s about something far bigger and wider—about themes that are woven into all of our human DNA: our need to find a place to belong, our fear of becoming vulnerable, our longing to be authentic, the shame we feel about aspects of who we are, and the way others’ criticisms can paralyze our ability to live and love.
So, this might be a story about you too. About the ways you feel awkward about, embarrassed by, or ashamed of parts of your identity, or the way fear holds you back and stops you from attempting to dream big. Diversity can be tricky: the very things that make us stunningly unique can also be the things we hide in the closet because they cause us to feel different from the crowd.
The shapes these differences take are as diverse as we are. Perhaps it’s that you can’t talk about your struggles with mental health; you’re dealing with anxiety or depression and don’t want colleagues at work to know. That part of your identity is firmly locked in the closet, even though deep down you wish you could be open about it.
Or maybe you’ve always known you are trans, but haven’t dared tell anyone, fearful that no one in your life will understand. Or maybe your battle is similar to the one I faced; you’re gay and terrified to come out.
Or perhaps it’s about neurodiversity. You’re on the autistic spectrum and don’t want to mention it for fear that people will treat or think of you differently. Maybe it’s about gender roles; you might be a teenage boy who dreams of becoming a ballet dancer (like the fabulous Billy Elliot), but you’re afraid your friends (and enemies) would endlessly tease you and make life unbearable if you chased that dream.
Of course, it’s totally fine to keep these things private if it feels safer; only you know what’s right for you. Not everyone needs to “come out,” and you can be perfectly happy, healthy, and whole without taking that step. What is crucial, though, is this: we need to love and accept who we are. It’s about making peace with ourselves.
It’s about finally feeling comfortable in our own skin, not allowing others to make us ashamed or embarrassed of things that are part of our beauty, our diversity and uniqueness. When we take those pieces, shattered by shame, and dare to be ourselves, we find healing. We’re not forced to choose between aspects of our identity. We become whole and “undivided.”
Isn’t this just a bunch of selfish navel-gazing?” critics may ask.
No, it’s quite the opposite. We can only love others well when we live from a place of wholeness.
The Christian faith teaches: “Love your neighbor as you love yourself”—the implication being that we must learn to love ourselves first, in order to love others from a place of health and well-being. Otherwise, it’s like pouring a glass of water from a broken jug; our fragmentation affects everyone.
Entrepreneur and inventor Steve Jobs, in his 2005 address at Stanford University, said, “Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life … Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice … Have courage.”
He’s right. When fear and shame push us to copy the crowd, we risk living someone else’s life. Everyone loses when that happens; we won’t be the best family member, coworker, or friend we can be unless we’re authentic and whole.
So becoming “undivided” is not just about us: When we make peace with ourselves and are no longer fearful or defensive, it changes how we engage with the world. If enough of us do this, the ripple effect will go far and wide, from neighborhoods to nations.
Often, we humans run away from what we can’t relate to, from people who seem different to us. It might be someone from a different political party, a refugee from a far-flung nation, someone from a different socioeconomic background, or someone who is LGBTQ+. We build walls, bunker ourselves away, and allow stereotypes to govern the way we view the people we don’t understand. This is rife in global politics and in the church right now and requires urgent change.
Fear of the “other”—fear of the person who is different from you—is something I’ve felt personally and painfully. One moment I was seen as an insider in my evangelical Christian world; the next, I was treated as an outsider. People I’d known my entire life suddenly saw me as different, because my orientation did not match theirs. I felt their suspicion and coldness as they stepped away. They didn’t see me anymore—they just