It's a very particular perspective, narrowly focused on the intersection of my church-going experience (vs. my actual faith, which I don't broadcast widely and especially not in that setting) and my identity as a queer person (and not all of that, either). But I had the opportunity and thought my story could be of use to others, and so far the feedback I've received suggests that it is. So here you go.
Happy Belated Coming Out Day (Oct. 11)! Maybe next year I'll write a less heavily redacted version.
Annie
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I first came out in 1988, 30 years ago, when
I was 16. I’d known before then that I felt different but I didn’t have words
to explain how – it was the 80s and all we heard about was gay men and AIDS.
Then I was reading the alumnae journal of a college I was considering attending
and the then-president of the college was talking about the “lesbian problem”
there, and I knew, quite clearly, that that’s where I wanted to go.* I went to
college that fall, promptly came out as a lesbian, and once I’d been there a
while longer and knew more words, came out quietly to myself as bisexual.
But the language still didn’t feel
right. Back then that word didn’t seem to include trans people, or people who
might now describe themselves as nonbinary, and I knew I was drawn to them as
well. So I chafed. Then I came across the word queer – as a word nerd I just
loved the word itself, the sound and its history and its connection to Queer
Nation – and that word felt big enough, broad enough, queer enough to include me and all I was interested in and
attracted to.
On to faith.
I grew up unchurched but seeking (and with
a strong Catholic bent thanks to my cultural background) – and then angrily
atheist when at first I could not find a faith that made sense to me, and then
again when it seemed Christianity had nothing but condemnation for me. For
years I was happy to turn my back on organized religion – though not entirely
on faith – only to first be turned upside down by multiple experiences I can
only describe as mystical, and then the growing conviction that I needed to
explore my faith within a community. So I started seeking again, reading,
praying, and trying to find a welcoming church home in any of the cities I
found myself during my twenties. And I’ll tell you, none were a great fit. In
some I felt at home liturgically, but not as a queer person (and unbaptized to
boot). In others I felt safe if not exactly welcomed, but my spirit was
dissatisfied. Eventually I found a church home where both my partner at that time and I felt
welcome and invited to contribute to the life of the church, and if my spiritual
needs weren’t entirely met, it was made up for by that congregation’s place in
New England transcendentalist history.
And then I moved. And I needed to find a
new church home, which was complicated by my growing desire to be baptized –
which I didn’t understand, but knew was important to listen to. I started my
search again, and again didn’t find any place that felt right. In the end, as I
was already working at Fourth Church – another decision that didn’t make sense at the
time but felt like the right one – and it was as much a community as any I’d
found, I decided to be baptized here and to become a member.
But it wasn’t enough. Quite aside from the
serious lack of saints, there’s a world of difference between not feeling unsafe
and feeling welcomed. And in 2004,
still seven years before the PC(USA) would pass Amendment 10-A, and with the
lack of any kind of visible effort to invite LGBTQIA+ folks in, I didn’t feel as
if there was room for me to bring my whole self to the life of the church. So I
continued my search, and ultimately found a smaller Episcopal church on the
Northside, near where I lived, with a rainbow flag prominently displayed, and I
have continued to worship there since.
So that is my coming out in faith, and I
feel that the two are intimately connected. In part because both my
understanding of myself as a queer person and as a person of faith are
absolutely foundational to my understanding of myself. But also because I see
these two journeys as parallel, not just intertwined. My thinking on faith
continues to grow and change, and it’s important to me to have a church home
open to that – and my queer identity continues to grow and change as well. For
instance, in the last few years it’s become more important to me to claim myself
as bisexual and not only queer. This has grown out of changing use of the word
– as people insist on its inclusive nature rather than exclusive – and also the
knowledge that the bisexual community, while statistically the largest
component of the LGBTQIA+ community, has, with the exception of trans and intersex
people, the worst health and domestic violence outcomes of that same community.
So it’s become a kind of political act for me. And my understanding of gender
continues to expand as well.
And with that I want to say something
about language. It should be clear from my story that language is important to
me. It should also be clear that language around sexual orientation and gender
identity continues to evolve, sometimes very rapidly. For example, there are
definitions on the vocabulary sheet we provided that I’m not wild about, and that’s
only four years old. So while language is important and I think it’s hugely
important to keep learning, I would encourage us to let go of expectations of
getting it “right”, especially if that means we don’t dare say anything at all.
Respect and openness are what’s most important – and then listening to what one
is told and respecting that.
I imagine the question is out there – as a
bi person in a heterosexual relationship – that is, I could “pass” –
why come out? Why put myself out there? And my answer is twofold and also
intimately connected to my faith.
First, I come out because I can. I’m
secure within my family, my workplace, my church – I don’t risk anything by
coming out other than other people’s opinion of me. By doing so, though, I may
make it easier for others to do so, and I may also make it easier for others to
advocate on our behalf. I live out my faith through service, and through trying
to “be the change I wish to see in the world”. Coming out is one way I do this.
Second, if I don’t come out, if I keep
some of myself back, then I lose opportunities to be of service, and I am not
being who I believe God called me to be. For example, a year ago I was asked to
lead a workshop at a women’s event at the Presbytery level. And I was
flattered, and interested, but without knowing who would be there, and without
being publically out, my gut feeling was “But you don’t know who I am, and I
can’t trust that I will feel safe”. And I turned it down. I have faith that I
have contributions to make in this world, and I don’t want anything to limit
them, especially not my fear.
So that’s why I’m here, tonight, speaking
to you all.
