by Kameron Jacobs
On February 19th, 1992 I was born to a world of love. Growing up, I was loved unconditionally by my parents and family. I had friends, pets, adventures, dreams, and hopes. I was a happy kid. A good kid.
Our family wasn't exclusively "religious" but we went to church. My parents divorced when I was very young, and I barely remember it. Their divorce was a part of my life, and we learned to live with our new situation. Mom on weekdays, Dad every other weekend or so. It was routine for me. But that unconditional love was never replaced by the split. It stayed.
My mom and I went from church to church, trying to find somewhere that clicked. The parameters of our search mostly involved finding people who were genuine. It's easy to walk into a church as a new person: Everyone loves you, swarms you with welcome, and wants to be your best friend or invite you to every church event on the calendar. But after a while, this tends to dissolve. Other new people come to church, and you begin to feel less and less invited each Sunday. Before the third week, you're forgotten. The people you just met have become the flakiest people you'll ever meet. Time to move on.
We had been through this routine a few times now, and were on the verge of just giving up completely. Were churches really that fake? Did numbers matter that much? A pattern began to form: My mom was a single parent, I was an only child. My mom didn't "fit in" with the church mom groups. I didn't fit in with the multiple-sibling youth groups. We were outcasts in the church world. "Come as you are" really just meant, "Come as we hope you are."
Finally, we came across a church after a recommendation from a friend. Mount Rainier Christian Center, or MRCC. Nestled on the corner of two busy roads, this church performed the opening scene very well: "Welcome! Would you be interested in joining this..." "Can I pray for you?" "What do you do for a living?" "Have you accepted Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior.." and all that goes with being the new kids on the block. Alright, I gave em' a B+. Mostly because I'd seen it all before. What made them different was in their eyes. You could see they cared about you. Wanted to get to know you, wanted to learn from you... Okay, we'll see how this goes.
So I went to their youth group that Tuesday. I was in middle school, which in church-talk means "not too late to bring him in before he gets corrupted by high school." I have to say, this youth group was awesome. Some of my best memories come from this church. Especially from my time spent getting to know the youth pastor. He was this suave, mega-built, fashionable, and a hilarious guitar-playing, singing, speaking extraordinaire. But he was also kind enough to invite me into his world. Before too long, we trusted each other, and built a great friendship.
When I got to high school, I was very involved with activities at MRCC. I sang for worship, I did summer camps, winter camps, bible this, bible that. It was awesome... But only if you were looking in from the outside.
There wasn't something quite right going on in my life. I didn't know how to be myself because I didn't know who I was or what I wanted. I planned on becoming a youth pastor, like my hero. I even believed it was my "calling." But there were questions I couldn't find the answer to. Things I didn't find the verses in the Bible to. And to an extent, it drove me crazy.
My largest struggle was sex. As a horny, young, teenage boy, I wanted to know everything about sex. But there was a problem with me asking questions about sex. I wasn't interested in sex with women, I wanted to know about sex with men.
Now, we can argue for a millenia about what the Bible says about homosexuality. Or we can look at what we have right now; a young kid confused about why he prefers boys over girls. Asking a question to the church about being gay will always elicit the same answer: "Gay is sin. Bad, bad, bad. Repent more. Pray more. Read the Bible more. Do this, do that, don't do that."
So I tried their prescription. I prayed. I read the Bible. I worshiped a screen with Jesus lyrics on it. I tried to pray "it" away. Nothing happened. No prayers were answered, no heavens opened up, no choir of angels, and no desire to want anything to do with girls emerged. This terrified me, and drove me to practice "being straight" all through high school. I dated girls, I pretended to dislike gay people, and I acted like everything in my life was perfectly okay. But that was the biggest lie I've ever told.
The one time I brought up being gay to a pastor (which scared the hell out of me, by the way) I was told that the act of homosexuality is a sin. That people who are gay can't be accepted because they are being punished and should devote more of their energy to repentance and salvation. My confusion was blamed on my parent's divorce and my "broken home." This pissed me off. This wasn't an answer. This was a cop-out. I was sick of it. Sick of not getting an answer, sick of nothing happening. So I did the alternative: I danced with the Devil.
No one told me how to be safe. No one took the time to sit me down and explain what gay sex even was or how to prevent myself from getting hurt. So I did what any young teenage boy does, I went to the internet for answers. The internet led me to lots of things. Pictures, videos, and ads. Lots and lots of ads. I became curious about what it would be like. Not just in a sexual way, but in a loving, embracing, and emotional way. I will never forget one summer being at the beach, and picturing myself holding hands with the future man I love. Standing there, overlooking the ocean, without a care what the world thinks about us. Just being together. I am fortunate that I didn't get hurt. I am lucky that I had enough common sense to be safe. And while I was discovering what things were like, I still hadn't dealt with what I was conditioned to know as wrong.
My disagreement led to other disagreements with myself and the church. I was still involved, but still confused about everything. The youth pastor and his wife had moved away, the church got a new pastor and a new youth group, and was now more than ever the least supportive place a closeted young man could go.
I moved away from the church almost immediately after they hired the third "new youth pastor." I couldn't take the insufferable amount of narrow-minded and uninformed conversations. Not to mention that the denomination, the Assemblies of God, was labeled as one of the most extreme pentecostal churches in America. What does that mean? Well, if you're in the Bible Belt, it means you win at the game of being the most churchy church. If you're on the Left Coast, it means you are out of touch with the people who walk into your building.
I didn't go to church my senior year of high school. And let me tell you, it was very refreshing. Not bound to so many expectations and rules. Not examined like a fish in a bowl of water. No longer expected to paste a fake smile, no longer being filled with generic answers to my immediate questions.
But I still wasn't comfortable being out and open about myself. I was scared. Terrified even to the point when I nearly drove my car off the side of the road because I was afraid my best friend would hate me if he knew the truth.
And the worst part? I blamed myself.
I had been so conditioned to "rise above" my sexual preferences and repress everything I felt, everything I wondered, everything I was born to be. Pushed to the back of my mind, this caused a divide between my own conscience. I wanted love, I wanted sex, I wanted passion and devotion and joy. But I couldn't have it. Because I was told over and over again that those feelings would pass. That it was a phase. That I should pray harder and read more. That I should be straight. That I should like girls. That I should be normal. That I should be fixed. That I had a disease. That I was broken. That I was a sinner.
All while this battle raged in my head, I used my practiced "church face" to let it go unnoticed to those around me. I didn't tell anyone how I felt. I lied until I believed the lie I was telling.
Finally, this wall came crumbling down when I got to college.
After deciding not to become a youth pastor, and to seek a career in music teaching (which is my true calling) I got into Pacific Lutheran University. PLU is known to be a liberal school, and is also a very high-ranking university. Their atmosphere is welcoming, but not fake. Genuine, kind, challenging, and supportive. For the first time in my life, stepping onto that campus made me feel something I hadn't felt before: freedom.
I came out to my friends and family on June 23rd, 2012. Exactly 8 months later, I am writing this story down.
Coming out wasn't easy. Opening that closet door and stepping out for the first time was very terrifying. But it was the best decision I've made my entire life. I cannot put into words what kind of happiness I feel each and every day. How blessed I am to be myself, pursuing a career to teach, and living my life to the fullest. There is no comparison to those dark days of my past. I have found God in a place I never thought possible. He didn't answer my prayers because they didn't need to be answered. There was nothing to fix, nothing to change. I was born this way. Moving into college, being on my own, and seeing an entirely new world led me to believe in myself. And eventually, I started looking for a church.
I am a proud Lutheran. Why? Because Lutherans care for the people around them. They are supportive and helpful. They are genuine and kind. And most of all, they don't boast about how many people come to their church or how many give their life to Jesus each Sunday. They simply love everyone for who they are. What a relief!
Looking back, I can't help but feel sorry for the people who couldn't give me any answers. How could they know anything other than what they're told each Sunday morning? I hope and pray those people step outside of their comfort zone and practice acceptance of everyone. Isn't that the message of Jesus? When he said "Love your neighbor as yourself" I'm fairly certain he didn't say "Love your neighbor as yourself, as long as they aren't gay, bisexual, transgendered, lesbian, or of the like."
For the people who are reading this who believe I am in the wrong for "being this way": I feel sorry for you. I'm sorry that you can't see from my point of view, and that you aren't able to experience the freedom and happiness I have in my life. I hope you find a way to do so, and I am right here if you ever want the chance to talk.
Fear is measured in what we don't know. When we are afraid of the dark, it is only because we can't see what's in front of us. Our mind creates images and scary possibilities, further fueling our fear. In the same way, we are afraid of what we do not understand or are not willing to understand. Afraid of the LGBT community because they are "different" than you? Afraid of sex because it shouldn't be talked about? Afraid of other cultures because they aren't ours? No. This is the battle we face. And God provides us with an answer: faith. But we can't use faith with our own agenda. We can't justify our prejudice against other people by calling it faith. That's called being a hypocrite.
If there is one thing I know, it is that I am very lucky. Today, I hear stories of lives broken by this fear. That families would refuse a child for being gay, or that someone would rather take their own life than be who they are. This is not okay. This is not the answer, this is the problem. If the church wants to be a part of the solution, embracing faith over fear won't solve it all, but it's a damn good place to start.
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