Queering My Faith - The Final Blows

The conversation with the pastor and elder left me angry, hurt, and betrayed. I admit, there was no great solution to the situation. But I was living life with an openness that I had never experienced and I was not willing to go back into the closet. The stress of being closeted was too much for me. Having lived so much of my life hiding the smallest bits of difference I was not about to hide myself away again, I just couldn't do it. But that also didn't mean I needed to shout it from the roof tops. I was more than happy to let it be as it was and just move on. If people had questions they could ask me, but I was planning on remaining single, working with the youth, and doing what I loved.

It was made abundantly clear that I was a problem to be solved and I didn't have much say in the process. The pastor started talking about who needed to know about me. I told him that I didn't care who knew, but I wanted to be the one to tell my story. I asked him to please respect me enough to allow my voice to be heard. I knew that the session was meeting soon and I was worried that he would take it upon himself to inform them of the situation. (Session is the group of elders who oversee different ministries and operations of the church) I again asked him to let me come and tell session my story. He told me the agenda was full and he did anticipate there would be any time for new business. I again said that if time allowed I wanted, no needed, to be the one to tell my story. I waited by the phone that night, anticipating a phone call. I lived about a mile from the church and could be there in less than five minutes, I was ready to go if needed. The call never came, so I assumed it didn't come up. Oh, if only that were true.

I walked into the office the next morning after class and greeted Marty, the secretary. I could tell that sometime was not quite right, there was a tension in the air. As I went to cut through the pastor's office, to get to mine, Marty said that I probably didn't want to go in there. I asked why. She looked right at me and said "He told session last night." Everything inside of me exploded. The anger that came over me was instant. There was no time to process, there was no time to think. There was a pounding in my head and my body started to shake as I walked into his office. The anger was so intense that I remember very little about that moment. I did not sit down, I stood over his desk, trying not to dissolve into a puddle of tears, trying to be as strong as I could be in order to let him know what was running through my head. I remember him saying something like, there was time at the end, but not enough to call you, so we went ahead and discussed it. I slammed my hand down on his desk and told him that it was my story and he had taken that from me. He didn't get it, he said he was the pastor and it was his decision. I remember yelling, I remember tears, I remember my hand hurting for hours and wondering if I had broken it, and I remember slamming his door so hard the walls shook. I went to walk out of the main office but Marty stopped me. She told me to hand over my keys, that I was in no state to drive anywhere and I needed to park my ass on one of the couches in the youth room. I tried to get by her, but Marty was never a woman to take no for an answer. She handed me a youth room key and I handed her my keys. I sunk into a couch and sobbed. In that moment I knew my world had been ripped away from me, I had no control and I was on my way out.

The circle of people who knew I was out was getting bigger, but not by my choice. There was a small group of folks I wanted to talk to in person before the pastor had a chance to tell them. At the top of that list were the pastors at Shadle, my home church. I had grown up with them, they had been my spiritual guides my entire life, I knew that telling them would be difficult, but I wanted to be the one to do it. I drove up to Spokane and met with the head pastor. As soon as I started to talk he said, I already know. He had gotten a phone call earlier in the week from the pastor in Moscow asking for advice. I felt like I was yet again a problem to be solved and had no place in creating a solution. The meeting did not go well, I tried to relay my story, but it was met with "yes but" and "the bible says." I left feeling like I was falling. My spiritual foundation was crumbling and I didn't know what to do.

When I returned to Moscow I found out that the pastor wanted to inform the congregation. I said no. It was not his information to share and he had already said too much. He had been planning on writing something in the bulletin coming Sunday service. I strongly opposed this and again told him that it was my story to tell and if it needed to be disclosed I was going to be the one to do the talking this time. He told me that he would not write anything and I doubled checked with Marty before the bulletin was printed just to make sure. I also did not trust him to not say anything at church on Sunday. So, I turned to my people, the Gay Straight Alliance, I asked them to come to church on Sunday. I wanted witnesses to whatever was going to happen.

I picked up Aimee and headed to church. When we arrived there were already a couple of very lost looking GSA folks hanging out at the church. By the time the service started we filled two and a half pews. I don't think the pastor noticed all of them until he stood up and started into the announcements. I met his gaze as he was scanning the sanctuary. When he saw the number of people around me, he went white and I thought he was going to pass out on the spot. He didn't and he also said nothing to the congregation. When he asked for prayer requests I raised my hand and stood up. Again he went white and looked faint. I looked around the congregation and said that I was going through a difficult time and could use some prayer. That was all, I did not out myself, I simply asked my community to support me. There was a glimmer of hope after that service, maybe, just maybe there was a way for me to remain in the church and remain who I am. But it was short lived. The pastor never outed me, but when the final blow fell it was more than I could take.

A couple weeks later Aimee and I were sitting together during the Sunday morning service. Everything was normal until communion was served. On of the elders was walking down the aisle passing the trays with the bread. I heard him saying "body of Christ broken for you" as he handed the tray to the folks in the pew, when he handed me the tray he said nothing. Then I heard him say it behind me. Hoping that I had just not heard it, I waited until the tray with wine and grape juice was passed. Again I heard him saying, "Blood of Christ shed for you" as he walked down the aisle. And again he said nothing to me when he handed me the tray. My heart broke. My faith community was rejecting me. I had taken courageous steps to be open and honest about my life and my story and I was being rejected. It was too much to take.

I received a phone call that I was to meet with the youth committee that week to discuss what needed to happen next. I arrived at the appointed time, walked into the room and was told that they were "not ready for me yet." I also noticed that it was not just the youth committee, the personnel committee was also there along with the pastor. I went to my office and called Aimee. As we talked I realized that I could no longer work for that church and be in that environment. When they were ready I went back into the room and sat down. The pastor started talking at me and I held up my hand and said, "No, I need to talk first." I told then that I was done, that I had nothing left, and that I was feeling broken and battered. I told them what had happened the Sunday before during communion and told them it was the last straw. I could see relief in some of their eyes. I may never know what they intended to talk to me about, but I made my decision and I was sticking to it. I did not want to stay in a job where I was seconded guessed, made to live by rules set up my small minded people who were being ruled by fear and not love, and I was simply too tired to fight anymore. I would finish out the last program I had scheduled at the end of the month then I was done.

I felt relief and deep sorrow. I felt like I was abandoning my kids and prayed that they would understand why I had resigned. But I had nothing left to give and needed to get out of that toxic environment. I had fought and lost. It was time to move on.