TOTA: One year later
It’s been a year since I publicly came out as a same gender loving black man who loves Jesus. For the most part, it’s been an incredibly affirming and busy time since those blogs. The public support has continued to crowd out the pushback. I've had the great privilege of listening to folks who have confessed to wearing ill-fitting armor, deconstructing their faith and rethinking their positions. I have reconnected with old friends, made a TON of new ones and embraced the endings of others. I’ve gotten comfortable with my truth being known and even explored the world of Zoom dating. The last year has required more faith and courage than I knew was possible, but Jesus' faithfulness and encouragement has been constant as I have counted the cost of being a Queer Christian. And yet, I am the same introverted Bible and history nerd who loves campus ministry and pours craft beer. I’m still navigating a packed ministry schedule, struggling to make time for working out and sleep, and staying open to the new spaces my intellectual curiosity takes me. In short, one year after coming out publicly, I’m the same little black guy I’ve always been. As Celie in “The Color Purple” said, “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”
As I’ve pondered what I might say in this anniversary post, I came back to those who might be like me: folks hiding behind armor and fearing what happens if anyone knew how much they struggle to keep up appearances. I thought about friends who aren’t sure if they can stay in churches that won’t talk openly about racism and white supremacy. I thought about former students who, even after graduation and being on their own, still have a hard time being honest with family members about their journey. I considered my colleagues who are afraid of losing their mentors (and their current jobs) if their own spiritual deconstruction became public. I am mindful of clergy friends who are trying to hold their congregations together even as they are personally and spiritually coming apart. And I think about the parents who’ve decided to choose their queer kids over their non-affirming friends. If there’s anything that’s true about this moment in our society, regardless of our positions and non-positions on all the things, we are all having to make choices - hard choices about who we are willing to be known as and where we are willing to be seen. Even the choice to not make a choice becomes an indicator of positions and convictions whether we like it or not.
PAUSE
It is worth mentioning here who I am thinking about when I blog. I am grateful that the folks reading this blog cross many racial/ethnic, religious, geographic, socio-economic and educational intersections. It could be that in an age of extreme polarization, it’s still possible to write a blog that speaks to the experiences and perspectives of all humans. But when it comes to blogging, I do not think I have the skill nor the will to attempt that. So I need to say clearly that when I blog, I am thinking about the folks who feel like they have to hide some aspect of their being in order to fit in the church and the world. When I write, I am focused on the needs, pains, desires and dreams of friends who are living most of their public lives wearing armor that doesn’t fit. This is important for you to know because if that’s not you, you are reading a blog that isn’t meant for you. This blog does not center the feelings of those I’ve called "the older brothers" in past blogs; it does not seek to fully articulate the perspective of those who are fine with their armor. Those who might find deconstruction unhelpful are welcome to read these posts, but I’m not here to defend or apologize for it. If your theological views on sexuality, gender and justice are set and unmovable, I’m not writing to change your mind. While I seek to bring a moderating energy when I am in public, my blogs are meant to speak to a very specific type of person. My apologies in advance to those who wish these posts were more universally applicable.
UNPAUSE
Before I came out, I knew that there would be some fallout. There would be churches who’d rather I not preach in their services and ministries who’d rather I not partner with them. The actual fallout was less than I predicted and also delayed in some cases. Through most of these hard conversations, I made it clear to my colleagues that I knew how difficult it was to lead in this moment; that there were no hard feelings to disinviting me. Since I knew I was called and gifted for ministry, and that my sexuality didn’t change that; I didn’t need these friends and colleagues to see or affirm it nor was I going to hold their positions against them. However, I began to realize that I was becoming the “unoffendable gay guy.” I could see a trend - where non-affirming friends & colleagues began to say things like, “Derrick understands why I can’t fully support and make room for his ministry now that he’s out; why can’t other queer folks get that?!” What my non-affirming friends experienced as me understanding them, was actually me hoping for change where it was very unlikely. My unoffendable posture was meant to be an apologetic for including queer folks; it was becoming an excuse to maintain the status quo. And this is what kept me up at night - the thought that my non-affirming friends would dismiss the pain and anger of queer folks by saying “Derrick still likes me so I’m good.” My moderating posture was working against the progress I was hoping and praying for.
I recently landed on a series from the Witness Foundation’s Pass the Mic podcast. The series is called #LeaveLoud. In these episodes, you hear black folks talk about their experiences in white-evangelical spaces, the pain they are still processing, and the resolve they have to not be silent even as they step away from those places. To be honest, it was tough to listen. Many of the stories shared in these episodes reminded me of my own experiences. And while I am not one to leave anything loudly, I've come to realize that being honest about pain and trauma disrupts the narratives that highlight intent and silence impact. I know white leaders that have no intention of making people of color feel like second-class participants. But many of those same white leaders would have a hard time listening and believing people of color when the impact of their actions (or inaction) allow for harmful environments to persist unchecked. Like many “tokens”, the choice POC have had to make is that staying means we must absorb the pain. The #LeaveLoud series, which is specifically about black Christians, really challenges many of the assumptions I’ve held regarding change. And that leads to the main point I want to make in this anniversary post.
The conventional wisdom I was given was to ignore the moments when intent did not match impact. The encouragement has often been to change systems and institutions from the inside by earning the right to challenge the accepted state of things. (I cannot even count the number of times I said this to CCW students!) But many of us who have been the “tokens” in the system are starting to wonder how long till we have earned the right to be heard and taken seriously? The unfortunate reality is that women, BIPOC, Latino/a/x and AAPI's, queer folks, the disabled and differently-abled continue to be asked to wait a little longer, consider the opinions of some other benefactor, and hold tight until we get over “this” or “that” hurdle. So much of the anger and frustration institutions are facing right now is due to marginalized people who are tired of being told to wait for change. And as a man who has always tried to give my leaders the benefit of the doubt by being patient for change, I’m now starting to wonder if that patience is enabling the status quo. I’m no longer convinced that being the unoffendable gay (or black, introverted, liberationist Christian) guy is doing anyone any favors.
To my friends who are living with armor that doesn't fit, I want to speak to that part of you that says, “keeping my armor on will benefit others like me. My patience and commitment to the accepted order will win me the right to *one day* speak up about who I really am - and when my “older brothers” see my witness, they will not only receive the real me, but also others who, like me, are hiding as well.” While this scenario is possible, I’m realizing that the continued centering of old mindsets will never create the kind of environment that compels the older brothers to see the younger Davids among them as anything other than supporting characters in the continued efforts to maintain the status quo story. I’m coming to realize that the many years I remained closeted allowed my non-affirming friends and colleagues [who assumed or knew that I was attracted to men] to maintain the sense that their views of queer folks could go unchecked. I realized too late that many people appreciate [racial, theological, political and gender] diversity as long as that diversity is in the service of sameness. It may not feel like this, but taking off armor that doesn’t fit is a choice that is connected to the liberation of others. This is a choice we must steward well. Whether we leave loudly, stay loudly or otherwise, we cannot underestimate the power of collective liberation.
One year later, following Jesus’ encouragement to come out publicly was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I continue to pray for all of those who are living with armor that doesn’t fit. Whenever you are ready, there will be people here to receive you and the fullness of all you were created to be and do. And even better, your step of faith will probably be the inspiration needed for someone else to take off their armor. May it be so in Jesus’ name.
In May 2020, I came out as a gay man who follows Jesus. I talked about my journey using the story of David and Goliath and the image of armor that doesn't fit. Take Off the Armor is currently a 9-part series, starting with the first set of posts where I went public with my sexuality, talked about my adolescent depression, acknowledged the "older brother" voices, confessed to my own silence and hiding, and pointed to much more interesting things about me. I followed up a few months later with three posts outlining the things I did to prepare to come out: I got a therapist, I found my people, deepened my trust in Jesus. My last update was a posted in May 2021. Thanks for reading, friends!