Love the Sinner, Hate the Sin

Today, a pastor I know shared an article concerning the sexual immorality of homosexual practice. It’s funny, the way the author wrote of homosexuality. Defining it in one word as if it were that simple, that clean-cut, that easy for them to comprehend. I know so many Christians, and the ones against homosexuality always excuse their bigotry by comparing same-sex love to other sins. As if that could make us feel better. “Gay people are no more sinful than people who cheat on their spouse,” I’ve heard them say. “Or people who have sex before marriage.” God, they make it sound so dirty. So very wrong.

Do they think all a gay man does is wipe cum off his hands? Do they think a lesbian communicates by the flick of her tongue?

They say it’s their duty to warn people away from homosexuality. As if they’re fighting for us. Fighting for us in their own war against us. Advocating for our freedom from sin before a God who chained us up to begin with.

Who are they to talk themselves up that way? They speak of a war against Christians from a society of impurity, adultery, homosexuality. As if they were not the ones insisting that we burn in hell if we do not refrain from the sinful desires of the flesh.

I hate that they talk about me that way. I pretend it doesn’t affect me, but it does. I have seen love unspeakably beautiful. I have seen love they won’t let themselves see.

From the same lips that condemn the practice of homosexuality, I have been warned away from boys. “All boys want is sex,” Christian women tell me. They discuss boys as if they’re driven by their genitalia. What if I were to believe them? If I did that, I would stay away from boys for the rest of my life. And still they tell me same-sex love is unnatural, unfulfilling. Ahnna told me she wanted me to be afraid of teenage boys. And now she’s surprised because of “what I share on Facebook.” Damn, what did you expect? I didn’t need you to warn me away from boys, honestly. I figured out for myself that girls are premium.

The Christians I know have also assumed I don’t care anymore. Don’t care about God, don’t care about Christianity — I’m letting myself be brainwashed by the public school system and the media with no regard to eternity. Do they think I have no conscience? No memory? No emotion whatsoever? “I still care,” I tell them. “I care more than you can imagine.” I want to tell them they haven’t faced Judgment Day in their nightmares.

What I seen in the eyes of another girl is something they aren’t picking up on. I’ve grown up surrounded by picket-fence straight Christian families marked by stagnant predictability. And what I learned is that I will always be miserable. Loving a woman will drown me in guilt and dread. I’m 16 and I can barely even watch people die in TV shows without sitting paralyzed in fear. God’s wrath awaits me on the other side. But my doubt cannot be satisfied by living a Christian life. I cannot accept a God who sends my best friends to hell. I cannot worship him in heaven while they suffer in hell. And I can never disgrace myself by shutting my identity up like an underwear drawer.


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