Opinions
The tumultuous relationship between queers and religion
One lesbian’s story offers a glimmer of hope
It was a hot, humid Sunday in the middle of July when my ex suddenly crossed my mind. Of course, it didn’t help that it was his birthday, just like it didn’t help that I was sitting idly outside the bar since our bouncer was running late. It all made the perfect storm for some tortured self-reflection.
Thank God (pun intended) Alexa walked outside in that moment. Alexa was a bartender, and I’m certain all our staff would agree her mere presence brightened the business. Years of bartending rendered her with a keen sense of reading people, so it didn’t take long for her to inquire what was on my mind.
So, I let it all spill out. I explained he was no ordinary ex, for he was the first person I truly fell in love with. I recounted our days on end enjoying each other’s company, and how it always felt so easy, and never like a performance. There was, however, a teeny, tiny problem that later turned into a big problem: He was closeted.
It’s a tale as old as time, I suppose — queer self-rejection in the name of religion. In this case, my ex grew up Evangelical, resulting in an existential crisis that broke both of our hearts. Perhaps the right question, though, is why was I surprised? After all, the queer relationship with God has always been tense for reasons so obvious I don’t need to spell them out here.
Despite being obvious, it seems backwards, doesn’t it? Weren’t anti-gay religious biases so last millennium? Yet if the 2024 election was any indication, the unfortunate answer is no. Today religion still serves as the backdrop for anti-LGTBQ legislation, policy, and rhetoric. In fact, I often see fellow millennials, some of whom I grew up with, profess religious beliefs on social media. Many are parents who fear LGBTQ inclusion being taught in schools so much that they now home school their children to shield them from it.
Because of all this damn religion, I sat there brokenhearted, reminiscing on the love I lost. Alexa, meanwhile, listened intently throughout, and once I finished she told me she could relate. When I asked how, she replied, “I used to be a worship leader.”
To say you could have knocked me over with a feather would be an understatement. How someone goes from that to a proudly out bartender at a gay bar was a story I had to hear.
“I was going through a really low point in life,” she started, “and I turned to God and to Christianity to help me out of it. I had a sense that I needed to give up my lifestyle and ways to follow what I believed at the time that God had for me. This included turning away from my identity as a lesbian.
“I played into a lot of rhetoric that I thought was good and pure at the time but was slowly killing me on the inside. This mostly had to do with my sexuality. I believed for so long that being a lesbian was a sin and I couldn’t be in a loving relationship with a woman and God at the same time. However, as I became more depressed and in turmoil over this, I prayed and fasted for the desire to be lifted, so I began to dig deeper.”
Already I could spot similarities with my ex. While I didn’t grow up religious, coming out was still hard. I couldn’t imagine the thought of mortal sin hanging over me as I tried.
“I was involved in a high control group that made me mistrust myself,” Alexa continued. “They were controlling in a subtle way that ultimately led me to fear. I think that queers learn not to trust their instincts when it comes to how they naturally feel. Specifically, certain groups of Christianity teach that being queer is unnatural and an abomination to God. Though the term abomination is also highly misused, we understand it to mean the worst thing you could do against God, so we learn to go against our nature and to repress our feelings and to fight them as an attack of the enemy (the devil).
“This causes you to lose a sense of autonomy and a sense of self. You no longer can trust yourself to decide what is good, or natural, or right. That mistrust can easily lead you down a road where others take advantage and take that authority over you. This is how we see religious leaders get away with abuse. Though this doesn’t just apply to queer people. This can happen to anyone.”
I had been so angry with my ex when he chose scripture over us. Alexa’s perspective made me realize how unnecessary that was, since he was already angry at himself. My thoughts also swirled to friends who grew up in strict religious households. Amid all the types of queer trauma, religious trauma is a different beast. The tactics used to manipulate young minds are harsh, and even dangerous.
We ought to wonder how far any religion is willing to go to fight homosexuality from within. If sexual abuse was uncovered in one popular sect of Christianity, it’s probably further than we think. These queers are often trapped by an institution so set on keeping them straight, it costs them their truest self. This, in turn, catapults them into a crisis so deep, not all escape.
But Alexa did, so I had to ask how.
“I studied more,” she replied. “I looked at the scriptures dealing with this and discovered that they’d been translated within an agenda and cultural context that didn’t match what I was dealing with. The story of Soddom and Gomorrah, the mistranslation of homosexuality in the New Testament, etc. I began looking at the Bible differently — as less of the exact words that God spoke and as more of man’s interpretation of the world and God. I don’t claim to be a biblical scholar but the more I studied the more I saw that I was placing unnecessary restrictions on myself for the sake of man and not for the sake of my relationship with God.”
This I found most fascinating — that Alexa found her freedom not by hiding her orientation nor by suppressing her spirituality but rather by leaning into both.
It’s easy to presume God and homosexuality are diametrically opposed, but that would be an oversimplification. I mean, look around: there are churches throughout D.C. embracing pro-LGBTQ messages. Instead of scaring queers toward or away from religion, perhaps we ought to give them space to embrace both.
Alexa explained it well: “I wonder sometimes if I like the God of the Bible. There are so many things He proclaims, requires, and stands for that I don’t morally agree with. Though there are many things I have learned from Jesus that I would say kind of correct some of that. The Jesus that fought for the outcasts and helped them. Who advocated for the poor. Who recognized that piety and character are not always synonymous.”
I now see queers closeted by religion differently. No longer can I consider them cowardly, for they experience the worst torture of us all: sinister manipulation breeding deep inner conflict. Not only does my ex not deserve my anger, but he also deserves my empathy.
I asked Alexa’s advice to queers experiencing what she went through.
“Let the pressure go,” she replied. “That’s easier said than done. Especially if your whole existence is tied up in it. However, you really have to ask yourself who you are, what you believe, and what you’re willing to live and die for. In my experience being closeted especially due to religious pressure is a silent killer. The stress your body goes through kills you from the inside and may ultimately lead to risky and deadly decisions. It can not only hurt you but those around you.”
She didn’t need to share details, since when I last checked on my ex, I learned he fell into hard times. As painful as that is, at least I know a happy ending is still possible for him.
A few months after our conversation, Alexa married the love of her life. In fact, she and her wife had their reception in the bar, so I had the privilege of seeing how happy she is. Knowing her journey made it that much sweeter.
And just last week, Alexa gave birth to their son. He’s a lucky kid, for he has two wonderful parents who love him very much.
Alexa’s story is an important one. It details the lengths religious institutions are willing to go to suppress homosexuality. It reveals the internal strife religious queers still experience. Most importantly, though, it’s the story of a young, queer woman who found strength in her queer self through her personal relationship with God. It’s a story I’ll keep close to my heart, especially at this time of year — one that provides that glimmer of hope I need now more than ever.
In other words, her story gives me faith.
Jake Stewart is a D.C.-based writer and barback.
Commentary
Washington Blade responds to concerns over White House pool duties
Inaccurate media reports create confusion but we stand with our colleagues
Last week, President Trump announced his unconstitutional ban of CNN, MSNow, and Politico from the White House. Coincidentally, on Monday, it was the Washington Blade’s turn to serve as the print pool reporter on duty covering the president’s actions that day. This important responsibility is shared and rotated among the print members with each serving roughly once per month. The Blade is the only LGBTQ outlet with a seat in the briefing room, a slot in the pool rotation, and membership in the White House Correspondents’ Association, something we fought for decades to secure after enduring years of discrimination, ridicule, and resistance to openly queer journalists working inside the White House. We take our responsibilities there seriously.
There are two pools that cover the president: broadcast and print. The other four members of the broadcast pool — ABC, CBS, NBC, and Fox News — agreed to boycott their pool duties. There has been no boycott among the print pool, which is a separate entity. I called the president of the White House Correspondents’ Association on Monday to confirm that no outlets in the print pool were boycotting.
A boycott by the Blade would set us back and lead to our expulsion from the pool and briefing room and our replacement by a right-wing outlet sympathetic to President Trump’s approach to attacking the media. The LGBTQ community is far better served with the Blade in the room than a far-right blogger taking our seat.
Let’s be clear: the Blade stands for diversity, equity, and inclusion and we stand for the First Amendment and freedom of the press. In solidarity with the broadcast pool, we made two important decisions on Monday — the first day anyone had to think about any of this. First, we refused to take or share any videos or still photos of the president, which would have undermined the broadcast boycott. Second, when Politico’s turn comes up for pool duty in mid-October, the Blade will not fill in and cover for them while they are banned. Politico must be readmitted and allowed to do their job.
After a rough day navigating and reporting on all of this, the Advocate published a reckless and inaccurate story suggesting that the Blade had crossed a picket line. Not true, as there is no print pool boycott. They claimed that I wouldn’t talk to their reporter. Also not true. I called their reporter within 90 minutes of receiving his message and he didn’t take the call or call me back. Their story named me and our White House reporter, immediately exposing us to public criticism and worse. The environment in D.C. is so toxic and even violent these days that subjecting our staff to unfair and false accusations like this invites harassment, doxxing, and worse. To do that without even talking to us is next level irresponsible and the antithesis of journalism.
On Tuesday, I talked to two reporters and an editor at the Advocate but they refused to retract anything in their inaccurate story. If the reporter had returned my call, I could have explained all of this but they are more concerned with clickbait and sensational headlines, a dangerous practice in these troubled times.
Back to the pool. The Blade was in the briefing room in the Reagan era, when Press Secretary Larry Speakes made jokes about AIDS and the reporters in the room laughed out loud. We endured all of that abuse and worse for decades, always standing in the back of the room and never being called on. The Blade’s journalists persevered. When President George W. Bush was re-elected in 2004, the Blade’s White House credentials were revoked amid an earlier press crackdown. Notably, no one boycotted or stood up for us. When Barack Obama won election in 2008, I received an email from his communications director informing me that effective midnight on Jan. 20, 2009, the Blade’s credentials would be restored.
So we have had quite a ride navigating administrations and their changing requirements for gaining access but always playing the long game. As Barney Frank used to say, “If you’re not at the table, then you’re probably on the menu.” The Blade is at the table and we do our best to ensure the LGBTQ community’s issues are addressed by both parties.
Thanks for reading and supporting the Blade’s work. If you have questions about our approach, you can reach me at [email protected].
Kevin Naff is editor of the Washington Blade. Reach him at [email protected].
Opinions
Young people should know history of the fight for human rights
Trump is working to erase contributions of marginalized people
When talking with otherwise really smart young people, I am amazed how little knowledge many of them have about the fight for human rights in the United States. Our country was founded by white men, who didn’t think about giving full rights to Black Americans, women, the LGBTQ community (what they knew of it, or called it). They wrote in the Declaration of Independence, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” But that referred to all white men, and intentionally didn’t mention women. For 250 years, the country has been trying to make up for that, and making progress in fits and starts. We have yet to fully succeed. Today the felon, and his fascist aides, in the White House, are working daily to take us backwards.
For that reason alone, it is important for younger generations to understand the fight for human rights, know who was fighting for those rights, and understand it is an ongoing fight. Often, when listening to some millennials speak, one would think the world began with them. They either forgot, or never learned, about all those who fought for the rights they now have. I realize this was true for previous generations as well. In 2016 I co-hosted a fundraiser for Pete Buttigieg during his run for president. He is an undeniably brilliant guy. Yet when he spoke of marriage equality, he just thanked Justice Kennedy for it. I reminded him after he spoke, while it’s nice to thank Kennedy for his vote, it shouldn’t be done without acknowledging the many activists who worked for decades, to get to the point that allowed Kennedy to cast that vote. In the same way it was clear to me during the Hillary Clinton campaign for president, many young women didn’t understand the work many of their own mothers had done, to fight for their right to control their own healthcare, and women’s rights in general. They took for granted the rights they had. Now, after losing some of them, many will realize the fight for their rights is never-ending.
When I speak to younger members of the LGBTQ community, I am amazed how many don’t know the history of the AIDS epidemic, many thinking it was always a disease you could deal with by taking medication. They don’t understand the work so many activists did to bring attention to this devastating disease, and get the healthcare so many needed. Those like Cleve Jones, Larry Kramer, Dr. Anthony Fauci, and so many others. Recently, I realized how many young women don’t know the names of Gloria Steinem, Betty Friedan, Shirley Chisholm, Bella Abzug — women who fought for their rights. And this is just recent history, no less knowing about the Suffragettes, the strong women who fought for their right to vote. I’ve met young women who don’t know what the ERA is, and others who think it passed. Many don’t know the nation couldn’t get 38 states to approve an amendment to include them in the Constitution. The same for young members of the LGBTQ community who don’t know what the Equality Act is. Others think it passed, and are shocked when told it didn’t and in 27 states, they can be married on Sunday, and kicked out of their home, and fired from their job, on Monday. They don’t know names like Frank Kameny, Harvey Milk, Barney Frank, or the history of the Mattachine Society, or the Stonewall Riots.
Our current president is trying to wipe out all this history, and reverse any progress that has been made. Knowing this, it makes it even more important for school systems across the nation to fight to educate our children. We should ensure no child can graduate high school, without taking a course called “The 250-year fight for human rights in the United States.” They need to understand the history, and learn about the people who fought for their rights. They need to know how far we have come in 250 years, and understand, as we begin the next 250, how far we still have to go, to ensure real, full equality, for all.
Peter Rosenstein is a longtime LGBTQ rights and Democratic Party activist.
Commentary
What LGBTQ veterans are building after ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’
DADT repeal took effect on Sept. 20, 2011. Trans servicemember ban reinstated
Fifteen years ago this month, the repeal of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” took effect. At the time, the importance of the change was obvious: gay, lesbian, and bisexual Americans would no longer have to hide who they were to wear the uniform. What was harder to see was what would follow: a generation of LGBTQ veterans able to carry their service openly into American civic life.
Earlier this month, Alaska state Rep. Andrew Gray, an Army veteran, stood before the Anchorage Assembly and asked the city to recognize Sept. 20 as LGBTQ Veterans Day.
His former command sergeant major, Mike Grunst, followed him to the microphone. A 35-year veteran who had served in combat, Grunst called troops who had served while hiding who they were “the bravest I have ever served with.”
Then Denise Sudbeck stepped forward. A Vietnam-era Navy veteran, she thanked the country for the privilege of serving and asked that the next generation have the same chance.
The Assembly approved the recognition.
Nothing about the scene required a new vocabulary. A veteran made a request of his community. A commander vouched for those who served beside him. Another veteran asked that younger Americans inherit the opportunity she valued. They entered the civic record simply as veterans.
That identity can do more than win recognition.
When federal policy abruptly ended the careers of transgender servicemembers this year, veterans and servicemembers in California began asking a practical question: What happens when those Americans come home?
Republican Assemblyman Jeff Gonzalez, a Marine combat veteran, began one hearing with questions about transgender military service. He listened as veterans explained how the military handles medical care and deployment case by case.
Then the discussion turned to separation.
“I don’t wanna see any veteran homeless,” Gonzalez said. Before the hearing ended, he was asking: “How can I help? How can I understand? How can I be a good advocate?”
The legislation that followed would provide housing, employment and transition assistance to discharged servicemembers. Republican state Sen. Shannon Grove spoke for it. The Senate passed it 32 to 0.
Americans have plainly not settled their disagreements over transgender people. Nor should military service be a prerequisite for rights that belong to every citizen.
But military service creates relationships that are difficult to reduce to the abstractions of the culture war. Before a legislature, “the transgender issue” can become a veteran who deployed, an officer who led troops, or the person who once stood beside you.
The political question changes because the human relationship has already changed.
The pattern is beginning to appear across the country. Kansas is among the states recognizing LGBTQ Veterans Day for the first time this year. New York and Virginia are pursuing broader state-level programs for LGBTQ veterans.
Sept. 20 is deliberate. On that day in 2011, “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” ended.
We usually remember repeal for what LGBTQ Americans gained: the ability to serve openly. Fifteen years later, we can also see what the country gained.
A gay veteran can stand before his local government beside the commander who once led him. A transgender servicemember can sit before a legislator who begins with doubts and ends by asking how he can help. A veteran from an older generation can ask her neighbors to give those who follow her the same chance to serve.
This is citizenship in practice.
The enduring legacy of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” repeal is not only that Americans were finally allowed to serve openly. It is also what they can now build after coming home.
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