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Even when not felt, the unrelenting drive to become lovable undermines our attempts at real closeness, health, and intimacy. In cultures that now celebrate all things queer, the shame is still there. That's certainly a factor, but it’s deeper than that. Many of us once thought that the feeling of shame came from homophobia.
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If it were not so powerfully driving us, we wouldn’t still be trying to make ourselves lovable. We’re driven by our shame and just want to become lovable.Įven when we throw off the confines of traditional morality and declare that there’s nothing wrong with our sexuality – a secular culture’s solution to gay shame – the reality is that the shame is still strongly present. There’s a reason they say a gay man’s 40 is a straight man’s 27. It leaves us having to have the most amazing condo or flat, the most over-the-top cocktail party, the most youthful appearance, and the most fashionable wardrobe. The shame behind our body issues leaves many gay men spending too many hours in the gym trying to build a body to make ourselves lovable. Gay men are at the top of every field in an effort to accomplish enough, climb high enough, or earn enough to make ourselves lovable. How can churches address the pastoral reality of what Alan Downs calls this ‘velvet rage’ of shame and self-loathing? 1 Gay men, in particular, decorate our lives in a constant attempt to cover our shame. Grace is needed because gay shame can be powerfully destructive. Rather they were looking for an emotionally safe and supportive environment in which they were told that God sees them all the way down and still wants to be in relationship with them.
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No respondent was asking for a different sexual ethic. In her seminar, Mason summarized her findings, speaking of ‘a wake of trauma’ in every non-straight believer. They were looking for an emotionally safe and supportive environment in which they were told that God sees them all the way down and still wants to be in relationship with them. I wished my pastor had said it.’ Yet another respondent commented, ‘I wish they would create an aroma of acceptance before I come out.’ (I write about this in my book Still Time to Care). ‘Does God know about me? Does he love me?’ ‘It was terrifying for me to grow up in a church.’ ‘I’m still in the closet because I’m not sure my church is equipped to deal with me.’ ‘I knew I could never talk to any church leader or family member.’ ‘I wished someone would acknowledge it’s real.’ ‘I wanted someone to take time to know me as a unique individual and not as a project.’ ‘I wanted someone to say God loves me. Someone to be pitied, but not someone you want to sit next to.’ Another chimed in, ‘I wish leaders talked about LGBT people in a positive way.’ In preparation for a seminar at the Revoice20 conference, my friend Bekah Mason asked her gay friends, ‘What was your experience growing up in a church? What do you wish church leaders had said or done?’ One nineteen-year-old answered, ‘I didn’t feel safe being out at church, only at school.’ Another responded, ‘I felt like I was one step up from a leper.