(Sunday School somewhat paraphrased) "Then there's the usual case of a young adult Christian who comes out to his college fellowship."
My ears perked up. This was me...!
"After he shares, however, no one talks to him about his same-sex attraction out of fear of causing him more pain. He wonders why no one asks him about it, because in reality, asking how he's doing with this would have the opposite effect from causing him more pain.
In fact, although he has come out, the silence about it is, in a sense, a form of rejection too."
In fact, although he has come out, the silence about it is, in a sense, a form of rejection too."
I began to tear up as I stopped looking at Bill Henson and started looking at the ceiling. "Don't cry, David, don't cry. D*** it, David, don't cry!" I thought in my head. But of course, I just teared up more anyway. Bill had articulated perfectly what I had been sensing in my heart for months but could not express: rejection.
Definitely not total rejection... I am thankful for the handful of people who do talk to me specifically about my homosexuality (without me bringing it up. Key point!).
Maybe people don't realize that this is something I struggle with every day (some days are better than others, of course) and that sometimes it consumes my daydreaming thoughts for weeks (not to say, however, that a multitude of other struggles people have wouldn't do the same).
Maybe people also--as Bill later pointed out--don't want me to think that they only view me as a gay person and that's it. I did list that as one of my fears in my testimony... but really, one or two questions won't make me think that you only think of me in terms of those questions. If you already know that I struggle with this, and we're trying to take away the stigma from homosexuality, then why not ask me?
Maybe people also--as Bill later pointed out--don't want me to think that they only view me as a gay person and that's it. I did list that as one of my fears in my testimony... but really, one or two questions won't make me think that you only think of me in terms of those questions. If you already know that I struggle with this, and we're trying to take away the stigma from homosexuality, then why not ask me?
I felt like things might change after I came out. Healing, you know? Stronger fellowship? On the plus side, at least I could be honest. But even after a while, I slowly stopped sharing about those specifics in prayer meetings because I wondered if it was worth it. Did people care?
Yes, yes, I know they do. And I am not that angry that people didn't ask--ok, well, I might be a bit angry at people whom I felt should've said something. (if you're reading this, don't worry; it's not you.)
But really, the question wasn't whether or not people cared. It was whether or not people were comfortable talking about it. And if they weren't, then that kinda translates to them not being comfortable about me and what I struggle with. To me, the silence spoke masses for what many people thought.
Josh talked to me right before campfire at the retreat, since he wanted to know what I thought about him sharing. I thought he should. However, throughout our discussion, and later, during Jeff and Josh's discussion, I wanted to tell him, "Go ahead and share, but don't expect anything to change."
I nixed saying that because it sounded a little bitter/negative...
I understand, though, that it's probably just that people didn't feel close enough to me to ask. That's ok, I guess.
Anyway, while I'm on a rant, I thought of some more feelings that I can finally articulate.
Feeling second-rate (lol, ain't I the cheery one in this post, eh?). Recently, this became more pronounced as I've begun talking more with a friend whom I thought I just wasn't good enough for. Hmm... maybe that wording's a little too harsh... suffice it to say that I didn't feel like I was the kind of person whom he would normally want to hang out with. And of course, usually that's more than ok. It might've bothered me a bit, but otherwise, I didn't care too much about it.
Now that he's talking with me more, though, I realize that that feeling of second-rateness permeates through many of my relationships with guys.
I guess I don't feel like a real guy... and I know... the model for masculinity that I'm referring to is pretty secular and just a social construct. In fact, I think the ideas of what a "real man" is in popular culture irk me a lot, and in my opinion, are pretty inane. But when everyone subscribes to it, then what can you do but feel like the stupid black sheep in a pure white land?
So that's partly where my feelings of being second-rate come from. Especially after another friend more or less rejected me (which I know may have been for my good... but still... =\ Rejection hurts!), I can't help but feel second-rate around him.
I am ever reminded of a quote that I recently read from Parker J. Palmer: "Community is the place where the person you least want to live with always lives." (and his corollary: "When that person moves away, someone else arises immediately to take his or her place." lol) Sounds great... =\
The difference, however, with Christian community? Only in Christ can we have unity.
I find that extremely comforting.
< /rant>
Yes, yes, I know they do. And I am not that angry that people didn't ask--ok, well, I might be a bit angry at people whom I felt should've said something. (if you're reading this, don't worry; it's not you.)
But really, the question wasn't whether or not people cared. It was whether or not people were comfortable talking about it. And if they weren't, then that kinda translates to them not being comfortable about me and what I struggle with. To me, the silence spoke masses for what many people thought.
Josh talked to me right before campfire at the retreat, since he wanted to know what I thought about him sharing. I thought he should. However, throughout our discussion, and later, during Jeff and Josh's discussion, I wanted to tell him, "Go ahead and share, but don't expect anything to change."
I nixed saying that because it sounded a little bitter/negative...
I understand, though, that it's probably just that people didn't feel close enough to me to ask. That's ok, I guess.
Anyway, while I'm on a rant, I thought of some more feelings that I can finally articulate.
Feeling second-rate (lol, ain't I the cheery one in this post, eh?). Recently, this became more pronounced as I've begun talking more with a friend whom I thought I just wasn't good enough for. Hmm... maybe that wording's a little too harsh... suffice it to say that I didn't feel like I was the kind of person whom he would normally want to hang out with. And of course, usually that's more than ok. It might've bothered me a bit, but otherwise, I didn't care too much about it.
Now that he's talking with me more, though, I realize that that feeling of second-rateness permeates through many of my relationships with guys.
I guess I don't feel like a real guy... and I know... the model for masculinity that I'm referring to is pretty secular and just a social construct. In fact, I think the ideas of what a "real man" is in popular culture irk me a lot, and in my opinion, are pretty inane. But when everyone subscribes to it, then what can you do but feel like the stupid black sheep in a pure white land?
So that's partly where my feelings of being second-rate come from. Especially after another friend more or less rejected me (which I know may have been for my good... but still... =\ Rejection hurts!), I can't help but feel second-rate around him.
I am ever reminded of a quote that I recently read from Parker J. Palmer: "Community is the place where the person you least want to live with always lives." (and his corollary: "When that person moves away, someone else arises immediately to take his or her place." lol) Sounds great... =\
The difference, however, with Christian community? Only in Christ can we have unity.
I find that extremely comforting.
< /rant>
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