The only thing that matters is I love God

Some thoughts on queer faith.

Like every good homosexual, I recently sat riveted by the Showtime miniseries Fellow Travelers, starring Matt Bomer (as Hawk) and Jonathan Bailey (as Tim), based on the novel by Thomas Mallon. It's not for the faint of heart or those who can't handle mature content, especially of the homoerotic nature. But, if neither of those things offend you, by all means, watch it. 

The series follows Tim and Hawk’s love story across four decades in Washington DC during the Lavender Scare of the 1950s, the Vietnam War protests of the 1960s, the drug-fueled disco hedonism of Fire Island in the 1970s, and hospital wards in San Francisco during the AIDS crisis in the 1980s, while facing obstacles in the world and in themselves.

Hawk chooses to lead a double life, marrying a woman and having a family, while having some action on the side. Tim is a devout Catholic at war with his faith and sexuality. Throughout the series, he finds himself confronting the conflict between his beliefs and his gay experiences and tries celibacy for a while, but that doesn't work. At the end of the first episode, he stumbles into a church confessional.

"I can't confess today," Tim says.

"Why not?" the priest asks.

"I've had carnal relations," Tim says sheepishly. 

"That's a serious sin. Are you in love with a young woman?" the priest asks.

Tim pauses and hesitates before saying, "It's not women."

"Even for the gravest of sins," the priest replies, "if you're sincerely sorry, God will forgive you and make you pure."

"That's the problem," Tim says, with tears welling up in his eyes. "When I committed this sin, I felt pure. More pure than I've felt in my entire life. So how can I be sorry for it?"

I cannot tell you how true that rings for me and my early gay experiences.

There's been an increased interest in LGBTQ+ stories in the last few years. The publishing industry has said there's a 'renaissance' of queer literature, even in the age of banned books. And more LGBTQ+ stories are hitting the silver screen through movies like All Of Us Strangers and Red, White, and Royal Blue. It's an incredible thing to witness. I can't imagine being a queer teenager and having access to so many books, media, and movies where I could see myself reflected. It would have changed everything for me. And, whether fictitious, like Travelers, or true stories like Milk, today's generation needs to be reminded of the price our forebears paid for us to live in the world we do now. Even though there's still much work to do, we've come a long way and need to know our queer history, how we got here, and whose work we need to honor as we carry on. 

As a child of the 1990s, I can distinctly remember significant moments like the death of Matthew Shepherd, Ellen coming out, Will & Grace on primetime, and the AIDs crisis and how people discussed them in my church or at my Christian school. All of those words and vitriol I silently ingested as proof I had to do my best to hide who I was. I went so far as to do eight years of gay conversion therapy to try and conform to what I believed. When I finally dared to embrace my sexuality and drop out of conversion therapy, I faced a new set of challenges of what that would mean for me and my faith. 

Many queer people, myself included, feel they have to choose their religion or their sexuality because, in most cases, the two are incompatible. I wanted to find a way of living that brought them both together. I didn't want to sacrifice my spirituality for my sexuality, but I wasn't sure how. I scoured the Internet and Amazon and could find dozens of books that affirmed queer theology and told me I was okay. I could find the same number of books, if not more, that told me I was an abomination and needed to change. I also started going to churches with rainbow flags but didn't feel completely at home in them and certainly didn't feel at home in the megachurch world I'd escaped. Ultimately, I had to make my peace with God and myself on my own. I had to look at my life, see the evidence of God's grace in my life, and acknowledge that as I lived into the fullness of who I believe I was created to be, God was pleased with me, loved, and affirmed me. Nothing and no one else could convince me otherwise. 

Back to Fellow Travelers, in the final scene where Hawk and Tim see each other before Tim succumbs to the AIDS virus, he tells Hawk he's made his peace. 

He says, "I spent most of my life waiting for God to love me, and then I realized the only thing that matters is I love God.”

If there were one way I would define my queer faith journey, that would be it.

Over time, I've learned I don't need a prophet, priest, or pastor to bless me.

I don't need theology or idealogy to affirm me.

I don't need an institution or church to recognize my love.

And I don't need traditional dogmas to define my relationship with the Divine.

My connection with God is personal, pure, and profound—it transcends human constructs and exists in a realm of unconditional love and acceptance.

I am not broken.

I don't need to be fixed, converted, or repaired. 

The Bible says God made us all in His image, that we are fearfully and wonderfully made. 

I don't believe God made any mistakes when He made me, and I refuse to listen to voices that would try to tell me otherwise.

All that matters is that I love God.

And I know He loves me, too.

And I'm grateful for all the fellow travelers I've found along the way who believe the same.