A Letter To The Church I Grew Up In

Dear Anderson Hills Church,

We need to talk. 

I miss you. I spent the first 18 years of my life growing up in your walls. There, I met some of the kindest, most influential people in my entire life. It truly was a home.

Then, I learned more about myself. I discovered very early on that I was gay. I struggled with this for a while, Church, and it was no easy battle. I didn’t want it to be true. It seemed that all of the adults around me were married to someone of the opposite sex, and as I approached middle school, all of my friends, both inside the church and out, began to talk about how cute girls were. I was at a loss. No matter how hard I tried, I didn’t feel the same way.

Because the church was my home, I searched for guidance. I looked for someone who was going through the same struggle I was. I found no one. And the few times that homosexuality came up in conversation, it was quickly shuffled under the carpet.

It was then that I made the conclusion that there was something seriously wrong with me. I told no one, I was too afraid. I stood on the fringes of life for a long time, nearly convinced that things would never get better and that I should just end it all.

I didn’t remain completely silent, though.  I can very distinctly remember a total of three times throughout my adolescence when I approached trusted adults in the church in tears, suffering the weight of my apparent sin. I would have loved to hear one of these adults reassure me that I was fine the way I was, trust me. But if I couldn’t have that, I at least would have appreciated some sort of guidance. However, as my memory serves me, these adults did little to explain or help me understand sexuality as it relates to the Bible. They may have simply suggested I talk to someone else or the like—regardless of what was said, nothing improved the situation.

There was another day in youth group when the youth pastor had a “discussion day.” On this day, he had a computer hooked up to a projector in which we could text in questions that we, the youth, had about Jesus and Christianity. Most of these questions revolved around how to be Christian in a world that seemed to resist the faith. However, myself, and a friend of mine that was (and is) gay, asked the question “why is the church so quiet about homosexuality?”

Our question never popped up on the screen. We sent it a total a three times. I suspect that the person working the computer screened all the questions and took that one down.

My point is, Church, you can’t be shutting down dialogue. Whether you like it or not, homosexuality is real. I will say again that I cannot help my orientation. I didn’t choose it. But even if you refute that and still insist that I am choosing this as a “lifestyle,” you can no longer refute the existence of  the “lifestyle” that I and millions of other people on Earth are living. You have to talk about it, Church. Talk about it with the 10% of the youth (if statistics are accurate) in your program that are struggling with their sexuality. Talk about it with myself and the other 5-6 non-heterosexual people who I grew up in the church (You didn’t think I was the only one, did you?) . Talk about it with the Boy Scout from our church’s troop, who said to me in 6th grade that the part of the Scout Law that says that a scout is reverent “means you are not gay.”

Today was one of your worship leader’s last day in the church before moving to a new church. His sermon heavily focused on the need for Christians to be brave, to fight against complacency and to fight the hard battles for their faith. As of now Church, I have to say that you are not brave. If you could not, in 18 years of church membership, provide me some guidance with my so called “lifestyle” because it is a polarizing issue in your faith, then you are not brave. If you are content to continue to avoid the issue despite our nation’s overwhelming support for homosexuals, reflected in the Supreme Court’s recent decision, then you are not brave. And finally, until you can find a real and tangible way to “love the sinner not the sin,” to make not only LGBT people of faith, but also other minority groups, feel included, loved, and part of the discussion in your house of worship, then you are not brave. 20 years have passed, and still I do not feel included.

During communion at the service today, I cried as I took my bread. At first, I thought I was crying because I was so upset that some could hold beliefs that I see as blatantly contradictory to the Christian ideal. But upon further reflection, I realized that I was crying because I loved (and still love) all the people that were sitting around me. I love the worship leader that inspired me to perform, despite the fact that he once told my father that he “loves gay people, just doesn’t agree with their chosen lifestyle.” I love the friends that were sitting around me, who I know truly support what I stand for, but like rest of the church, could not find the vocabulary to discuss what they knew I was upset about. And finally, I love my own mother who hugged me as cried, who left that church because it wasn’t a place where her son could express himself (among other reasons).

Now, I have two things to ask from you Church.  First, if you truly believe that homosexuality is a sin, then you need to own that belief and stop shying away from it. Talk about it. Defend it to people like me who disagree. Be ready to look a crying child who is struggling with his sexuality in the eyes and tell him that his “lifestyle” is a sin. Once you can do that Church, I secondly ask you to really consider what you mean when you say “love the sinner, hate the sin.”  I will forever feel alienated from you, Church, if you continue to tell me that I am immoral for something I can’t help, for loving the same sex and hoping to get one day to get married. That stance is not love to me, that is desperately clutching to outdated beliefs because one is not open to change. So today I ask you, Church, not to change your mind, but to prove me wrong. Prove to me that it is possible to love someone but also disagree with a biological reality. I wait for the day where I can enter you walls again, proud, and comfortable with who I am, and return to the open arms of the people who raised me to who I am today, the people who I will never stop loving despite my absence.

Regards,

Matt Ruehlman

PS: Let’s talk about this. Regardless of if you are a member of the church or not, or whether you agree with me or not, send me an email. I'm all ears.