Coming Out (Page 1 of 1)

I have never held a snake in church. I just wanted to make that clear before I tell you this story.

Growing up, I attended Fountainhead Ministries, a small non-denominational church in Manchester, Tenn. Attendance ranged from six to 60, depending on the occasion, and services were held in the pastor’s garage while adult Sunday school was in the living room and youth church was held in the den. The minister’s wife served as youth minister, children’s church was taught by their oldest daughter and her husband was the music director. Eventually, the church rented a storefront in the Manchester square and finally raised enough money to purchase a second-hand church on Highway 55.

In high school, I was the president of the youth group, which started with about a dozen youth, but eventually dwindled down to just three. My duties were very limited as president as the position was a mere formality — a designation assigned to serve as a Gold Star on my college admission and scholarship applications.

I never really thought that my church was unusual, but I felt a little ashamed that God had not chosen to give me the “gifts” to speak in tongues, be slain in the spirit or offer prophecy during the service. For clarity, let me explain that in my church, it was customary to sing, shout, dance, march up the aisles, speak in tongues and interpret prayers in tongue into prophecy or messages from God. When we prayed for people, we would lay hands on them, and if the spirit of the Lord came over them, they would fall out, much like on the evangelical programs featured on the cable channel TBN. That’s what we called being “slain in the spirit.” Each Sunday at altar call, I would pray for God to make me whole; I desperately wanted to fit in. Then I went to college.

In college, I was able to change and be whoever I wanted to be. It didn’t take very long before I was admitting to myself and others that I was gay. In fact, I was VERY gay. During my freshman year, I went clubbing for the first time, kissed a boy, tipped a drag queen and started the coming out process with several of my friends. I thought I was in heaven. When the summer came, it was time for me to pack up and move back to Manchester for what would be a very long summer.

The transition from endless freedom at Maryville to a curfew, questions and a series of rules was almost unbearable. I was working the day shift at a baseball bat factory, nights and weekends at a campground and my Saturdays supervising community service workers from the county jail. This was no treat because I abhor the heat, manual labor and generally all things outdoors. But it passed the time.

One night, my mom had a few too many Natural Ices and decided to pick a fight. See, normally we got along really well, and in theory, she was very accepting of my recent admission of my homosexuality. But for no apparent reason, this night was NOT the night to be gay in Manchester, Tenn. Several times, she burst into my room, flicked on the light, woke me up and very angrily shared her dissatisfaction. Eventually, I chose to leave. She followed me out to the porch shouting into the night as I drove away, “HOW DO YOU THINK IT FEELS TO HAVE A FAGGOT FOR A SON?!”

I sped away with no planned destination. I eventually settled on a late-night visit with my former youth minister. We had a conversation sometime prior that summer, and I informed her of the fact that I was gay, that I was very comfortable being gay and that I hoped we could agree to disagree on the issues and save our relationship. That night, I was welcomed into her family’s house as always. Their daughter (who is my age and is still my friend today) was out on a date, but they offered open ears for my anger, outrage and hurt feelings.

They then offered to pray for my family situation. The prayer started very wholesome and loving, asking God to mend the broken relationships in my family, maybe help my mother with her drinking problem and provide peace in our house. I am certain that in their hearts of hearts, the rest of the prayer was just as wholesome as the beginning as they asked the Lord to, among other things, “Release this child from the spirit of homosexuality….” That’s pretty much where I tuned out.

At the end of the summer, I returned to the good life at Maryville College. My minister back in Manchester got sick, and the church had to close its doors. I still have a special place in my heart for Fountainhead Ministries, and it was not all bad. Many lives were healed there — I still believe that — but several of my wacky stories begin in that church. My friends and I maintained an inside joke throughout college about what the Spirit of Homosexuality would look like. A couple of years ago, my partner, Jim, made a hooded cape for me. The outside is silver, and the inside is rainbow. That cape was and is the cornerstone for the entire Spirit outfit that I created about a year ago. Though it’s not my best drag ever, it’s always good for a laugh.

Oh, and about my “release” — in the words of Garth Brooks, “Sometimes I thank God for unanswered prayers.”