The End of an Era.

Six years ago today, my faith as I knew it came to a sudden, unwelcome, and crumbling hault. I was sitting at Qdoba with my then youth-pastor and in the middle of my perfectly delicious burrito (and before I even got to my cookie), one of my worst fears came to fruition.

I was being outed to my church. 

It wasn't a decision that I got to make, it wasn't a situation that I had any control in. I was called out, blindsided and totally powerless in revealing one of my deepest and most personal struggles to the group of people I feared sharing it with most. When the conversation ended, I thought we had agreed to carry forward in confidence and not share this piece of information with others, but to talk about it amongst the three of us.

The next morning, my phone rang and it was the pastor of my then-church. My heart sank and I knew where the call was headed. We agreed to meet for coffee, where my sexuality was compared to alcoholism and my faithfulness as a Christian was questioned. I was given a packet of articles from Exodus International (an ex-gay "ministry" which has since disbanded and publically apologized for their methods and views), which I agreed to read in it's entirety. The following Sunday, the legs of my faith were ripped off.

I was informed that I would no longer be allowed to sing on the praise team, teach Sunday School, help with Vacation Bible School, lead Bible studies, etc. until I "figured out" and "made right" my sexuality. I wasn't kicked out or asked to leave, but every single reason I had to stay was taken away.

I was formally and officially rejected by the church until I could get my sexuality "right." (My words, not theirs.) I was no longer good enough to actively engage in worship with them. 

There were a lot of things I wasn't sure about and a lot of my faith that I questioned, but I never doubted that God loved me, unconditionally and made no mistaking when She made me gay. I had a very difficult decision to make: to fight against the way I was being treated and knowingly cause division within the church I'd been a part of since the day it opened it's doors, or leave quietly and find a new faith community, where I would be accepted and loved, unconditionally.

It was likely the most difficult decision that I've ever made. The journey of finding a new faith community felt like it would never end, but I finally did. My new community has enriched me, inspired me, challenged me, frustrated me, broken me, and put me back together. But most of all, they have loved me.

Fast forward six years to last Wednesday night. Wednesday, January 22, 2014. A day I will not soon forget. At the annual meeting of our congregation, we voted to adopt an Open & Affirming Covenant. An official covenant where people are named as valuable, perfect and welcomed Children of God, just as they are. 

"We, First Congregational Church of Greeley, United Church of Christ, are an Open and Affirming congregation. We welcome people of every race, national/ethnic origin, language, sexual orientation, gender identitiy, age, family organizaiton, economic status, political belief, ability, faith origin or religious belief.

Our God calls us to create a sacred and safe place where all are loved as Jesus loved. We seek pace and justice for our church family, our community and the world."

Six years ago, I was formally rejected by the chruch I'd grown up in because of my sexuality. Six days ago, I was formally accepted by the church I've chosen as my own, embracing my sexuality.

As the the tally of votes were announced, 121 people in the room of 123 stood up for me, agreeing to love me, accept me, and value me. The overwhelming feeling of closure on formal rejection, the unconditional love I felt, and the validation that God cared about me, too, brought tears to my eyes. And as I wept, I knew that the era of hurt and rejection I'd walked through had officially ended. As much as I knew that I was loved and accepted before, it was a formal end to formal beginning.

First Congregational Church of Greeley, United Church of Christ, thank you. Thank you for spending six long years, putting the pieces back together and healing my hurt. You are my family. And you inspire me in so many ways.