Let me tell you a story.
Everyone was telling me to start a blog. “You are such an awesome writer, Stephen.” They all said, “I think you have such good things to say, and you need to write again. It’s been so long since you’ve actually written something. I think it would be so good for you, and good for other people.” That was the chorus I heard on a regular basis.
I was hesitant. Terrified, actually. Terrified of putting my story out there. Terrified of writing again for all sorts of good and awful reasons. Terrified of being exposed, of being misunderstood, of being vulnerable. For months, I stalled. And then finally, back in July, I decided it was time, and I was going to return to the blog I had abandoned last year.
I returned to blogging because I was trying to do the only thing I know to do when life gets rough: make good art. I wasn’t trying to be an authority, or a trendsetter, or an apologist for a “side”. I started this blog because art is like a match: it lights up the world around us when we are lost. I’m a guy in my mid twenties with a music degree who grew up gay and Christian, and I’m trying to sort out everything that means by making art. I’m here to tell stories and ask questions, that’s all. I hoped that, in the process, I could tell stories that would bring some light, hope, and healing to a few others.
And then something unexpected happened: it went viral. I woke up one morning and discovered that I had an audience of thousands, and that the blog was being discussed and shared by authors, theologians and activists. It caught like fire and spread. When that happened, I sat at my desk and cried – not tears of joy, but terrified, overwhelmed tears. I was terrified at how quickly my voice had become so huge, and how there were now bajillions of people listening to the voice of this imperfect, frightened, confused dude trying to get his shit together. But I decided to keep doing what I always do: make good art. I decided I would go on making art regardless of how many people were reading it.
Making art, to me, is a sacred act. It has to do with soul, and heart, and faith, and authenticity. It’s worship and medicine and bringing form to chaos. It’s a tiny spark of bringing heaven to earth and making ugly things beautiful. I never, ever wanted my work here to be an instrument of harm for people, but in my process of trying to make good art, it has been.
My writing here has hurt some Side B people I really respect (Side B is the belief that gay sex is sinful.) People I love. People I’ve considered friends. And someone getting hurt by something I create is, truly, this artist’s worst nightmare. As much as I want to go on the defensive about what I meant to say or what I was actually saying, I won’t. None of that matters nearly as much as the fact that, because of my work, some people are hurting.
So, if you have felt hurt by anything I’ve written here on the blog, please hear me: I’m sorry.
I’m sorry that you are already fighting such hard battles as gay celibate people, and that my blog just felt like another attack you had to defend yourselves against. I’m sorry that people have used my blog as a weapon against you to prove that Side B is absolutely wrong and that you are bad or backwards people for believing it. I know that I have no control over how other people use my words, but please know that I never wrote them to try to silence a “side.” My words are meant to be tools, not weapons, and I am sorry that people have used them as weapons anyway.
I’m so sorry that you have felt judged, stereotyped or mischaracterized by my narrative. I’m sorry I haven’t brought greater depth and nuance to my story, and that it has overlooked many of the wonderful and diverse perspectives, journeys, and personalities within Side B. That is my fault, and I am sorry. I’m sorry that you feel betrayed. I’m sorry you feel attacked. I’m sorry you feel mischaractarized. I’m sorry you feel unheard. Please forgive me.
Right now, I want to tell you what I actually think about you. I don’t think Side B is going away. I don’t think Side B is going to vanish as part of the social evolution of our world. I don’t think civilization is going to look back and regret Side B. I think it is here to stay, and I don’t want to see it exterminated.
I don’t think you are bad, self-hating, homophobic, or trying to perpetuate death and destruction by believing Side B. I believe you are trying to be as faithful as you can with the circumstances that have been given to you. I believe you are following God the best you can, and that is holy ground. Far be it from me to tell you to live another life – I would be asking you to defy your convictions, and I could not carry the weight of that.
You are not my enemy – you never have been, and you never will be.
I’m someone with lots of questions – questions and stories that I believe we all need to confront and which may lead us into dark places where the only light we have is our faith in God. I ask my questions because I want to have conversations, because I want to see people’s lives, empathy, and compassion deepened and transformed. I ask questions because, through all the frustration, anger, and hurt, I love Side B. I want to see it work for people. I know the power of belief, I know that it makes up key components of identity, and I know that by asking someone to just get a gay relationship I would be asking them to give up who they are as a person. I want to see a form of Side B that is sustainable that won’t result in the burn out that leads to a life of despair and addiction that does not bring glory to God.
Let’s make this simple: I love you. Sure, it’s a complicated love. It’s a love with layers and colors, painful places and joyful places places, darkness and light. It’s like the love we have for our families: laced with anger, thankfulness, guilt, joy, and bitterness.
Love is complicated, messy, scary, and uncontrollable, and I love you.
