Here's Part 2 of a unique story. Today, Aidyn talks about tension and our common, difficult path of discipleship. (Be sure to read Part 1 if you haven't yet. It's necessary context.) EDIT: Don't miss this follow-up response from Aidyn's wife Joy. -Paul
I've never had to prove my gay-ness to anyone in the gay community, but I frequently have to reassert my Christian-ness in the Christian community.
I experience tremendous tension when I'm at church. Most pastors hear my story and describe me as un-cemented in my faith. Perhaps duplicitous, divisive, subversive, selfish, preoccupied with my sexuality, or "unrepentant." When the men I'm supposed to respect describe me that way, which is not my understanding at all, I lose some motivation to pursue relationship with them.
I experience painful tension when I want to be more active in my church but encounter invisible walls—and am prevented from doing anything more than setting up chairs. I wonder if these are because the leadership sees me as a dangerous sinner, inferior Christian, or just unfit for holy things. In the past, I've been asked to leave a youth ministry and was quietly dropped from a worship team.
I experience the tension of being emotionally and spiritually exhausted and just wanting to give up. Sometimes I think I'd settle for just being touched. Maybe holding hands or an arm around a shoulder that doesn't pull away. But even that would make most Christian men uncomfortable.
This is perhaps the greatest tension a gay person can experience at church—the wondering.
There's a tension I feel anytime I see a same-sex couple interact. There's the tension of wanting to be more connected to the gay community, but having to go to "their" places to do so, and having so little support from my church family to do this. I don't think my church really trusts me. And this creates perhaps the greatest tension a gay person can experience at church—the wondering.
People may smile, and be nice, and pastors may invite you into their home, but you wonder if the whole time they are convinced you're going to hell. Sometimes, there's even the wondering if God actually hates you. I'm lucky—my church knew me first as a Christian, then as a gay Christian. I'm pretty sure they think I'm going to heaven, but I still wonder if behind all their smiles they think I'm committing some sort of grievous travesty just by being honest about myself.
I'm not trying to be subversive; I'm just trying to figure out the best way to live. My sexuality is one of the factors affecting how I understand Jesus. Should I not be able to speak of such things in the company of Christians?
The funny thing about tension is that it doesn't go away. As long as I stay where I am, I will have tension. There's the tension of the internal struggle in me that goes on every day. This is common to all Christians. St. Paul talks about it in Romans 7. It's not comfortable.
What does discipleship look like?
I believe barriers create opportunities. I have an opportunity to persist, to press brazenly into Christ. I know I'm one of those people that many of his followers don't like, but I know I like Christ and want to be with Him. So I press in. I find that God is welcoming. He creates a safe space for all of who I am, for my faith process, for all my questions.
These tensions have created opportunity for honest, daring conversations with God. For all my grief, anger, frustration, and confusion, his response is to make sure there are always people in my life who show me grace and patience. He has helped me develop greater compassion for minority peoples.
So what does discipleship look like for me? I'm learning.
Discipleship for me means not giving up on my faith or my marriage, but holding on and choosing to look for reasons God is good, instead of reasons He is not. It's sacrificially caring for others and trusting that God will put people in my life to care for me. It means experiencing God's sufficiency one day's supply at a time. It means still recognizing Christ as the supreme thing.
Discipleship is leaning into Christ to be my sufficiency as I surrender what I want to Him and trust Him to be better.
Discipleship has meant developing a balanced view of my sexuality in the context of my whole self. My sexual orientation is a foundational aspect of who I am … but so are my faith and relationships. It has meant becoming aware of how my life impacts the lives around me—my wife, my son, the younger men I have mentored. Discipleship means living in the foundational tension between wanting what I want so very badly, but recognizing that God might want something different. Discipleship is learning to trust that what God wants is better.
I've come to discover that the central question of discipleship is, "Who gets what they want?" Discipleship is leaning into Christ to be my sufficiency as I surrender what I want to Him and trust Him to be better.
It's seeking Jesus and seeking how to most make Him real to the most people.
Sound familiar?
The walk between worlds
The limb out on which I stand is to believe that the gospel is for the gay community as much as for anyone, and that they will need a safe place to be received and discipled. I am not convinced that the church is that safe place … yet.
One more thing—discipleship means not abandoning my communities. I live in the tension of being completely welcomed by the gay community or being cautiously accepted at best (blacklisted at worst) by the Christian community. Christian community is less comfortable, yet we Christians are supposed to be the ones with the words of life.
The limb out on which I stand is to believe that the gospel is for the gay community as much as for anyone, and that they will need a safe place to be received and discipled. I am not convinced that the church is that safe place … yet.
For now, I've been given the unique gift to walk between two worlds that seem very much at odds with each other. I feel alienated and misunderstood in both, but they both are part of me. To say I am no longer Christian would be dishonoring to God. To deny that I am gay would be a lie.
This path—the one between worlds—is the one God has given me to walk.
A.J. Sevilla attends a church with his family in the Pacific Northwest. He works as a counselor.
