I Walk Between (Part 1)

Open cultural conversations about sexuality highlight our need to listen well, walk humbly, and skillfully navigate complex stories. Leaders—how good are you at joining a fellow disciple in the tensions of real life? Enjoy and reflect on this candid piece from my good friend Aidyn Sevilla. EDIT: Part 2 has been posted. EDIT: Don't miss this follow-up response from Aidyn's wife Joy. -Paul

I am a thirty-year-old Filipino-Italian. I work as a counselor. I'm a daily bike commuter and love bouldering and yoga. I eat vegan (except for sushi). I have a wife and son. I love Jesus.

And I'm gay.

Bridging two worlds

I grew up in a solid Christian home, was always in church, was homeschooled, read my Bible, never did drugs, was never abused and had relatively healthy parents (who are still married). Some people wonder how I could come from that background and still be gay?

I didn't want it. But for all the energy I've put into faith and ministry, I still like guys.

It's not about sex. Being gay is about how I relate to people. It's about who I feel safe with, who I connect to, and what relationships are the most nurturing. For me, safety, connection and nurture has always happened with men.

I'm married to a beautiful woman. We have a son. We've been faithful to each other for almost six years. It's hard and complicated, but we find a way.

My gay friends are endlessly intrigued by why I choose to stay with a woman instead of pursuing a more natural (for me) relationship with a man. They recognize how disconcerting and unsettling and invariably frustrating life can be when you're with someone to whom you're not instinctively attracted on a physical or emotional level. They recognize that I make a sacrifice every day I choose to be only with her. I've had people tell me my marriage can't work out long term. And I've had others say they're really impressed by what she and I do together. They're always curious why.

I married a woman because I could not conceive of any other way of living. I wanted a family. I didn't think my sexuality would grow more gay instead of less. I didn't see a same-sex relationship as something valid or something I could live with.

I told her about me long before we started dating. She knew I was attracted to men when she agreed to let me pursue her. We didn't talk about it very much. She knows that my sexuality continues to be a challenge for me. It's hard for her. Sex and intimacy continue to be a challenge for us. We persist because we've become family together. I persist in being with her because, attraction challenges aside, I care about her. Now, I care about our son as well.

Why? Ultimately, I really care about this woman and she really cares about me. Physical and emotional attraction challenges aside, she is a beautiful person who helps me encounter God. I've thought about leaving many times, and I'm sure I will think about it again in the future. But God gives me grace. After all, Christian marriage is largely about sacrifice. God supplies me with what I need. One day's supply at a time.

To be a gay Christian, particularly a monogamous and hetero-married one, has some interesting challenges.

In my past, people have said that I can't be Christian and gay. I've struggled with it. It's not easy. To be a gay Christian, particularly a monogamous and hetero-married one, has some interesting challenges. I have lots of pent up sexual energy that quickly turns to frustration. I feel lonely and have a hard time relating to other married men who are attracted to their wives. I run the risk of turning into an irritable, cantankerous, repressed, unfulfilled, and lonely individual.

On the one hand, I follow Jesus—and want to grow. I am part of the Church (with a big "C" and one with a small). For better or for worse, God's people are my people—but our holy book isn't very affirming of my orientation. True, I'm not actually having gay sex, but in being married to my beautiful wife and staying in church, I always feel like I'm lying about who I am.

So on the other hand, I'd really love to join the gay community. I yearn to pursue a relationship with a man, to never have to talk those tougher points of theology again, and to live in a way that feels comfortable and natural for me. But to identify fully with the gay community and express my sexuality in the ways that I want to would probably mean never being welcome in church again, at least not the church I attend now.

Some might say that this tension proves the old evangelical point: people don't belong in both the gay world and the Christian world. Bridging the two means you're compromising something. And since the Bible clearly says Christians are right and gay folks are wrong, discipleship for people like me looks like repenting of being gay, leaving behind every trace of gay-ness in your life, and falling in love with Jesus. And probably reading my Bible more.

Well, that's an idea. But could you repent of being straight?

Identity issues

It raises the question of identity. What makes a person who they are? How we relate to God, and to God in Christ, is the deepest, most important facet of our identity, no questions asked.

However, secondary to our faith orientation, there are factors in the human person that are so deeply planted as to be (or at least to seem) irreversible and immovable. Things like gender, race, and sexual orientation. These are things we did not choose for ourselves. We cannot control who we're attracted to. From my perspective, they do not change.

My identity is primarily in Christ, but I understand Christ through the worldview lens of being a male, being Filipino-Italian, and being gay. For me to repent of my sexual orientation would be as impossible as repenting from being half Filipino.

Not to say I haven't tried, though. Growing up in a conservative Christian homeschooled environment, I had this idea from a very early age that homosexuality was bad—scary bad—so bad that it could never "happen" to someone like me; it only "happened" to those other people. As a result, I spent all of middle school, high school and the first half of college first denying my sexuality, then hating myself for it. Hiding it, and missing out on authentic relationships along the way.

The most healing thing I've been able to do has been to be open about my experiences. I am one of "those other people," and as far as I can tell, that's not going to change.

The most healing thing I've been able to do has been to come out and be open about my experiences. I am one of "those other people," and that's not going to change.

Being Christian

I'm a gay Christian. But what does that even look like? It feels awkward sometimes. After all—there are those tough passages in Scripture…

Sometimes I wonder if the Calvinists are correct. Maybe God just picked some people to be spiritual outsiders. The thought makes me sad, but I choose to live otherwise. If I lived like I was already condemned, I'd go crazy.

Meanwhile, I hold to the central truths of Christianity. To the deity and humanity of Christ, the bodily resurrection, to salvation by grace and only through the name of Jesus, to the inspiration of Scripture. But with these truths as a foundation, my theology has had to expand to account for a complex set of variables.

How can I reconcile that God is merciful and forgiving, and at the same time is a righteous, wrathful judge? Maybe the same way I have to reconcile that someone like me can be attracted to other men and still be completely convinced that Jesus is Lord.

How can I reconcile that God is merciful and forgiving, and at the same time is a righteous, wrathful judge? Maybe the same way I have to reconcile that someone like me can be attracted to other men and still be completely convinced that Jesus is Lord.

How has my sexuality impacted my faith? When I read the Scriptures, I see grace more clearly. I see the minorities, and the oppressed people, and those who are excluded from the presence of God. They are the ones with whom I connect. I recognize that while I don't have "hetero privilege," I do have "faith privilege," and that gives me an ongoing responsibility to invest in people with less privilege than me. I recognize more clearly every day that I cannot save myself and that I actively depend on the mercy of God in every single moment.

Is homosexuality a sin? Does God hate a committed monogamous relationship between two people of the same sex? Would a same sex relationship be an extravagant example of liberty in Christ? I'm uncertain—and content in my uncertainty about these things. I am persuaded that there are bigger questions to be addressed: What are my motives? Who is my ultimate authority? How am I treating others around me? Do I trust God to be a righteous and merciful judge? and in the meantime, am I loving others as best as I can? Am I falling more and more in love with Jesus?

When I consider myself as a spiritual outsider, then read the Gospels and see how Jesus reaches out to outsiders…then yes! I do fall more in love with the Savior.