Editor’s note: In rare circumstances, BNG will publish an opinion piece without a byline to protect the identity of the author. In this case, all identifying information has been removed to protect the seminary as well. The point of the piece is about the universality of this experience. Both the author and the seminary are known to the editor and have been verified by a third party.
“Why would you choose to go there?”
I’ve often heard this question asked when I inform someone of my sexuality and the seminary I attend. Being a homosexual who is affirming of oneself while being enrolled in a nonaffirming seminary is, admittedly, strange. It is often seen as paradoxical and leaves some people questioning my reasoning capabilities.
The problem is, I ask myself the same question all the time. I’ve asked myself and even screamed at God asking why I was allowed to make such a decision. Despite this, I’ve remained. Why?
“Part of my reason for moving and enrolling was because I longed for community and connection.”
I came to my current seminary after the pandemic. Before then, I was living in a small town, attending a small church, surrounded by family and a handful of friends who were nonaffirming and unaware of my sexuality. Part of my reason for moving and enrolling was because I longed for community and connection.
I had several friends attending this seminary, and they were aware of my situation and encouraged me to apply. They were upfront with me about the seminary’s continuous moves toward the right but told me there were still several holdouts among faculty and students.
There also was the tempting idea of being able to join a welcoming and affirming church. In my previous context, the nearest welcoming and affirming church was nearly an hour and a half away, so this was really enticing. The lure of community and a safe place to worship were enough to convince me to make the move. I decided I would go and just live two lives. I wasn’t delusional about the seminary, but I was delusion in thinking my sexuality never would come up or affect my time there.
My first semester, I had an HIV scare. It was terrible. I didn’t know what to do, and the entire process of testing and receiving results took nearly two weeks. When other students had health concerns, many professors would ardently pray over them and offer them any extension and grace on assignments as they could. I had to sit in silence.
I couldn’t share my fears with anyone. I couldn’t confide in my professors and had no way to explain why I was struggling with my course work. There were several times where I’d have to leave class due to panic attacks. I’d sit in the stall of the bathroom trying to control my breathing and tears so no one would walk in and hear me. I’m so thankful for my pastor and friends for being so supportive of me during that time because beyond them there was no space to share my fears.
“One professor in particular started to raise my suspicions, and so I finally worked up the courage to come out to them.”
It was not long after this experience that I started to notice something strange. Some of the language my professors used caused me to begin to wonder about their thoughts toward sexuality and gender. One professor in particular started to raise my suspicions, and so I finally worked up the courage to come out to them.
After I told them, they immediately thanked me, praised me for my courage, hugged me and blessed me. We both shed a few tears as we spoke about how difficult it is for LGBTQ students at the seminary. It was then I realized I was not the only one who had found this professor as a safe person to confide in. There were others.
It wasn’t until I started taking more classes that I began to find these people. LGBTQ students started to appear out of nowhere. Each of them bringing news of affirming faculty, staff and other students they had encountered during their time in seminary. Defying all my preconceived notions, I was now in community with a good collection of LGBTQ students and affirming students, faculty and staff at my seminary.
I don’t want to paint too pretty a picture here. Despite the positive encounters I’ve had, my seminary remains staunchly nonaffirming. LGBTQ students live in constant fear of discovery and the consequences that would follow. A large majority of the professors and students are nonaffirming and do not take a gracious approach to any queer identity. Plus, the administration is so wound up in a complex web of donors and affiliations that even the slightest hint of a grace-filled or merciful approach to LGBTQ students would incite scandal and the inevitable loss of funds. The need and love of money can even drive seminaries.
“There are countless LGBTQ students at non-affirming seminaries across the country.”
What so many people, both conservatives and progressives, seem to forget, or not realize, is that there are countless LGBTQ students at nonaffirming seminaries across the country. Many do not come to these seminaries living fully into their identities. Some come thinking they will find a cure for the disease that doesn’t exist. Others come to discover their sexuality while at seminary. Others may be trying to delay confrontation with their relatives or faith communities for as long as possible and seminary offered them the best route to avoid the challenging conversation.
Regardless, they deserve community, love and acceptance. This is why others, and I, have stayed. Our goal is to make sure no LGBTQ student has to go through seminary without finding love and acceptance from their fellow students. Through shared spaces and hangouts, we are attempting to form and sustain community. We feel called to minister in this space that is opposed to our existence because we have found hope in each other.
I am not saying this is something every LGBTQ person is called to, and it should be expected of no one. This also is not a call to martyrdom on behalf of our failing seminaries. If you are an LGBTQ person considering a nonaffirming seminary, do not apply. For those of us who find ourselves here, though, there is work to be done.
The work of LGBTQ people in nonaffirming spaces is invaluable to overcoming hatred and bigotry. It is slow, painful work. It is easy to think a bunch of institutionally closeted students never will have an impact. But we have seen hearts and eyes opened. It may not be the whole seminary, but the few people who have come to change their minds and hearts concerning LGBTQ peoples is a win in our books.
To many, this may sound insane. It may even come across as self-abuse. I understand those sentiments. But I’ve seen God here. I’ve seen God in the smiles of students as they come to the realization they have found a place where they can be who they are. We’ve been empowered by the Holy Spirit as we’ve endeavored to make sure no one has to hide in a bathroom shedding tears, feeling like the’rey alone in the world.
To us, this has been holy work.
LGBTQ seminarians in similar scenarios, you are not alone. It may feel like it, but we serve a God who always has sought to form communities. I pray you find yours. Your siblings in the faith see you, God sees you, God will bless your work, and God will not leave us in the wilderness forever.