How far would you go to let God direct your steps?
Two young adults met in Belfast, Northern Ireland, in fall 2019. Both were American; both from conservative evangelical Christian stock. They had been introduced because they both worked in youth sports, had recently moved to Belfast and were looking for housing.
Despite tepid first impressions (and working for competing organizations), they leased an apartment together and became unlikely fast friends. Six months later, the COVID pandemic hit and forced the pair to shelter in place together for several weeks. Both eventually returned to the United States.
Lauren Schwaar
Rather than going their separate ways, the two remained inseparable. By fall 2020, several of their immediate family members had asked if the two felt any romantic interests. Their response was an emphatic no; they were just friends. Except that by December of that same year, one suddenly recognized feeling more than friendship for the other.
This could be the beginning of many familiar love stories. The complication in this story is that these two young adults are both women. They had been raised on traditional sexual doctrines mandating heterosexual, monogamous marriage (one man and one woman). For them, same-sex romance was strictly forbidden (not to mention deplorable).
Upon realizing her romantic interest for another woman, the first felt terror and dismay. When she acknowledged these feelings to the other, she assumed they would part ways. That was supposed to be the end of the story.
Whatever your convictions on same-sex marriage, it is a forefront and contentious debate. On Oct. 15 this year, news broke that the Church of England repealed previous plans to allow blessings for same-sex couples and allow priests to enter same-sex civil marriages. This year also saw the global Anglican Communion split over various theological rifts including disagreements over handling of LGBTQ issues within the church.
Rhetoric on the subject of same-sex relationships, like many of today’s tough topics, can flatten nuances and dehumanize implications. Many assume people with an affirming stance toward same-sex marriage needed to compromise their theological underpinnings or their adherence to God’s authority to get there. And for Christians who themselves develop a same-sex love interest, whether intentionally or accidentally, that choice often feels mutually exclusive. Some forsake their Christian faith to be together. Others walk away from the same-sex relationship (or try to force it into a nonromantic, nonsexual form). The canon at the intersection of Christian doctrine and same-sex experience is full of these stories.
“These plot points now seemed to have led them straight into an inadvertent same-sex romance.”
Back to our story. Up until this point, both individuals in our tale had tried to live their adult lives “walking by faith.” The youth pastors, faith communities and 2000s-era contemporary Christian thought of their high school and college years encouraged them to forsake worldly ambitions and pursue God with reckless abandon. Both had practiced this separately, seeking God’s interests as they navigated life decisions. Both had passed up conventional careers and instead chose to live frugally, volunteer with various ministries, work with the marginalized and discern God’s leading rather than pursue what seemed strategic or fiscally advantageous.
Even the circumstances that caused their paths to cross — their coinciding needs for a flatmate, and the reasons they had landed in the relatively obscure country of Northern Ireland in the first place — had all seemed encouragingly divine to each of them at the time. However, these plot points now seemed to have led them straight into an inadvertent same-sex romance.
In the past, both had privately questioned their sexuality but thought they’d successfully rejected nonheterosexual leanings. They planned to disregard those unwanted feelings and pursue pious, heterosexual relationships leading to holy (heterosexual) marriages. And now they had each unwittingly fallen for a woman.
Was this God’s strictest test yet? Did God orchestrate the whole thing to gauge what they’d surrender for righteousness? Or had they gotten God’s directional cues dreadfully wrong and landed themselves in this scenario, despite attempts to follow God’s leading?
Both dove headlong into months of research, fasting and prayer but did not reach a clear conclusion from studying the biblical texts and various theological debates surrounding same-sex marriage. But to reject either their Christian allegiance or each other felt like an impossible choice.
The couple did the only other thing that seemed left to do: Surrender their relationship to God and let God decide. On a rainy night over a call, they agreed to cease all communication unless God acted. They needed a “fleece,” so they asked God for a sign to adhere to. When they prayed, the words “red ribbon” came to mind. It was random and certainly implausible enough, and they sealed their agreement.
“To reject either their Christian allegiance or each other felt like an impossible choice.”
They would not communicate again for the foreseeable future unless they each received a physical red ribbon in some kind of unorchestrated circumstance. Then they hung up the phone.
For months afterward, both experienced excruciating pain at being separated and not a little bit of regret at having agreed to such a radical wager. One of them wrote this in a journal entry at some point after they stopped talking, preserving the narrative’s timbre in amber:
A short time ago, God asked us to surrender each other back to him until the time he makes it clear we can communicate again. … In faith that he is sovereign and will bring about his purposes, we did that. We no longer communicate. Now, I sit before God every day and ask him what he would like to do with our story. Out there somewhere, she does too. We are asking him whether he might allow us to live out a representation of his gospel story; His sanctification through faith. … He owes us nothing; He is holy. We don’t have any way to logic or “academic” our way to a conclusion. All we can do is lift ourselves and our love for each other before him and ask how we should proceed. And now we wait for his leading.
Almost a year later, the “fleece” circumstance they had identified occurred. Both received red ribbons in two random, separate, unforeseen series of events. They gingerly reconnected in person, having no idea what would happen next. Did they still have feelings for each other? Had either one decided to give the whole thing up or started dating someone else in the meantime? Where did each stand theologically?
The experience was deeply painful and raw. It tested both to their limits. It required surrender and faith in God in more demanding ways than either ever had mustered. It changed them both forever. It laid a foundation on which they ultimately forged their marriage three years later.
And should they ever be faced with a theological conundrum in which God’s opinion on the matter should be the final word, they would do it again.
This is not a theological case for or against same-sex marriage. There’s plenty of that out there already. It is simply a narrative for your consideration.
Perhaps God wasn’t the one who directed the story above after all. No one will know until the end. But it will remain the story of two people who pursued God’s intent for their sexuality rather than their own.
Lauren Schwaar is an author with a background spanning entrepreneurship, international relations, performance sport and nonprofit work. She has worked both domestically and internationally in a wide variety of settings and is passionate about creating the conditions for change, both for herself and as an invitation to others. She’s traveled around the world to coach, serve, explore and learn.