Mary Blendermann

I felt very close to other girls in high school, but I told myself I was just a really affectionate friend. In college, I continued to feel attracted to other women, and my feelings became too strong to ignore. It was a huge relief to put a name to my feelings - I am gay. However, I attended an extremely conservative Christian college, and it was not a safe place for me to pursue any romantic interests. Adding to that burden, as I cut my hair short and started to change the way I dressed to reflect my identity, formerly close friends grew distant. I was very lucky to have a few supportive friends, but I often felt lonely, isolated, invisible, and hopeless.

I had also sustained a lot of damage from having been raised in purity culture (literally, in the church led by Josh Harris)—I was extremely repressed and even identified as asexual at one point because I had such a hard time getting in touch with my body and my physical desires. Even after college, in a safe environment, sexual fearfulness characterized a lot of my early attempts at dating.

I was raised to believe that being gay (or, blech, "living the gay lifestyle") was a choice and a sinful one. My evangelical church trained teenagers in apologetics, and I was arrogant enough to take it seriously. I memorized every argument and Bible verse to back up my dogmatic idea of a traditional sexual ethic, and I openly argued with people I believed were wrong.

Simply put, once I realized I was gay, I decided God would have to put up with me. I affirmed myself for years before I started investigating more progressive theological viewpoints. For me, it wasn't really a choice. If I continued to believe in the conservative theology of my youth, I was doomed: a likely candidate for hell, certain never to marry or enjoy family life or raise children, with a tenuous grasp on holiness that would always be viewed with suspicion. I was forced to invent a theology that gave me some hope for the future. When I later discovered that there was actual support for this theology, I was delighted. I even gave a public presentation at my college about being a gay Christian before I graduated—which I was expecting people to protest, but which was actually pretty well-received.

An important resource for me, surprisingly, was the Eastern Orthodox theology of hell. The Eastern Orthodox do not believe in hell as a physical place. They believe that, when you die, you go to be in the presence of God. Whether you experience the presence of God as eternal bliss or eternal torture is up to you—the kind of person you were, how you treated others. Armed with that conviction, I became determined to live my life—my gay life—in a loving, compassionate, self-sacrificial way. I no longer believe I have to conform to a dogmatic code of behavior to gain heaven. I believe that there is room for me to have a fulfilling romantic relationship while living in a way that merits joy in the presence of God.

My life now is so full. I am a dedicated yogi and dancer—both of which are embodiment practices that helped me feel at home in my body and acknowledge my desires. I overcame my fearfulness and am able to express myself while honoring my boundaries and values. I am also in a happy relationship with my girlfriend and pursuing my PhD in clinical psychology. I consider myself a Christian with a diverse range of spiritual influences - including Jewish, Buddhist, and Muslim teachings. I attend an Episcopalian church, and my favorite part of Divine Liturgy is receiving the Eucharist.

I think my high school self was hurting so badly to be both Christian and gay, she took it upon herself to convince everyone that wasn't possible. I am delighted and proud to be a gay Christian, to be what I thought I could never be. The peace of Christ feels more real to me now than ever before.