The congregation meeting that cold, wintery Sunday
in early 1985 ended with a brief conversation with Phillip, where I
explained that I really needed to talk to an elder about some serious
stuff. He directed me to the front of the Kingdom Hall and
introduced me to Ted, who was the kindest, warmest elder I think I'd
ever met. My experience four years before with the elders in
Virginia had made me a bit gun-shy; once I told them the truth about
myself, how would they react? Would these elders treat me as
unfit, "marked" before they ever really knew me? I
was nervous, but I knew I had to do this...I had to be honest with
Jehovah's people, and I would need all the help I could get.
Ted drew me into one of the side-rooms near the
stage, and I told him outright:
"I'm gay. I hate being gay! I want to be one of Jehovah's Witnesses, and I need your help."
Ironically, one of my goals on this journey westward had been to change my name and identity, to let the previous me vanish from the earth and start over from scratch. I remember thinking shortly after this conversation with Ted that, had I actually managed to follow through with that plan, the kind of honesty with which I was compelled to open up to Ted at this first meeting would not have been possible; my conscience would have forced me to tell them who I really was, undoing that whole process.
I think Ted was a bit taken aback at my
forthrightness, but he agreed to have someone study the Bible with
me. I insisted, however, that he be that person, as I did not
want to risk opening up to a brother like the ones back east.
For the first time in four years, I felt like I had arrived at a
spiritual place I could call "home," and I felt an instant
bond with this man.
No one really asked me back then what was holding me
back from baptism; they knew how knowledgeable I was and how strongly
I wanted to be a Witness—only Ted, Phillip, Dan and Joy (and a
couple of the elders) knew about my past, and only because I told
them so, not some small-minded elder. I may have hitherto been
openly-gay, but I was never flamboyant or obvious, so most people
never suspected; the Witnesses just thought I was a single young man
willing to devote his life to serve Jehovah, and that was really all
that mattered to them.
I really, really wanted to be a loving,
God-fearing, well-balanced young man—I always had—someone Jehovah
could be proud of and could use to further the Good News. I
wanted to be baptized, to serve as a ministerial servant, a Pioneer
(full-time minister), and a missionary. I hoped to attend
Bethel—the headquarters of the Watchtower Society in New York—and
perhaps even serve as an elder someday. I certainly had the
knowledge and the empathy necessary to shepherd others, but I did not
have stability.
During my subsequent studies with Ted, he often
pointed out how knowledgeable I was about the Bible and my ability to
understand very deep subjects, particularly Bible prophecy and
chronology, even at age 22/23 with four years of no study at all, and
that I knew more about "the Truth" than many dedicated,
baptized Witnesses at that time. I knew Watchtower
teachings inside and out, including many behind-the-scenes
organizational proceedings, having paid very close attention at
meetings back east.
Ted also gave me a warning: all too often, very
smart people have problems accepting simple answers from the Bible;
their ego prevents them from accepting direction from the "faithful
and discreet slave," as they understand the Governing Body to
be. Many, therefore, leave the Truth in search of more academic
pursuits. I took that counsel to heart and strove for the next
25-plus years to remain humble and open to direction, as one of
Jehovah's "sheep" should do.
But I could not come out to my new-found spiritual
family. The only reason those few I told knew was because I
grew to trust them, and they my overwhelming desire to overcome one
of the most destructive, immoral and demonic lifestyles there was (as
they viewed homosexuality). As with most religious
organizations, back then it was believed that homosexuality was
strictly a choice, with possible environmental factors thrown
into the mix—and that's exactly what I believed: I was a text-book
case of environmentally-induced homosexuality, having been raised in
a female-dominant family with no father-figure to speak of. I
was thoroughly convinced that I could overcome such "learned
behaviour", not believing for a second that I was genetically
predisposed to such tendencies; those that did, I believed, were
using that as an excuse to condone an immoral, spiritistic lifestyle.
The thing was, in order to succeed in reaching my
spiritual goals, I had to suppress—kill off—one whole half of
myself. I spent most of the rest of my adult life living as
half a person. I never pretended to be straight in order to
make the congregation comfortable; I was just...myself—only,
practically no one knew that I was gay; hell, even I didn't want to
be that way, so the less others knew, the better.
In other words, I had struggled with my sexual
identity all through my teen years, had come completely out of
the closet in 1981, and then voluntarily walked back into that
same closet in 1985 because I wanted to be a good Christian. I
was willing to do whatever it took to make Jehovah God, and my new
friends, proud of me.
If I'd known the psychological impact this struggle
would have on me over the years, I'd have made completely different
choices, but the roller coaster had left the station and was climbing
to the top of a terrifyingly-steep hill—and once on the track,
there was no getting off.
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