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It was I was a year-old pastor. My desk was cluttered with set lists for the upcoming church series. It promised I could be new. There was nothing I wanted more. There it was. It surprised me, but I was strangely calm. The words coursed through my body looking for an answer — an answer I owed only myself. One of the church parishioners had seen it and this information had gotten around. The particular book in question was about sexual orientation. Freedom was what I needed.
I was born into the Church like it was my fucking birthright. I was used to judgment. Churches like mine were renowned for it. This was a good leader — decisive and strong. I wondered how long it had taken him to find the courage to ask the question we both knew could end my career as a pastor. It felt like someone had put him up to it — even if he believed that someone was God. There was cheap tension between us — something neither of us was being compensated for. So fucking what.
Less than six months later, I would be gone from that church. As a spiritual community, we needed to do better. After that, they passed me through, and I met Phillip. I tried to get our church involved in the upcoming annual AIDS walk — a tangible way to put our message of love, hope and service to work.
I posted a sign-up sheet in our church lobby. Unfortunately, though not surprisingly, no one from our church showed for the event. So, I began having conversations, mostly behind closed doors, and over time, was seen as a sympathizer. In April , I wrote and published an essay about Caitlyn Jenner , encouraging Christian people to embrace our transgender brothers and sisters by listening to their stories, using their chosen pronouns, and loving them in real ways.