By Mark Edwards
As a Seventh-day Adventist pastor and a married man, I struggled for years in a private hell from which there seemed no escape. As a minister I felt I had no one to turn to and, as far as I knew at the time, I was all alone in a frightening and traumatic dilemma.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. As a child, I was basically very happy during my growing up years. I came from a loving, two-parent family and my parents were proud of me. I was considered a “good” Seventh-day Adventist kid growing up. My parents being missionaries, I had wonderful opportunities for getting the experience that only travel can bring. My father served in numerous church leadership positions, from mission director to division president–a legend in his day.
During my adolescence no one talked much about gays–the word was not even in common usage then. I grew up in remote mission fields in a conservative family where the topic of sex itself was never discussed. In retrospect, I now realize I can hardly blame myself for being so late in discovering my sexual identity. I also understand how the mind can play strange tricks in an attempt to deny the obvious, especially when acceptance is too painful or incongruous with one’s belief system. I knew I couldn’t be like those strange homosexuals with their outlandish behavior and costumes I occasionally read about in the media. That simply wasn’t me. (It still isn’t!)
So how old was I when I first understood who I was? I don’t really know for sure. For me it was a gradual, sickening awakening to the fact that I simply wasn’t the same as others. I don’t believe I knew who I was when I made the decision to marry. In any case, I was once again making “the right choices” in life. Despite my sense of humor I have always taken life seriously. I had never engaged in premarital sex–straight or gay. I had high ideals for marriage (I still do), and wanted to make a happy home for my wife and children. The option of not marrying simply did not occur to me. Why even Paul himself said it was better to “marry than to burn,” even though some of his ideas on marriage are hardly considered the norm.
And so I continued to deny the inevitable. My conservative church upbringing did not prepare me to accept the overwhelming sense of devastation and aloneness I faced when I finally admitted I had a mental attraction to men which no amount of praying or fasting would change. Yes, I believed God could do anything, but for some reason He chose not to answer my pleas.
I will never forget the day I finally came out to my wife Nancy. True to form, I had planned months ahead of time when I would tell her who I was. I would wait until a week after she had graduated from her course, so that the news would not affect her studies. I would then tell our teenagers a few days later.
It was without doubt the hardest thing I have ever done. I was literally sick to my stomach for months before the date I had chosen. I kept arguing with myself that there really was no reason to tell her anything. I even got melodramatic, telling myself I would die alone with the secret I held. I wasn’t even “living the gay lifestyle.” (I hate these euphemisms: does anyone “live the straight lifestyle”?!) But I also knew it was time to be honest. I was living a lie. While our married life was to all outward appearances normal, I knew the mental torment I was going through in an effort to conceal inner longings that Nancy could never meet.
I also knew that, at some level, Nancy was aware that all was not well, and that I was hurting her. “I sense there’s a barrier between us,” she said on a couple of occasions. I just scoffed at her words, terrified that she might guess the truth. I knew what she meant, but I knew she didn’t really understand.
So that Friday evening, with our teenagers away on a church campout, I finally told Nancy about the real me. Knowing my tendency to joke, she didn’t believe me at first. When it finally hit home, we both sobbed on each others’ shoulders for what seemed to be an eternity. For her it was the beginning of a nightmare; for me it was as if the weight of the world had been lifted off my back. To her credit, never once (then or since) has Nancy blamed me for being gay or tried to convince me that I could change my orientation.
In my own planned way, I knew full well what the consequences could be. I knew our marriage would probably break up (this is something Nancy and I both eventually agreed on). I knew it would be difficult for our kids to accept; though they too have been amazingly understanding through it all–far more than I expected. I knew I would probably lose my pastoral career. Although the news of my story did not break for several months, when the conference finally found out I was given no choice but immediate resignation with no severance pay, despite many years of service with a spotless record. Though I tend to be pretty agreeable to most things, I felt this was unfair; so through negotiations with the conference we managed to reach a considerably happier settlement.
Do I regret my decision to come out and be honest? I regret the considerable pain I have caused both family and friends. I regret having lost my vocation as a pastor with a Church that I still love and support. But not for one moment am I sorry that I was honest about myself. I just wish I had made the decision earlier in our marriage–if I had been able. It would have been easier on Nancy, though perhaps not on the children.
To those who ask the question, “What makes a person gay?” I reply, “What makes a person straight?” The truth is, no one knows, no one really understands. And what does it mean to be gay? Certainly this is not all about sex, as some believe. We are talking about a whole different mindset in which a general sensitivity (often including strong proclivities to music and the arts) makes itself evident. Clichè, perhaps, but still largely true.
In the meantime I hope the Adventist Church will no longer take an ostrich-in-the-sand approach, but face the reality that its gay brothers and sisters are everywhere in the Church: from congregational laity to college faculty, church pastors and General Conference workers. We are hurting and isolated, and as much in need of denominational acceptance and the forgiving grace of Christ as anyone else. Please don’t continue to ignore us.
Mark Edwards is a pseudonym.
Stranger on the Shore
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Gay SDAs 