Not "Prayed Away"

Photo by cottonbro from Pexels

Movie Review?

The movie, "Pray Away," was just released on Netflix. It is a very accurate description of the ex-gay movement, its demise, and its unfortunate resurrection. I watched the movie and immediately thought I might do a review of it, but instead it released all sorts of emotions that I had pent up, dealing with what it meant to be a closeted bisexual man for so many years. I would encourage you to watch this documentary. You will understand perhaps just a fragment of what I was going through.

A lot of this subject I dealt with in a previous post, but perhaps let me try to explain just what I tried to do to no longer have attractions to people of my own gender.

College

I entered my Christian college, feeling that I would find ample support to rid myself of "homosexual desires." I first turned to the library, secretly perusing all the books I could find about the subject.

And I was dismayed. Frustrated. Infuriated. All the psychological books I could find on the subject stated over and over again that being "homosexual" was not a psychological disorder. What WAS a disorder was not accepting one's orientation. [Even that portion has fallen by the wayside.] What was going on here? Was I doomed to be what I was?

I went to prayer meetings. I refused to state out loud what I was going through. I wanted to see if anyone could determine what was bothering me. Being in a Christian college, I was exposed to many different avenues of belief and worship. None of them ever raised even the slightest inclination that I was dealing with feelings of being attracted to both genders.

I finally broke down my senior year and told one of my best friends what I was struggling with. It didn't help me out at all that I had a crush on him, but I knew he wasn't gay or bisexual or anything remotely close to that. He suggested I go to our campus counselors.

Counseling

I first did an intake interview. My interviewer asked if he could record our session before we proceeded. I agreed, but inwardly HATED that request. I didn't want it recorded. I didn't want anything at all recorded. That would be "evidence" of my failings as a Christian. At the same time, if I said "no," I thought it would look bad. So I agreed and my interviewer hit record.

I recall very little of that interview, just that I bawled by eyes out. After that torrent of emotion was unleashed, I scheduled another appointment with the head of the counseling department, who was also my class advisor. Despite being my class advisor, I didn't know him very well and did not have any classes with him.

His diagnosis? Possibly a mild form of sex addiction. OK. That was new to me. I had never had sex before. Except for a few furtive experimentations with a friend who denied everything the next day, I still considered myself a virgin. Still, I talked with him about the various things in my life I had been dealing with. I hadn't had many girlfriends. I did have one who broke my heart, who I had believed was perfect for me, but her path and mine were going different ways.

My counselor wanted me to join a group of other men dealing with issues with sex. I went to one session and recoiled at it immediately. There was nothing wrong with the men, but they were dealing with issues that I had never dealt with. I politely declined participating in that group further.

The Test

And then, something unexpected happened. The one friend of mine I had experimented with while in high school decided to visit my college to see about transferring there. Since I knew him, I was made his host for that weekend. I felt uncomfortable around him. I think he might have felt the same way. He kept on bragging about a girl he was dating and I just listened to him. During the night, we both went to bed, neither of us attempting anything with each other at all.

Success? Did I just experience success?

I went to talk to my counselor. He thought it was a good sign. Was I healed? Was I going to just be straight from then on? Maybe . . . , but not really.

However, now that I look back on the whole situation, I realize that my counselor was trying to walk a thin line. At one point, he was trying to help me be comfortable with who I was. He never told me being bisexual was bad, but he never told me there was nothing wrong with it either.

Ordination

And so it went for me. I tried to date women, but that was next to impossible. Since I was going to become a Salvation Army officer (pastor), I was only allowed to marry another officer. Looking back on this, I realize just how manipulative and controlling that was. It was all placed on the guise of a divine calling from God, but to actually restrict who you were allowed to marry was just plain ludicrous.

After getting my master's degree, I finally attended The Salvation Army's seminary. Even though I had a high degree, I still had to basically repeat most of my undergraduate studies and was required to conform to the weight guidelines they set out for me.

Since I was single, most of the married women seminary students (who are called cadets) immediately tried to match me up with someone else. Yeah, that didn't work out too well. They all quickly paired off and I was left by myself.

An interesting thing about The Salvation Army's College for Officer Training in Chicago:  It is located at 700 W Brompton Avenue, not too far from Wrigley Field. It is located on a city block, bordering Halsted on its west side. For those of you who know Chicago at all, this is in the middle of Boys' Town, an LGBTQ friendly neighborhood. Rainbows everywhere. Pride parades normally go down Halsted during the summer. I'm certain it was to the amusement of many of the community there that one of the dorm residences for The Salvation Army's seminary along Halsted was called "Cox." Granted, it was named after a powerful Salvation Army family, but the irony was lost on no one.

While I attended there, the hate that the LGBTQ community had toward us was palpable. Me being a closeted bisexual man just made matters worse.

Why didn't I tell anyone?

That's a good question. Here is a simple answer:  It was not safe for me to do so. Who would I tell? If I told anyone at my seminary, I would have been kicked out. Even if I were to say, "I struggle with feelings of attraction for both men and women," they would have removed me. I could tell no one in confidence. Confidentiality is not something that is maintained at The Salvation Army's seminary. Even when we went through psychological testings, we had to allow the psychologists and therapists to share that information with the seminary.

I would lose everything. And in the end, I did.

There was and still remains NO SAFE SPACE within my former denomination to question your faith or to talk about your orientation. The Salvation Army is and remains firmly in the anti-LGBTQ camp. 

I look at bewilderment sometimes at my more progressive friends who are still in The Salvation Army, especially those in the LGBTQ community. I often compare it to the relationship one has as a battered spouse. They don't leave the relationship because they don't know anything different or else they are afraid (rightfully so) that they would lose everything.

Perhaps my situation convinced them to stay silent. I don't know.

The Salvation Army talks a big talk about not discriminating against the LGBTQ community, but that is a lie. They regularly do. They will help someone out practically without discrimination, but you cannot be a member unless you are heterosexual or a confessed celibate.

The Struggle Continues . . .

Exodus, International, at one time the largest ex-gay ministry in the world, closed its doors for good, stating that they helped no one and that nearly no one changed their orientation to straight. I rejoiced at that. Finally, some progress happened.

Then I watched "Pray Away." I sobered up quickly. The struggle still continues. People believe that God can change their orientation, despite all research and evidence to the contrary. People forget that so many leaders from these ex-gay ministries are now in loving LGBTQ relationships. The harm done by those ministries continues to this day in the current reincarnations that pop up everywhere. Even now, in my former denomination, there is a group dedicated to eradicating the LGBTQ community from The Salvation Army. They show absolutely no love for them, just pure hate.

And I struggle with moving on. I am so happy to have found a church that welcomes me with open arms. I love them to death and finally for the first time in my life, I can be exactly who I am and I don't have to defend myself.

At the same time, I mourn what could have been. The Salvation Army used to be at the forefront of social justice. Instead they have become a Sentry, posted at the non-existent gates of Heaven, trying to be the gatekeepers of who belongs and who does not. They have forgotten the whosoever and instead become a club of exclusiveness.

I have no answers. I sit. I mourn. I realize that nothing has been prayed away. God accepted me for who I am and my former colleagues despise me because of it. It comes across as pity. It is nothing less than hate, though.