I grew up in an evangelical Christian family; we were the first to arrive at church on a Sunday and the last to leave. We led worship, prayed together, did children’s work, and went to youth and bible study groups. I loved it all. I gave my life to Jesus when I was 6, and meant it. But I knew I was different – the relief when I found the word homosexual in a school psychology textbook was immense; there was a name for it! I thought that God probably still loved me as long as I was single. My choice was made; a life of cat ownership, Christian faithfulness, and sensible shoes awaited. 

Then I went to university and fell in love three times a week with all the unsuitable straight girls that London had to offer in the late 90s. Maybe I should make the other choice? I spent three years flipping between my mutually exclusive pastimes of God and girls, before moving back home and embracing the God stuff again. I ran youth groups, was involved in services, and stood on church councils. I was bombarded with ‘love the sinner, hate the sin’ and ‘there are two evils to beware of: homosexuality and homophobia’ from straight people in dog collars. The teaching was like a dripping tap – constant soft pit-pats that eventually shaped my personality into something it wasn’t. Something cynical and bitter, something that resented everyone else for my enforced loneliness while they got to play happy families. I was angry, and cold, and a bit dead inside. Conservative evangelical theology on sexuality damages people. It damaged me.

Then I met someone. The story is romantic and ridiculous, and too long for here, but suddenly I knew I couldn’t carry on tip-toeing around my identity so the Christians around me didn’t get upset. I told my co-leader at the youth group, and was told that, while she was okay with it obviously, the youth’s parents and the vicar would not be. I never questioned why it was their right to know in the first place; in retrospect, I was used to homosexuality being an acceptable topic of conversation for heterosexuals. I left the church quietly rather than cause a fuss, my heart quite broken. I knew God loved me, but His people never would.

I eventually tried a new church, and did an Alpha Course as I’d forgotten the point of it all. The dates were announced at the beginning of the first session, but I couldn’t attend the day retreat in the middle as it was my wedding day. I had to decide very quickly how open I should be about my plans when explaining why I would be absent. I decided on honesty in that instant, and corrected the pronoun when an elderly congregation member asked me about ‘him’. She blinked and asked me about ‘her’ instead. That simple acceptance started to heal me. Unpicking years of damage is still taking a while, but it started in that moment.

God loves me immeasurably more than I can ask or imagine; I wish His people reflected that, too. That is my hope for the church of the future: that it would be a place of wholeness, healing, honesty, integrity, of life and joy and love. A place where we all join in God’s work in the world. A place for all.