Finding an identity

Editor's note: The Chronicle's policy prohibiting unsigned guest columns was waived in this particular case because the editors were able to verify its authenticity and because the opinions contained within it contribute uniquely to campus discourse on homosexuality.

I am not gay. I'm not involved with Gothic Queers, I don't have a boyfriend, I don't go to gay clubs and I don't go to gay chat rooms. I do not have sexual relations with anyone who identifies himself as male.

I am not straight. When springtime rolls around and those cute, buff guys strut across the quad, my eyes are averted. When girls swoon over that guy in so-and-so fraternity, my heart inwardly swoons with them. When women are allowed to call women beautiful, I wish society would let me say the same for other men.

For as long as I can remember, I have always wanted to be with other men. Before puberty, it was simply a longing; after puberty, it became sexual desire. I grew up in a church that neither condoned nor condemned homosexuality; it simply wasn't discussed. At school, I witnessed the typical gay jokes, participated in them and became a progenitor and product of the environment that denies the existence of homosexual people. It's easy to deceive others of your sexual leanings, so why not deceive yourself? So I did.

In summer 2000, I acknowledged my same-gender sexual attractions. Predictable agony ensued as I was tormented by the thoughts that so many religious homosexuals wrestle with. Did God make me this way? If so, then is it so wrong? Real Christians don't deal with this, do they? Is it genetic? Can it be changed? How could love be wrong? If you're not hurting anyone, then what is the big deal? If what I believed were true, then it meant that a supposedly core part of who I was--being... gay--was being condemned by the very God whom I claimed to love and who I believed loved me.

"Hate the sin and love the sinner." Now I had to grapple with these very clichZ words that I had so blithely touted as a Christian. Eventually, I realized that although God's just condemnation of homosexuality hovered above me like a titanium sledgehammer, God also rescued me from the sledgehammer's wrath through the saving work of Christ. He even promised to purify me so I could bring these temptations under control.

On the Duke campus, the politics of the homosexuality debate wrench me in two. When Bible verses were painted on the East Campus bridge, my heart ached because they offered no forgiveness or hope for the homosexuals whom they lovingly bashed. When the Chapel allowed same-sex unions, I refused to even take a side on the issue. And now, when I walk by a door with a SAFE on campus sticker, I wonder whether the allies will listen to me, try to dissuade me or condemn me as a homophobe? When I hear jokes about gay people being tossed around in Christian circles, I want to pop the bubble that so many Christians trap themselves in and scream. When badly written letters to the editor are written from people on both sides, I wish I could cry out--and I have.

I am not an "ex-gay." I did not once have attractions toward men and now have attractions toward women. If I get married, I will not be magically heterosexual. I did not undergo violent shock therapy. I will likely have these temptations my entire life.

I am a Christian. I sinned, but I have been forgiven. I may sometimes give in to my homosexual temptations in moments of weakness, but I am ultimately declared not guilty. I am being made holy. I am a child of God.

The writer of the column is a student leader in Trinity College.