I distanced myself from my faith six years ago when my father came out as gay at nearly 50 years old. At the time, I was in my late twenties, married, and had just welcomed my first child. While it didn’t come as a shock, it took time for me to process the change. This revelation came shortly after my parents announced their amicable divorce. The subsequent years were challenging for all of us as we adapted to a new way of life.
My father married his wonderful partner a couple of years ago, giving my children an additional grandfather they adore. My mother has embraced her new life as a single woman. Although much has changed, our new reality is more fulfilling than what we once had. We find happiness in this new chapter together.
However, one aspect remains a struggle for me: my faith.
Raised in a devout Christian household, my upbringing was steeped in conservative beliefs. My parents were staunch Republicans who worked for Christian organizations, listened exclusively to Christian music, and attended church weekly while I went to private Christian schools. This environment shaped my entire existence until my early twenties.
In my twenties, I began to question my faith. My disillusionment with purity culture marked the beginning of a broader reevaluation of my beliefs. As I met diverse individuals and encountered different perspectives, it became clear that my upbringing had not equipped me to love others as they deserved. The exclusivity of my religion began to feel suffocating. I could no longer justify sidelining people who didn’t share my beliefs. Human connections became more significant than rigid doctrines.
I became aware of the discrimination prevalent in many churches. Women were often treated as inferior, and I witnessed individuals being excluded from ministry roles based solely on their appearance. LGBTQ+ individuals faced rejection and were seldom accepted in leadership roles. Once I recognized these injustices, I could not ignore the transformative journey that followed.
I felt uncomfortable supporting pro-life legislation. While I could maintain my personal beliefs about abortion, I couldn’t justify voting to take away that choice from other women. I began to understand the severe consequences of restricting access to safe abortion services and the critical need for organizations like Planned Parenthood.
It became impossible for me to identify as a follower of Jesus while simultaneously voting against basic rights for LGBTQ+ individuals, including marriage equality and protection from discrimination. I started to recognize the struggles faced by immigrants and refugees and became increasingly aware of issues like gun violence, police brutality, and systemic racism.
As I expanded my social circle, the disparity between my former beliefs and my evolving perspectives grew. Leaving the church felt daunting, and I hesitated to abandon my faith entirely. Instead, I sought out inclusive communities where I could worship without ostracizing those I loved. I was fearful of what life without religion would look like.
Then my father came out, and that changed everything. I couldn’t bear the thought of my children being negatively impacted by a religion that might teach them to fear their grandfather. They needed to hear the truth from me, ensuring that no harmful messages could seep into their understanding of love. I couldn’t let them attend Sunday school, sing about a Savior, and then ask my father—who is also a loving parent—to witness their performances while knowing many in the congregation believed he was condemned.
I attempted to remain in church for a time, but singing worship songs felt hollow. The sermons seemed directed at others, and even in more progressive churches filled with younger congregants in Nashville, I realized that many would extend kindness to my father’s face while silently condemning his marriage. They would allow him to help with administrative tasks, but he couldn’t lead or work with children. This partial acceptance fell short of full inclusion, and I found it insufficient.
It became clear that many in my faith community would feel justified in discriminating against my father. I began to question what was keeping me connected to a belief system that didn’t embrace my family.
God and church started to feel like separate entities. I wanted to follow God, but not within an institution that deemed my father an unrepentant sinner. Rejecting that aspect of doctrine made it increasingly absurd to remain in organized religion. What was I gaining from this faith? What was I imparting to my children?
I wondered if I could love people in the way my heart urged me to while still believing in God. I felt I could, but it meant walking a path outside the church, at least for now. I knew I needed time away, so I took it, and I’m still in that period of reflection.
It’s challenging. I miss the sense of community that church provided, and I often contemplate returning. For a brief time, my family attended an inclusive church with my father and his husband, where LGBTQ+ individuals were welcomed in leadership roles. The children learned about kindness and community, which felt more aligned with my beliefs. However, we gradually stopped attending because I wasn’t yet ready. I want to go back, but I need more time.
I still feel uncertain and don’t want to pretend. A few years ago, I was introduced to the Thomas Merton Prayer, which resonated deeply with me. It encapsulates the idea that I might be wrong in my understanding but that I’m doing my best. I’m choosing love because I believe that’s what a loving God would desire. That’s the extent of my faith at this moment.
Ultimately, I can only hope that my desire to find the right path is enough.
For more insights on navigating faith, relationships, and family dynamics, you can explore some of our other articles like this one on home insemination.
Summary
Emily Carter reflects on her journey of faith following her father’s coming out, grappling with the challenges of reconciling her upbringing in a conservative Christian household with her evolving beliefs. As she navigates her role as a mother and a daughter, she explores the importance of love and acceptance over rigid doctrines, ultimately taking time away from organized religion to redefine her spirituality.
Leave a Reply