The Closet Professor

“There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear: because fear hath torment. He that feareth is not made perfect in love.”

—1 John 4:18

Coming out seems easier for young people today than it once did. There are rainbow flags in storefront windows, affirming churches in many cities, and public figures who live openly and proudly. And yet—even in a world that appears more accepting—fear still lingers.

For my generation, and certainly for those who came before us, fear was woven into nearly every part of coming out. You could lose your family. You could lose your job. You could lose your church. In some cases, you could lose your life. We learned to measure our words, to watch our gestures, to survive quietly.

For those of us whose formative years unfolded during the height of the AIDS epidemic, fear was relentless. In the small Alabama town where I grew up, being gay meant being presumed sick. It meant whispered conversations. It meant pity at best and condemnation at worst. My mother was a public health nurse, and nearly every gay man she encountered had AIDS. As a young man, it felt inevitable—like coming out was not just a social risk but a death sentence.

But perhaps the deepest fear of all was not illness or rejection by society. It was the fear of rejection by God.

Growing up in the buckle of the Bible Belt, in the Church of Christ, faith shaped everything. I was taught that anyone who was not a member of the Church of Christ was going to Hell. That was presented as certainty. As truth. As doctrine.

When my parents found out I was gay, my mother said through tears, “I don’t want you going to Hell!”

She wasn’t trying to be cruel. She was afraid. Afraid for my soul. Afraid that something about me had placed me outside God’s grace.

But even before she said those words, something inside me already knew: I was not going to Hell for being gay.

By the time I was old enough to think more rationally, I had stopped believing that only one small group of Christians had a monopoly on heaven. I had come to understand God as bigger than our denominational lines. And at my core, I believed something simple and profound: I was a good person. I tried to love people. I tried to be kind. I tried to live with integrity. And good people do not go to Hell because of who they love.

More importantly, Scripture itself began to speak louder than fear.

As 1 John tells us plainly: “There is no fear in love.” Fear imagines punishment. Love promises belonging.

If God is love—as 1 John 4:8 declares—then anything rooted in terror, shame, or condemnation cannot be the final word of God. Romans 8:1 assures us, “There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” No condemnation. Not an asterisk. Not a hidden clause. None.

John 3:16 tells us that God so loved the world that He gave His Son. The world includes every race, every culture, every orientation, every identity. God’s love was not rationed out to a narrow few. It was poured out for all.

Ephesians 2:8 reminds us, “For by grace you have been saved through faith… it is the gift of God.” Salvation is a gift, not a reward for heterosexuality. Grace is not revoked by honesty.

Psalm 27:1 asks, “The Lord is my light and my salvation—whom shall I fear?” When God is our light, fear loses its authority. When God is our salvation, condemnation loses its grip.

This does not mean fear magically disappears. Many LGBTQ+ people still face rejection from families, congregations, and communities. Some churches speak the language of “love” while practicing mere toleration. Others still preach outright exclusion. The wounds are real.

But those voices are not the measure of God’s heart.

Isaiah 41:10 says, “Do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.” Notice what God promises: presence. Not abandonment. Not exile. Presence.

And perhaps the most comforting promise is found in Romans 8:38–39: “For I am convinced that neither death nor life… nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God.” Not family fear. Not church doctrine. Not sexuality. Nothing.

Coming out—whether to others or to ourselves—is often an act of courage. It is also, in many ways, an act of faith. It is choosing truth over secrecy, integrity over fear. It is trusting that the God who created us knows us fully and loves us completely.

And 1 John 4:18 does not say fear never existed. It says perfect love drives it out. The more deeply we root ourselves in God’s love, the less power fear has over us. Fear may knock, but love answers the door.

My mother feared for my soul. But I have come to rest in something stronger than fear: the unshakable love of God.

Perfect love casts out fear.

Not because the world is always safe.

Not because every church is affirming.

But because God’s love is deeper than our doctrines, wider than our denominations, and stronger than our shame.

And that love will never let you go. 🌈