“Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour. Resist him, steadfast in the faith, knowing that the same sufferings are experienced by your brotherhood in the world.”

— 1 Peter 5:8–9

This Tuesday is Election Day, and while I generally try not to mix religion and politics, I believe there are times when our faith calls us to examine the world around us and speak out against what we believe is wrong. I have long felt that the mixing of religion and politics often does more harm than good, particularly when Christianity is used to justify discrimination, promote political agendas, or claim that one political party has a monopoly on morality. However, there is a difference between using religion as a political weapon and allowing our faith to guide our understanding of justice, compassion, and our responsibilities to one another.

I have always believed, and will always believe, that the Word of God speaks to us in different ways. Scripture was written in particular historical circumstances, but its lessons are not confined to the past. The Bible continues to challenge us, comfort us, and warn us about the dangers we face in our own lives and in the world around us. When I read Peter’s warning to be sober and vigilant, I cannot help but think about the political climate in America today.

Peter describes our adversary as a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. Few political figures in modern American history have roared quite as loudly as Donald Trump. His bombastic rhetoric, personal attacks, and relentless demands for loyalty have become defining characteristics of his political movement. In my opinion, his pursuit of power and wealth, along with policies that I believe disproportionately benefit the wealthy at the expense of ordinary Americans, represents much of what Jesus warned us against.

I am not suggesting that Donald Trump is literally the devil. However, I do believe that scripture offers warnings about deception that are particularly relevant to his public conduct. In 2 John 1:7, we read, “Many deceivers have gone out into the world, those who do not confess that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh; any such person is the deceiver and the antichrist!” John was addressing a particular form of religious deception in the early church, but I believe his warning has meaning beyond its original circumstances.

When a political leader uses Christianity to strengthen his political identity, promotes Bibles bearing his name and commemorating his political achievements, and repeatedly invokes religion while demonstrating conduct that I find difficult to reconcile with the teachings of Christ, I believe Christians have every reason to question those claims of religious authority. The God Bless the USA Bible, including special editions commemorating Trump’s inauguration and survival of an assassination attempt, is an especially troubling example to me of the blending of religious devotion, political personality, and commercial enterprise.

I cannot know what is in another person’s heart. That judgment belongs to God. But Jesus did not tell us to accept every profession of faith without question. In Matthew 7:16, He tells us, “You will know them by their fruits.” I believe we have a responsibility to examine those fruits, particularly when someone claiming Christian values holds tremendous political power.

For decades, the Republican Party has presented itself as the party of morality and traditional Christian values. I have never accepted that claim. Morality is not the exclusive possession of any political party, and I believe that too many Republican voters have become willing to overlook behavior they would otherwise condemn because they support particular political goals. I have known people who acknowledge serious moral concerns about a candidate yet support that candidate because of a single issue they consider more important than everything else. I understand that people hold deeply felt convictions, but I struggle with the idea that those convictions should excuse conduct that otherwise contradicts their professed values. When we excuse dishonesty, cruelty, greed, or the mistreatment of others because it benefits our preferred political party, we should ask ourselves whether political loyalty has become more important than our Christian convictions.

Jesus repeatedly warned against greed and the corrupting influence of wealth. In Matthew 6:24, He taught, “You cannot serve God and wealth.” Yet I look at an administration whose economic priorities, in my view, favor the accumulation and protection of extraordinary wealth while ordinary Americans struggle with the cost of housing, healthcare, food, and other necessities. I find it difficult to reconcile those priorities with Christ’s concern for the poor, the vulnerable, and those whom society too often overlooks.

When Jesus was questioned about paying taxes to Rome, He answered, “Give therefore to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s” (Matthew 22:21). To me, those words remind us that our responsibilities to earthly governments do not supersede our responsibilities to God. We may owe our government taxes and obedience to just laws, but we do not owe any president, political party, or institution unquestioning allegiance. Our conscience must remain guided by something greater than political power.

My concerns extend far beyond economics. As a gay Christian, I am particularly troubled by efforts to weaken the rights and protections LGBTQ+ Americans have fought so hard to achieve. Those victories did not come easily. Generations of LGBTQ+ people endured discrimination, persecution, violence, and rejection to secure greater equality under the law. Yet we continue to see political efforts to restrict transgender rights, challenge protections against discrimination, and undermine the dignity of people who simply want to live honestly and openly as the people God created them to be.

I believe God created us in His image, and I do not believe that being LGBTQ+ makes anyone less worthy of His love and grace. I cannot accept the use of Christianity to justify denying others the freedoms and protections that we would demand for ourselves. I also believe that decisions about our own bodies, our identities, and our healthcare are deeply personal matters that should not be dictated by politicians seeking to impose their religious or ideological beliefs on everyone else. Jesus commanded us to love our neighbors, not merely those who look like us, believe like us, or live as we do.

I am also deeply concerned about the direction of the Supreme Court. Although the judiciary is constitutionally an independent branch of government, I believe the Court’s conservative majority has issued decisions that have weakened fundamental protections. In Shelby County v. Holder, the Court struck down the coverage formula that determined which jurisdictions needed federal approval before changing voting laws. To me, that decision represents a troubling erosion of safeguards intended to protect the right to vote. More broadly, I worry about the Court’s willingness to reconsider long-established constitutional protections and what that could mean for personal liberty and LGBTQ+ equality.

These concerns are not limited to one institution. Republicans currently control the presidency and both chambers of Congress, while a conservative majority sits on the Supreme Court. I believe that concentration of political and ideological influence makes the checks and balances envisioned by our Constitution especially important.

I want to make an important distinction here. An adversary is not necessarily an enemy, and neither word automatically means evil. An adversary is someone who opposes us or works against our interests. I regard political leaders who seek to restrict LGBTQ+ rights and other fundamental freedoms as political adversaries. That does not mean I regard every Republican voter as an enemy, nor does it mean that every disagreement is a battle between good and evil. However, I believe the lines between political opposition, hostility, and moral wrongdoing have become increasingly blurred in our current political climate.

Peter tells us to resist our adversary and remain steadfast in the faith. He also reminds us that others throughout the world share our suffering. That reminder is important because our struggles are not ours alone. When the rights of one group are threatened, others should not assume that their own freedoms will always remain secure. When we see injustice directed toward our neighbors, our faith calls us to care about their suffering, even when we do not share their circumstances.

For me, vigilance means paying attention to what our leaders say and do, questioning claims of moral or religious authority, and refusing to become indifferent to the suffering of others. Steadfastness means holding to our convictions even when doing so is unpopular or uncomfortable. Resistance does not have to mean hatred, and it certainly should not mean abandoning the compassion and mercy that Jesus taught. We can oppose policies and actions without surrendering our own humanity.

This Tuesday, Americans will have an opportunity to participate in the democratic process and determine who represents them in Congress. The House of Representatives and the Senate have important responsibilities in checking executive power, overseeing the government, and shaping the laws under which we live. Even when political disagreements make progress difficult, those institutions matter.

I am deeply troubled by partisan gerrymandering and efforts that make voting more difficult. When electoral boundaries are manipulated to protect political power, voters can understandably feel that their voices matter less. Yet I do not believe discouragement should lead to surrender. Our democratic rights are too important to take for granted, and protecting them requires continued participation and vigilance.

No election will solve every problem. No political party is without fault, and no elected official should be beyond criticism. But I believe we must consider the moral consequences of the choices made by those who govern us. We should ask whether their actions reflect honesty, justice, compassion, and respect for human dignity. We should also be willing to examine our own convictions and recognize when political loyalty threatens to blind us to wrongdoing.

The warning in 1 Peter is not simply about recognizing danger. It is about refusing to allow ourselves to be overcome by it. We are called to remain sober in our judgment, vigilant in our awareness, and steadfast in our faith. Those responsibilities do not disappear when the issues before us become political.

I believe that the teachings of Jesus Christ should challenge us to be better people, not give us permission to mistreat those with whom we disagree. Christianity should never be reduced to a campaign slogan, a political endorsement, or a symbol of allegiance to an earthly leader. Our faith should be evident in the way we treat others, especially those who are vulnerable, marginalized, or suffering.

As we approach Election Day, I encourage everyone to examine their conscience and consider what kind of country they want to live in. Think about the values that matter most to you, the rights and freedoms you believe deserve protection, and the responsibilities we share toward our neighbors. Do not allow political slogans, religious posturing, or the loudest voices in the room to substitute for your own moral judgment.

Be sober. Be vigilant. Be steadfast in the faith.

And on Tuesday, put those convictions into action. Exercise your right to vote, defend the rights of others to do the same, and remember that our responsibilities as Christians and as citizens do not end when the polls close. We must continue to question those in power, stand against injustice, and protect the dignity and freedoms of our neighbors. Our faith calls us to be vigilant, and our democracy depends upon our willingness to remain so.

“Take delight in the LORD, and he will give you the desires of your heart.”

— Psalm 37:4

We all have desires that we carry deep within our hearts. We long for love, companionship, healing, happiness, and peace. We ask God to ease our burdens, mend our broken hearts, and guide us toward a better life. Sometimes our prayers are answered in ways that seem almost miraculous. Other times, we pray for months or even years, only to find that nothing changes. When that happens, we may begin to wonder whether God is listening. After all, Psalm 37:4 tells us that if we delight ourselves in the Lord, God will give us the desires of our hearts. So why do so many of our prayers seem to go unanswered?

Perhaps the answer lies in understanding what it truly means to delight ourselves in the Lord. This verse is not a promise that God will grant our every wish. Faith is not a transaction in which we offer God our devotion in exchange for the things we want. Rather, delighting in the Lord means finding joy in God’s presence, trusting in God’s love, and allowing that love to shape the way we live. Sometimes the desires we believe will bring us happiness are not the desires that will ultimately bring us peace. Sometimes what we ask God to change is something God never intended us to change at all.

Love, too, is never transactional. Love is not something we earn by meeting someone else’s conditions, nor is it something that should be withdrawn when we fail to satisfy another person’s expectations. Yet many of us are told that if we are LGBTQ+, our families will withdraw their love. We may hear that we will no longer be welcome, that we have disappointed the people who raised us, or that we must change before we can be accepted again. Those messages can wound us deeply, especially when they come from the people whose love we have trusted most.

But that is not how love works. Love does not say, “I will love you if you become someone else.” Love does not make belonging dependent upon conformity. Love does not demand that we deny our identity, hide our relationships, or surrender the truth of who we are in order to remain worthy of care. When affection is offered only as a reward for obedience, it becomes conditional approval, not the self-giving love God calls us to embody.

For many LGBTQ+ Christians, this is an especially painful truth. I suspect that nearly every gay Christian who grew up believing homosexuality was sinful has, at some point, prayed not to be gay. We prayed to be straight, to be “normal,” to become the people our families, churches, and communities expected us to be. Some of us begged God night after night to take away our attraction to the same sex. We promised to be better Christians, to pray harder, to live more faithfully, if only God would grant us that one request. We believed that if we could change, we might finally be worthy of God’s love and acceptance.

But those prayers went unanswered.

For years, many of us interpreted that silence as a failure on our part. Perhaps we weren’t praying hard enough. Perhaps our faith wasn’t strong enough. Perhaps God was testing us, or worse, perhaps God had turned away from us. We carried shame and guilt for something we could not change, convinced that our inability to become straight meant we were somehow disappointing God.

Some of us also feared that our families would stop loving us if we told the truth about who we were. We may have believed that love could be taken away as punishment for being LGBTQ+. We may have tried to earn acceptance by hiding, apologizing, or promising to change. But our identity was never a moral failure, and our families’ love should never have been made conditional upon our ability to conform. We were not asking to be granted permission to exist. We were asking to be loved as the people we already were.

But what if we misunderstood God’s answer all along? What if God wasn’t refusing to listen, but was instead refusing to make us into someone we were never meant to be? What if the very thing we begged God to take away was part of the person God had lovingly created?

Psalm 139:14 reminds us, “I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” Those words are not reserved for heterosexual Christians. They belong to all of God’s children. We are not mistakes that need correcting. We are not defective creations waiting to be repaired. We are human beings created in God’s image, capable of extraordinary love, compassion, kindness, and faith. Our sexuality does not diminish our worth in God’s eyes, nor does it place us beyond the reach of God’s grace.

When we begin to accept that truth, our understanding of unanswered prayers can change. Perhaps God did not make us straight because becoming someone we are not would never have brought us the joy we imagined. It might have satisfied the expectations of others, but at what cost to our own hearts and souls? A life spent denying who we are, hiding our capacity for love, and constantly fearing that God disapproves of us is hardly the abundant life Jesus spoke of in John 10:10.

That does not mean accepting ourselves guarantees a life of happiness without hardship. Living openly and authentically can bring rejection, discrimination, loneliness, and heartbreak. Some LGBTQ+ Christians lose the support of their families or the churches they once called home. Others struggle for years to overcome the shame they were taught to feel. Yet there is a profound difference between suffering because the world refuses to accept us and suffering because we have been taught to refuse to accept ourselves. We cannot always control how others treat us, but we can learn to stop believing that their condemnation speaks for God.

And when families withdraw their support, we should be honest about what has happened: the failure is not in the LGBTQ+ person who told the truth. The failure is in the belief that love can be used as leverage. A parent may feel confused, afraid, or unprepared, but those feelings do not justify withholding love. Family love should not be a prize awarded for heterosexuality, gender conformity, or religious agreement. It should be a commitment to remain present, to listen, to learn, and to honor the person who has always been part of the family.

Jesus taught that the greatest commandments are to love God with all our hearts and to love our neighbors as ourselves (Matthew 22:37–39). Notice that Jesus did not tell us to love only those who look like us, believe exactly as we do, or conform to society’s expectations. Jesus commanded us to love. And that love includes recognizing our own worth as children of God. If we cannot see ourselves as worthy of love, how can we fully embrace the love God offers us or share it freely with others?

Love of neighbor also means refusing to make another person’s belonging conditional. We cannot claim to love someone while demanding that they erase themselves to remain welcome. We cannot tell LGBTQ+ people that they are loved and then withdraw family, community, or spiritual support when they live honestly. Love may require patience, growth, and difficult conversations, but it does not require rejection. Love can be truthful without being cruel, and it can hold convictions without withholding compassion.

Delighting ourselves in the Lord means more than attending church, reading Scripture, or saying our prayers. It means allowing God’s love to transform our hearts and guide our actions. It means showing compassion instead of judgment, offering kindness instead of condemnation, and recognizing the dignity of every human being. It means living a Christian life defined not by fear of punishment or the expectation of rewards, but by love itself.

And perhaps, as we grow in faith, the desires of our hearts begin to change. Instead of praying, “God, please make me someone else,” we may come to say, “God, help me become the person You created me to be.” Instead of begging God to take away our capacity to love, we may ask for the courage to love more deeply, more generously, and more faithfully. Instead of seeking the approval of those who condemn us, we may find peace in knowing that God’s grace has never depended upon their acceptance.

We may also begin to recognize the difference between love and approval. Not everyone will understand us, and not everyone will affirm our choices or identity. But no one has the right to make our basic worth dependent upon their approval. God’s love is not a contract that can be canceled when we disappoint someone. It is not a reward for performing correctly. It is a gift that reveals our worth before we have done anything to earn it.

Of course, unanswered prayers are not limited to our struggles with sexuality. We pray for loved ones who are ill, for relationships that have ended, for financial burdens to be lifted, and for suffering to cease. Sometimes the healing never comes, the relationship is never restored, or the circumstances never improve. We may never understand why. Faith does not require us to pretend that disappointment doesn’t hurt or that every tragedy is somehow a blessing in disguise. We can grieve, question, and even cry out to God in frustration while continuing to trust in God’s love.

When family relationships are broken, we may grieve the love we hoped to receive. We may mourn the parent, sibling, or relative who chose rejection over relationship. That grief is real, and we do not have to minimize it by pretending that everything is fine. At the same time, we can remember that another person’s refusal to love us well does not prove that we are unlovable. Sometimes the family we need is the family we find: friends, partners, affirming congregations, mentors, and communities that welcome us without demanding that we disappear.

Ultimately, our Christian hope extends beyond the circumstances of this earthly life. The greatest promise God has given us is not that we will receive everything we desire here on earth, but that through God’s grace we may share in eternal life with God. Revelation 21:4 offers a beautiful vision of that promise: “God will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the former things have passed away.”

What a glorious promise that is. A day when there will be no more rejection, no more shame, no more loneliness, and no more suffering. A day when we will no longer question whether we are worthy of God’s love because we will dwell forever in its fullness.

But we need not wait until heaven to begin experiencing the joy of that love. We can find it here, in the kindness we show others, in the relationships we nurture, in the compassion we extend to those who are hurting, and in the freedom of living truthfully as the people God created us to be. We can practice a love that does not keep score, demand repayment, or disappear when someone becomes difficult to understand. We can create families and communities where belonging is not conditional and where every person is treated as a beloved child of God.

Perhaps that is one of the greatest lessons of Psalm 37:4. God does not always give us what we ask for, and we may never understand every unanswered prayer. But when we delight ourselves in the Lord, when we open our hearts to God’s grace and allow God’s love to guide our lives, we may discover that some of the things we once begged God to change were never wrong in the first place.

We may spend years asking God to make us different, only to discover that the answer we needed was God’s invitation to love and accept the person we have always been. We may spend years fearing that our families will withdraw their love, only to learn that love worthy of the name does not depend upon our conformity. And as we journey through this imperfect world, loving God and loving one another, we can rest in the promise that the greatest joy of all still awaits us: an eternity in the presence of the One whose love has never failed us.

May we carry that love into the world. May we reject the shame and fear that tell people they must become someone else to be worthy of God’s grace. May we refuse to use love as a reward or belonging as a bargaining tool. May we honor the dignity of every person, welcome those who have been pushed aside, and help create families and communities where LGBTQ+ people can live truthfully, love faithfully, and know that they belong. And when we face unanswered prayers, may we remember that silence is not proof of abandonment, that rejection is not proof of unworthiness, and that our worth has never depended on becoming anyone other than the person God created us to be.

“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and perfect.”

— Romans 12:2

For many LGBTQ+ Christians, these words from the Apostle Paul carry a particularly powerful meaning. We have spent so much of our lives trying to conform to what others believe we should be. We have been told how to act, how to dress, whom to love, and even how to worship God. We have been told how to hold our hands so they aren’t too expressive, how to walk without that telltale swish in our steps, how to sit properly, and how to change our voices to sound deeper and more masculine. We have been taught to watch every gesture, every word, and every movement, lest we reveal something about ourselves that others might find unacceptable.

We have been taught that acceptance, both from the world and sometimes even from our own families and churches, depends upon our willingness to deny some essential part of ourselves. Too often, we have believed those voices, even when doing so has caused us tremendous pain. There is a particular kind of suffering that comes from trying to squeeze ourselves into a mold that was never made for us. We twist ourselves into impossible shapes, suppress our feelings, question our worth, and convince ourselves that if we could just be different, we might finally be worthy of love.

When I was in graduate school, I read Passing, a novel by Nella Larsen, a Black woman who was part of the Harlem Renaissance. Published in 1929, the novel explores the lives of two Black women, one of whom conceals her racial identity and lives as white, even from her own husband. The novel examines the complicated relationship between identity, belonging, and the sacrifices people make to gain acceptance in a society that judges them for who they are. Although Larsen was writing about racial passing in a deeply segregated America, I found myself identifying with the emotional struggle of hiding one’s true identity.

For generations, LGBTQ+ people have been taught to do our own kind of passing. We have pretended to be straight, suppressed our mannerisms, concealed our relationships, and sometimes even married people we could never truly love, all in the hope of being accepted by our families, our communities, and our churches. We have been told that if we could just pass as heterosexual Christians, we would somehow become better Christians. The historical experiences of racial passing and concealing one’s sexuality are not the same, but both can reveal the terrible emotional cost of being forced to hide who we are. The fault lies not with those who conceal their identities for safety or acceptance, but with the prejudice that makes such concealment necessary.

I was reminded of this recently during a conversation with a good friend who sent me a series of illustrations depicting the experiences of a young gay man growing up in a world that continually told him he needed to be someone else. The first illustration, which I’ve used at the beginning of this post, asks a question that many LGBTQ+ people have probably asked themselves at some point: “I’m sorry, who would choose this?”

My immediate response to my friend was that God knows I would never have chosen to be gay. Not because I believe there is anything wrong with being gay, but because I know the pain, loneliness, fear, and rejection that have accompanied it throughout much of my life. If I could have spared that frightened little boy the suffering he would endure, I would have wanted to.

But perhaps we have been asking the wrong question all along. Instead of asking why anyone would choose to be gay, perhaps we should ask why the world makes being gay so difficult that anyone would wish to be someone else.

The illustrations that follow tell that story, and in many ways, they tell my story as well.

We begin learning society’s expectations long before we understand what sexuality even means. Little boys are supposed to like trucks, sports, and rough-and-tumble games. Little girls are supposed to like dolls, dresses, and playing house. Those expectations are so deeply ingrained that a child who steps outside them can be made to feel that something is wrong.

The second illustration shows a little boy reaching toward a princess dress while his mother holds his hand. It is such a simple, innocent moment. He sees something beautiful that interests him. Yet we know how easily that innocent curiosity can become a source of embarrassment for the adults around him.

There is nothing inherently wrong with a boy who likes princess dresses or a girl who prefers toy trucks. Nor do childhood interests determine someone’s sexual orientation or gender identity. But society often treats these differences as warning signs that a child needs to be corrected.

The next illustration shows the same little boy reading a fairy tale in bed while a man, presumably his father, stands in the doorway holding a toy truck. There is something heartbreaking about that image. The child is perfectly content, absorbed in a story that brings him happiness, while the adult seems to represent the expectations that will eventually intrude upon that happiness.

It reminds me of my own childhood.

When I was in elementary school, I preferred playing with the girls at recess rather than joining the boys in flag football. My father was embarrassed by this. On the occasions when he picked me up from school, I knew I had to play flag football with the other boys. Thankfully, those occasions were rare. Recess came at the end of the school day, so I could usually enjoy myself without worrying about whether he would see me.

It seems like such a small thing now, doesn’t it? A little boy wanting to play with the children whose company he enjoyed. Yet even then, I was learning that being myself was something to be ashamed of.

As children grow older, the expectations become more rigid, and the consequences of being different can become more painful.

We learn that certain gestures are too feminine, certain interests are unacceptable, and certain ways of speaking or walking invite ridicule. Every movement, every word, every laugh becomes something to scrutinize. We are no longer simply living our lives. We are performing a version of ourselves designed to make other people comfortable.

And when we fail to perform convincingly enough, we are reminded of our supposed shortcomings.

Sometimes that ridicule becomes something much worse.

School was often a living hell for me because of the bullying I endured. Years later, when I finally told my mother how miserable I had been, she asked why I hadn’t told my parents at the time.

The answer was simple: I was embarrassed.

I already knew what I would likely hear. My father had told me often enough to quit being such a sissy.

How could I turn to the very people who were supposed to protect me when I feared they would simply reinforce what my tormentors were saying?

For many LGBTQ+ children, home is not always a refuge from the cruelty they encounter elsewhere. Sometimes the expectations at home are simply a quieter version of the same rejection they experience at school.

And the damage can last long after childhood has ended.

Eventually, the voices of others become the voices inside our own heads.

The next illustration shows the young man sitting alone on his bed, searching his phone for ways not to be gay. By this point, he has learned the lesson the world has been teaching him: if he could just change who he is, perhaps the suffering would stop.

But we cannot build a healthy life upon the belief that our very existence is a mistake.

This is where Paul’s words in Romans 12:2 become especially meaningful: “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds.”

For LGBTQ+ Christians, that can mean refusing to accept the world’s insistence that our sexuality or gender identity makes us less worthy of God’s love. It means recognizing that the prejudices of society, even when preached from a pulpit, are not necessarily the will of God.

The transformation Paul describes is not about changing our sexual orientation or gender identity. It is about renewing our minds and changing the way we understand ourselves, our relationship with God, and our place in His creation.

For some of us, the most difficult transformation God asks of us is not to change who we are, but to change what we have been taught to believe about ourselves.

Sometimes the people who hurt us do not even realize they are doing so.

The illustration of the boy crying in the car while his mother assures him that he will feel better once he gets out and plays soccer is particularly painful to me. It reminds me of those afternoons when I felt compelled to play flag football because my father might be watching.

Perhaps the mother in the illustration genuinely believes that joining the other boys will make her son happy. Perhaps she cannot understand why something that seems so ordinary to her causes him such distress.

But good intentions do not always prevent harm.

When we insist that children conform to our expectations rather than allowing them to discover who they are, we teach them that our approval is conditional. We teach them that love and acceptance must be earned by becoming someone else.

And for a child who already feels different, that can be devastating.

Those expectations do not disappear when we grow older.

The questions simply change. Have you got a girlfriend? When are you going to settle down? When are you going to get married?

For heterosexual people, these may seem like harmless questions. For someone struggling with their sexuality, they can be painful reminders that the life others expect of them is not the life they are meant to live.

My friend, who is considerably younger than I am, told me something during our conversation that I found both beautiful and heartbreaking. He said he had reached a point in his life where he would choose to be gay again in every lifetime.

I wish I could have said that when I was his age.

For much of my life, I felt that I faced an impossible choice: keep my family or be myself. I could not have both. My family has never fully accepted me for who I am, and that rejection leaves wounds that do not simply disappear with time.

My friend’s words represent a freedom that I wish I had known much earlier in life. But I also recognize that we come to self-acceptance through different experiences, at different times, and sometimes through extraordinary pain.

I think this illustration captures something that is often misunderstood about the LGBTQ+ experience.

When someone says they would never have chosen to be gay, they are not necessarily saying that being gay is wrong. Sometimes they are saying that the suffering imposed upon them has been so great that they cannot imagine willingly choosing to endure it.

But we must be careful not to confuse the source of that suffering.

The problem is not the child who prefers playing with girls, the boy who loves fairy tales, or the young man who dreams of loving another man. The problem is a world that teaches them to be ashamed of those things.

There is nothing inherently shameful about being LGBTQ+. The shame comes from the judgments others impose upon us and the judgments we eventually learn to impose upon ourselves.

And unlearning those judgments can be one of the most difficult journeys we ever undertake.

The final illustration shows the young man kneeling beside his bed, his hands clasped in prayer.

I wonder how many LGBTQ+ Christians have knelt beside their beds and begged God to make them different. How many have prayed for their feelings to disappear, for their desires to change, or for the strength to become the person their families and churches expected them to be?

How many have interpreted God’s silence as evidence that they were unworthy of His love?

But what if we have been praying for the wrong kind of transformation?

What if God does not want us to become someone else? What if He wants us to learn to love the person He created?

Paul tells us that through the renewing of our minds, we “may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and perfect.”

For me, that renewal begins with recognizing that I can be both authentically gay and faithfully Christian. These are not competing identities. I do not have to choose between loving God and accepting myself.

But I also know that reaching that understanding is not as simple as deciding one morning to think differently.

For those of us who have spent years, sometimes decades, being told that something fundamental about us is wrong, learning to love ourselves can be extraordinarily difficult. The voices of condemnation do not simply disappear because we have decided to stop listening.

And I would never suggest that a change in attitude, a stronger faith, or a renewed commitment to God can magically solve every problem. The damage caused by years of rejection, shame, and fear can be profound. Depression, anxiety, and trauma are not signs of spiritual weakness, nor are they evidence that we have failed to trust God.

Sometimes healing requires therapy. Sometimes it requires medication. Sometimes it requires both, along with the love and support of people who accept us exactly as we are. There is no shame in seeking professional help, and doing so does not demonstrate a lack of faith.

Faith and medical treatment are not opposing forces. They can work together to help us become healthier, happier, and more fully ourselves.

The important thing is to begin.

Begin by questioning the voices that have told you that you are unworthy. Begin by recognizing that your identity is not something for which you must apologize. Begin by treating yourself with the same compassion you would offer someone else who was struggling. Begin by understanding that loving yourself is not selfish, and accepting yourself is not sinful.

Most importantly, begin by recognizing that you can be both authentically LGBTQ+ and faithfully Christian.

When we stop exhausting ourselves trying to satisfy everyone else’s expectations, we create room for something extraordinary. We begin to discover who we really are, what we believe, and how we can use the gifts God has given us.

And perhaps that is when we can begin to discern God’s will for our lives more clearly.

Perhaps our experiences of rejection will make us more compassionate toward others who suffer. Perhaps our struggles will give us the courage to stand against injustice. Perhaps the love we once believed we were unworthy of receiving will become the very love we offer to someone else who desperately needs it.

And perhaps, simply by living openly and faithfully, we can help another LGBTQ+ person understand that they, too, have a place in God’s kingdom.

I think about that little boy who was afraid to be seen playing with the girls at recess. I wish I could go back and tell him that there was nothing wrong with him. That he didn’t need to change the way he walked, talked, or held his hands. That he didn’t need to pretend to enjoy things he disliked simply to prove that he was masculine enough.

Most of all, I wish I could tell him that God loved him exactly as he was.

None of this means that life will suddenly become easy. There will still be people who reject us, churches that exclude us, and days when old insecurities return. Transformation is rarely a straight path, and healing does not mean that every wound disappears.

But we do not have to be perfect to begin living freely. We do not have to have all the answers before we can love ourselves. And we certainly do not have to become someone else to be worthy of God’s grace.

We can love ourselves, embrace who we are, and devote our hearts and spirits to God. These are not separate journeys, but parts of the same transformation.

And as our minds are renewed, we may discover that the freedom we have been searching for does not come from finally becoming what others wanted us to be. It comes from accepting who we have always been, recognizing God’s love within us, and allowing that love to shape the way we live.

For when we are no longer consumed by the struggle to deny ourselves, we are free to devote our energy to something far greater: loving God, loving our neighbors, and making a difference in a world that desperately needs more compassion, understanding, and grace.

God does not call us to conform to someone else’s idea of who we should be. He calls us to be transformed by His love, so that we can become more fully the people He created us to be.

“For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed. But those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God.”

— John 3:20–21

There is something profoundly powerful about the idea of living in the light. Light reveals what darkness conceals. It illuminates the truth, exposes deception, and allows us to see ourselves and the world around us more clearly. In John 3:20–21, Jesus contrasts those whose actions cannot withstand the light of truth with those whose deeds reflect the goodness of God. For LGBTQ+ Christians, these verses carry a particular significance, especially for those of us who have spent part of our lives hiding who we truly are.

For generations, LGBTQ+ people have been told that our identities are something shameful, something that should remain hidden. Many of us grew up hearing that being gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgender was incompatible with being a Christian. We were taught, either directly or indirectly, that acceptance by God depended upon denying an essential part of ourselves. Some of us learned to conceal our feelings, carefully guard our words, and construct lives that would satisfy the expectations of others. We became so accustomed to hiding that secrecy sometimes felt safer than openness.

Yet there is an important distinction between hiding something because it is wrong and concealing something because others have made it dangerous to reveal. Jesus speaks of those who avoid the light because their deeds are evil, but that is not the same as someone remaining in the closet out of fear of rejection, discrimination, violence, or losing the people they love. There is no shame in protecting ourselves when the world has not made it safe for us to live openly. Being closeted does not mean that someone is dishonest, sinful, or lacking in faith. Sometimes, it simply means they are doing what they must to survive.

Perhaps, though, we have been looking at the darkness in these verses from the wrong perspective. What if the darkness is not the closet itself, but the prejudice, hatred, and condemnation that force LGBTQ+ people into it? What if those who make us afraid to live openly are the ones whose actions cannot withstand the light of God’s truth? When someone uses religion to shame another person, threatens them with rejection, or convinces them that God’s love does not extend to them, that person is not spreading the light of Christ. They are casting shadows over someone else’s life. They are creating the very fear and secrecy that keep people from living authentically.

There is a painful irony in the fact that some of those who most loudly proclaim themselves defenders of God’s truth are the very people whose actions drive others into hiding. They claim to stand in the light while making the world darker for those they condemn. They demand that LGBTQ+ people repent of who they are while refusing to examine the cruelty, hypocrisy, and prejudice in their own hearts. They speak of righteousness while overlooking the suffering their words and actions cause. Yet the light of God’s truth does not shine only upon those whom society has labeled sinners. It shines upon all of us, exposing our prejudices, our failures to love, and the ways we sometimes use religion to justify hurting others.

The opposite is equally true. Those who embrace LGBTQ+ people with compassion, acceptance, and unconditional love help bring God’s light into the world. They create spaces where people no longer have to hide, where honesty is met with understanding rather than condemnation, and where love is celebrated rather than feared. Their actions reflect the truth Jesus describes because their compassion is visible in the way they treat others. They demonstrate their faith not by condemning people but by loving them. In doing so, they help lift the darkness that others have imposed and allow God’s light to shine more brightly.

Jesus tells us that those who do what is true come into the light. Notice that He does not say those who are perfect come into the light. He speaks of those whose actions reflect truth and goodness. This should challenge all Christians to consider whether their behavior genuinely reflects the teachings of Christ. Does our faith make others feel loved or rejected? Do our words encourage people to draw closer to God, or do they convince them that they are unworthy of His presence? Do we create an environment where people can live honestly, or do we make them afraid to reveal who they are?

These are not insignificant questions. Jesus consistently challenged religious hypocrisy and emphasized love, mercy, and compassion. He reached out to those whom society marginalized, welcomed those whom others rejected, and reminded His followers that loving God and loving one’s neighbor were the greatest commandments. If our understanding of Christianity causes us to treat others with cruelty rather than kindness, perhaps it is our understanding that needs to change.

For LGBTQ+ Christians, living in the light begins with recognizing that we are beloved children of God, created with dignity and worthy of love. Our sexuality or gender identity does not separate us from God’s grace. We do not have to become someone else to be worthy of His presence. The love we are capable of giving and receiving can reflect the goodness of God just as surely as anyone else’s. We should never allow the condemnation of others to convince us that our authentic selves are something shameful.

Of course, living in the light is not necessarily the same as coming out publicly. Not everyone has the freedom or safety to be open about their identity. Some risk losing their families, their livelihoods, their communities, or even their lives. We must never mistake their need for privacy and protection for a failure of courage or faith. God knows who they are, whether the rest of the world does or not. They can live truthfully before Him even when circumstances require them to remain closeted.

There is also a responsibility for those who claim to walk in God’s light. If we truly believe that truth comes from God, then we must be willing to examine the harm caused when religious teachings are used to exclude and condemn. We cannot claim to embrace the light while deliberately refusing to see the suffering of others. We cannot profess the love of Christ while making people feel unworthy of that love. The light Jesus describes should illuminate our own hearts as much as it illuminates the actions of those around us.

For those of us who have struggled to reconcile our faith with our identities, finding that light can be a long and difficult journey. It may involve questioning teachings we once accepted without hesitation, confronting painful memories, or learning to believe that God’s love really does include us. Sometimes, the hardest step is not convincing others of our worth but allowing ourselves to believe it. And sometimes, the most powerful expression of God’s light comes through another person who simply says, “I love you just as you are.”

The beautiful promise of John 3:20–21 is that truth and light belong together. We do not have to fear God’s light because we are LGBTQ+. We can come before Him as we are, without pretending to be someone we are not. God already knows our hearts, our struggles, our hopes, and our capacity for love. There is nothing about our authentic selves that comes as a surprise to Him.

Perhaps the greatest lesson of these verses is that we should be less concerned with exposing what others have been forced to hide and more concerned with examining the darkness our own actions might create. If we truly wish to walk in God’s light, we should strive to make the world a place where others no longer have to live in fear. We should replace condemnation with compassion, rejection with acceptance, and hatred with love.

The darkness is not who we are, and the light is not something we must earn. Those who force others into hiding should examine the shadows they cast, while those who offer love and acceptance help illuminate the path toward freedom. God’s light was never meant to drive us into the darkness. It was meant to remind us that we have always belonged in His love.

“Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake.
Rejoice, and be exceeding glad: for great is your reward in heaven.”

— Matthew 5:11-12

For many LGBTQ+ Christians, these words from Jesus can feel painfully familiar. We know what it is like to be judged by people who believe they are speaking for God. We know what it is like to hear that our love is sinful, that our relationships are somehow less worthy, or even that there is no place for us within the Church unless we deny an essential part of ourselves.

Sometimes those words come from strangers. Sometimes they come from churches we once called home. Most painfully, they can come from people we love.

Yet Jesus never tells us that the approval of others is the measure of our faithfulness. In the Sermon on the Mount, He acknowledges that those who seek to follow Him may be reviled, persecuted, and falsely accused. His response is not to tell them to change themselves so that their critics will approve of them. Instead, He reminds them where their true worth lies.

Our relationship with God cannot be measured by someone else’s willingness to accept us.

That does not mean every criticism directed toward us should simply be dismissed. None of us is beyond correction. Following Christ requires continual examination of our lives, our motives, and our actions. But there is an important difference between conviction and condemnation. Conviction calls us toward greater love, mercy, humility, honesty, and justice. Condemnation merely tells us that we are unworthy of love.

Paul offers us a way to distinguish between the two:

“And this I pray, that your love may abound yet more and more in knowledge and in all judgment;
That ye may approve things that are excellent; that ye may be sincere and without offence till the day of Christ.”— Philippians 1:9-10

Notice what Paul places at the center of discernment: love.

He does not pray merely that the Philippians will acquire more rules. He prays that their love will grow in knowledge and judgment so that they can recognize what is truly excellent.

Christian discernment, therefore, should never be separated from love.

Jesus Himself tells us that the greatest commandments are to love God and to love our neighbors (Matthew 22:37-39). He tells us that others will recognize His disciples by their love for one another (John 13:35). Paul tells us that without love, even extraordinary faith amounts to nothing (1 Corinthians 13:2).

That gives us a powerful question to ask when someone claims to speak for God: What fruit does their message produce?

Does it lead toward love, compassion, mercy, justice, faithfulness, and hope? Or does it produce shame, hatred, cruelty, despair, and rejection?

Jesus warned us that we would know false prophets “by their fruits” (Matthew 7:16). A theology that repeatedly produces misery, self-hatred, broken families, abandoned faith, and despair deserves serious examination.

For LGBTQ+ Christians, discernment becomes especially important because we are often confronted with people who quote Scripture while ignoring the larger message of Scripture. A handful of passages are sometimes elevated above everything Jesus taught about love, mercy, humility, justice, and the treatment of those whom society pushes aside.

We should study Scripture carefully. We should pray. We should seek wisdom. We should remain humble enough to examine ourselves.

But we should not confuse someone else’s prejudice with God’s judgment.

And we should never believe that suffering rejection somehow means that God has rejected us.

Jesus repeatedly welcomed those whom respectable religious society pushed aside. He touched people others considered unclean. He ate with people others considered sinners. He defended those whom others were eager to condemn. Again and again, Christ moved toward people whom society pushed away.

That should tell us something about the heart of God.

At the same time, Philippians challenges us not merely to endure rejection but to respond to it as Christians. Hurt can easily become bitterness. After being condemned repeatedly, it is tempting to return condemnation for condemnation.

But Paul prays that our love may abound yet more and more.

That may be one of the hardest parts of Christian discipleship.

We can stand firmly against injustice without becoming cruel. We can reject harmful theology without hating those who believe it. We can defend ourselves without surrendering our compassion. We can refuse to be ashamed while still remembering Christ’s command to love even those who treat us as enemies.

Our love does not have to become smaller because someone else’s love has limits.

Perhaps that is one of the most powerful witnesses LGBTQ+ Christians can offer the Church.

We can live openly and faithfully. We can love generously. We can show kindness. We can seek justice. We can forgive when forgiveness is possible while maintaining necessary boundaries. We can worship God without apologizing for the people God created us to be.

And when others revile us, exclude us, or falsely condemn us in God’s name, we can remember the words of Christ: “Rejoice, and be exceeding glad.”

Not because rejection does not hurt.

Not because injustice should be ignored.

But because those who condemn us do not have the final word about our relationship with God.

God does.

So let our prayer be Paul’s prayer: that our love will continue to grow—not blindly, but “in knowledge and in all judgment.” May we have the wisdom to recognize what is good, the courage to reject what is harmful, and the faith to remain true to Christ even when others tell us we do not belong.

Above all, may we never allow the hatred of others to teach us how to hate.

We belong to a Savior who told the rejected they were blessed, who welcomed those others pushed aside, and who made love the defining mark of His disciples.

Let us live accordingly.

“I am distressed for you, my brother Jonathan;
Greatly beloved were you to me;
Your love to me was wonderful,
Surpassing the love of women.”

—2 Samuel 1:26

There may be no more beautiful expression of love between two men in the Bible than David’s lament for Jonathan. Jonathan has died in battle alongside his father, King Saul, and David mourns the loss of the man he loved with words of extraordinary tenderness: “Greatly beloved were you to me; your love to me was wonderful, surpassing the love of women.”

For LGBTQ+ Christians, those words can be particularly moving. We know what it means to love someone of the same sex, whether that love is romantic, familial, spiritual, or the deep affection of friendship. We also know that throughout history people have tried to place boundaries around which kinds of love should be acknowledged, celebrated, or even spoken aloud. Yet the Bible itself contains remarkable examples of profound love between people of the same sex.

Scripture does not always tell us precisely how we should categorize these relationships according to our modern understanding of sexuality. We should therefore be careful about imposing modern labels upon people who lived thousands of years ago. But neither should we be afraid to recognize what the biblical text actually says: these people loved one another, sometimes with extraordinary intensity.

David and Jonathan are perhaps the clearest example.

When they first meet, Scripture tells us, “the soul of Jonathan was bound to the soul of David; Jonathan loved him as his own soul” (1 Samuel 18:1). Jonathan makes a covenant with David “because he loved him as his own soul” (1 Samuel 18:3). Later, when Saul seeks David’s life, Jonathan protects him despite the enormous personal cost. Their farewell is emotional: they kiss one another and weep together (1 Samuel 20:41).

And when Jonathan dies, David openly declares the depth of his grief and love.

People have debated for generations whether David and Jonathan’s relationship contained a romantic or sexual dimension. Scripture does not explicitly answer that question, and we do not need to settle it to appreciate what the story tells us about love. Whatever terminology we use, Jonathan loved David enough to risk his relationship with his father, surrender his own interests, protect David’s life, and remain faithful to him. David remembered Jonathan’s love as something wonderful.

There is tremendous power in such love.

We see something similarly beautiful between two women in the Book of Ruth.

After the deaths of their husbands, Naomi tells her daughters-in-law to return to their own families. Orpah eventually does, but Ruth refuses to leave Naomi. Her response has become one of the Bible’s most beloved declarations of devotion:

“Where you go, I will go;
Where you lodge, I will lodge;
Your people shall be my people,
And your God my God.”
—Ruth 1:16

These words are sometimes read at weddings because they express such complete devotion, although in their biblical setting they are spoken by one woman to another. Ruth chooses Naomi when she has every practical reason to leave. She chooses an uncertain future over abandoning someone she loves.

And this scene has continued to speak to people beyond the pages of Scripture. One of the most powerful moments in the film Fried Green Tomatoes comes when Ruth, seeking rescue from her abusive husband, sends this passage to Idgie. In the film, Ruth’s words are not merely a declaration of loyalty; they become a plea for help, a reaching out toward the person she trusts to save her. The biblical passage becomes a bridge between them—a way for Ruth to say what she needs when saying it directly may be too dangerous or difficult.

There is something deeply moving about that use of Scripture. Ruth’s words in the Bible express a refusal to abandon Naomi. In Fried Green Tomatoes, they become a message from one woman to another: I need you. I trust you. Please come for me. The passage carries both devotion and vulnerability, and Idgie understands what Ruth is asking.

Again, Scripture does not describe Ruth and Naomi as romantic partners. Their relationship is familial. But that does not diminish the love between them. If anything, it reminds us that love cannot be confined to a single category. Ruth’s devotion demonstrates that love can create family where circumstances have torn family apart.

The New Testament gives us other examples.

In the Gospels, we encounter the Roman centurion who comes to Jesus seeking healing for his servant. Matthew tells us that the servant is “dear to him” and suffering terribly (Matthew 8:5–13; compare Luke 7:1–10). Some have suggested that the relationship might have been romantic because of the language used and aspects of Roman culture. Others understand it simply as the relationship between a master and a highly valued servant. The biblical text does not tell us enough to determine the nature of their relationship.

What it does tell us is that the centurion cares deeply enough about another man to seek out Jesus on his behalf.

Jesus does not interrogate him about the nature of that love. Instead, Jesus responds to his faith and heals the man he loves.

Then there is one of the most intriguing relationships in the Gospel of John: Jesus and the man repeatedly identified simply as “the disciple whom Jesus loved.”

At the Last Supper, this disciple reclines beside Jesus (John 13:23). At the crucifixion, when many others have fled, he remains near the cross, and Jesus entrusts his mother to his care (John 19:26–27). When Mary Magdalene discovers the empty tomb, she runs to Peter and “the other disciple, whom Jesus loved” (John 20:2).

Again, we should not force a romantic interpretation onto a text that does not give us one. But we should not overlook its tenderness either. The Gospel is remarkably comfortable telling us that Jesus loved another man. There is no embarrassment in that language and no qualification attached to it.

That matters.

Jesus himself demonstrated that tenderness between men is not weakness. He loved openly. He wept. He embraced. He formed intimate friendships. He allowed another man to recline close beside him. He created relationships founded upon trust, loyalty, vulnerability, and love.

We see another form of same-sex love in Paul’s relationship with Timothy. Paul refers to Timothy as his “beloved and faithful child in the Lord” (1 Corinthians 4:17), and his letters reveal a relationship characterized by affection, mentorship, trust, and shared faith. Near the end of his life, Paul writes personally to Timothy, remembering his tears and longing to see him (2 Timothy 1:4). This is spiritual love—the love through which one generation nurtures another and faith becomes something shared rather than merely taught.

Taken together, these relationships remind us of something Christianity sometimes makes unnecessarily complicated:

Love is powerful because love comes from God.

Jonathan’s love protects.
David’s love remembers.
Ruth’s love remains.
Naomi’s love becomes family.
The centurion’s love seeks healing.
The beloved disciple’s love stays near the cross.
Jesus’s love entrusts and embraces.
Paul’s love teaches.
Timothy’s love carries the faith forward.

None of these relationships is identical to another. Some are friendships. Some are familial. Some are spiritual. Some resist easy categorization. But all demonstrate the extraordinary capacity human beings have to love another person of the same sex deeply, faithfully, and sacrificially.

For LGBTQ+ Christians, perhaps there is comfort in recognizing that we are not strangers to the biblical story. We know the power of these kinds of relationships because they are part of our lives too.

We know friendships that became family when biological families rejected us. We know older LGBTQ+ people who guided younger generations through difficult journeys. We know friends who sat beside hospital beds, stood beside us during grief, celebrated with us when life finally became joyful again, or simply refused to leave when everyone else seemed to disappear.

We know what it means to reach out to someone we trust when we are afraid. We know what it means to recognize a message hidden inside familiar words. We know that sometimes a passage of Scripture, a song, a letter, or a simple gesture can say what we cannot safely say aloud.

And yes, many of us know what it means to fall deeply and completely in love with someone of the same sex.

We should not need to turn David and Jonathan, Ruth and Naomi, or Jesus and the beloved disciple into modern same-sex couples to find ourselves within Scripture. Their stories already tell us something important: profound love between two men or between two women is not foreign to the Bible. Scripture preserves such love, celebrates its loyalty, records its tenderness, and allows its grief to be expressed openly.

David did not hide how much Jonathan meant to him. He proclaimed it:

“Greatly beloved were you to me;
Your love to me was wonderful.”

Perhaps those are words worth remembering.

The strength of love is not measured by whether everyone understands it. It is measured by its faithfulness, compassion, sacrifice, tenderness, and ability to transform lives.

Jesus tells us, “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you” (John 15:12). He does not command us merely to tolerate one another. He commands us to love.

And 1 John tells us why: “Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God” (1 John 4:7).

Love is of God.

The love between friends. The love within families. The love between people who become family. The love of mentors and those they guide. The love that remains beside us when everyone else leaves. The love that risks something for another person. The love that reaches out for help. The love that grieves when someone is gone. And the love between two people who choose to share their lives with one another.

When that love is patient, faithful, compassionate, selfless, and life-giving, we should recognize its strength rather than fear it.

Jonathan loved David as his own soul. Ruth refused to abandon Naomi. A centurion sought healing for someone dear to him. Jesus loved the beloved disciple. Paul loved Timothy as a child.

Again and again, Scripture and the stories shaped by it remind us that some of the most powerful bonds in human life exist between people of the same sex.

For LGBTQ+ Christians who have sometimes been told that whom we love separates us from God, these stories offer another message. Love need not drive us away from God. Love can teach us something about God.

Because when we love another person faithfully, sacrificially, tenderly, and without shame, we catch a glimpse of the One from whom all genuine love ultimately comes.

“God is love.”—1 John 4:8

“Therefore if there is any consolation in Christ, if any comfort of love, if any fellowship of the Spirit, if any affection and mercy, fulfill my joy by being like-minded, having the same love, being of one accord, of one mind.”

—Philippians 2:1–2

One of the most difficult things about being an LGBTQ+ Christian can be holding onto our faith when other Christians make us feel as though there is no place for us within it. Rejection is painful under any circumstances, but when that rejection comes from people who profess the same faith we do, it can cut especially deep. We may wonder how people who worship the same God, read the same Bible, and follow the same Savior can show so little of the love Christ taught us to show one another.

Yet the failures of other Christians do not change who God is.

Paul begins the second chapter of Philippians by reminding Christians of what should bind us together: encouragement in Christ, comfort from love, fellowship in the Spirit, compassion, and mercy. He calls believers to be “like-minded, having the same love, being of one accord, of one mind” (Philippians 2:2). This unity is not achieved through judgment, exclusion, or demanding that everyone be exactly alike. Paul immediately goes on to speak about humility—putting aside selfish ambition and caring about the needs of others.

That is the kind of Christian life we are called to live.

Unfortunately, Christians do not always live up to that calling. Sometimes the people who speak most loudly about faith fail to demonstrate its most basic qualities. When that happens, we have a choice. We can allow their actions to drive us away from God, or we can remember that our faith ultimately rests in God, not in the behavior of other Christians.

Scripture tells us plainly, “God is love, and he who abides in love abides in God, and God in him” (1 John 4:16). That truth does not disappear because someone tells us that we do not belong. God’s love is not dependent upon another person’s approval of us. Our relationship with God belongs to God and us, and no one else gets to define it for us.

The question then becomes: How do we respond when we encounter rejection?

James gives us part of the answer: “Who is wise and understanding among you? Let him show by good conduct that his works are done in the meekness of wisdom” (James 3:13). Our faith should be visible not merely in what we claim to believe but in the way we live. Wisdom is demonstrated through conduct. Faith becomes tangible through our actions, our words, our compassion, and the way we treat other people.

That can be especially difficult when others have hurt us. Our natural instinct may be to answer cruelty with anger, judgment with judgment, and rejection with rejection. There are certainly times when we need to speak against injustice, defend ourselves, or establish boundaries. Being humble does not mean allowing ourselves to be mistreated. But even when we stand firmly against what is wrong, we can choose what kind of people we will become in response.

Paul tells the Ephesians, “Let no corrupt word proceed out of your mouth, but what is good for necessary edification, that it may impart grace to the hearers” (Ephesians 4:29). Our words matter. They can wound or heal, tear down or build up. When others use Christianity as a reason to condemn us, we do not have to imitate their behavior. We can speak truth while still speaking with grace. We can disagree without surrendering compassion. We can defend ourselves and others without allowing bitterness to consume us.

This does not mean pretending that rejection does not hurt. It does. Nor does forgiveness require us to remain in places where we are continually harmed. Sometimes faithfulness means walking away from people or churches that refuse to treat us with dignity. But walking away from those who hurt us does not require walking away from God.

Instead, we can strive to become the Christians Scripture calls all of us to be.

Ephesians 5:1 gives us a remarkably simple instruction: “Therefore be imitators of God as dear children.” If we want to know how we should live, that is our standard. We do not measure our Christianity against the behavior of the person who rejected us. We measure it against God. We look to Christ and ask whether our lives reflect his love, mercy, compassion, humility, and grace.

For LGBTQ+ Christians, there can be something particularly powerful about refusing to surrender our faith to those who tell us it does not belong to us. Our faith is not theirs to take away. We can continue praying, studying Scripture, worshiping, loving our neighbors, helping those in need, comforting those who hurt, standing beside those who are rejected, and showing through our lives what following Christ means.

Perhaps one of the strongest responses we can make to those who question our faith is simply to live it.

Let our actions demonstrate compassion. Let our words offer grace. Let our deeds show kindness. Let our humility remind us that none of us has all the answers. Let our courage allow us to stand against injustice without becoming consumed by hatred. Above all, let our love point toward the God whom Scripture tells us is love.

Other Christians may sometimes fail to follow Christ’s teachings. So will we, because none of us is perfect. But someone else’s failure does not excuse our own, nor does it have to weaken our faith. Instead, we can return again and again to Christ and allow God to shape us into people who reflect him more fully.

The unity Paul describes in Philippians begins with humility. It asks us to recognize one another with compassion and mercy and to love one another as Christ taught us. We cannot force others to live that way. We can only decide how we will live.

That means choosing courage when we encounter judgment, wisdom when we are angry, and healing when we are wounded. It means learning when to speak, when to forgive, when to establish boundaries, and when to walk away. It means refusing to let another person’s rejection determine our worth or dictate the shape of our faith.

So when faith becomes difficult, hold onto it. When others tell you that you do not belong, remember whose love ultimately matters. When anger and disappointment threaten to overwhelm you, return to the example of Christ. When you wonder how to show the world what you believe, remember that faith is revealed not merely by what we say on Sunday morning but by how we live every day.

Let your life be your testimony. Let your words give grace. Let your deeds show compassion. Seek unity through humility. Stand against injustice without surrendering to hatred. Protect yourself and others through healthy boundaries. And through it all, remain rooted in the simple and enduring truth that God is love, and whoever abides in love abides in God, and God abides in them.

“Teach me to do Your will,
For You are my God;
Your Spirit is good.
Lead me in the land of uprightness.”

—Psalm 143:10

I have prayed many times for God to show me the path He has set out for me. Sometimes I pray for a clear direction, hoping God will make the right choice unmistakable. At other times, I simply ask Him to guide my next step because I cannot see far enough ahead to know where the road will lead.

Psalm 143:10 expresses that longing beautifully: “Teach me to do Your will, for You are my God.” David does not merely ask God to reveal His will; he asks God to teach him how to follow it. Knowing the right path and having the faith to walk it are not always the same thing. We may recognize where God is leading us yet hesitate because the way seems uncertain, difficult, or different from what others expect of us.

This can be especially true for LGBTQ+ Christians. Many of us were taught that embracing who we are would take us away from God. We may have spent years praying for God to change us, fearing that our sexuality or gender identity placed us outside His will. When nothing changed, we may have wondered whether God had abandoned us—or whether we had somehow failed Him.

Yet the psalmist reminds us, “Your Spirit is good.” God does not guide us through shame, self-hatred, or despair. Those things do not reflect the character of the One whom Scripture tells us is love: “He who does not love does not know God, for God is love” (1 John 4:8). If God is love, then His will cannot be separated from love. His guidance may challenge us, stretch us, and call us to grow, but it will never require us to despise the person He created us to be.

We do not have to choose between living truthfully and walking with God. The God who guides our steps is the same God who formed us and knows us completely. Psalm 139:13–14 declares, “For You formed my inward parts; You covered me in my mother’s womb. I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” God knew the whole of us before anyone else placed a label, expectation, or condemnation upon us. Nothing about us was hidden from Him, and nothing about us came as a surprise.

When we ask God to show us His will, we must learn to listen for His voice beneath the voices of those who claim to speak for Him. Some people confuse their own prejudices with God’s commands. Others try to make their discomfort into a burden that LGBTQ+ people must carry. Yet Jesus warned us to judge teachings by the fruit they produce: “You will know them by their fruits” (Matthew 7:16). Teachings that produce fear, isolation, hopelessness, and self-hatred are not bearing the fruits of God’s Spirit. Paul tells us that those fruits are “love, joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control” (Galatians 5:22–23).

God’s path leads toward those things. It leads us toward greater love, deeper peace, honest relationships, compassion for others, and the freedom to live with integrity. It does not always lead us along the easiest road. Living openly and authentically may require courage. Following God may mean leaving behind a church that refuses to recognize our humanity, questioning beliefs we were once afraid to examine, or accepting that some people may never understand us. Nevertheless, God does not abandon us on that journey.

“Show me Your ways, O Lord; teach me Your paths,” Psalm 25:4–5 says. “Lead me in Your truth and teach me, for You are the God of my salvation; on You I wait all the day.” We may want God to reveal the entire path at once, but He often gives us enough light for only the next step. Faith is trusting that the One who shows us that step will remain with us for all the steps that follow.

Proverbs 3:5–6 offers similar reassurance: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.” Trusting God does not mean surrendering our minds or accepting every claim made in His name. It means trusting the goodness of God even when our understanding is incomplete. It means believing that His love is more reliable than human judgment and that His grace is greater than the barriers others try to build around it.

For LGBTQ+ Christians, discerning God’s will may begin with accepting one essential truth: we are loved. Paul writes that nothing “shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:39). Nothing includes our sexual orientation. Nothing includes our gender identity. Nothing includes the questions we are still trying to answer or the parts of ourselves we are still learning to embrace.

We may not always know exactly where God is leading us. I continue to pray that He will show me the path He has set out for me, and I suspect I will continue praying that prayer throughout my life. Perhaps that uncertainty is part of faith. We follow not because we can see the entire road, but because we trust the goodness of the One leading us.

“Teach me to do Your will,” we pray. Teach us to love more fully, to live more honestly, to extend mercy more generously, and to walk more humbly. Lead us away from fear and into truth. Lead us away from shame and into the knowledge that we are wonderfully made. Lead us onto level ground where we can stand securely in the assurance that we belong to You.

God is good. God is love. Wherever He leads us, His love will go with us.

“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”

—Matthew 11:28

Labor Day weekend is often treated simply as the unofficial end of summer. It gives many people a three-day weekend, one last opportunity to travel, gather with friends, cook outdoors, or rest before autumn begins in earnest. Yet the holiday has a deeper purpose. Labor Day was established to honor the contributions of workers and grew out of the labor movement’s struggle for fair wages, reasonable hours, safer workplaces, and humane treatment.

These concerns are not separate from our faith. The Bible repeatedly affirms the dignity of labor, commands justice for workers, and reminds us that no human being should be valued only for what he or she can produce.

Work itself is not a punishment. Before humanity’s fall, God placed Adam in the Garden of Eden “to dress it and to keep it” (Genesis 2:15). Human beings were created to cultivate, create, care for, and contribute to the world around us. Honest work can give us purpose, allow us to serve others, and make use of the gifts God has given us. As Colossians 3:23 tells us, “And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men.”

But the Bible does not praise work without limits. Scripture also condemns those who exploit workers or deny them the fruits of their labor. Deuteronomy 24:14 commands, “Thou shalt not oppress an hired servant that is poor and needy,” while the following verse instructs employers to pay workers promptly because they depend upon their wages. James offers an even harsher warning: “Behold, the hire of the labourers who have reaped down your fields, which is of you kept back by fraud, crieth” (James 5:4).

God hears the cries of those who are overworked, underpaid, mistreated, or regarded as disposable. A person’s labor may be bought, but that person’s dignity never can be. The worker behind a counter, the person cleaning an office after everyone else has gone home, the farmworker harvesting our food, the nurse finishing an exhausting shift, and the teacher carrying work home at night are all created in the image of God. Their worth does not depend upon their job title, salary, education, or social standing.

Jesus Himself knew what it meant to labor. Before beginning His ministry, He worked as a carpenter. His disciples included fishermen who understood long hours, physical exhaustion, and the uncertainty of whether their work would provide enough. When Jesus spoke to ordinary people, He did not speak from the comfort of a palace. He lived among those who worked with their hands, struggled to provide for their families, and knew what it meant to be weary.

That makes His invitation in Matthew especially powerful: “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”

The burdens Jesus described were not limited to physical labor. He was speaking to people weighed down by sin, sorrow, fear, religious demands, and the struggles of life. Nevertheless, His words speak to every kind of weariness. Some burdens come from our employment, while others come from caring for family, worrying about money, living with illness, hiding part of ourselves, or trying to meet expectations that no human being could ever satisfy. Some people carry burdens invisible to everyone around them.

Christ does not tell the weary to work harder so that they might finally deserve His care. He simply says, “Come unto me.”

Our culture often treats exhaustion as evidence of virtue. We admire people who are constantly busy and sometimes feel guilty when we are not accomplishing something. Even rest can become another task to perform correctly. Yet God never intended us to labor without ceasing. After six days of creation, God rested. The Sabbath was given not because God needed humanity to become more productive, but because human beings need restoration. Jesus said, “The sabbath was made for man, and not man for the sabbath” (Mark 2:27).

Rest is not laziness. It is an acknowledgment that we are human and have limits. We need sleep, quiet, recreation, companionship, prayer, and time in which our value is not measured by our productivity. Rest reminds us that the world continues to turn even when we stop working because ultimately the world rests in God’s hands, not ours.

This Labor Day, we should be grateful for the work others do and mindful of those whose labor is too often overlooked. We should support fairness, safety, dignity, and adequate compensation for every worker. We should also remember that God does not love us because of what we accomplish. Our jobs may describe part of what we do, but they do not define who we are.

Jesus continues His invitation by saying, “Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart.” A yoke ordinarily represents work, but Christ promises that we do not have to bear it alone. “For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:29–30).

God does not promise us a life without labor or responsibility. He promises His presence within it. He calls us to work honestly, treat workers justly, help carry one another’s burdens, and recognize when it is time to rest.

Whether this weekend finds us working, relaxing, caring for others, or simply trying to make it through another difficult day, Christ’s invitation remains the same:

Come to Me.

Bring Me your work, your worries, your exhaustion, and every burden you were never meant to carry alone.

And I will give you rest.

When Giving Is Not About Us

“But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be done in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.”

— Matthew 6:3–4

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus speaks about something that is as relevant today as it was two thousand years ago: the temptation to turn goodness into a performance.

Jesus tells His followers, “Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them” (Matthew 6:1). He specifically speaks about giving to those in need, warning His listeners not to “sound a trumpet” when they give so that others will praise them. Instead, He tells us not to let our left hand know what our right hand is doing. Our generosity should come from a desire to help, not from a desire to be admired.

The same principle appears immediately afterward when Jesus talks about prayer. He warns against praying publicly simply so that others will notice how devout we are. Instead, He tells us to go into a private room, close the door, and pray to God in secret (Matthew 6:5–6). Later, He says much the same thing about fasting. In each case, the problem is not the act itself. The problem is making our faith into a performance.

I have been thinking about these verses in light of the life of Dolly Parton.

Dolly supported an extraordinary number of charitable causes throughout her life. Some were very public. Through her Imagination Library, millions of books have been given to children. She contributed to medical research, helped communities devastated by disaster, supported education, and used her fame to draw attention to people who needed help.

Yet there were also acts of generosity that received little attention, and there may well have been others that we will never know about. That seems appropriate. When Dolly did speak publicly about a cause, the purpose was often not simply to announce what she had done. She used the attention already focused on her to turn people’s eyes toward something that mattered. She encouraged others to care, to give, and to help.

There is an important difference between drawing attention to ourselves because we give and drawing attention to a need so that others will give.

Jesus makes that distinction clearer when we consider another passage from the Sermon on the Mount. In Matthew 5:16, He says, “Let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.”

Few people had a light that shone brighter than Dolly Parton’s. Her talent made that light visible to the world, but her compassion showed us what she chose to do with it. She could use the attention that came with being Dolly Parton to make herself seem more important, or she could turn that attention toward someone who needed it. Again and again, she chose the latter. Her light did not become dimmer when she used it to illuminate the needs of others. It became brighter.

At first, Matthew 5:16 might seem to contradict Jesus’ warning just a few verses later about doing good deeds where others can see them. But the difference is found in who receives the glory.

Matthew 5 tells us to live in such a way that our goodness points beyond ourselves. Matthew 6 warns us against doing good so that people will praise us. One says, “Look at the good that can be done.” The other says, “Look at how good I am.”

That is a distinction worth remembering.

Jesus returns to the importance of caring for others in Matthew 25:31–46. In the parable of the sheep and the goats, He describes people who fed the hungry, gave drink to the thirsty, welcomed the stranger, clothed those who needed clothing, cared for the sick, and visited those in prison. What is striking is that the righteous do not even seem to realize the significance of what they have done. They ask Jesus when they ever did these things for Him.

His answer is one of the most powerful teachings in the Gospel: “Just as you did it to one of the least of these… you did it to me” (Matthew 25:40).

They did not help because they expected recognition. They helped because someone was hungry. Someone was thirsty. Someone needed clothing. Someone was sick, lonely, imprisoned, or a stranger in need of welcome. They saw someone who needed help, and they helped.

That is what Christian charity should look like.

Most of us will never have Dolly Parton’s wealth or enormous public platform, but all of us have something we can give. It may be money. It may be our time. It may be a meal, a ride, a listening ear, an encouraging word, or simply noticing someone whom everyone else seems to overlook.

And sometimes no one else needs to know.

There is something beautiful about doing something kind that can never be repaid and may never even be acknowledged. There is no applause, no recognition, and no opportunity to tell everyone what a wonderful person we are. There is simply someone who needed help and someone who chose to help them.

God sees those moments.

And when circumstances give us an opportunity to speak publicly about something we have done, perhaps the question we should ask ourselves is not simply, Should I tell people? Instead, we might ask, Why am I telling them?

Am I pointing toward myself, or am I pointing toward the need?

Am I hoping people will admire my generosity, or am I hoping my example might inspire someone else to be generous?

Jesus never tells us to stop doing good because someone might see us. He tells us to examine why we are doing it in the first place.

And doing good does not always require money, a grand gesture, or even much of our time. Sometimes the smallest kindness can matter more than we realize. A genuine smile offered to someone who seems to be having a difficult day may be exactly the encouragement that person needs. A kind word, holding a door, asking someone how they are and actually listening to the answer—these things cost us nothing, yet we may never know how much they mean to the person who receives them. We do not have to change the whole world. Sometimes we are simply called to make one person’s world a little brighter.

Our generosity does not need a trumpet.

Sometimes the quietest acts of kindness speak the loudest—especially to the One who sees what is done in secret.