āBut he gives more grace. Therefore, it says, āGod opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble.āā
ā James 4:6
āYou shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mindā¦and you shall love your neighbor as yourself.ā
ā Matthew 22:37, 39
āThere is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.ā
ā Romans 8:1
For centuries, Christians have been taught that pride is one of the Seven Deadly Sinsāa dangerous self-exaltation that places oneās ego above God. And rightly so, this kind of prideāthe pride that leads to arrogance, domination, and the denial of Godās graceāis spiritually harmful.
So, what does this mean for LGBTQ+ Pride? Are we sinning by celebrating who we are? Let us be clear: LGBTQ+ Pride is not the sin of pride. It is not self-worship. It is not superiority. It is not about denying Godāitās about denying shame.
For many of us, the world has tried to crush our spirits, silence our truths, and teach us to hate ourselves. We were told that being gay, bi, trans, or queer was incompatible with faith, with love, with dignity. And yet here we areāalive, thriving, and still clinging to hope. That is what Pride Month celebrates: not arrogance, but survival; not superiority, but belovedness; not sin, but sacredness.
The āprideā warned against in Scripture is not about loving yourself as God made you. Itās about refusing to love God or others. Itās about placing your ego above compassion. Itās about being closed off to grace. But the pride we celebrate in June is the healing of what was broken. It is the restoration of image-bearing dignity. It is standing up and saying, āI am fearfully and wonderfully madeā (Psalm 139:14).
Jesus taught us the greatest commandments: to love God and to love our neighbor as ourselves. That last partāloving ourselvesāis often forgotten, yet it is essential. We cannot extend love if we believe we are unworthy of it. Pride, for the LGBTQ+ Christian, is not sinfulāit is sacred defiance against shame, and a return to the truth that we are loved just as we are.
God reminds us that His grace is not reserved for the perfect, but for the honest and the hurting. He helps us discern the difference between selfish pride and holy confidence. Let our celebration of Pride be a witness to Godās inclusive love, to the beauty of diversity in His creation, and to the freedom found in Christ. We should Remain humble, yesābut also whole.
God doesnāt call us to be ashamed of who we are. God calls us to walk humbly, love deeply, and live truthfully. As LGBTQ+ Christians, we can hold our heads highānot in arrogance, but in gratitude for the grace that sustains us. This Pride Month, reject the shame others tried to place on you. Celebrate who God made you to be. That kind of prideāthe kind that honors truth, healing, and loveāis not sin. It is resurrection.
I’ll be honest, I don’t really care anything about archery, but I do like these pictures. There is just something very sexy about these adult Cupids. (I guess I should say Eros, Cupid’s Roman counterpart, is more often depicted as either an adult or young adult, whereas Cupid is more often depicted as younger.)
This week, Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth announced that the Navy will be renaming the USNS Harvey Milk. Let that sink in. During Pride Monthāa time when we reflect on the courage and contributions of LGBTQ+ individualsāhe chose to strip Harvey Milkās name from a Navy ship. Itās hard to see this as anything but a deliberate and deeply cynical move.
For those who donāt know, Harvey Milk wasnāt just a gay iconāhe was a Navy veteran. He served this country. He wore the uniform. And after being discharged during an era when being openly gay meant exile or worse, he went on to become the first openly gay elected official in California. He fought for equality with both passion and integrity, and ultimately gave his life for the cause of justice and representation.
When the USNS Harvey Milk was christened, it felt like a small but meaningful step toward acknowledging that queer Americans have always servedāoften in silence, often in danger, always with dignity. That shipās name stood for something more than just metal and machinery. It honored visibility, service, and sacrifice.
To remove that nameāduring Pride Month, no lessāisnāt just tone-deaf. Itās cruel. Itās shameful. Itās part of a larger effort weāre seeing to roll back the clock on diversity, inclusion, and basic decency. This isnāt about strengthening the military. Itās about erasing queer people from the story of America. Itās about rewriting history in a way that suits a narrow, regressive agenda.
Weāre told this has something to do with restoring āwarrior ethosā and ācore values.ā But hereās what I know: real strength includes empathy. Real warriors fight for all people, not just the ones who look or love like them. Real leadership doesnāt cower behind performative patriotismāit uplifts the truth, even when that truth makes some people uncomfortable.
Secretary Hegsethās record already includes a DUI arrest and a long list of questionable decisions. But this one? This feels personal. This feels targeted. This feels like a slap in the face to every queer person who has ever served this country and to everyone who continues to fight for equality and recognition today.
Harvey Milk once said, āHope will never be silent.ā And neither should we.
So no, weāre not going to sit quietly while our heroes are erased. Weāre not going to accept Pride Month as a time for symbolic gestures and empty rainbows while the actual legacy of LGBTQ+ people is being dismantled. Weāre going to keep remembering. Weāre going to keep speaking. And weāre going to make damn sure that the name Harvey Milk is never forgotten.
Yesterday, the literary world bid farewell to Edmund White, a pioneering voice in queer literature, who passed away at the age of 85 in his Manhattan home. His death marks the end of a prolific career that not only chronicled the gay experience but also profoundly influenced countless individuals’ journeys toward self-discovery and acceptance.
Born in Cincinnati in 1940 and raised in Evanston, Illinois, White’s early life was marked by the societal pressures of conformity. Despite being accepted to Harvard, he chose to study Chinese at the University of Michigan to remain close to a therapist who promised to “cure” his homosexualityāa reflection of the era’s prevailing attitudes. This personal struggle became a cornerstone of his literary work, providing an authentic lens through which he depicted the complexities of gay life.
White’s debut novel, Forgetting Elena (1973), received acclaim from literary figures like Vladimir Nabokov. However, it was A Boy’s Own Story (1982) that solidified his place in literary history. This semi-autobiographical novel, the first in a trilogy, offered an unflinching portrayal of a young man’s coming-of-age and grappling with his sexual identity in mid-20th-century America. The trilogy continued with The Beautiful Room Is Empty (1988) and concluded with The Farewell Symphony (1997), each delving deeper into the evolving landscape of gay life.
In 1977, White co-authored The Joy of Gay Sex with Dr. Charles Silverstein. This groundbreaking manual combined candid discussions of sexual practices with insights into gay culture, politics, and relationships. At a time when such topics were taboo, the book served as both a practical guide and a bold statement of affirmation for the gay community.
White’s commitment to visibility extended beyond his writing. He was a founding member of the Violet Quill, a group of gay writers who sought to create literature that authentically represented their experiences. Additionally, he co-founded the Gay Men’s Health Crisis in 1982, the first organization dedicated to addressing the AIDS epidemic, demonstrating his dedication to activism and community support.
White’s influence permeated both literature and academia. He taught creative writing at institutions like Brown and Princeton, mentoring a new generation of writers. His literary contributions earned him numerous accolades, including the PEN/Saul Bellow Award for Achievement in American Fiction and France’s Ordre des Arts et des Lettres.
Beyond awards, White’s true legacy lies in the personal awakenings his work inspired. By articulating the nuances of gay identity with honesty and artistry, he provided readers with a mirror to see themselves and a window into the broader human experience. His narratives offered solace to those grappling with their identities and challenged societal norms, fostering greater understanding and acceptance.
As we reflect on the impact of pop culture on personal identity, as discussed in yesterday’s blog post, Edmund White’s contributions stand as a testament to the power of storytelling in shaping self-awareness and cultural perception. His voice may be silenced, but his words continue to resonate, guiding many on their paths to self-discovery.
Rest in peace, Edmund White. Your stories have illuminated the path for countless others.
This post probably does not fit my usual art history post, but as I was thinking about the art of the male nude throughout the ages, I thought about the moment many gay men can point toānot always with words, but with a scene, a song, a sensation. A flicker of something electric, confusing, and undeniable. A man on a screen, a model in an ad, a lyric that hit too close. We call these gay awakenings. They rarely arrived with clarity, but they lingered, imprinted deep in the memory. They were the first time something inside whispered, That. I want that. Were their moments like that for men throughout history? Surely it was not a 20th century phenomenon, but we donāt have historical evidence since men rarely left behind evidence of their same sex attractions, especially not what sparked them.
However, we do have evidence of what sparked gay awakenings in the 20th and 21st centuries. These moments shifted over the decades, shaped by the media of the time. Yet across generationsāfrom Baby Boomers to Gen Zāthe need was the same: a glimpse of oneself, not necessarily as the man on screen, but in the wanting of him.
For gay men growing up in the 1950s and ā60s, the world was rigid, policed, and wrapped in postwar propriety. But desire, as it always does, found cracks to seep through. That first pulse of awareness mightāve come while watching Elvis Presley swing his hips across a black-and-white TV screen on The Ed Sullivan Show. It mightāve flickered during a particular heartthrob in a movie: a Rock Hudson melodrama, Cary Grant in almost anything, Marlon Brandoās famous shirtless scenes as Stanley in A Streetcar Named Desire or Marc Antony in Julius Ceasar, maybe it was James Dean or Tab Hunter. Even if the smiles of these movie stars were aimed at women, it didnāt matter. It was that moment when you realized, Iām attracted to him and not her. Itās a moment you canāt get out of your head and know that you need to see more of it.
These early awakenings were subtle, even silent. There were no gay characters on sitcoms, no Pride ads in June. But for a boy watching from his living room in the heartland, something stirred. Not quite nameable yetābut real.
By the time Gen X came of age in the ā80s and ā90s, the closet still loomed, but the culture had begun to shift. It was easier to access desireāthough often through coded or carefully curated channels. A single moment, burned into the memories of many: Ryan Phillippe, naked, stepping out of the pool and showing his perfectly round little butt in Cruel Intentions. Dripping, glistening, camera lingering. For an entire generation, that was it. The scene that turned curiosity into hunger.
But it wasnāt just Phillippe. Mark Wahlbergās Calvin Klein adsāshirtless, groping himself, caught in a mix of menace and seductionālit up billboards and bedroom walls. In films like My Own Private Idaho, River Phoenixās quiet, aching portrayal of love between men became a poetic kind of longing. These werenāt just pretty faces. They were emotional mirrors. My earliest such moments were probably either Harry Hamlin in Clash of the Titans or seeing Jose Canseco playing for the Oakland Athletics in the World Series. It started me collecting baseball cards. I can remember getting baseball cards from a cereal box one time and one of the cards was of Ryne Sandberg, who played for the Chicago Cubs. But still nothing cemented that knowledge that I had innate desires that could not be quelled like Cruel Intentions. Seeing Ryan Phillippe, naked, stepping out of that pool! Who cared if he was doing it to entice Reese Witherspoon? I sometimes forget there were women in the movie, especially with the scene of Greg McConnell (played by Eric Mabius) and Blaine Tuttle (played by Joshua Jackson) being caught in bed together.
Millennials, too, found themselves through media, often somewhere between Tiger Beat and Tolkien. Orlando Bloomās Legolasāthe long hair, the soft voice, the bow taut with tensionācaptured the hearts of queer teens who didnāt yet know how to articulate why. Brad Pitt, shirtless and boyish in Thelma & Louise, became another kind of icon: all-American, sunlit, and openly objectified. TV shows like Buffy the Vampire Slayer blurred the lines even more. Angel and Spike werenāt just crushesāthey were obsessions. Dangerous, beautiful men in leather with tortured pasts? For many, it was the perfect metaphor for closeted longing.
These awakenings were both erotic and emotional. They offered not just something to look at, but someone to feel throughālong before there were gay storylines, there were boys and men who lived in our imaginations, held close in the safest, quietest corners of ourselves. And then came Gen Zādigital natives raised in a world where queerness was no longer only subtext, but storyline.
In music, Troye Sivan crooned openly about blooming into desire, backed by visuals that were lush, erotic, and defiantly gay. Even Shawn Mendes, unintentionally or otherwise, became a fixationāhis sensitivity and softness standing in contrast to the hard-edged masculinity of previous eras. For Gen Z, the awakening didnāt have to be hidden. It could be shared, tweeted, TikToked. And while every personal journey is unique, thereās comfort in knowing youāre not the only one who paused the movie, rewound the scene, or stared a little longer than you were āsupposedā to.
These werenāt just crushes. They were compass points. They told us what we desired, yesābut also what we feared, what we yearned for, and what we might one day become. In eras when queerness was unspeakable, these awakenings whispered, Youāre not alone. Sometimes that whisper came from a jock in a magazine ad. Sometimes from a vampire in a leather coat. Sometimes from a boy in the back row who looked at you just a second too long. But they all left a mark. And for many of us, that first flash of longingāin the flicker of a television screen or the fold of a catalog pageāwasnāt just the start of desire. It was the beginning of truth.
While I know I could never name every example, hereās a curated selection of some of the most iconic gay awakening clips and ads:
I dreamed I stood upon a little hill, And at my feet there lay a ground, that seemed Like a waste garden, flowering at its will With buds and blossoms. There were pools that dreamed Black and unruffled; there were white lilies A few, and crocuses, and violets Purple or pale, snake-like fritillaries Scarce seen for the rank grass, and through green nets Blue eyes of shy peryenche winked in the sun. And there were curious flowers, before unknown, Flowers that were stained with moonlight, or with shades Of Natureās willful moods; and here a one That had drunk in the transitory tone Of one brief moment in a sunset; blades Of grass that in an hundred springs had been Slowly but exquisitely nurtured by the stars, And watered with the scented dew long cupped In lilies, that for rays of sun had seen Only Godās glory, for never a sunrise mars The luminous air of Heaven. Beyond, abrupt, A grey stone wall, oāergrown with velvet moss Uprose; and gazing I stood long, all mazed To see a place so strange, so sweet, so fair. And as I stood and marvelled, lo! across The garden came a youth; one hand he raised To shield him from the sun, his wind-tossed hair Was twined with flowers, and in his hand he bore A purple bunch of bursting grapes, his eyes Were clear as crystal, naked all was he, White as the snow on pathless mountains frore, Red were his lips as red wine-spilith that dyes A marble floor, his brow chalcedony. And he came near me, with his lips uncurled And kind, and caught my hand and kissed my mouth, And gave me grapes to eat, and said, āSweet friend, Come I will show thee shadows of the world And images of life. See from the South Comes the pale pageant that hath never an end.ā And lo! within the garden of my dream I saw two walking on a shining plain Of golden light. The one did joyous seem And fair and blooming, and a sweet refrain Came from his lips; he sang of pretty maids And joyous love of comely girl and boy, His eyes were bright, and āmid the dancing blades Of golden grass his feet did trip for joy; And in his hand he held an ivory lute With strings of gold that were as maidensā hair, And sang with voice as tuneful as a flute, And round his neck three chains of roses were. But he that was his comrade walked aside; He was full sad and sweet, and his large eyes Were strange with wondrous brightness, staring wide With gazing; and he sighed with many sighs That moved me, and his cheeks were wan and white Like pallid lilies, and his lips were red Like poppies, and his hands he clenched tight, And yet again unclenched, and his head Was wreathed with moon-flowers pale as lips of death. A purple robe he wore, oāerwrought in gold With the device of a great snake, whose breath Was fiery flame: which when I did behold I fell a-weeping, and I cried, āSweet youth, Tell me why, sad and sighing, thou dost rove These pleasent realms? I pray thee speak me sooth What is thy name?ā He said, āMy name is Love.ā Then straight the first did turn himself to me And cried, āHe lieth, for his name is Shame, But I am Love, and I was wont to be Alone in this fair garden, till he came Unasked by night; I am true Love, I fill The hearts of boy and girl with mutual flame.ā Then sighing, said the other, āHave thy will, I am the love that dare not speak its name.ā I am the Love that dare not speak its name.
About the Poem
āI am the Love that dare not speak its name.ā
At first glance, this simple line may not seem radical, but it became one of the most infamous phrases in queer literary history. It appears at the end of āTwo Loves,ā a lyrical, decadent poem by Lord Alfred Douglas that depicts two personified versions of loveāone conventional and socially accepted, the other mysterious and sorrowful. The speaker walks in a dreamlike landscape and is approached by two male figures. One exudes joy and ease; the other, pale and burdened, declares himself āthe Love that dare not speak its name.ā It is a powerful and poetic metaphor for same-sex desire in a world that condemns it.
The phrase was later used by prosecutors in Oscar Wildeās 1895 trial, where Wilde was asked to explain it. Wildeās eloquent defenseādescribing a deep, spiritual love between older and younger men, as seen in Greek cultureāonly further scandalized the court. The line became symbolic not only of homosexual love in the Victorian era but also of the shame and silence that society forced upon it. Yet, in Wildeās and Douglasās hands, it also carried dignity and beauty. āTwo Lovesā is part of a larger tradition of homoerotic poetry written in code, metaphor, or allegoryācommon for queer writers in repressive eras. But Douglas, influenced by the aesthetic movement and emboldened by his association with Wilde, pushes further into clarity. The poemās final admission is not whispered but proudly declared, even if society cannot bear to hear it. As such, the poem resonates today as both a historical artifact and a testament to the enduring defiance of queer love.
About the Poet
While Douglas is best remembered for his association with Oscar Wilde, he was a poet in his own right. Born in 1870 into British nobility, Lord Alfred Bruce Douglasānicknamed āBosieāāwas the third son of the Marquess of Queensberry. He was well-educated at Winchester and briefly at Oxford, where he cultivated both his love of literature and his increasingly strained relationship with traditional morality. In 1891, he met Wilde, who was already a renowned playwright and wit. Their relationship was passionate, tumultuous, and deeply influential on both their lives and careers.
Douglas encouraged Wilde to explore more overtly homoerotic themes, even contributing translations of classical gay texts. However, his relationship with Wilde led to public scandal and ultimately Wildeās imprisonment. After Wilde’s trial and release, Douglas distanced himself from his former lover and, in later life, became a conservative Catholic and vocal critic of homosexualityāa tragic turn that reflects the intense pressures and contradictions of his era. Despite this retreat, Douglasās early poetryāparticularly āTwo Lovesāāremains a cornerstone of queer literary history. It captures the longing, the repression, and the quiet bravery of same-sex love at the close of the 19th century. During Pride Month, revisiting Douglasās work reminds us how far weāve comeāand how the words of those who dared to speak when it was dangerous continue to echo in the hearts of LGBTQ+ readers today.
Joe
The Closet Professor 