I was 22 years old and immersed in ministry. As a fourth generation minister, the Black church was the family business. After fearing that God would strike me down me if I didn’t take “the oath” of preaching, I accepted my calling to be a young and terrified preacher and possibly, one day, a pastor.
I felt like a minnow in a fishbowl. Every moment of my life was scrutinized and I was treated as if I were a flawless adult. Despite some rewarding experiences, I hated ministry. I felt unable to be myself, trapped by a faith system I questioned but feared abandoning. The fear of divine punishment kept me chained to a role I didn’t want. During this period, people struggling with their own burdens often confided in me, trusting that I wouldn’t judge them. How could I not, when I felt judged by everyone around me?
My struggles were multifaceted. I felt judged for being Black, for being young, for being in ministry while my peers were off enjoying college life. I walked on eggshells in a world that constantly reminded me that I was weird and needed to conform to the norm. However, two profound experiences helped me realize I wasn’t alone in feeling this way.
The first was with a fraternity brother who confided in me about his sexuality. We didn’t know each other well. We sparked up a conversation around being a new member into the fold. I believe what got him to open up to me was while he was speaking about his life, I just listened. I didn’t turn my head or make a face. I saw him for who he was and told him I was appreciative he trusted me to tell me his story. That wouldn’t be the first of this type of encounter of meeting someone and them saying, “I usually don’t speak about this, but I trust that you won’t say anything.” He knew he was gay but felt he had to keep it secret, fearing rejection from his family and friends. While I couldn’t fully grasp the weight of concealing one’s sexual orientation, I understood the pain of hiding one’s true identity.
The second experience was with a church youth member who ended up in a psychiatric ward. Her grandmother called me at 3 a.m., and I went to see what happened. The girl hesitated to talk to me, fearing condemnation for having a girlfriend. She had faced enough judgment from her family and expected the same from me. But I didn’t believe in condemning anyone. She was a creation made in the image of the Most High.
When she confided in me, I assured her there was nothing wrong with her. I shared my own struggles with mental health, telling her I had once been so depressed I nearly drank myself to death and voluntarily checked into a psychiatric ward. I don’t think I said anything profound, but she felt seen and understood. I realized that while I may not understand the fullness of same-gender love, I knew what it meant to feel valued and accepted for who you truly are without having to hide or pretend to be something you’re not.
I left the ministry while applying for the role of pastor at my church where they asked me, “Would I marry a same sex couple?” I told them “yes” and they said “no.” It was both the best and worst feeling I had ever felt. It was horrible because many church members that I saw as family stopped communicating with me. It felt good because I no longer concealed beliefs in fear of harming others beliefs while being in a leadership position at church.
Supporting my LGBTQ brothers and sisters is vital to me because they have given me the life and energy needed in my purpose to help others. I have the courage to go against the grain if it means others may live freely. They loved me as I am, and I did the same for them. Resisting societal pressures and doing what I felt was right led me to serve as a member of Nashville’s Pride board, where I advocated for LGBTQ youth. This role allowed me to work toward making black LGBTQ youth visible in a world that is often both homophobic and racist.
By being on the board, I had the opportunity to support the amplified voices that are often marginalized and silenced. I moved out of the way young people could create spaces where they see themselves reflected and celebrated, not just tolerated. The importance of representation cannot be overstated; seeing someone who looks like you and shares some of my experiences is life-changing. It develops a sense of belonging and hope, showing that it is possible to thrive despite societal challenges.
Standing up to bigotry and ignorance, often facing backlash from those who resist change is difficult, but worth the fight. Yet the love and ability to work along those from the LGBTQ community gave me strength. They showed me that solidarity and acceptance can transform lives, including my own.
Every step taken in this role was driven by a deep commitment to justice and equality. My hope is to ensure that no one else would need to hide who they are or feel less than because of their identity. The work is always challenging, but knowing that it could help someone live more freely and authentically makes it worthwhile. In advocating for LGBTQ youth, especially those who are Black, I aim to dismantle the intersecting oppressions of homophobia and racism. This intersectionality is crucial in addressing the unique struggles faced by Black LGBTQ individuals.
Serving on Nashville’s Pride board was not just a position; it was ordained. It was about standing in solidarity with people who are a part of my community and believing that love, acceptance and visibility wins over hate and discrimination. This experience reinforced my belief that liberation comes when we all can live authentically and without fear. And so, I will continue to push for a world where everyone is free to be who they are, loved and accepted in their humanity.
It’s time for everyone to overcome their homophobia. In Genesis 9:14, the rainbow Noah saw after the storm symbolized a promise to all humanity. My LGBTQ brothers and sisters use that rainbow to represent love, inclusivity and universality.
The celebration of the Stonewall Riots, known today as Pride, asserts the LGBTQ community exists and deserves to be treated with the full humanity of anyone else, embodying active participation in human flourishing. The Stonewall Riots were a series of spontaneous protests in New York City by the LGBTQ community, particularly led by Black and Brown trans women, against a police raid at the Stonewall Inn in 1969. That moment marked the beginning of the modern LGBTQ rights movement, as well as their existence and demand of equal treatment and humanity.
During my time in ministry, I witnessed tears, pain and violence. I fought against injustice then and I continue to do so now. I’m weary of those who quote the Bible without love, chastising others while ignoring the commandments they recite. Cherry-picking scriptures doesn’t change the fact all people are made in the image of the Divine and loved by the One whose yoke is easy and whose burden is light.
So, Happy Pride Month! Especially to my Black LGBTQ community, often ignored until blame needs a place to stay. Your courage and authenticity inspire me and I stand with you in solidarity and love.
Featured image: Photo by Ian Taylor on Unsplash
Edited by: James Sutton
