Yesterday, I had to share my “autobiography” in one of my classes, and I decided to focus on my experiences in the mental health system. My peers were so poetic and amazing and while I started off strong, I quickly rolled downhill, my unprepared speech riddled with long pauses and tangents. I had to be cut off because I reached my time limit without realizing— so embarrassing. And I’m gonna be real, I had “Buttons” by The Pussycat Dolls stuck in my head, so I was a little distracted. So, let’s just say I am not a great speaker. But I am overflowing with words of gratitude that need to get out, and they need to go somewhere, so instead, I’ll write.
When I posted, “Why I Left Cru,” I was expecting a few hundred views at the very most, the large portion of which being my mom’s Facebook friends. I could not have been more wrong. Within a week, it had been viewed over 4000 times. I have been overwhelmed and amazed by the comments and messages of support from not only my peers, but also total strangers. I got messages every day from someone who had also left their ministry, or someone who was afraid to come out, or someone inviting me to their Christian group. Yes, every once in a while, there will be a comment telling me how wrong I am, and that I am living a sinful lifestyle. I can be happy that at least those people took the time to read my article at all. My biggest fear in publicizing my experience was that my peers would be angry for a day or two and then forget about the whole thing. That has not happened and I do not have the words to express my gratitude. CUSG (Clemson University Student Government) and the Office of Access and Equity are actively investigating the ways in which they can address and remedy the situation, and ensure that the same thing does not occur in the future and harm another student. Both The Tiger and The Tab have provided me with opportunities to publish my story on recognized news outlets and reach a larger audience than only people directly connected to my social media pages, where I shared my post originally. My family, friends, and boyfriend have rallied around me with more passion that I could ever have on my own. I do not have the words to voice my thanks. But thank you. Denny Barnes, a gay man who was exiled from his church because of his sexual orientation, wrote: “I was faced with feeling wronged by the God that had invigorated me. I was given the opportunity to plant seeds of bitterness.” I too have had this opportunity. I have the right and ability to be angry and fuming, to be bitter and spiteful, and to attack the organization who hurt me deeply. But as I have said before, I will not be that. I will be graceful. I will be compassionate. I will be rational. I will be empowered. God has not wronged me; people have wronged me. This year, I had asked God to give me a purpose, and he always answers our prayers, just not always in the way that we want. I expected to have a purpose within Cru, and instead I was given a platform on which to stand up for what I believe in. My story is not the story of one person, but an example of the massive injustice LGBT+ Christians face every day. And maybe this might seem small, like I’m making a mountain out of a molehill. There are LGBT+ people that are harassed and brutalized and arrested and even killed for living openly. I am aware that have immense privilege within the LGBT+ community as a white, Christian, upper middle class person. Yes, I am a woman and yes, I have Tourette Syndrome and yes, bisexuality is heavily scrutinized even by my gay counterparts. But when people look at me, they do not make the automatic assumption that I am not straight. Their perception of me is not based on the often negative stereotypes and judgments that come along with being gay. I am not asking you to ignore the larger issues at hand, but to continue to love and validate the experiences of anyone and everyone impacted negatively by the church. I am just one person, but when my community gathers around me, we can do so much more. Thank you.
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Early in the morning on Friday, January 5th, 2017, I found myself sobbing in the middle of an increasingly busy Chick-fil-A. The only things that separated me from the two people I thought I respected and appreciated were an empty lemonade cup and a crumpled up chicken biscuit wrapper. I felt as destroyed as the latter. In an instant, Cru (formerly Campus Crusade for Christ) had ripped away my dignity, my confidence, and more than half of my spiritual and social life.
When I decided to go to Clemson to pursue secondary education and math, the college’s sizable Fellowship of Christian Athletes (FCA) presence was a huge selling point. After leading a student ministry in high school and wishing to settle myself into an equally spiritual community, I was excited to sign up for a women’s small group as soon as possible. Yet, at only our second meeting, my hopes were shattered. I was sharing about how much I enjoyed my experience in the Community Dialogue program and the discussion that took place on cultural appropriation, the importance of asking questions, and that I was considering applying to be a facilitator. Suddenly, my story was cut off by the girl seated across from me. She began to rattle on about how frustrated she was over the conversation she had in her dialogue on homosexuality, and how shocked she was that anyone could believe that such a lifestyle was acceptable. While she spouted anti-gay rhetoric, I stared at my hands, wishing I could disappear. Finally, after being asked if I was okay multiple times, I shakily admitted, “I’m gay.” Well, bisexual if we’re getting specific. In my own life, gay has often been used as an umbrella term to describe myself and others identifying as gay, bisexual, or lesbian, although this generalization of the term is not necessarily used in the same way by many others. Please respect the labels that the people around you are comfortable using. I’ve know I was this way since, well, forever. I distinctly remember seeing Princess Leia in Return of the Jedi as a child, and falling in love. I remember doodling girls in my agenda in middle school, and my heart skipping a beat when my best friend that I had been crushing on grabbed my hand at a party. I walked away from the meeting crying silently, and never went back. Yet, I still felt that I needed a strong Christian community to fit into. It was important to me. So when I befriended a blonde, awkward, kind, and perpetually late boy in my biology lab, I immediately accepted his invitation to come to his Bible Study with Cru. I had seen fliers around my dorm advertising Cru, but never paid too much attention to it as a possibility for me. I knew little about it, other than that it was a relatively conservative ministry with weekly Bible studies and large group meetings. But from the second I walked into the room for Bible study, I was hooked. Immediately, I fell in love with the closeness among the people there, their welcoming attitude, and their dedication to delving into the Word. Uncertainty that I had felt from a few Google searches disappeared. And while I usually would have been hesitant to open up to and trust the adult leaders present, a full-time staff member—let’s call her “M”— quickly became my role model as I made Cru my home. After only 4 months of involvement, she pulled me aside and asked me to lead a freshman small group for the next academic year. I was thrilled—more than thrilled— because of the passion I felt for evangelism, teaching, and using my own testimony to reach others. We began meeting weekly to grow my relationship with Christ and to prepare for the incoming freshmen we would be reaching out to. By January of 2017, after over a year with Cru, I was meeting with freshmen one-on-one, attending weekly meetings, leading my freshman study, attending my own sophomore study, traveling to conferences, attending Cru-sponsored socials, and continuing discipleship with M. I would estimate that I did something Cru-related about 5 days out of the week. More than anything, I felt proud to be doing the Lord’s work. I felt fulfilled. My friends were in Cru, my role models were in Cru, and most importantly, my heart was in Cru. I was reliable. I was passionate. I cared deeply about the students I discipled. I think I did my part well. But more than anything, I was paralyzed with fear. My church at home had been welcoming and loving, and while I knew Cru did not necessarily encourage same-sex relationships, I had never seen anything explicitly denouncing it. Plus, I had done my own research into the passages in the Bible referencing homosexuality, and found little evidence against it. Translation issues, misconceptions, and failure to take historical context into account demolished any insecurity around my sexuality and I was able to rationalize same sex relationships as biblically acceptable (I have posted a list of informational videos under my “About” page for anyone interested in learning). I felt no shame or guilt pursuing relationships with women as I would with men. I firmly believe that God did not intend for me to be straight, and that I am not living in a way that disgraces His desires for me. I am bisexual, and that is ok with me and with the Lord. However, Cru Winter Conference made their true stance clear, with seminars advocating that those identifying as gay practice straight behavior or celibacy, while avoiding the “culture" that had made them think it was ok to be gay. The constant voices of my peers spouting, “Love the sinner. Hate the sin” made me want to tear my hair out by the roots. Later, I even came across an article by Cru Press Green entitled, “Another Way”, which claimed that homosexuality was just an eroticization of unmet emotional needs from parents or friends of a certain gender (link attached at the end of this post). It became painfully clear that coming out could strip me of my leadership positions within Cru, at the very least. But I came out anyway. After the November election, I was a bit of a wreck and feeling impulsive. At the same time, I was sick of feeling like I was keeping an identity so close to me from M, whose friendship was critically important to me. She and I sat down for discipleship and I made the decision to mention my sexual orientation in passing, not emphasizing it as important or necessary to dwell on. She said nothing. That is, until a month later, when I received a text from M asking me to meet with her and fellow staff member, who I will just call “K”. When I asked if everything was ok, she responded, “Yeah we just wanted to talk to you abut something and clear up some questions we had.” She was vague, and I tried to stay positive, but I knew what it was going to be about. So I did my research and compiled a list of videos that effectively backed up my opinion. And once we were settled in at a booth, I finally broke past the lump in my throat and asked “So what’s up?” First, let me just say, they did not yell at me, or tell me I’m a disgusting horrible person that is going to Hell and will disgrace my family. In the same way that I might confront someone for excessive drinking, they approached me because they were concerned based on their belief system, no matter how much I may disagree with it. I just didn’t believe my sexual orientation was sinful, and they did. They asked me to explain myself. Evidently, M had been shocked when I came out and went to K, understandably asking for advice but also outing me in the process without my consent, a deep breach of my trust. While I offered my opinions, they stuck to theirs, saying that the culture around us has promoted same-sex relationships, and that members of the LGBT+ community dangerously saw their sexual orientation as their only identity, rather than their identity in Christ. I explained that this was not the case with me or with many others. There is no such thing as a homosexual lifestyle; while some members of the LGBT+ community might be out at a club, others are putting their kids to bed, or going for a jog, or grabbing a sandwich on their way home from work. I am not struggling emotionally or ashamed about who I am and who I feel God made me to be. My sexual orientation is only one of my identities, that while important to me is nothing compared to my existence as a child of God. They told me to keep praying on my position as a member of Cru, which I insisted was not the issue; trust me when I say that I’ve made my peace. They wouldn’t say what I had been dreading until I finally asked, “So am I still able to lead?” And the answer was no. I was no longer able to work with my freshman Bible Study, and my two girls that I had become close with after a semester of meeting weekly for discipleship would be handed off to somebody else. They were told that I had left due to “doctrinal issues”. I could tell M and K were genuinely sad too, but the difference was that they felt I needed to be fixed, while I felt like I had lost everything. They talked about my contributions to the movement and how much everyone loved me, and how this wasn’t meant to push me out of Cru completely. But apparently I was not able to disciple or lead because of my sexual orientation. I lost it. M drove me back to my apartment (in the most uncomfortable car ride ever), and I curled up in bed in denial and tears. Since then, I’ve been going through the grieving process. I made the difficult decision to distance myself from the Cru community. I’m still attending my sophomore bible study, since it is student rather than staff-led and basically all of my closest friends are there, but I had to break the news to them that I would be around less and less. I wouldn’t enjoy catching up with the rest of my community at weekly meetings. I wouldn’t be refreshed by discipleship meetings each week, and I wouldn’t goof around at socials. I don’t know where to go from here. I had the rest of my college career planned out with Cru and my friends there. M had even asked me to consider joining staff after graduation. Obviously my plans didn’t match up with God’s, and I know he has other things in store for me, but I’m an impatient person, and I don’t want to hurt anymore. At least right now, I don’t have the emotional energy to join another ministry. I’m too drained to even be angry. I’m just sad. But the people still around me are being angry for me. My parents, my boyfriend, my coworkers, and my friends are rallying around me and expressing the emotions I’m not ready for yet. That’s why I’m posting this. I’m trying to find the words to voice the hurt and pain and sadness I don’t know if I will ever stop feeling. My community was ripped away from me—not like peeling off a Band-Aid, but like tearing off a slice of skin without anesthetic. The flesh I once kept hidden inside is now bleeding on the ground for the world to see, rotting, and swarming with flies. I switch back and forth from feeling abandoned to wanting to scream to a total sense of numbness to sobbing over my geography textbook. I was not barred from Cru as a regular participant, but how am I supposed to walk into a meeting room, knowing that the people important to me look at me with pity or with judgment? How do I talk to my friends, when all I can think is, “Do they know?” Cru has an activity every year where students wear buttons that say, “I’m sorry. Ask me why,” to address those hurt by the church and welcome them back. Now I’m the one telling them, “You hurt me.” This sucks. This more than sucks. I am sick of suddenly crying during an average phone call with my boyfriend or trying to muffle the sounds of ugly sniffles with a pillow so I don’t wake up my roommates. I feel broken, and I know the Lord will put me back together in time, but that doesn’t change how much this hurts. I was penalized for something I cannot change and something that will never change. Trust me when I say I did not choose this because gosh, it would be so much easier to be straight right about now. I am holding strong to my faith, but I have always believed in the importance of fellowship, and that does not exist for me right now. I don’t want other people to be angry, but I want other people to be informed. I want other people to be frustrated with the lack of inclusivity and hurt that so often comes from the church. I am trying to handle this situation with grace and keep my faith close, and I feel like this is the best way for me to do that right now. This is not the time for me to be delicate and fragile. This is the time for me to be firm and intentional. I don’t want to be silent because God did not call me to be silent. So this is my plea, to campus ministries, student religious organizations, and churches: be transparent. Make your values and beliefs around both faith and social issues public, so that people can make informed, educated decisions about what they want to be involved in before they invest time, money, and energy. When joining Clemson Cru, I search their website and other social media for a public statement on homosexuality and marriage, and found nothing. Only later, digging on Cru’s international site did I find clear opinions hidden in articles meant for leaders. The small group leader contract that I signed mentioned nothing about a prohibition on same-sex relationships, despite M and K’s claims that it fell under “sexual immorality and the inherency of the Word”. I am ashamed to say that I supported an organization for so long that kept its opinions under wraps until a problem arose. I’m not going to tell every group, “Change your beliefs. Agree with me” because I believe that our differences are important. In an ideal world, I would be accepted anywhere, but I know that isn't realistic. So, I plead with anyone reading this that is involved in a religious organization: ask questions. Do research. Look at your Bible through the lens of a wide range of perspectives. Implore leaders to be open about their values and if you don’t agree, take a stand. Don’t support something that doesn’t support you. I feel like I still have a billion things to say, so I’m sure I’ll write again very soon. I’m am hurting beyond belief, but I’ll be ok, and I hope I didn’t make too many spelling mistakes. Thanks for listening. Love, Abbi Flagg Link to "Another Way": https://www.cru.org/content/dam/cru/legacy/2012/02/Another_Way.pdf |
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