The God Box (14 page)

FOR THE REMAINDER OF THE WEEK I WAITED ANXIOUSLY FOR THE EX-GAY

MINISTRY TO CALL. EACH TIME MY CELL RANG, MY HEART JUMPED, TILL

FINALLY, THE OLD LADY PHONED AND SAID THEY HAD SET UP A MEETING AT

MY CHURCH. THEN I WAITED EVEN MORE ANXIOUSLY, HARDLY ABLE TO EAT OR

SLEEP, UNTIL THE DAY OF MY APPOINTMENT. ONCE AGAIN I ARRIVED AT

CHURCH WAY TOO EARLY."Hi, sweetie," Mrs. Tilly greeted me."Hi, um... I'm supposed to be, um, meeting someone here?""I know, honey." She nodded understandingly. Had Pastor Jose told her why I was here today? She leaned forward as if to tell me a secret. "I've got a new joke for you. The preacher's little boy watched his papa write a sermon and asked, 'How do you know what to say?' His papa replied, 'Why, God tells me.' So, the little boy thinks about that a moment and says, 'Then why do you keep crossing things out?'"Mrs. Tilly burst out laughing. I politely tried to join her. Then I trudged over to the couch and waited. A sign on the wall stared back at me: BELIEVE AND RECEIVE, DOUBT AND LOSE OUT.144After what seemed like

centuries, the front door opened, and a guy in his late twenties walked over to Mrs. Tilly.

Instinctively I knew he was the ex-gay. He wore crisp khakis, polished loafers, a tweed jacket, and a striped tie--a preppy look unusual for our west Texas town, except for going to church. But I guess technically we were in church."Paul?" Mrs. Tilly called to me, and I walked over. "This is Eric Smith."Eric smiled politely and gave me a firm handshake, though his palm felt almost as clammy as mine."Pastor is away." Mrs. Tilly opened the door to his office. "So you can use his study."It felt a little awkward to be in Pastor's room without him there. Eric sat in the wing chair where I had sat last time, but I didn't feel right sitting in Pastor's chair. Instead, I sat on the couch."So, um..." Eric cleared his throat. "I'd like to witness to you about my own life.

Okay?""Sure," I said, clasping my hands to keep them still."Ever since I was a boy," Eric began,

"I always felt different. In school, other kids called me names, and I bought into the lie that I'm gay.""You're not?" I blurted out. I guess I'd assumed the group would send someone gay."Well,"

he clarified, "we don't believe anyone is truly gay. We're just broken, wounded, and have deep-seated gender-identity confusion--GIC-- which is usually the result of broken relationships with our parents, sexual abuse, rejection from peers, or childhood trauma causing same-sex attraction, SSA."Even though Eric had barely started speaking, my thoughts already began to scramble. Do I have deep-seated GIC? But I'd never145felt confused about my gender identity. I'd always wanted to be a guy, not a girl. And I'd never been sexually abused. Furthermore, I knew lots of people at school who had broken relationships with their parents. How come they don't have SSA? Besides, according to Pastor Jose's sermons, aren't we all broken and wounded?I had so many questions I wanted to ask, but I forced myself to sit still and listen."In high school," Eric continued, "I tried dating girls, but I kept being attracted to guys. Every night I dreamed about them. You know, sex dreams. I knew it was wrong and hated myself for it, but I couldn't stop my feelings. I felt like the loneliest boy on earth."I sat up excitedly, knowing exactly what he meant.

He was telling my story!But then he continued: "Until I couldn't take it any longer. Junior year, I started drinking and doing drugs."That part I definitely did not identify with. After seeing what alcohol had done to my pa, I'd stayed clear of even a sip of beer and steered miles away from drugs."For college," Eric continued, "I went to Austin and immediately fell into the gay scene. At first I thought I'd gone to heaven, with all these cute guys coming on to me. I went home with a new one every night. But inside I started feeling even more lonely than before."So, why didn't you get a boyfriend? I wondered. Eric was good-looking and seemed nice. Hadn't he wanted one?As Eric spoke, his leg jiggled fretfully. He appeared even more nervous than I was, if such a thing was possible."The crowd just bounced from guy to guy." Eric frowned and looked sad.

"Gay love is a lie. It doesn't exist. Being gay is really about being a slave to sex and desire. The lifestyle is all about partying hearty and getting off."146But what about someone like Manuel?

That wasn't his "lifestyle." Actually, it sounded more like some of the straight guys at my school, with their parties, drinking, drugs, and girls. As Eric talked, it seemed like he wanted to blame all his problems on being gay."My grades crashed and I got put on academic probation," Eric continued. "Then I got a DUI for driving drunk."So, did you go to AA or rehab? I was about to ask, but Eric pressed on. "I didn't want to be gay, and yet I couldn't stop myself. Then I found out that a guy I'd had sex with had HIV, and we hadn't used a condom. I freaked out."I edged back in my seat, a little wigged out myself. Why hadn't they used a condom? Didn't they know about safe sex? Was Eric now HIV positive? I'd never met anyone like that. And even though I knew you couldn't get AIDS from shaking hands, I casually wiped my palm on the sofa's armrest."I got tested," Eric continued, "promising myself that I'd never have gay sex again. But when my test turned out negative, I was back at the bar, partying to celebrate. The next morning I woke up with a new guy whose name I couldn't even remember."I squirmed uneasily on the sofa. Even though I admired Eric's honesty, the more he talked, the more his testimony seemed way different from my life. I had no desire to drink, do drugs, or have sex with different guys."In my soul ..." Eric gave a sigh. "I started to feel desperate, you know? Hopeless. I no longer wanted to live. My mom knew something was wrong. She sent me a Bible, but I didn't read it. I had stopped going to church, believing my religion didn't want me. But out of desperation, I prayed for the first time in years.

'God, help me.' A week later, I met a guy outside a bar. And instead of asking me to go home, he invited me for coffee. That's different, I thought, so I went with him."147Eric wiped his brow and seemed to calm down a little. "Over coffee, my new friend told me about his struggle with homosexuality and how his life changed when he invited Jesus Christ into his heart. For the first time I heard about the life-changing power of the Gospel. Before that, I'd never known people who struggled to live Christ-like lives."But what about a case like mine? I wondered. I do know Christians. I know Christ. I've tried to live a Christ-like life. And I've invited Jesus into my heart--

twice."God answered my call for help." Eric's voice rang with certainty. "He led me to ex-gay people who, like me, had learned the hard way how empty and destructive the gay lifestyle is.

They helped me get through the lies I'd bought into. I now understand that homosexuality is simply a form of idolatry--worshiping the male body as a god."That rang a bell. Was that what St.

Paul meant by his passage in Romans against idolatry? But then what about straight people?

Were heterosexuals turning away from God to worship the opposite sex's body as a god?"What you're going through is a test," Eric told me. "Simply because you have SSA doesn't mean you're gay. A lot of young people have same-sex crushes, but they grow out of it."I recalled my middle school health book saying that. Yet I hadn't grown out of it. And it sounded like he hadn't either.Eric gripped the arms of his chair. "My desire for guys is now one percent of what it was before. You've got to have faith. God works miracles. With help, he can change you, too."One percent didn't sound so bad ... and yet the thought of wrestling with these feelings all my life made me wonder, Why?"Do you have any questions?" Eric said.148My head was throbbing with about a million questions. To start, I asked, "Are you in AA?""No," he replied. "But our recovery program is based on the twelve steps. You see, homosexuality is like alcoholism. You've got to resist the lie--like an alcoholic fights his desire to drink."Hmm. That wasn't what my pa said. He'd explained to me that by accepting he was an alcoholic, he had ceased fighting. He often said that acceptance was the answer to all of life's problems.Another thing: Eric seemed to keep repeating that being gay was a lie, and yet. . . hadn't he said he'd had gay feelings since he was a kid? The things he was saying seemed almost more confusing than helpful. In spite of all the questions I had, I hesitated to ask him anything more."I know it's a lot to think about," Eric said, nodding. "I want to invite you to our fellowship and support group in Abilene, so you can meet other members. We have meetings twice a week with worship, teaching, and prayer."I pressed back in my seat. After hearing Eric, I wasn't ready to face a whole group of other people like him."Would you pray with me before I go?" Eric asked.I nodded, relieved to shift my focus to God."Dear Jesus," Eric prayed, "please forgive Paul. Don't let him be ensnared in sin. Strengthen him to fight the sinful deception of homosexuality. And give him faith to believe he can be healed. In your name. Amen.""Amen," I echoed, and suddenly asked one more question: "Are you married now?"Eric's brow furrowed. "No." His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, and his leg started to jiggle again. "I have a girlfriend, but. . . well. . . um, we've decided to take a break for a while, to149be sure about what God wants for us." Eric shifted in his seat and glanced down at his hands. "Relationships are complicated. People are complicated." He gazed up, returning from his thoughts. "But I'm happier now than when I thought I was gay."Although Eric said he was happy, his words didn't match the rest of him. His face was serious and his body stiff, and his tone wasn't exactly cheerful. During the entire time he had hardly smiled at all.I recalled Galatians 5:22: The fruit of the Spirit is joy. I didn't feel much joy coming from Eric. He seemed nice, but ... what had I expected? I wasn't sure. Maybe someone genuinely joyful, despite being gay--somebody more like ... Manuel.150

IN SPITE OF MY DOUBTS, I WANTED TO BELIEVE ERIC. I TOLD HIM L'D SEE WHEN I COULD GO TO THE EX-GAY MEETING AND WE EXCHANGED CELL NUMBERS. I

STILL HOPED THAT I COULD CHANGE. AND YET, WHEN I LEFT THE CHURCH THAT

AFTERNOON, I FOUND MYSELF DRIVING TO MANUEL'S.He was folding laundry in the wash room, wearing a pair of old torn-up jeans and a T-shirt with the sleeves cut off. It was the first time I'd seen his arms fully bare, and even though he wasn't "Hot Hunk" buff, each time he folded a piece of laundry, my gaze wandered to his naked biceps."What?" He gave me an impish smile, like he knew I was checking him out."Nothing," I felt my face turn red. To calm down, I grabbed a pair of socks and folded them. "So, um, I met with the guy this afternoon--you know--

the ex-gay?""Oh, yeah?" Manuel asked casually. "How'd it go?""Um, okay. He seems nice.""That's good," Manuel said, and continued folding laundry. His calm response threw me. I'd expected one our usual151arguments. Had he given up? Wasn't he interested anymore?When we finished folding, Manuel grabbed the basket full of clothes, and led me to his bedroom. As I watched him put his stuff away, I noticed a rip in back of his jeans. Like a little window, it revealed his thigh, sleek and smooth."Want something to eat?" Manuel asked."Sure." I nodded, anxious to shift my attention.We wandered to the kitchen, and Manuel brought out a pack of popcorn. "So . . ." He tossed the bag into the microwave. "The guy seems happy now?""Um ..." I listened to the corn pop in the oven and recalled how Eric hadn't really sounded very happy. But he'd said he was. "Yeah. Mostly.""Hmm." Manuel gave me a sidelong glance. When the oven timer chimed, he pulled the popcorn out. "You don't sound very convinced."I frowned, knowing I wasn't very convinced. We carried the steaming hot popcorn back to Manuel's room."Well," I insisted, "he said his desire is ninety-nine percent gone. He said homosexuality is like alcoholism.""Oh, really?" Manuel plopped down on the carpet, setting the popcorn bag in front of him. "I don't get that. Does it mean everyone who drinks alcohol is an alcoholic?""Um, no." I sat down facing him."Then, is everyone gay some sort of addict?""No.""Then I don't get how being gay is like being an alcoholic."Actually, I didn't either. It suddenly struck me that maybe Manuel and I were arguing less because I was agreeing with him more, even if I didn't want to.While we munched popcorn, I tried not to stare at his tan,152sinewy arms. Every time I reached into the bag and our fingers bumped, I recalled pressing against him in the movie theater. Now, I was feeling confused again. Did I want to change or didn't I?"If somebody is unhappy being gay," Manuel proceeded, "they can try to get involved with the opposite sex, or just not have sex at all. But why judge and try to 'save' others rather than just accept that everyone is different? Even if sexual orientation were a choice, aren't we a country where we're supposed to be free to pursue our happiness, whether we'rehetero-, homo-, bi-, trans-, or even a-sexual? To use your friend's alcohol analogy, being antigay is like Prohibition, when a small group of busybodies thought no one should be allowed to drink."I had learned about Prohibition in American history. Old Mr.

Oglethorpe had told us, "That was the only time when our nation's constitution was amended to curtail people's rights rather than expand them."Now, I recalled our government class discussion about a proposed amendment to ban same-sex marriage. Wasn't that trying to curtail people's rights, too?"You know that Prohibition failed," Manuel continued, "don't you? It had to be repealed. So, maybe alcoholism isn't a good analogy to being gay.""Okay," I gave in. "What is a good analogy?"Manuel immediately replied, "Being straight!'I should have predicted that."But what if it's just a phase?" I insisted. "Eric said a lot of teens have same-sex attraction but they grow out of it.""If they'll grow out of it," Manuel said matter-of-factly, "then why do they need ex-gay conversion?"I considered that, with no idea what to answer."In my ideal world," Manuel pressed on, "a world without153homophobia, kids could explore their crushes with either gender and figure out who they are without being told their feelings are wrong or sinful."As he described that ideal world, I had an image of little kids pecking kisses with either gender and not getting called names because of it."But gay relationships don't last," I argued."Oh, really?" Manuel said.