Author's Note

This collection was inspired by the course 'Writing Creatively About Religion,' which I had the profound honor of taking my final semester at Vanderbilt Divinity School. Taught by the incredible Dean Victor Judge, the class revolved around the creation of our religious autobiography. Featuring both prose and poetry, what follows is a sliver of my encounters with religion and their impacts on me throughout my life.

*To protect the privacy of certain individuals, the names of non-family members have been changed.

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Collected Works

01 Childhood Prayers

02 God's Plan

03 Damned

04 Be Still

05 Theology

Childhood Prayers

My childhood room was pink. A small, abstractly-shaped room with a little alcove and angled ceiling. My cat would often visit me at my window by scaling a tree in our backyard and climbing onto the roof. I always let him in, overjoyed at his arrival and overcome with worry at the slightest thought of his treacherous journey down.

Like many children, I was afraid of the dark. My fears, however, were not assuaged by a cracked door or a colorful night light. No, I was adamant that my door stay wide open. Hall light on. A path of yellow shining into my room and over the covers of my bed. The soft, distant voices of my parents traveling up the stairs reassuring me of their presence nearby. Safe.

I’m not sure if many children pray before bed, but I did. I have no memory of starting my nightly ritual, of being taught or told to do it. It was just something I did. I prayed every night before I fell asleep. Just me and God, as I lay there talking to him silently in my head. I talked to Jesus too. Sometimes my eyes were closed. Other times they were open.

As time went on my prayers became very formulaic. There was a right way to pray, I had decided.

Dear God,

Thank you for all my many blessings…

Please be with so-and-so…

In Jesus’ name,

Amen.

Eventually, I was scared to leave anyone out, lest something bad happen to them. I had to be thankful before I asked though, because you can’t just ask God for things. There are rules. Conditions.

At some point I became aware of sin. What if I died and didn’t ask for forgiveness first? Eyes tightly closed, I’d pray:

Dear God,

Thank you for all my many blessings…

Please forgive me for all my sins. I’m so sorry…

Please be with so-and-so and so-and-so…

In Jesus’ name,

Amen.

One Sunday night, I was lying in bed absolutely terrified. We had talked about Heaven at church. Now, I didn’t know much about Heaven (other than it’s where we go after we die). Daddy told me it’s supposed to be the place where you feel happiest. But in church that morning they said we would get new bodies in Heaven and I was scared that meant I wouldn’t be able to recognize anybody from earth. So I lay there, curled into a ball underneath my covers, praying the hardest I'd ever prayed. I prayed. I pleaded. I bartered with God.

Please if we get new bodies just let me be able to know who Mama is.

Who Daddy and Hannah are.

I just wanna be able to look at them and know they were my family.

I cried and prayed some more. But I didn’t feel any better.

What about my pets? Will my pets be in Heaven? If it’s supposed to be the happiest place, wouldn’t they have to be there? But what about my friend’s mom saying pets don’t have souls and so they can’t go to Heaven? What happens to people who don’t believe in Jesus, like that girl from school? What does it really mean when they say ‘Jesus is the way’ and ‘the path is narrow’? So there’s another place for people who don’t go to Heaven? And God sends them there to punish them? How do you know if you’re going to Heaven or to Hell? If God loves everybody, why would he send anybody to Hell?

The questions became increasingly insistent, and the answers were ever elusive. I was unable to sleep at night because I was so scared—to the point where I’d be awake when my parents would finally go to bed and turn off the hall light. I’d cry out to them, not wanting to leave the sanctuary underneath my covers. It became such a persistent problem that my parents eventually relented and let me sleep in their bed for a night. But only one night. Then, I was moved to a pallet on their floor for a few nights. And finally, they put their foot down—I had to stay and sleep in my own room.

So, I slept as close as I could without getting in trouble: The top of the stairs. Just me, curled under my blankie. In the dark.

God's Plan

There are certain expectations surrounding the college experience. Or at least I thought so: Late nights and wild parties, laughing ‘til you cry, pulling all-nighters studying because you procrastinated again. In short, living in full color. The way only young people seem to.

My memories of this time of my life, though, are often tinged with gray. I was in my sophomore year when I finally came to terms with my bisexuality after falling in love with my (very equally female) roommate. A private, Christian university isn’t exactly the place I would have preferred to experience my sexual awakening. But I hear God gives his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers. To add fuel to the fire, I was majoring in Religion.

I had struggled with questions surrounding the sinfulness of being queer for quite some time. By my senior year, I had accepted the narrative that it was unequivocally wrong and that I would be damned to hell. And I can’t possibly adequately describe the emotion of believing your creator, your God hates you because of a feeling you can’t control, because of an identity you can’t change. It’s an emotion too big to describe and too deep to drown in whiskey. Though, I gave it my best shot.

Reaching a boiling point, I sought guidance from one of my professors, arriving at school early one day to speak with him before class. I remember being apprehensive because he didn’t want me to close the door to his office, so I cracked it and hoped no one outside could hear. I remember crying; the overwhelming shame of admitting my feelings for another girl, the utter loneliness of feeling like a creation without a creator, and the sheer terror at the prospect of burning in hell for eternity was impossible to hold back once I stepped into my professor’s office. We talked theology for a while: Yes, being queer was a sin. But my professor assured me that I could get through this—as if being queer is something you ‘get through.’ He said I could still find someone to spend my life with. That I may not be in love with him, but I could choose to be with a guy, and marry him, and live happily ever after. All according to God’s plan.

Damned

What does original sin signify if not a fault in the Creator?

In the beginning, a breath.

A primordial image projected on human flesh

Becomes distorted in the light of the seventh sun.

Comfort, O comfort do I seek thee…

From the hand of the very one who damned me.

Each sin confessed coats my tongue with the tang of blood.

Poisoned breath in my lungs.

Red blood in my mouth.

Hell in my soul.

~ myself

Seated 30,000 feet up and across the aisle from the girl I had fallen for was taking its toll. The past three years had taken its toll, if I’m being honest. Crushing on your roommate has its drawbacks. Hence, the sudden inspiration to write poetry. It at least gave me something to do on the nearly empty plane besides looking at her or replaying those same conversations in my head on repeat. Unfortunately, though, it was a short poem and a long flight. And my mind turned once again to the well-trodden paths of the past.

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As I hoisted myself into Kolton's jacked up jeep, I went back and forth with myself about whether I really wanted to open this can of worms. But it’s been a long time coming. The question eats at me. The wondering. What do my friends think?

As we pulled out of campus with the windows rolled down and the music turned up on our way to our favorite lunch spot, I cherished this one last moment of ignorance before finally asking, “What do you think about gay people?”

“What about them?” he asked, a little stunned.

“Like, is homosexuality a sin?”

He cut a glance to me and said, “Well, yeah.”

My body felt weird—light and heavy all at once. I hoped he’d pass this off as just another question related to my major and not anything to do with me personally. I’m always asking out of pocket religious questions that my friends have never contemplated a second of their lives. “Why’s that?”

“What do you mean ‘why’? I don’t know. That’s just what my church says.” He shrugs casually.

Trying to be nonchalant, I hedge, “Yeah… But you’ve never really thought about it?”

Without a care in the world, he responds, “Nah, no reason to.”

And there it is, isn’t it? That’s the problem…

There is no reason for him to think about something that doesn’t affect him in the slightest.

Why bother? When one could be hitting on girls or cracking jokes or playing beer pong.

The questionability of the fate of a gay person’s eternal soul doesn’t have any bearing on him.

I’ve been frantically searching for the answer to this question for years now and I don’t know the answer. I can’t find it in the sea of contradictory scholarship and combative theologies.

I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to do.

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Sitting on his cheap couch in his very college-boy-decorated-apartment having just lost in Mario Kart, I tossed the controller and grabbed my drink with both hands to have something to hold on to before turning to Nick. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, go for it,” he responded in between puffs of his vape.

The green apple scent of it wafted in the air briefly as I asked, “Do you think homosexuality is a sin?”

“Damn, that’s kinda out of nowhere,” he chuckled. “I’m pretty sure it says that in the Bible somewhere." After a moment he added, "But I’d still be friends with gay people. I’ve got no problem with them.” I nodded my head and took another swig of alcohol.

In the Bible… somewhere? Where? According to whom?

Because clearly he doesn't know. People spend their whole lives dedicated to biblical scholarship and this guy has the audacity to just cite ‘somewhere’ in the Bible.

But I know that somewhere. And it’s confusing and sticky and messy.

Why is he acting like it’s straightforward?

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I laid in bed that night and finally turned over to where Ellie was sleeping on the other side of the room to whisper, “Are you asleep?”

“Nope,” she whispered back.

“Can I ask you something real quick?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Do you think homosexuality is a sin?”

“Um, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with gay people. I know a lot of gay people.”

“So, you don’t think it’s a sin?” I asked hopefully.

“No, I mean…” she hesitates sleepily. “It is. I just don’t treat people differently because of it.”

Three for three. Should I go for four?

I wonder if hell will be this lonely.

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When I walked into our dorm and saw Jules sitting in the living room, I figured now was as good a time as any. So, I hesitantly perched on the end of the couch facing the girl I had secretly fallen for and steeled myself as best I could before asking, “So, you know how I came out as bisexual to you a while ago?”

“Yeah.”

“And you said that didn’t matter to you and that you supported me?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“I talked with Ellie a few days ago and she said that she thinks homosexuality is a sin. And then I also talked to the guys and everybody pretty much said the same thing: It’s a sin but they’re cool with gay people. And I realized that when I came out to you, we didn’t explicitly talk about what you thought from a religious perspective. And now I kinda want to know...” I trail off.

“Why does it matter what I believe?”

“Because you’re my friend, and what you think is important to me.”

She avoided looking at me as she said, “I mean, yeah, it’s a sin. Technically, we believe that homosexual feelings aren’t inherently sinful but acting on them is. But my beliefs shouldn’t affect how you feel about yourself.”

I closed my eyes and tried to breathe through the feeling of my chest caving in on itself. When I opened them, she was finally looking at me. There was a long pause that felt like a mini eternity. I didn’t know what to say, and I guess she didn’t either. So I just nodded and tilted my head back, trying to keep the tears from spilling over. But I failed quite exceptionally and simply nodded again. With tears in my eyes and guilt in hers, I choked out, “Okay,” and went back into my room.

I don’t know how to live with this feeling…

I feel like my heart, my soul is rotting inside of me. Her views shouldn’t affect me…

They do though. That’s what they don’t get. They want to hold all these ugly and harmful views and beliefs and expect the rest of us to pretend like they’re not ugly and harmful.

She hasn’t thought about the sinfulness of being gay.

She’s just parroting what she’s heard in church and around the dinner table.

My whole world is falling apart over a belief she’s ascribed to because she’s told.

Because its doctrine, because it’s easy. For her.

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What does original sin signify if not a fault in the Creator?

If how I feel about this girl is wrong, is a sin, then what does that say about God?

I didn’t choose to feel this way. I didn’t choose to have this ache in my chest from just looking at her. If I could turn it off, I would. But I can’t.

God made me this way, as I am. With all my feelings and flaws.

But we are made in God’s image, are we not?

Is God flawed too?

Be Still

For the next several years, I deconstructed the harmful theology I was force-fed and was no longer ashamed of being queer. Though my expectations of the future changed just as drastically. I was fine with the idea of dating around, but I was convinced that I’d marry a girl because the thought of ending up with a guy felt like a win for homophobia. To be fair, I also just wanted to be with someone who understood my perspective on and experiences with sexuality and religion, and I wasn’t sure how a straight man could possibly understand.

But then I met this boy. The good news? He was moving at the end of the summer. It literally couldn’t be more perfect. I thought he’d make great practice and a fun summer fling. And he did, he really did. But I fell for him.

It was so much different from the first time I fell in love, when I didn’t even realize I was falling until I hit the ground. With Spencer, I could feel it. I felt the tipping point.

And I fell—even though it wasn’t what I expected.

It wasn’t a choice; it was inevitable, as love always is.

I fell for him and he fell back.

He affirms me and supports me and celebrates me for who I am.

He stills my soul.

Looking back now, I’ve lived my whole life with constraints on who my life partner would be. Some were placed on me by others. Some I placed on myself.

With Spencer, I am free and the colors are vibrant.

There are no looming expectations.

There is no divine plan.

Theology

Spencer,

Not unoften do I consider the utter lack of justice words can do for how I feel about you.

Describing the indescribable—some call that theology.

Though my religion is engrossed in neither power nor politics.

It’s a feeling in my body and the yearning of my soul.

I could live a thousand lifetimes and still be in love with you.

I see no God in glorified rulebooks or politicized pulpits.

My discovery of the divine is in love letters

and impromptu karaoke nights

and the murmuring between lovers in the dark.

It’s in the intertwining of our souls together until we have no beginning or end.

Tracing constellations out of your freckles and falling into the endless blue of your eyes.

Knowing that when I reach out, you will close the distance.

Without begging or bargaining, hesitation or fear.

Ours is a covenant with no cross. A promise with no payment. A surrender with no sacrifice.