Attending the Exodus Conference in South Africa in May 2003 provided an opportunity for me to look at the journey I have been on, and yet often not appreciated. Being at that particular venue in South Africa held a strange irony for me as the conference site is owned by the Church of the Nazarene - the denomination that had ordained me in the late 1980's. I completed studies at the Theological College now located diagonally opposite from the conference centre, and being at the conference brought back many memories from the past.
Yet my feelings were mixed. I had come to the conference with a close friend and this was an important step for me. I have always struggled to make friends; especially friends of the same sex. I knew that part of the struggle to build meaningful relationships was wrapped up in what had happened during my time as a student. I was also reminded of another friend who I had been close to in a different way when studying for Christian ministry at the college. As I compared the two friendships I sensed that God was working in my life, and had been with me in my struggle. The conference had given me an opportunity to begin to understand the processes at work in my life, which had discouraged and undermined my efforts as a Christian worker. It had given me continued hope to live for Christ, in spite of my struggles.
I had known for a long time that homosexuality feeds on low self-esteem. But exactly how those dynamics were playing themselves out in my own life had been something of a mystery to me. Comparing my new friend with my old friend, and my own place in both of those friendships, helped to unlock that mystery a little further for me.
I have always known that I am vulnerable to emotional dependency, and for that reason had stopped risking the pain of rejection and misunderstanding that often accompanied my attempts to build relationships with other men. I didn't experience the same difficulty with women, and to my annoyance have never struggled to know, and to be known, by women. I had even married one! She has given me two beautiful children. She has also given me the gift of being able to share a deep longing in my life, which is to have meaningful friendships with men. More than once she has witnessed the agony with which I have pleaded with God to help me mend an inner brokenness, that seems to stand between myself and good, healthy friendships with men.
At Theological College a man who seemed to satisfy the longing I had for friendship even at that time in my life befriended me. He was older, wiser, accomplished and caring. He made me feel important. I understand now that a great deal of his care 'groomed' me for an aspect of our relationship that I was to regret, and which was to impact on my ability to make friends in later life. More than once touch turned to petting. I was not innocent in my responses to his attention, and more importantly, I was unaware of just how dependent I became on his friendship. Shortly after his return to America I felt 'called' to study in a college close to where he lived. He was married, but even this fact did not stop me from wanting his attention in a more than normal way. After seven months in my new home as a foreign student the reality of my situation began to set in. I was dependent on this man for much of my esteem and sense of well-being. My relationship with God was weak and I was very far from home. I remember the day it struck me that I had to change my circumstances.
The precise issue that brought things to a head escapes me now, but I did threaten to tell Gavin's employer about what had gone on between us.
Our relationship changed from that point on and I realised that he had begun to walk away from this friendship. For me it was a different story. It seemed as though, much as I wanted to move on, I couldn't. I regretted the threats I had made, but I was caught. The pain was great. Circumstances did force me to move on, but the shame and damage of those months stayed with me for longer than I care to remember. I made an oath at that time not to risk knowing other men, being aware of my limitations in being able to keep my emotions healthy. The consequence of that oath was that men became mysterious, masculinity sexualised, and friendships seemed unattainable. When I tried to make friends I was unsure of the boundaries. I sometimes felt misunderstood and rejected because I could not discern between friendship and romance. Rejection was discouraging, and knowing why I was rejected lowered my sense of worth. Forming friendships, feelings of romance, rejection, despair - the cycle seemed hopeless and endless. It was easier to take no risks, to believe I was disabled in some way, and that I couldn't have friendships. I became increasingly isolated and distanced from the very men I longed to know. My homosexual feelings seemed to grow in proportion to my inability to relate in friendship to men.
One of the African languages uses an expression which, when translated, is literally 'under-cover, the devil turns around'. I resolved never to allow myself to be vulnerable again, but my issues remained unresolved. I worked hard in the pastoral ministry. Not long after marrying I realised my wife suffered from manic depression. As our children arrived I also realised I needed to find better financial support. I thought the answer was in a 'bi-vocational' ministry. I taught full-time in a Teachers' College, and preached on Sundays trying to build the Nazarene church I pastored. The college officials encouraged me to improve my qualifications and so I studied at night and at weekends. I moved from Pastoral work within a denomination, to a self-support ministry of evangelism. I did not act on my homosexual orientation, but knew it was unresolved. It was really a matter of time before who I really was impacted on the world I had built. I was exhausted, surrounded by people, loved by my family, and yet intensely lonely.
It probably was a combination of many pressures and perspectives that led me to an academic career, and to make the decision that I wasn't gifted for the ministry. I believed that I was discounted because I was struggling with homosexuality. On two occasions I shared my fears with church officials, but I was unable to find help. My energies turned to work and family. I substituted devotion to God for achievement. I completed a doctorate and settled into a university position where I have remained. I felt a failure, no matter what I achieved.
In 1999 my family and I moved from South Africa to the UK. In the twenty years after my college experience I could not say that I had built a close relationship with anyone, and yet I longed for and needed friendship. I continued to assume that I didn't deserve any, and that I was incapable of making any. I suppose that decision to run from the challenge of conquering such a personal 'demon' is what led me to seek sexual intimacy with men once again, and to renew the kind of relationship that I had known in Theological College. Homosexual love imitates true intimacy. In an attempt to heal myself I once again began to long for sexual closeness with men, which I would soon come to realise was a counterfeit for Biblical love.
I have known the degradation of chat-rooms, Internet pornography, and the beginnings of addiction. I have caused my wife and children the indignity of knowing this struggle. A little over a year ago, I sought help from a UK ministry called True freedom Trust (TfT). I have since been befriended and have learnt a great deal about myself, about how homosexuality works, and about God's care for people like me. I joined a Barnabas (support) group at that time run by TFT, and now I actually lead one of these groups reaching out to men and women who struggle with similar issues. I believe I have another chance to be a minister, albeit of a different type. My greatest joy is to share with men who struggle like me. Their stories are important and their circumstances often tragic. I long to help in the great task of equipping the people of God with the knowledge and understanding of how to support the struggler. I thank God for my conversion and I no longer doubt that it was a genuine meeting with God. I can even thank God that my struggles have brought me to the cross, where I now receive His help.
As I prepared to leave the conference I especially thanked the Lord for my close friend Andrew. I am taking risks again. I am learning to love. Sometimes, when I lose my way, friendship is a painful experience. But the friendship of Andrew is very different to the friend I met in college. He knows how I struggle, and I try to hold his friendship with a loose hand so that Jesus is between us both. I think too I am growing in my capacity to be a friend to him, in the Biblical sense. I hope to make other intimate friends, although I find that hard to do. But then I am realising that it is hard for anyone to make true and intimate friends. I still fear rejection. I often feel that I am my own greatest threat because of those fears. I find it difficult to relax and trust God to meet my needs for both friendship and for a sense of purpose, but I know above all that is what I must do. I see too the need to give God's gift of friendship back to Him, to let go and love with surrender.
Without doubt I can say that the Lord is helping me. I am encouraged to have others who help me to peddle my own bike (as we say in Africa!) There is no need to fear dependency if God is at the centre of our relationships.
(Gavin and Andrew are not the real names of the people involved.)