Finding Identity
Pride month is a tangible reminder to me of my baptism and my identity in Christ. During pride month, people declare their sexual and gender identities, connect with similar or supportive people and strive to experience a sense of freedom in being accepted just as they are. This movement has significant attraction among those who feel like outcasts, who desire to belong somewhere, who are tired of feeling misunderstood and masking to pretend to fit into a world that they feel like is not their home.
Pride month is the family reunion. There are siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles, parents and grandparents, but everyone is at least part of the same family tree. There is shared language, shared experiences, shared memories, and a sense of belonging and fitting in unconditionally. There is storytelling and life updates—showcasing significant others and babies. There is lots of food and drink, laughter, tears, and an awkward moment or two. Those attracted by or part of the LGBTQIAA+ community are just like everyone else in humanity: longing. And if it were not for the Lord's great gift of mercy and grace to me, that he would take my sin upon himself and give me his righteousness in its place, granting me the new identity of a child of God with all its benefits of belonging, acceptance, and love, I would still be identifying as a member of the LGBTQ+ community.
Pride month is the family reunion. There are siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles, parents and grandparents, but everyone is at least part of the same family tree. There is shared language, shared experiences, shared memories, and a sense of belonging and fitting in unconditionally. There is storytelling and life updates—showcasing significant others and babies. There is lots of food and drink, laughter, tears, and an awkward moment or two. Those attracted by or part of the LGBTQIAA+ community are just like everyone else in humanity: longing. And if it were not for the Lord's great gift of mercy and grace to me, that he would take my sin upon himself and give me his righteousness in its place, granting me the new identity of a child of God with all its benefits of belonging, acceptance, and love, I would still be identifying as a member of the LGBTQ+ community.
The Longing for Belonging
See, we used to belong. We used to have perfect union with our creator, with the animals, with the land, with each other. We were created through, into, and for relationship. But the enemy pursued us with deception in attack of God's good creation and glory. Our disobedience of the one life-giving and sustaining relationship we had quickly followed—the relationship where we fully belonged, were fully loved, did not have to hide ourselves, or face rejection. It was the one relationship where everything was, well … perfect. Instead, on that dark day, humanity—exposed and “enlightened”—hid and trembled in the shame of sin and fear of rejection from the one who loved us best. He had not rejected us or hidden himself from us. We had rejected him and hid ourselves from him as we began to seek the shadows and darkness rather than the light to cover up for the guilt and shame that we could not undo.
Creation and cultivation were cursed, and death entered the world. Perfect relationship with the Giver of Life was severed. Our good God could not dwell with sin. Since that day, all of humanity has been groping around, blind, deaf, and lame, searching for a relationship where we belong, are fully loved, fully accepted. A relationship where we can be naked and unashamed, experiencing a fullness, deep satisfaction, and rest. Through the ages, we have sought solutions in vain to our separation and shadow-dwelling through all manner of avenues: the pursuit of philosophy, religion, marriage, vices, doctrines, cults, keeping of the law, removal of law. We have tried to be enough in and of ourselves to bridge the separating gap between us and God. We have also tried to live as though there were no gap or greater relationship to be had. Every solution has failed. Nothing truly satisfies. As an end in itself, everything is meaningless and fleeting.
In our unfaithfulness and unfruitful attempts to reconcile the great divide caused by our disobedience and rebellion against a just and holy God, the one who made us and loves us remained faithful. He established a people and promised to dwell with them, to love them, to reconcile them, and to restore them—though we had done nothing to deserve this. He promised to destroy the shadows and bring an eternal, unfading light. He promised to defeat the Deceiver for good and bring us into a kingdom where we would be fully loved, fully satisfied, fully accepted, fully at rest, and would fully belong. Not as a result of anything sufficient in ourselves but to the praise and glory of a merciful, loving, holy, righteous, and just God.
Creation and cultivation were cursed, and death entered the world. Perfect relationship with the Giver of Life was severed. Our good God could not dwell with sin. Since that day, all of humanity has been groping around, blind, deaf, and lame, searching for a relationship where we belong, are fully loved, fully accepted. A relationship where we can be naked and unashamed, experiencing a fullness, deep satisfaction, and rest. Through the ages, we have sought solutions in vain to our separation and shadow-dwelling through all manner of avenues: the pursuit of philosophy, religion, marriage, vices, doctrines, cults, keeping of the law, removal of law. We have tried to be enough in and of ourselves to bridge the separating gap between us and God. We have also tried to live as though there were no gap or greater relationship to be had. Every solution has failed. Nothing truly satisfies. As an end in itself, everything is meaningless and fleeting.
In our unfaithfulness and unfruitful attempts to reconcile the great divide caused by our disobedience and rebellion against a just and holy God, the one who made us and loves us remained faithful. He established a people and promised to dwell with them, to love them, to reconcile them, and to restore them—though we had done nothing to deserve this. He promised to destroy the shadows and bring an eternal, unfading light. He promised to defeat the Deceiver for good and bring us into a kingdom where we would be fully loved, fully satisfied, fully accepted, fully at rest, and would fully belong. Not as a result of anything sufficient in ourselves but to the praise and glory of a merciful, loving, holy, righteous, and just God.
Belonging Found in the Gospel
How did he accomplish this? He came down from on high—Creator entering his creation—Jesus, the Son of God, becoming fully human while still fully maintaining his divinity. He was born and raised in this fallen, separated, broken humanity and cursed creation. He lived his earthly life in perfect adherence to God's given law of righteousness, fulfilled every prophecy made about him in ages past, and in his perfection, sacrificially took upon himself the curse of the broken law, the sins and disobedience of his beloved people.
He gave himself over to bear the eternal wrath of God, justly poured out on him in the stead of all who believe he is the Lord, the Son of God, and who put their hope and faith in his finished work. What work is that? That after Jesus Christ, Son of God, bore the eternal wrath of God for our lawlessness against him, he died, was buried, and he was raised from the dead. "The wages [payment] of sin is death" (Romans 6:23). But in Jesus rising from the dead, he proved that his death was eternally sufficient to pay for the sins he bore. My sin! It's been paid for. And not only that but all who proclaim that Jesus is Lord, to the glory of God the Father, no longer live to sin but live to Jesus. When our sin and corruption are borne by and buried with him in his death, we are also raised to new life with him in his resurrection–free from the curse of sin, which is death. And in his resurrecting from the curse of death, which has no hold on him, we now have the guarantee of an inheritance of eternal life with him–death having no hold on us either, in Christ.
He took our sin and gave us his righteousness. In this justice and redemption, we are reconciled to God, restored in relationship, and brought into a holy community of perfect love. In dying to ourselves through his death and living set free in his life, walking by the Spirit in faith and obedience to him, we glorify God and find belonging, satisfaction, acceptance, and love.
He gave himself over to bear the eternal wrath of God, justly poured out on him in the stead of all who believe he is the Lord, the Son of God, and who put their hope and faith in his finished work. What work is that? That after Jesus Christ, Son of God, bore the eternal wrath of God for our lawlessness against him, he died, was buried, and he was raised from the dead. "The wages [payment] of sin is death" (Romans 6:23). But in Jesus rising from the dead, he proved that his death was eternally sufficient to pay for the sins he bore. My sin! It's been paid for. And not only that but all who proclaim that Jesus is Lord, to the glory of God the Father, no longer live to sin but live to Jesus. When our sin and corruption are borne by and buried with him in his death, we are also raised to new life with him in his resurrection–free from the curse of sin, which is death. And in his resurrecting from the curse of death, which has no hold on him, we now have the guarantee of an inheritance of eternal life with him–death having no hold on us either, in Christ.
He took our sin and gave us his righteousness. In this justice and redemption, we are reconciled to God, restored in relationship, and brought into a holy community of perfect love. In dying to ourselves through his death and living set free in his life, walking by the Spirit in faith and obedience to him, we glorify God and find belonging, satisfaction, acceptance, and love.
Disordered Longing
“I once was lost but now am found, was blind but now I see. Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.”
Since childhood I have known something is different about me in comparison to my friends in relationships. It was quite clear at my co-ed boarding high school that I didn't like boys the way the other girls did. I stood out like a sore thumb when girls got together to share who they had crushes on or talk about who was cute or "hot." I never seemed to “like” anyone, and on the rare occasion I did, it typically had nothing to do with physical attraction. I couldn't relate to what these girls were discussing or experiencing, and I began to take pride in a misguided belief that I was somehow spiritually stronger and more mature in my lack of fawning over boys. I was raised in Christian “purity culture,” where chastity and sexual purity were overemphasized and women were made to be overly responsible for the relentless sin of masculine lust. It felt taboo to talk about what I was experiencing internally. Heck, it still felt inappropriate for me to look at people kissing in a movie.
While boys rarely consumed my thoughts, girls regularly did. Certain girls would catch my interest, and I would find myself drawn into the powerful feeling of infatuation and attraction. I can recall this feeling and interest as early as fifth grade, around the time when everyone else was developing their first crush. Don't get me wrong, I had an enduring crush on a boy named Ryan, whom I was close friends with from fourth grade to eighth grade. I kept my crush on him, though we lived far apart and had no relationship, until he got married. That's normal, right? My crush on Ryan—and any other boy I developed a crush on for that matter—felt completely different, however, than whatever this feeling was towards the girls who relationally caught my eye.
When I reflect on my past, I can most easily mark the seasons of my life in terms of seasons of friendships or longings after friendships with specific girls. Sometimes we never even became friends, I just admired them from afar, daydreamed about them, mustered up the courage to say a few words to them, and lived off of that high for weeks. Sometimes I pursued them: slowly got myself in their circle, befriended them, showed them all my best sides, asked them deep questions to draw us into relational intimacy at an intense rate, and then latched on to them, making their friendship my whole world and consuming all my time and thoughts with them. I developed what I now understand to be a codependent pattern of relating with these girls. When the intensity became uncomfortable and unsustainable for them, they would pull away from friendship, and I would hold on tighter until there was a friendship "break up." Afterwards, I would spiral in emotional insecurity and rejection. We would never talk again, and I would move to a new city or state to escape the pain of what had just happened and start fresh.
One day, after feeling drawn in yet again by another girl in college who had caught my eye and recognizing that this attraction didn't seem to be something I saw in my group of normal girlfriends (friends I loved as friends but wasn't attracted to in that way), I began to do some searching. “What was wrong with me!? Was I gay? Why didn't I like boys the way I liked girls? I can't be gay because I'm not sexually attracted to these girls,” I thought to myself. “But I can't exactly say I'm straight when I also have no physical attraction to boys either.” That's when I found the term, "asexual,” a sexual orientation defined by a person not experiencing sexual attraction or interest.
Oh the relief I felt wash over me in that discovery. There's a term for this! Other people experience this too! There are colors and a flag and a community of other people who experience this same thing! I had spent my life up to this point constantly feeling like I needed to cover up what felt so glaringly wrong with me. In high school, I didn't fit among my Christian or secular friends, but at least in the eyes of the church I thought I was being mature and keeping from the path towards inappropriate sexual relations. But once college and grad school hit, every one of my friends was dating and getting married and I still hadn't had my first date, nor were there any prospects. I began to feel rejection from members of my church as well: "Why aren't you married yet?" "Are you dating anyone?" "I know a single guy that I think you'd like." I still liked girls and rarely liked guys. I was terrified of the prospect of relationships with the opposite sex because marriage involves romantic and sexual acts that I found disturbing. The church's conversations on singleness had begun to shift from purity to “enduring the wait.” I couldn't relate.
While boys rarely consumed my thoughts, girls regularly did. Certain girls would catch my interest, and I would find myself drawn into the powerful feeling of infatuation and attraction. I can recall this feeling and interest as early as fifth grade, around the time when everyone else was developing their first crush. Don't get me wrong, I had an enduring crush on a boy named Ryan, whom I was close friends with from fourth grade to eighth grade. I kept my crush on him, though we lived far apart and had no relationship, until he got married. That's normal, right? My crush on Ryan—and any other boy I developed a crush on for that matter—felt completely different, however, than whatever this feeling was towards the girls who relationally caught my eye.
When I reflect on my past, I can most easily mark the seasons of my life in terms of seasons of friendships or longings after friendships with specific girls. Sometimes we never even became friends, I just admired them from afar, daydreamed about them, mustered up the courage to say a few words to them, and lived off of that high for weeks. Sometimes I pursued them: slowly got myself in their circle, befriended them, showed them all my best sides, asked them deep questions to draw us into relational intimacy at an intense rate, and then latched on to them, making their friendship my whole world and consuming all my time and thoughts with them. I developed what I now understand to be a codependent pattern of relating with these girls. When the intensity became uncomfortable and unsustainable for them, they would pull away from friendship, and I would hold on tighter until there was a friendship "break up." Afterwards, I would spiral in emotional insecurity and rejection. We would never talk again, and I would move to a new city or state to escape the pain of what had just happened and start fresh.
One day, after feeling drawn in yet again by another girl in college who had caught my eye and recognizing that this attraction didn't seem to be something I saw in my group of normal girlfriends (friends I loved as friends but wasn't attracted to in that way), I began to do some searching. “What was wrong with me!? Was I gay? Why didn't I like boys the way I liked girls? I can't be gay because I'm not sexually attracted to these girls,” I thought to myself. “But I can't exactly say I'm straight when I also have no physical attraction to boys either.” That's when I found the term, "asexual,” a sexual orientation defined by a person not experiencing sexual attraction or interest.
Oh the relief I felt wash over me in that discovery. There's a term for this! Other people experience this too! There are colors and a flag and a community of other people who experience this same thing! I had spent my life up to this point constantly feeling like I needed to cover up what felt so glaringly wrong with me. In high school, I didn't fit among my Christian or secular friends, but at least in the eyes of the church I thought I was being mature and keeping from the path towards inappropriate sexual relations. But once college and grad school hit, every one of my friends was dating and getting married and I still hadn't had my first date, nor were there any prospects. I began to feel rejection from members of my church as well: "Why aren't you married yet?" "Are you dating anyone?" "I know a single guy that I think you'd like." I still liked girls and rarely liked guys. I was terrified of the prospect of relationships with the opposite sex because marriage involves romantic and sexual acts that I found disturbing. The church's conversations on singleness had begun to shift from purity to “enduring the wait.” I couldn't relate.
The Turning Point
In the midst of this whole journey, as I wrestled with what this meant for me as a Christian, I spoke with several friends from my past who had renounced Christianity and were now embracing an identity of being gay. They spoke of embracing relationships and marriage with their partners. They described their hope in freedom from hiding and feeling so out of place in the Church. They talked about finding belonging with their partner and the LGBTQ+ community. It was tempting, really tempting. I entertained the thoughts of freedom and release that I might feel if I gave in and embraced whatever I was. I wrestled with Scripture, which was entirely unclear to me since I wasn't dealing with sexual lust. I just had weird friendships and longed for emotional closeness with them. I prayed and prayed and prayed.
Ultimately I came to a place where, terrified and shattered, I told God that I wanted to follow him and submit to him. I told him that I knew how I had been thinking about these girls was wrong and that the lusts that I did experience toward them were wrong even though they weren't necessarily sexual. I admitted to him that I was heartbroken because I was worried that I would never be allowed to have a close friendship with a girl again. I told him I was willing to be isolated from friendship because I believed he knew what was best for me and would take care of me, that I could trust him even though I didn't know what the future would hold. I submitted to God and in letting go I wept and grieved over what I thought I might be giving up: any hope of belonging on this earth, being known in friendship by either sex, finding satisfaction in the earthly joy of relationship.
Ultimately I came to a place where, terrified and shattered, I told God that I wanted to follow him and submit to him. I told him that I knew how I had been thinking about these girls was wrong and that the lusts that I did experience toward them were wrong even though they weren't necessarily sexual. I admitted to him that I was heartbroken because I was worried that I would never be allowed to have a close friendship with a girl again. I told him I was willing to be isolated from friendship because I believed he knew what was best for me and would take care of me, that I could trust him even though I didn't know what the future would hold. I submitted to God and in letting go I wept and grieved over what I thought I might be giving up: any hope of belonging on this earth, being known in friendship by either sex, finding satisfaction in the earthly joy of relationship.
A New Identity
Sometime that year, I was baptized, and I saw the Spirit grow me in ways I hadn't before thought possible. I was still asexual and took comfort in having that term and that identity at least. When I felt insecure, I could fall back on having that identity as an excuse to get my family and the Church off my back for why I still wasn't in a relationship. One day, in that first year of being baptized, I had dinner with a family from my church, and I was explaining that I was asexual. It's possible, at that time, that I was wearing the flag colors on my wrist, or perhaps I was explaining how I had joined a meetup group for asexual people in my town. They challenged me on my choice to identify as asexual and, at that time, I became defensive, thinking to myself, “It isn’t sinful to be asexual. In fact, it's the only LGBTQ+ identity that the church would probably be okay with! Don't have sex until you're married? No problem!” But as I thought about the points they made, the Spirit convicted me that they were right. As a Christian, my identity is in Christ. "I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me" (Gal 2:20).
I still experience asexuality and would consider myself ‘asexual’ in the descriptive sense–it's a term that helps capture how I relate to attraction and relationships. But I am not "an asexual," meaning that I do not root my identity in that term, nor do I associate myself with the asexual community, their flag, colors, or symbols. My identity is in Christ alone. However, my corrupted flesh that so easily falls prey to deceptive counterfeit satisfaction, sees the asexual celebration days come and go each year; sees the “Ace Flag,” the most beautiful of the flags in my opinion, paraded during Pride Month; and, at times, I feel the temptation arise within me to reclaim it. I feel the pride threatening to well up inside me. Even as I write these sentences, I pray that God would remind me of my true identity.
I let those moments pass, by God's grace and strength and forgiveness, reminding myself of what is true: how much more secure my identity is in Christ; how much more hope I have; how much more loved and accepted I am than that community could ever offer me; how faithful God has been to me over the years to consistently surround me with healthy friendships with women and a genuine, accepting, and loving church community. He is slowly healing the parts of me that are scared and broken inside; that have kept me from being open to relationships with men; and have gotten me into so many unhealthy relationships with women. And it is good. He is good. This identity in Christ is so precious and worth more than any treasure or relational joy that this world could ever offer.
I still experience asexuality and would consider myself ‘asexual’ in the descriptive sense–it's a term that helps capture how I relate to attraction and relationships. But I am not "an asexual," meaning that I do not root my identity in that term, nor do I associate myself with the asexual community, their flag, colors, or symbols. My identity is in Christ alone. However, my corrupted flesh that so easily falls prey to deceptive counterfeit satisfaction, sees the asexual celebration days come and go each year; sees the “Ace Flag,” the most beautiful of the flags in my opinion, paraded during Pride Month; and, at times, I feel the temptation arise within me to reclaim it. I feel the pride threatening to well up inside me. Even as I write these sentences, I pray that God would remind me of my true identity.
I let those moments pass, by God's grace and strength and forgiveness, reminding myself of what is true: how much more secure my identity is in Christ; how much more hope I have; how much more loved and accepted I am than that community could ever offer me; how faithful God has been to me over the years to consistently surround me with healthy friendships with women and a genuine, accepting, and loving church community. He is slowly healing the parts of me that are scared and broken inside; that have kept me from being open to relationships with men; and have gotten me into so many unhealthy relationships with women. And it is good. He is good. This identity in Christ is so precious and worth more than any treasure or relational joy that this world could ever offer.
Christ Fulfills Our Longings
The ache of longing is part of our fallen human nature. We are all longing for belonging, love, acceptance, community, security, and living in the freedom of the light without shame or shadow. The longing experienced by so many in the vanity of Pride Month cannot be met in trying to get the world to accept you and hold you secure. It cannot be met in human relationships, whether the most faithful of Christian marriages or the dirtiest of relational fantasies. It can only be met in the glory of the Gospel–in Christ, the perfect, sacrificial, faithful Bridegroom. Come, find your identity in him, and take up the new life he offers you.