During that terrible period known as adolescence, I was unable to find comfort or friendship at school, so I sought refuge at the Lutheran church. While I was raised Catholic, I wasn't picky in my quest for a place where I felt welcome. For three years, I was there every Sunday, gaining friendships and learning about God. I wasn't sure how I felt about God, but I knew that I enjoyed the camaraderie I found there, so I kept going. I thought that what they told me was right, but that changed when my parents switched to the Newman Center, a Catholic Church on Ohio State's campus. Newman is a place where everyone was welcome- including gay people. For the first time in my life I saw that it was okay to be gay, that there were places and people who would love gay people as they would anyone else. At the time I was reasonably certain of my own gayness, but it would still be a few years before I became a card-carrying lesbian.

Armed with the knowledge of the Newman Center and the warmth I felt there, I went back to the Lutheran Church with questions about what I was hearing. I told a longtime member and friend about my new. She didn't let me finish, telling me that being gay was a bad thing, that I shouldn't go near 'those people.' As if it's catching. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I asked her why she couldn't leave the judgement to God, if there was to be any at all, and she replied with a typical 'it's just wrong.' After three years of hearing about love and community, I was finally learning what their definition of love and community was, a place where only people like them, heterosexual, white, upper-middle class folks could feel comfortable. I never set foot in that church again, opting for the comfort of the Newman Center.

It's been almost 10 years since that fateful conversation, and I haven't been a faithful churchgoer since then. Inherently, what I believe about treating people with love and respect remains the same but I approach any organized religion with an apprehension that I didn't have before that conversation. No longer can I believe that loving your neighbor really means every neighbor. I realize that to a lot of people, it means that they can hold their banner of Christianity high over their heads, as I once did, and look down at the rest of the world for not being like me.

When my minister cousin sponsored a talk about Homosexuality and the Church, I decided to attend. I wanted to know what her conservative congregation had to say. The speaker was Bruce Harbin, author of 'Can Homophobia be Cured?.' After his son turned away from the Ministry because of an Amendment condemning gays, he wrote the book challenging the hatred of gays. He was charming and wonderful, able to disarm the most banal questions and reaffirm that gay people, like all people, deserve to be welcomed in Church. While I certainly appreciate his message of love and compassion, I can't help but wonder why this man should be speaking for me. I resent the fact that it takes an intermediary for some people to see that gay people are not scary, not monsters, just people.