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The following appeared in the February, 1998, issue of Concord:
We chose a quiet corner table for our lunch, John and I. As I watched him silently studying the menu, he reminded me so much of his father. My son and I had always talked easily with one another, but on this day the conversation was awkward, even strained. Knowing John, there was something terribly serious on his mind. He sat across from me rearranging silverware, obviously uncomfortable.
Even though his college is just a short distance from home, his invitation to lunch was not an ordinary event. He didn't need to ask me twice! As he neared the end of his freshman year, his calls and visits home were fewer and further between than I would have liked. He seemed to be handling his adjustment to leaving home much better than I was.
"For heaven's sake, Susan," my husband would chide me, "he's only a few minutes from home." Yes, that was so, but it was still difficult for me to get used to the change in my relationship with this boy who was so important to me, so much a part of life. John seemed increasingly distant as he quite successfully settled into college life. I assumed that the distance stemmed from his maturing and becoming more self-reliant. When he called and said, "Mom, let's have lunch," I was eager, but apprehensive.
"Is your tea sweet enough?" I wondered aloud as he inspected the ice cubes in his glass, pushing them with his forefinger.
"Yes, Mom, the tea is fine." He stared at the glass for a long minute more, and finally raised his head to look at me. "It's just that..." He quickly looked at his glass for a long minute more, and finally raised his head to look at me. "It's just that I have something very important I need to be honest with you about..." Another downward look and long pause, "...about myself," he said without looking up.
His voice was so somber, even fearful; I felt his fear, somewhere down deep. "John? John, what's wrong?" He raised his head. His gentle brown eyes met mine and set off a cascade of memories. I remembered how those eyes sparkled when he sang his solo in the Christmas pageant as the littlest angel, and how they shined when he won the state judo championship. Now his eyes were filled with hesitation, a reticence to tell his mother what he needed to share. "How serious a problem can a nineteen-year-old have?" I asked myself. Was he failing some class? Surely not, he was always a very good student. Problems with a girlfriend, perhaps? That must be it. He doesn't have much experience and needs some advice on relationships. I had already started a response in my mind. "John, you know girls can be hard to figure out..." Then those eyes I have loved for so long misted over. He stumbled on the words, stopped and started, and then they suddenly tumbled out in a rush. "Mom, what I need to tell you is that...I think I'm gay."
His words simply did not register at first. I felt a terrible tightness in my chest. This was not real - it wasn't possible. I was confused, I must have misunderstood. For some inexplicable reason, my mind flashed back to a conversation from six years earlier when John informed me he was going to climb Mount Fuji, Japan, and all I could hear was DANGER. I replied now as I did then, "Don't be silly, John. You are not!"
His eyes reflected the terrible hurt of my disbelief. With the same voice of the little boy who did climb that foreign mountain, he insisted, "Yes, yes I am."
"John, whatever makes you think such a thing?" He heard the judgment in my words in spite of my intentions. For a minute or more, I rattled on about how confusing growing up could be, and how difficult relationships are to understand when you are so young; and all the while his words were forcing their way past my every defense. The urge to jump up and run, or scream, or punish him for such a cruel joke was washing over me like one of those huge, unexpected waves that catches you by surprise at the beach and knocks the breath out of you.
He tried again, his words carefully measured, "Please, listen to me, Mom; I am gay. I know I am!"
My head was spinning. Be careful; don't push him away. Above all else, be sure he knows I love him! We can cure this, fix it, and make it better. Isn't that what a mother is supposed to do?
I struggled to keep my composure until I drove John back to his school dorm. As he left the car, I again assured him that I was glad he had told me. We would work everything out. "Thanks, Mom," he said uncertainly, closing the door.
Where had we gone wrong? My husband is Catholic but does not attend church. So our boys' religious training was left to me. They both earned numerous perfect attendance pins in Sunday School and are confirmed Lutherans. Part of my definition of a good parent has always been being involved with my children's activities. For many years I was a Sunday School and Bible School teacher, cub scout leader, homeroom mother, PTA officer and little league mom. Without a doubt, I know where my boys have been every day and who has been in positions to influence them. I have always been a bit over-protective, but now I felt this terrible inability to protect John from what I thought was sure danger.
As I drove away from college, I know I needed to talk with someone. As I circled our church, I noticed Pastor was in his office and hoped he would have time to see me. The greatest fear tearing at me, besides the health threat, was that this wonderful child would be condemned if he insisted on this lifestyle choice. Would God condemn my son? Would our church? Would our pastor?
Pastor was kind, comforting, loving and supportive. However, on April 19, 1991, the ELCA had nothing to say. So, in spite of my pastor's gentle words and his interpretation of scripture, the only clear Christian voices on the matter of homosexuality came from the religious right, condemning and vicious in their judgment.
For several months, my husband and I tried to convince our son to get counseling. He refused, agreeing to go only if we all went for family sessions. That is not something my husband's work schedule or disposition would easily allow. We asked John not to engage in behavior that would put him at risk, or make any grand pronouncements that would make it difficult to change his mind in the future. We had a family version of "don't ask, don't tell" and it didn't work any better for us than it does for the military. I tried to find some answers for myself at the library. When I couldn't find anything on the shelves, I didn't ask for help because I couldn't say the words - homosexual, lesbian, or gay - out loud.
Over the next few years, my husband and I wrestled time and again with "John's problem." We cried, accused, argued, and cried some more - and fervently prayed that John would "grow out of this phase." My husband is a second generation Lithuanian and a career Marine. This "homosexual stuff" did not reconcile with the image he had for his son. Was it our fault? Could we have parented differently? We believed a stable home life would make up for the traveling of a military family. Were we wrong? Our other son seemed to be all right, so what did we do wrong with John? What would people think of him? What would they think of us?
After about three years, we finally understood that John was not "changing his mind" or "outgrowing this phase." We needed to learn more about this. Maybe I could find something to convince John to change. About this same time, I met the new Lutheran campus pastor at John's college. I was in awe of her; she actually said the words "gay" and "lesbian" out loud! Through her I began finding information and learning a great deal.
* Changing our son's sexual orientation was not an option. He did not choose his orientation any more than I did mine.
* His sexual orientation was not his parents' "fault." Many experts think sexual orientation is genetic and unalterably determined by age three.
* Health care professionals do not consider homosexuality an illness.
* Lutherans Concerned is a group of faithful members of my church [and others] who are bringing light to this issue.
At my first Lutherans Concerned meeting in March of 1996, I was able to say to a group of people, "My son is gay." What a flood of emotions these words released! How good it was to have understanding. Since that time, I have found so much information. Mary Borheks's book, My Son Eric, and many other books, pamphlets, and magazine articles have provided medical, psychological, and religious information. How much I have learned!
Still, the matter of homosexuality remains a closeted topic for many. Our history and our culture discourage discussion. Before having lunch with John that spring day in 1991, I would not have participated in a discussion about this topic. I thought it did not concern me. The truth is that it concerns us all. If we are not part of the solution, at least part of the discussion, we are part of the problem with which many of our friends and fellow church members struggle. When we do not speak, we allow the religious right to speak for us, to provide the only vocalized "Christian perspective." So much harm is perpetuated in Jesus' name if we fail to be a part of the dialogue.
Thankfully, the ELCA bishops' letter from March, 1996, to the members of our church begins to address the pain of rejection in so many families by declaring that "gay and lesbian people, as individuals created by God, are welcome to participate fully in the life of the congregations of the ELCA." This is a message that needs to be heard across our church and our country. The bishops' letter urges congregations to "extend a caring welcome for gay and lesbian persons and their families." "...[Additionally, it states that we need to] urge our congregations to reach out to all of God's people with the Gospel of Jesus Christ." To make that a reality, a formal welcoming statement from every parish declaring that gay men and lesbian women are invited to participate fully in our congregations is an appropriate and necessary response.
I am often asked why saying "all people" are welcome is not enough. Why do gay and lesbian people need a "special" invitation? There are many answers to that question. But for me, the strongest response is to point out how energetic and vocal the church and many Christians have been in their exclusion and condemnation so that any g/l/b/t persons would expect rejection. When evangelical Christians eagerly define "faggot" as "fuel for the fire," and when Christian conservatives insist that homosexuals must refrain from "the behavior" that comes naturally from their orientation before they are fully acceptable to God, why would they expect to be welcome in our churches when our name is evangelical Christian? Without a definitive and inclusive welcome statement, churches only communicate absolute rejection. That causes terrible suffering, not only for the homosexual Christians, but also for the families and friends who care for them. Our religion is being used to justify prejudice and hateful attitudes. Shouldn't that bother every Christian?
John graduated from college in 1994. That was the beginning of our realization that he did not have a problem - we did. He is now working on his Ph.D. in nuclear chemistry. Except with me at Christmas, he seldom attends church. Only recently did he tell me why he did not apply for our congregation's scholarship before college. "Mom, I was afraid that if the people of our church knew who I really am, they would not want me to have the scholarship money. They might even want it back if they learned the truth later." If a young man who grew up in our congregation felt that "everyone is welcome" did not include him, we are not making our "welcome" heard.
As Martin Luther said, "The church must be always reforming." So it should be.
The following appeared in The Free Lance-Star on Saturday, January 17, 1998:
Former Navy Lt. j.g. Richard Dirk Selland was one of the first to question President Clinton's "don't ask, don't tell" policy on gays in the military. He's spent the past few years since then doing a lot of telling. He spent two years battling to stay in the Navy, but even that fight was not as bad as the conflict that raged when he attempted to join a church.
Selland, who is Lutheran, described both of those confrontations for nearly two hours for approximately 30 people at Christ Lutheran Church on 1300 Augustine Avenue in Fredericksburg last Saturday. His visit was sponsored by theVirginia Chapter of Lutherans Concerned, a national organization established 40 years ago to help lesbians, gays and their supporters gain acceptance in the Lutheran Church.
Susan Stanskas, president of the Virginia Chapter of Lutherans Concerned, said the organization brought Selland to Fredericksburg to raise awareness about discrimination against gays and lesbians in the military and organized religion. Stanskas, who attends Christ Lutheran Church, said the church council is considering adopting a welcome statement for lesbians and gays. But the congregation has been divided, and some church members have left because of the issue, she said. The national Evangelical Lutheran Church in America has not endorsed a position on accepting gays in the church, she said. Such a church clash over sexual preferences is not new to Selland.
The former officer and his partner faced similar acceptance problems when they were voted in as members of their church in 1993, which was the same time the controversy over gays in the military was at its peak. Selland said that although fighting the military was difficult, fighting the church was even more so because it was personal. "I went to church for support, and here was this controversy. I did not want this," Selland said.
Selland was attending Messiah Lutheran Church in Virginia Beach when his battle with the Navy became public. Selland and his partner were voted in as members of the church in early May 1993 by a 12-member council. This promptly caused the council's president to resign and other members of the congregation to leave. The majority of the church's congregation supported Selland and his partner, and although some members left, Selland said the church became stronger because it withstood the controversy.
Selland said his troubles with the military started in January 1993, when he discussed his homosexuality with the chaplain aboard the Hammerhead, a nuclear submarine based in Norfolk. He had served on the ship for two years. President Clinton was promising to lift the ban on gays in the military, and Selland said he was tired of living a closeted life. The chaplain then told Selland's commanding officer, Selland said. Selland was told by his captain that he would have to leave that night. This was the beginning of a three-year legal battle, by Selland and other gay military personnel, to overturn the "don't ask, don't tell" policy that Clinton adopted in July 1993. Selland did not win. Late in 1995, a federal judge ruled that the Navy could issue an honorable discharge to Selland. In October 1996, the U.S. Supreme Court upheld, without comment, the "don't ask, don't tell" policy.
Although Selland said he never wanted to be an activist, he has told his story publicly countless times. He has appeared on Larry King Live and on ABC News, and testified before the U.S. Senate Armed Services Committee in 1993.
Saturday's discussion was informal; he made several jokes during his talk, particularly when someone asked him about living a closeted life in the military. He said he introduced his partner as his cousin and had to find a female friend to take to Navy dances and other social functions. He dated a "good Catholic girl" for two years, so "luckily we only had to kiss," he said. Selland said he came from a conservative family in North Dakota. His father was a retired Navy man, and his parents were living in Norfolk at the time the issue surfaced publicly. Selland said his father was embarrassed and afraid to leave the house at first, but he soon came around and even attended the Senate hearings.
"I thought [Selland] was excellent, it was a privilege for him to come," said Mary Jo Parrish, secretary of the local chapter of Parents, Families, and Friends of Lesbians and Gays (PFLAG). "He was quietly but assuredly effective with what he said," said Stanskas.
Selland is now enrolled in law school in Baltimore, Maryland. He attends a Lutheran church in Baltimore, but retains his membership at Messiah Lutheran Church. He wants to be a prosecutor and eventually go into politics. But for the time being, he said he is trying to lead a quiet life.
Please direct comments to Susan or Al
