Shame

Years ago, when I was first coming out, a friend was doing her own work of dealing with some childhood sexual abuse. As I was telling her some of my story, she responded with a spontaneous, "That's like being abused!"

She then started to apologize, saying she shouldn't equate abuse with sexual orientation, but I understood what her response. We talked some more and came to realize that we were both given situations over which we were powerless to do anything about (forced sex, minority sexual attraction), that we were both coming to terms with our powerlessness over those situations, even coming to terms with our own individual "okay-ness" despite these circumstances, and, perhaps most importantly, we were both learning how to talk about them despite a lot of feedback, verbal and nonverbal, that a lot of people just didn't want to hear to about it.

"Well, okay, so that's how it is for you, but can you just not talk about it? It makes us uncomfortable."

Shame is such a subtle, complex thing. Dorothee Soelle said she believed Germany needed to hold onto it's national shame over the Holocaust, as she felt it was a logical response to that event and it would hold off the national pride that led to it. Having felt shame over something I have no control, I might argue with her, that generations that were not alive for the Holocaust maybe ought not to be held responsible for it, or at least should not be made to feel shame as if they were present at the event. (Although, as I type that, I wonder if this isn't a big part of traditional lenten spirituality---accepting responsibility for the crucifixion of Jesus because of our sins. Hmmm . . . .)

All I know is that I have felt the shame that comes from being told I shouldn't feel the attractions I feel, even when I spent a good many years trying very hard not to feel them. I know my friend felt the shame of being taken advantage of by a powerful member of her family. We both know the shame of finding out that even well-meaning, otherwise supportive friends telling us we shouldn't talk about it so much. "It's not anyone's business," we're told.

Except those type of comments are ultimately not supportive. They say, "If someone uses that information against you, it's your fault for putting it out there." I know, as I was coming out and making my first public statements of who I was at about the same time Matthew Shepard was murdered, I heard "If someone beats you up, it's because you wouldn't remain silent."

Keeping secrets is a very stressful, shame-creating thing. We all keep them, some of them are indeed keep for good reason and I know I have kept them for the sake of other people. (A saying from the Desert Fathers teaches that when we hide the sin of a brother or sister, God also covers our sins, but when we expose another's sin, so will God reveal our sins.) There have been careers and families that I have protected by keeping secrets.

But in my case and in the case of my friend, the secrets we keep are not the result of our sin, even though we are often made to feel it is so. It took me until my 30s to understand that what I felt was really no different from what many men felt---I just felt it toward a different gender. It took my friend until her 40s to understand that having her virginity stolen from her didn't make her a dirty, damaged girl.

I bring this up because I've been a little surprised by how some of these feelings are resurfacing as I'm actively thinking about being gay and Christian, more actively writing about it than I have in years. I'm finding keeping this lenten blog is taking me back to some rather dark times of my life, times I'd rather leave behind, I'd rather not talk about, I'd rather keep secret and hidden. They make me uncomfortable.

Internalized homophobia is alive and well and playing in my head.

I bring this up despite an internal urge to keep silent about it (ah Neil, your life has been so much easier than most, stop yer whining!) because I'm finding this blog is costing me something more than the time to write it everyday (save Sundays). I'm finding that digging around in some of my history and my feelings about being a member of the ELCA are becoming something of a weight on these forty days.

And this reinforces why I need to do it. What better time to do it than lent?

It certainly increases a desire for resurrection.