As a Catholic, our choice is simple: we can remain obstinate and wounded, or we can choose humility and healing. When the gay life lost all of its glitter for the last time, I didn’t so much walk away as crawled away; or more accurately – got carried away by Christ; in a sense, He had made the ultimate decision for me. Like many of my homosexual compatriots, my head had been filled with too many lies: I was born gay; gay sex is good – in the 90s, only if you played it safe; I am okay; I am happy; its everyone else - those doesn’t accept me, they are the ones who need help.
My 12 years of Catholic education were light and non-specific to the point of being ethereal; the Jesus Christ I remembered was supremely disinterested and non-judgmental. He seemed historical and distant. In high school, He generally disappeared, relegated to an honorary position as esteemed founder, but now practically unapproachable: everything became a means of communal social justice. What the Church recommended was vague and always secondary to the individual and the common good. Religion courses became philosophical – based less on the concrete and solely on the opinions of the teacher; one was pro-abortion, the other thought premarital sex was acceptable. To me, even as a teenager, it seemed fluctuating and insubstantial. I sought answers; and the Church only presented more questions.
Immediately upon graduating from high school and entering the gay lifestyle, what little Faith I had in Christ and or the Church quickly dissipated. My parents, apparently concerned, at one point in my early-twenties: organized a sort of spiritual intervention when they introduced me to a friend of theirs: a Catholic priest. He took me aside and told me to tone it down; I was fine being who I was…go back – that was his advice. Later, an overly-sophisticated male socialite, who somehow remained a “Catholic” in his mind, despite his sexual proclivity, at one of his dazzling Pacific Heights bashes pushed me towards a USF Jesuit; both him and my friend had been to the Nancy Pelosi school of theology: my friend nodded his head as the priest disdainfully described how the Church was currently controlled by a Polish medieval autocrat; after the Pope’s death, according to him, all would change. Meaningless, I thought. My suspicions had been confirmed: the Church was confused and convoluted. Madonna made more sense; her demands were rather simple: “Express Yourself.”
Life as a homosexual was filled with pleasure and certainly busy; I was never lonely; but it hurt, and the constant activity often felt empty; and, yet – I was lonely. Lonely for something else. What? I didn’t know. After a while, sex ceased becoming salvific; friends moved away or even died; parties became like wakes – the same people, the same songs, and the same quick exit with the supposed man of your dreams. Was there anything more? I didn’t think so. Until complacency got swept away –and the Lord offered me a choice; at the time it was a pretty simple one: live or die.
I chose to live. But what did that mean? I am who I am…and that was gay. But, when God offered His hand – I knew it was Jesus Christ, from the bullet hole sized openings in His palms. Right away – I understood what His presence meant: the Catholic Church. Only, what did that actually entail? Yet, instinctively I knew that this Christ was not the hippie Jesus from my youth; He was something different – He was beautiful, and He was real – and, He knew me, and He loved me. That I could accept, but the Church was something entirely different.
What I didn’t know or understand is that Pope John Paul II stood between my bad Catholic miseducation and abandonment of the Faith and my eventual return. Of most importance, in 1992, when I was completely immersed in gay sex and porn, John Paul approved and promulgated “The Catechism of the Catholic Church.” When I was a kid, the old Baltimore Catechism had been abandoned, but replaced with nothing. The vacuum that left behind got filled up quickly: the human potential movement, Liberation Theology, the New-Age – leaving very little room for Christ. Answers were difficult to come by; opinions were plentiful; arguments inevitable. Looking through my mother’s bookshelf – I grabbed “The Bible” then noticed “The Catechism.” Although I had no idea what the Catechism was – I almost immediately flipped to the index: went to the “H” section and read the passages dealing with homosexuality. This one in particular stuck out:
“Homosexual persons are called to chastity. By the virtues of self-mastery that teach them inner freedom, at times by the support of disinterested friendship, by prayer and sacramental grace, they can and should gradually and resolutely approach Christian perfection.” (CCC #2359)
This was a landmark moment in my life. It revealed everything: God’s plan for me, what I needed to do, and what I could become. For, the Lord wanted me – and He wanted me whole and healed. How could this happen? Through a life of sexual purity. If I said yes to that: I could be free…I could be perfect. In my mind, freedom and perfection were one and the same: freedom from homosexuality meant perfection. As was the case throughout my life, homosexuality proved the constant seeping wound I forever tried to self-heal: through sex; through intimacy with another man; through a belief in the equal standing of every relationship – no matter who I chose to love. Only, I had not chosen to be with or love another man – the homosexual orientation did that all for me; I never even consented; I just believed, like that priest who once told me – it’s was merely the way I was made. What Christ did for me, through “The Catechism,” by way of the Catholic Church, was to truly give me back my life; I didn’t have to be gay anymore. In making that decision, I chose God. Inside, I admitted my need; and, I needed Him. I had been humbled – and I could accept: His teachings. That required me to finally acknowledge some painful things: that I had been hurt, that I had been deceived; although I tried to makes things right – I failed. I needed Him.