My Big, Gay Church
2023 Youth Sunday
by Elijah Pickard
It’s incredibly common for people that go to a liberal leaning church to have more conservative relatives, and I am not an exception. One of my more conservative relatives is my Nana, whom I love dearly, but with whom I disagree on more than a few polarizing issues. We come from very different worlds, as she attends a Southern baptist church in Gowensville, SC, and I attend a church that is very much not that. When it comes to College Park, my Nana tends to avoid the subject, but in the few times she has voiced her opinion, she has not left much to the imagination. One thing I love about my Nana is her quick wit, which is something that is consistent in everything she does, even in her choice words about my church. One of my personal favorite jabs my Nana has made at College Park was her decision to call it our “Big Gay Church.” In my opinion, this nickname is flawless, both because of its comedic value and because it perfectly encapsulates why I love College Park. It just so happens that I also find College Park to be big and gay, but I also have found it to be crucial to my development. When I think back on my life and childhood, one specific theme that is maintained throughout is the radical love and support this community has provided for myself and my family time and time again.
No version of me has been more eccentric than my early childhood self. I’ve gone to College Park since birth, and some of my first memories involve me running up and down the aisles in the sanctuary, singing loudly during services, and talking members’ ears off about whatever current obsession I was under the spell of at the time. Under all of my eccentricities however was a kid that was at the center of a lot of strife, as my biological father and my mom got divorced when I was 4 and my mom assumed the role of the much more present biological parent. After they divorced, my relationship with my biological father, Jeff, became even more complicated than it had been previously. I remember being confused and anxious around him. I worried constantly about him when I was in his presence, which is a lot to carry for a kid whose age was still in the single digits. As time passed, our visits became less and less frequent, and although I didn’t fully understand why, I sensed it was for the best. I now know that my father was in active addiction around the time in which our visits became rare, but even when I didn’t know that specific piece of information I knew that there was something amiss about my dad.
On what seemed like a random day in May of first grade, my mom, my now adoptive dad, and my therapist told me that my biological father had passed. Grieving my biological dad has been complicated to say the least. Having such an unstable, often angry father figure in my life has altered my mind in ways that I don’t think I fully grasp even now, 11 years later. Even though I think my father was imperfect and someone that was not meant to be a parent, I also know that he had a lot of beautiful things about him that I can look back on fondly. College Park has been integral in helping me understand this specific aspect of grief. My father was an artist, and a lot of his early work really sheds light on his positive attributes. One piece of his work that I have now was given to me by our pastor Michael Usey. This work is a collection of giant Jesus shaped crayons, fittingly called “Prayolas.” Michael knew my father pretty well, and when he gave these crayons to me, it was in middle school, a day after my mom told me more about my father’s death. This information forced me to come to terms with my father’s death more directly, and I’m sure Michael and my mom both could tell I was feeling shaken at this point in time. Michael’s gesture of giving me the Prayolas was an example of the kindness that I associate with College Park and indicative of how important College Park has been to my healing.
College Park is also where my mom met my now adoptive father, whom I actually set her up with. When my mother was newly divorced, I asked her if she ever thought she’d get married again. She told me that she didn’t think so, unless the guy was incredibly kind. So, naturally, I suggested “what about that guy Walter from church?” Thanks to me, my mom and adoptive dad got married here in 2010. College Park gave me the best father figure I could ever ask for. Might’ve taken two tries but it’s whatever. My dad’s involvement in my life also brought Iris, who is the sweetest and weirdest kid I know. She’s a powerhouse in her own right.
In addition to the way College Park has supported me in grief, College Park has also been incredibly meaningful to me through the fierce support that this community has offered to me throughout my journey of finding myself and learning about what it means to be a gay person in the world.
Having grown up around my parents and in this church, there was never a question in my mind about whether I would be supported when I came out. I came out in fifth grade, almost immediately after I came to the conclusion that I am gay, which I wouldn’t have been able to do so confidently without the unwavering promise of support that I had backing me, specifically at College Park. I knew that Rydell, Lin, and Michael all had my back. This church’s support isn’t just on a personal basis, but it also manifests itself in political action that affects the lives of LGBTQ+ people. I have early memories of College Park’s political activity surrounding North Carolina’s Amendment 1, which targeted marriage equality, and HB2, more commonly known as the bathroom bill. If you were not aware, College Park hosted two huge all city interfaith rallies for each of these respective issues. These bills targeted the humanity of LGBTQ+ people, and College Park’s quickness to make a stand against the bigotry presented in these laws is something that makes me incredibly proud. It is not lost on me how much of a miracle having a church community that defends and affirms me as a gay man truly is.
I don’t think it should be an anomaly for a church to be this supportive of gay and trans people, but given the state of Christianity today, I would say we’re in the minority, at least in terms of what I see from other Christian communities in the media and elsewhere. Some of the loudest voices in the Christian community are those that are openly denouncing gay and trans peoples’ existence, all under the guise of being “concerned for their salvation.” The moral majority and the formation of the Christian Right in this country are things that have forever soiled the idea of organized religion for me. Despite my doubts about Christianity, I actually have always really appreciated my family being involved in a church because I think it’s deeply important to have tolerant, loving people involved with Christianity and actively fighting to save the religion for people that have been ostracized by the church. Still, my pessimism about Christianity remains because of how instrumental it has been in justifying hatred against people like me, and even more so trans people. I talk about my despair having to do with religion openly with my mom relatively often, and she has always made a point to push back against my pessimism vehemently, but recently, my mom and I came to an agreement about how saddened we are by the state of hateful, fake Christianity.
I’ve noticed recently that the world has been taken in a direction of “anti-woke” politics, and one thing I’ve noticed along with that is the “anti-woke’s” people co-mingling with the prominent Christian Right. This development is something that takes my doubt in Christianity to a deeper place. Turning on the news now means having to tolerate an influx of people calling trans people groomers, discriminating against gay people, and being bigoted without shame in other ways. The prominence of Christian voices among these people is something that makes me feel exhausted and upset. When my mom and I were talking about this dark aspect of Christianity specifically, it made me feel heartbroken that she could finally agree with me about the harm some Christianity is spreading. It made it feel more real.
My choice to address these issues in this setting isn’t because I want to turn anyone off of anything, but instead I want to inspire confidence in this specific congregation. The first thing I was taught as a child about Jesus was that he loved me and welcomed me, and as a kid with a strained childhood and an effeminate personality, I needed a body of people that would introduce me to radical welcome the way College Park has. Although my mom did agree with me about the despair I was feeling about Christianity, neither of us ever called into question the pure love we associate with the God College Park serves. In a sea of groups that use Jesus as a means with which to distribute hateful, unjust ideologies, College Park remains a steadfast source of radical resistance in the form of welcome. Although my pessimism and frustration concerning a large part of the Christian community still remains, I will always sing this congregation’s praises.
The philosophy of this church revolves unapologetically around the saying “loving God means loving people.” The mission of our church is not to spread the message that marginalized people have to repent, but rather that people can come here to be loved, cherished, and defended. I will never forget the image of our full sanctuary singing while protesting HB2. I will never forget Lin and Caryanne being married in our sanctuary by Michael Usey. I will never forget our church having a booth at Greensboro Pride year after year. And, I will never forget the image of Michael Usey standing in front of the Westboro Baptist protesters, as projected today.
Through every phase, every realization about myself, and every major life event I’ve had, College Park has supported me with an unparalleled enthusiasm. College Park has existed for me as a safe space, rather than a place I should fear or be intimidated by. This is the way I believe that Jesus wants his true followers to act: with complete inclusion, with radical acceptance, and with an unbounded love. Churches like ours may feel rare to me in today’s climate, but the presence of this church in the world is something that makes me feel safer and more hopeful. Now, as an adult, I am so incredibly thankful that I can remember my home church as a place where people that often experience hatred from other Christian people are loved unapologetically and without hesitation. I will forever love this big gay church.
