Whenever I share my story, particularly in discussing my choice to be celibate, I have straight folks comment how much they respect me or "how brave" I am. There are 2 things I think it's important to recognize here.

1) the "respect" offered is often a way of saying "oh, I could never. But praise God you can." This is especially noticeable when the church doesn't apply its sexual ethics equally across the board.

Queer Christians are demonized when they don't, or struggle to, follow a church's sexual ethic... But straight folks (particularly men) are not met with the same criticism, chastisement, or shame when they fail to do the same.

"I respect you" is a way to say "you carry a chastity I can't handle." But this is one of the reasons that celibacy often feels like punishment to queer folks - our straight siblings are often not pursuing chastity in equal measure, but their church acceptance isn't at risk.

I am very aware that my church acceptance is directly tied to my ability to maintain a "perfect" celibacy. I do not believe this to be true of my straight counterparts, many of whom have their own sexual failings.

(I'm not arguing for less holiness or more shame. We need to lovingly support and disciple chastity across the board. High standards, high grace.)

2) "how brave." This is my least favorite comment, and I get it a lot. Don't get me wrong - it takes courage to come out, especially in the church, especially in the PCA, especially in leadership. But that comment reveals you know there are problems.

I don't believe it should require so much courage to come out. In the garden we were fully known and fully loved. In the resurrection we will be yet again. Why is it so hard to be known today? Why is the Church not the garden's last hold, or the resurrection's first spring?

When a Christian tells me I am brave, they reveal to me that they know how hard, how potentially dangerous, it is for me to share my story. And I would ask them - why does it take so much courage? Should it?

Instead of warmly encouraging my bravery, friends, I would ask that you fight until my courage is unnecessary. I am tired of the inner thrill of fear spiking up every time I share myself. I want my church to be so safe it requires no courage to share my story.

I want to experience so many warm, loving, and kind receptions of my coming out, that it outweighs all the times I was met with shame, concern, fear, and control.

I want the church to be a place where our stories - all of them - are received and met with Gospel-grace. I want the queer kids that grow up around me to never feel they need to be brave to step into church. I want them to collapse into their Church's arms when they are tired.

I appreciate your respect. I appreciate your recognition of my courage. But offer it alongside me, not standing away. Fight with me, for chastity and holiness and gracious treatment and rich love.