Six years ago, my father came out as gay at nearly 50 years old, and that was the turning point for me in my relationship with religion. At the time, I was in my late twenties, married, and had just welcomed my first child. While I wasn’t shocked by his revelation, it required some adjustment on my part. This news came shortly after my parents announced their amicable divorce, and we were all trying to navigate a new way of life.
My father married his amazing husband a couple of years later, bringing my children a grandfather they adore. Meanwhile, my mother has found her footing as a single woman. Life has changed dramatically, but our new normal is filled with more happiness than I ever thought possible.
However, I’m still grappling with one major issue: my faith. Raised in a conservative Christian household, my upbringing was steeped in traditional beliefs. My parents voted Republican, worked for Christian organizations, and our family music playlist was exclusively Christian. Church was a weekly routine, and I attended small, private Christian schools. This narrow view of faith was my entire world until my early twenties.
As I grew older, my perspective began to evolve. It started with my disillusionment with purity culture, but soon I began to question a lot more. My worldview expanded as I met diverse individuals, and I realized my upbringing had not equipped me to love people as they deserved. The exclusivity of my faith became increasingly uncomfortable. I could no longer justify sidelining individuals simply because their beliefs differed from mine. People became more important than rules.
Witnessing the discrimination prevalent within the church opened my eyes. Women often weren’t treated as equals, and I saw individuals being barred from ministry based on their size or sexual orientation. The moment I recognized how fundamentally flawed this was, a wave of change surged through me.
My views on issues like abortion shifted dramatically. While I could hold personal beliefs about it, I couldn’t support removing that choice from other women. The repercussions of restricting safe abortion access became painfully clear, as did the dire consequences of defunding organizations like Planned Parenthood. I found it impossible to identify as a follower of Jesus while voting against basic rights for the LGBTQ community. The plight of immigrants and issues such as gun violence and racial disparity became impossible to ignore.
As my social circle diversified, my connection to the faith of my youth waned. Yet, I hesitated to leave entirely. I sought out inclusive spaces where I could worship without compromising my values. The fear of what life would look like without church kept me tethered.
Then, my father coming out sealed the deal for me. I could no longer risk the harm that religious beliefs could inflict on my children. I worried about how my sons would feel when they heard that some viewed gay people as condemned. They needed to hear the truth from me repeatedly, enough to shield their hearts from hurtful messages. I couldn’t let them sing songs about a Savior who many believed wouldn’t accept their grandfather.
I tried to stay connected to the church, but singing worship songs felt hollow, and the sermons seemed directed at someone else. Even in Nashville’s progressive megachurches, I sensed that kindness toward my father often masked deeper prejudices. They might let him volunteer, but he wouldn’t be allowed to teach or work with children. Acceptance without full inclusion ceased to feel satisfactory.
I realized many followers of my faith would feel justified in discriminating against my father. What was keeping me connected to such a belief system? God and organized religion began to feel like two separate entities. I wanted to follow God, but couldn’t align myself with an institution that viewed my dad as a sinner. Rejecting that doctrine made remaining in the church feel absurd. What was I gaining? What lessons was I imparting to my children?
I believed I could love people as my heart urged while still maintaining my belief in God, but it seemed I would need to explore that love outside of a church for a while. I entered a period of reflection, and I’m still navigating that space.
It’s challenging. I miss the sense of community that church provided and often contemplate returning. For a brief time, my family attended a church with my father and his husband that embraced full LGBTQ inclusion, where kindness and citizenship were emphasized. I felt more at ease there, but ultimately, I needed more time to process.
I’m still uncertain and refuse to pretend everything is okay. A few years back, someone shared the Thomas Merton Prayer with me, and it resonated deeply. It acknowledges the possibility of being wrong while striving to do one’s best. I choose love, as I believe that’s what a loving God would desire. That’s as much faith as I can muster right now.
In the end, I trust that my desire to understand and get it right will be enough.
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Summary:
Mia Thompson reflects on her departure from faith after her father’s coming out, sharing her journey from a conservative Christian upbringing to a more inclusive perspective. The challenges of reconciling her beliefs with her father’s identity and her children’s understanding of love and acceptance lead her to step away from organized religion, seeking a path that aligns with her values.
Keyphrase: Navigating faith and family dynamics
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