Letter to the Editor

Dear Editor:

“Most people think they don’t know anyone gay or lesbian, and in fact everybody does. It is imperative that we come out and let people know who we are and disabuse them of their fears and stereotypes.” These are the words of Robert Eichberg, who, with Jean O’Leary, founded National Coming Out Day on October 11, 1988. For 30 years this week, people all over the globe have taken this occasion to identify themselves as lesbian, gay, bisexual, trangender, queer, intersex and/or same-gender-loving, or some combination of these and other related categories.

As for me, my identification as gay has not been something that I have hidden, or even could have hidden. From the time I was a very young child growing up here in Holly Springs, other people identified me as different -- the words used back then were “punk,” “sissy” and “funny.” I was a young college student away from home before I acted on my attraction to a man, and I can say that people who made fun of me as a child actually did me a tremendous favor. Because of them, I had nothing to lose by becoming more of myself as an adult.

My parents believed that sexuality was a private thing and not a topic of polite conversation. As a grown-up, I agreed in principle, except that by the time I was in my early 20s, the AIDS pandemic was sweeping across the country and around the globe. It was a time of intense fear and panic, as I saw several friends, acquaintances and partners become ill and succumb to the disease. Hatred toward lgbtq people and blaming us for the deaths of the fallen was a national and international phenomenon, even as we grieved the losses of those we loved.

I sought refuge in the church. Though I had been raised from the cradle in Asbury United Methodist Church, I hadn’t had success finding a church home in Washington, D.C., until I began attending a Black Pentecostal church there, which was full of young people, vibrant music and relevant preaching. My faith deepened: I went to Bible study, sang in the choir, spoke in tongues, fasted and prayed. I ultimately felt the call into ministry.

I went to Howard University School of Divinity as a celibate, convinced that in time, I would become a heterosexual man married to a heterosexual woman. However, I found myself keeping company with the more progressive professors and students, the ones who offered the possibility that I was loved and held by God just as I was, without the need to recreate myself as something I wasn’t.

By the time I graduated from seminary, I had left the church that had been my beloved home for five years, no longer able to listen to preaching that vexed my spirit with harsh words toward lgbtq people, unwed mothers and children born out of wedlock. I thought about returning to the United Methodist Church, but I knew that I was called to ministry, and United Methodist doctrine said that my serving in such a role as a gay-identified person would be “incompatible with Christian teaching.”

I went to Switzerland for five months to study at the World Council of Churches’ Ecumenical Institute. I came back and became a writer for Religion News Service, which was based in New York. Then I considered my calling to ministry again. I reached out to one of my fellow seminarians, a self-identified lesbian who was a Unitarian Universalist minister. She put me in contact with officials in the Unitarian Universalist Association (UUA), and soon I was on the path to becoming an ordained Unitarian Universalist minister myself.

It was not only Unitarian Universalism’s commitment to inclusion of lgbtq people that attracted me. I also appreciated that it was a liberal faith tradition rooted in Christianity that valued quality human relationships over theological belief statements -- “Deeds, not creeds” as we sometimes say.

I’ve been an ordained Unitarian Universalist minister now for 23 years as of the end of this month. I’ve given hundreds of sermons, counseled with hundreds of people, married and buried them, blessed babies, witnessed for the disenfranchised and protested against injustice. I’ve done all this, just as I am.

Deep into mid-life now, identifying as gay is beyond feelings of pride or shame: It’s just one of the many factors that make me who I am, and I’m profoundly grateful to be me.

I came back home five years ago as a member of the UUA’s regional staff. Now I work with congregations all over the South and beyond on leadership development, conflict transformation and ministerial transitions. I moved back to Holly Springs specifically to join my brothers as we look out for our mom, and to see how I could otherwise contribute to the community here.

Rev. Zachary Beasley, the pastor at Asbury, mentioned recently that the United Methodist Church is coming to a big vote this winter on human sexuality, specifically about its position on lgbt members and clergy and same-sex marriage. As someone raised United Methodist, I have something to share about that. As an ordained gay-identified minister, I have gifts of understanding to bring for such a time as this. It would be selfish of me to withhold my experience, strength and hope from my fellow Christians, neighbors and friends.

On this National Coming Out Day, I affirm who I am, and offer myself anew to be of service to Holly Springs/Marshall County and their communities. Together, we can build bridges of caring and love that are strong enough for all of us to cross.

In faith,

Rev. Carlton E. Smith

Carlton E. Smith is a member of the Southern Regional Congregational Life Staff within the Unitarian Universalist Association, and a lifelong member of Asbury United Methodist Church. He can be reached at csmith@uua.org.