To my seventh-grade classmates at my Christian middle school in suburban Michigan, I was a pastor’s kid who played soccer, wore braces, and cheered for the Detroit Tigers even when they were really bad. But behind the scenes, seventh grade also marked the first time I wrote a veiled line in my journal about a “problem” I had discovered.
I wasn’t sure exactly what it was or what it meant for my life, but I knew it was bad news—and it needed to go away. The next day, I wrote the same word in all caps, underlined it, and drew a big star on either side. This continued for several weeks. Clearly, this was an urgent situation. I didn’t understand it at the time, but I had stumbled across the first signs of a realization that changed my life: I’m gay.
As I grew up, my parents, a pastor and Christian schoolteacher, made sacrifices year after year for me to get a Christian education. Their sacrifice stuck with me. I also embraced the value of incorporating my faith into my education, choosing to attend Calvin College. There, my academic curiosity became rooted in conviction, and my professional progress rooted in purpose. I channeled my passion for worship into playing piano for our daily chapel services, later going on to serve in top leadership positions on our student newspaper.
My Christian education carried me through some of the most challenging times of my life: a good friend dying after senior year of high school, a move to a brand-new city, and revealing to my friends and family that I’m gay.
As I sit in this Washington coffee shop reflecting on my growing up through Christian education, I have two hopes for what I’m sharing with you. First, I pray that sharing my experience will make clear and tangible the presence of LGBT students in our Christian schools, whether we—or they—fully realize it at the time. Second, I hope my story will prompt you to create and protect space safe for LGBT students like me to ask questions and think deeply on their faith and sexuality.
I know firsthand that some of us may already be wary of this article and this entire issue, thinking that this topic is primarily an intellectual exercise in exegesis, requiring our assertion of biblical truth. For others, the topic hits close to home, prompting pain or confusion for people we care about. And I know this topic may, frankly, just make some of us a little uncomfortable. You’re not alone.
My thoughts in this article are applicable no matter what your view or your institution’s position on whether gay people are called to celibacy or open to relationships. It’s about how to be Christ to the student who goes home from your classroom to mull over a realization that threatens his or her entire way of life.
My coming out journey began long after middle school, when I walked into our college chaplain’s office my sophomore year and forced out the deepest, darkest secret this pastor’s kid had to offer. I remember several late nights leading up to that day spent sitting in my car, clenched fists on the steering wheel, screaming and begging God to let me be attracted to just one girl. Being attracted to guys was never supposed to happen to this pastor’s son who had gotten straight A’s through sixteen years of Christian education. I hoped and hoped that one day the switch would flip: I’d suddenly want a girlfriend and I’d get my 2.5 kids and my white picket fence.
But my attraction to guys, much like any straight attraction, is so much more than the physical. It’s a deep emotional draw, a desire to have a best friend, to know what makes a guy smile, and to know his fears and his dreams—not just what’s under his clothes.
So I spent my first several months coming out to my closest friends in moments of total vulnerability. It sounds silly now, but I had prepared myself in each conversation for the person across the table to stand up, walk away, and never talk to me again. Today I thank God they didn’t.
I had never chosen to be attracted to guys instead of girls. But I was terrified that if my secret ever got out, my life would come crashing down. After all, I had spent twenty years growing and serving in the church—and being gay was definitely not one of my life goals.
In spite of that fear, and perhaps because of it, I partnered with several courageous students to publish an eight-part feature in our student newspaper, revealing our sexual orientations to our community and calling for more safe space on our campus.
I’m thankful to have received an outpouring of support from a wide group of friends and acquaintances, but one freshman student stands out in my mind. I had never met him when he stumbled into my office that morning. “Hey,” he muttered, eyes jumping around the room. “Thanks for writing that article,” he started. I tried to offer a reassuring smile, but he had already turned around and started walking back down the hall. It was for students like him that I came out—and for all students who, like me, were longing for just one person to listen to their secret and say “me too.”
Looking back, I now recognize several hints starting in middle school that I was gay. Whether those moments came in the locker room after soccer practice or at a friend’s house after school, red flags popped up but were pushed aside. I framed my own sexual orientation as simply a desire for a best friend.
The world is different now. The same signs I didn’t know how to understand in 2006 are clearer in 2016, but still difficult to swallow when you’re growing up in a Christian school. I have been in conversations with several students in Christian schools back home who started coming out in middle school and are now broadly out in Christian high schools.
And as I see myself in those students, I turn to my second point: It is imperative that we create and protect safe space for these students to be honest with themselves and with others. In a classroom of twenty-five students, odds are that you have at least one student coming to grips with a secret “problem,” but not feeling safe enough to tell anyone.
When I was navigating those first, gut-wrenching months of deliberations over who would safely hold my secret, I watched others for hints of what their reactions might be. An insensitive quip about gay people? I’d cross their name off in my mind. Intentional and thoughtful comments about gay people brought a smile to my face.
Regardless of whether you hold the traditional or progressive positions on this topic, safe space for all students to wrestle with their sexual identities is essential. Being gay—that is, being attracted to the same gender—is not a choice. Despite the best intentions, therapeutic efforts to change sexual orientations, especially those of children, are now viewed as harmful. Organizations that had advocated for sexual orientation change, including faith-based groups, are now widely discredited.
Other organizations have now entirely devoted themselves to offering support to children facing depression and even suicidal thoughts because they feel the need to hide their sexual identities in their often-religious communities. Truly, the stakes on this topic could not be higher for some who walk our hallways every day.
In the lower grades, it’s likely students in our classrooms haven’t yet realized that they are gay. Simply acknowledging the reality that some people—even Christians—are attracted to the same gender will help the coming out process become less jarring.
If an older student chooses to trust us with the secret that they are gay or transgender, remember that student is placing everything on the line during your conversation. I say this from experience: your affirmation of that student and your relationship together cannot be too strong or too intentional. There will be plenty of time for details and guidance later. The bottom line is to communicate this: You are not alone.
Our obligation to create safe space extends beyond our own actions. As someone who faced homophobic comments from other students in high school before I came out to anyone, clearly calling out bullies is a loud “hint” to closeted LGBT students that you are in their corner.
One of the best responses I ever heard while coming out came from one of my best friends in college: “I don’t see you any differently than I did before.” Feel free to use her script verbatim.
You may also have the opportunity to enter conversations with a student’s parents if he or she chooses to come out to their family. Parents often have hopes and dreams for their children—a wedding ceremony, a long marriage, grandchildren—and this new reality may reshape the future they were imagining. Thoughtfully offering support to our students’ parents is actually one of the best ways that we can care for our students.
Finally, take time to read some of the strong Christian materials on this topic. Torn by Justin Lee and Washed and Waiting by Wesley Hill are two books that I have found helpful.
Although I live on the East Coast now, where I face more questions over my Christian faith than my sexual orientation, it was once my sexuality that endangered my belonging in my community. But, perhaps to the surprise of some here, it was my Christian educators and mentors that played, and continue to play, the most influential roles in this area of my life. They were the very first people I trusted with my secret. They guided me through my coming out to friends. They met with my parents after I came out to them. These teachers and mentors have helped me thoughtfully integrate my faith and my sexuality, not abandon my faith like so many others who are themselves abandoned by their faith communities.
Since then, my Christian education has laid the groundwork for my calling to pursue meaningful work in the sphere of political journalism. Since my graduation from Calvin College in the summer of 2014, I’m now covering the 2016 presidential elections for ABC News in Washington, D.C.
Despite the fact that my sexual orientation is widely known back home, I’m thankful haven’t turned into a political issue there—I’m just Ryan: a guy who loves a good math joke and still roots hard for the Detroit Tigers, and can’t shop for clothes for more than twenty minutes without stopping to buy food. But I digress.
It’s often easy for a religious debate or a political stance to overshadow the fact that, when it comes down to it, I’m still Ryan. I definitely don’t have this all figured out. And you don’t have to either. I’ve asked and still have a lot of questions. But I’m thankful to say that I’ve received amazing support and love from friends and family.
So I offer a reminder that there are many more LGBT students besides me growing up in our Christian schools. Let’s create and protect safe space for these students in our classrooms by making clear our comforting hearts and listening ears.
Ryan Struyk is a graduate of Cutlerville Christian School, South Christian High School and Calvin College in Grand Rapids, Michigan. He currently attends the D.C. Christian Reformed Church and works as a political reporter for ABC News in Washington, D.C.
