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For a parent, a single
sentence can turn the world upside down or at least shake it so badly you
can hardly stand. I will never forget the night that my wife, Pat, woke me
and said I had to talk to Jason, our twenty-year old son. I was having
trouble waking, so asked her if it could wait. Then came the sentence:
“Jason says he is gay.”
That was
a night in which the three of us, my son, my wife, and I, found ourselves
trying to keep our balance on the shaking ground. Jason had approached his
mother, fearful of my response. Pat insisted that he speak directly with me.
I remember trying to reassure Jase of my love for him, and my confidence
that he would find God in his struggle.
I felt
okay about my conversation with him. But then there was the conversation
with myself. I was afraid. At the time I was working in an inner-city church
which had a busy ministry to persons with HIV/AIDS. All I knew of “gay” was
the very frightened men in these support groups, the visits to dying men in
hospitals, and their funerals. Jason could have had no way to understand how
my mind raced ahead, seeing him lying emaciated in a hospital bed. It was an
exaggerated fear, but not an entirely unrealistic one.
My
second reaction was, (and I apologize to the reader) “How the h*** did I let
this happen?” I was a stewing cauldron of anger, disappointment, and
confusion. As a pastor, I knew enough about personality development to
suspect my own role in my son’s struggle. I thought I had put a firewall
between my experiences of being abandoned by my birth-father, abused by my
stepfather, and taught emotional distance by my beloved grandfather, who was
an alcoholic. For the wakeful hours of that night, and many hours
afterwards, I pondered how it could be that my troubled childhood had been
allowed to affect one of my sons.
I am
grateful to God – who knows my great need of Him – that He came speedily to
my rescue. A number of things happened in the coming weeks. I came to learn
of the ministry that was helping Jason (a sister ministry of Mid-Valley
Fellowship in Portland). I knew he had friends, and a good mentor. This was
one of those times in which he needed someone to supplement what I had given
him as a father – and I was (and remain) profoundly grateful to this man for
mentoring my son.
God also
opened my eyes to see that this wasn’t a disaster; it was a continuation of
the healing He was bringing to our family. These problems had always been
there. God was merely uncovering them, exposing them to His light, and
allowing us to journey into wellness. From the perspective of the present,
seventeen years later, both Jason and I can appreciate what an unexpected
and wonderful journey it has been. Today, Jason is director of the ministry
that brought him God’s healing, and I am one of his staff members, mentoring
men and women who are overcoming sexual brokenness.
One of
my responsibilities is to meet with parents who are in a position similar to
the one in which Pat and I found ourselves many years ago. (I am reminded
that God does not waste our experiences, but uses them for the blessing of
others.) Many of the parents I see will have a much more difficult time than
we did. Some of them have children or adult children who will continue
pursuing or remain in gay relationships. We talk about how to love, how to
pray, and how to find and keep your own health as you do so.
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