How College Students Navigate the Tension Between Religion and Queerness
It turns out, communities who accept queer identities allow folks to have both religion and their queer identity.
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We’re excited to have singer-songwriter Adaline join us on Sexvangelicals this weekend, where we talk about the process of coming out in Evangelical communities.
Adaline describes her song, Brave:
“I think it's a beautiful thing to be able to look at yourself and say, “I am brave.” But really the central message of the song is, “Can I be this brave? Like, can I do this?”
In the midst of all of these circling questions, will they [my parents] still love me? Will they think of me the same? Will they still kiss my face? Will they see me as their child?
The bridge of that song specifically, I always felt really emotional about where it was this like Are you living on a hope that I'm not gay while I'm living on a prayer?
I'm literally hanging on by a thread and are you praying that I'll change? Where I'm just sitting here hoping that you'll care. It shows how there's these people that are intercessory praying for you to change.
And like when really you're just like I just need you to care for me. I just need you to show up for me and be there for me.
I don't need you to save me. I don't need you to tell me where I'm going in the afterlife. I just need you to be either a good parent.”
Even though there are positive strides in the movement toward eliminating homophobia in American religious spaces, as reminded by the United Methodist Church’s rescinding of a ban on queer clergy and same-sex marriages, we’re mindful that Project 2025 centers around erasing queerness from policy, education systems, and eventually, the country.
It’s unfortunate that the queer community has to be “brave” to come out; however, as long as violent, threatening systems exist against the LGBTQ community, queer people will have to engage in additional mental load and risk assessment when determining how to communicate their needs and preferences.
Fewer places are more threatening than Christian university campuses. As Kristin Kobes du Mez reminded us yesterday in her Substack,
“Christian colleges have intellectual and theological tools to push back against these [fear-mongering] tactics [from far-right groups]. If they use them, they may well find that the majority of their constituents—students and alumni educated and formed at their institutions—will recognize the practices and come to their defense. Pursuing this route may seem like a lot of work and a lot of risk up front, but in the long run, it may well be the safest and most efficient response.
Speaking of the CCCU, I’ve been wondering lately what it might look like if Christian colleges banded together in defending academic freedom and genuine intellectual inquiry. When Turning Point USA or the Daily Wire or a local Facebook page comes for a Christian college, what would happen if dozens, or hundreds of Christian colleges stood in solidarity?”
Too often, Christian universities cave to the threats of conservative donors removing funding, and reinforce homophobic policies, rhetoric, and treatment of their students. (Universities also hire faculty and staff who reinforce these ideas, although I also hold du Mez’ optimism that most folks who get hired at universities are dedicated to the mission of teaching young people how to critically think.)
I’ve talked before about my own alma mater, Abilene Christian University, whose students have been subjected to homophobic rhetoric and policies, most notably through the “professional” presentations reinforcing the values of Purity Culture, targeting queer students along the way. The last two presidents at ACU, Royce Money and Phil Schubert, have spoken about the immense pressure given by right-wing alumni and donors, and have consistently caved to their hostage processes, leaving queer students especially exposed to various sanctions.
And yet, there is, from all appearances (I haven’t visited Abilene in five years), a tight-knit group of queer students at ACU, supported from inside groups, such as Wildcats for Inclusion, an advocacy group of students and alumni that I’m a part of, and outside groups, such as CenterPeace, founded by ACU alum and former professor Sally Gary.
The average age of public disclosure (a process that’s different from private realization, as we’ll talk more about next month) is 23 years old. This includes a growing number of people who come out in their 40s and 50s, which spikes the average age higher. Needless to say, the majority of people who come out as queer do so in the few years after they leave high school, and commonly at university campuses.
At religious institutions, coming out requires a unique kind of bravery because the homophobia places queer students in a double bind: Do I choose my faith, or do I choose my orientation? And to what extent might I have both?
In 2017, Robbee Wedow, professor of sociology at Purdue, and colleagues interviewed 30 queer college students to assess for how they navigated this double bind. In their article, “I’m Gay and I’m Catholic: Negotiating Two Complex Identities at a Catholic University,”
Wedow and his colleagues explored how students navigated four options:
Integrated identity. These students (10 of 30 in their small sample, or 33%) found a way to merge their religious and sexual identities, and did so by developing a supportive community with other queer students and supportive faculty on campus. These students often had spaces to discuss and explore the intersection of identity and religion. Integrated students, interestingly, didn’t focus much on the positions of the church; rather, they relied on interpretations from within the Christian community that challenged the positions of the dominant Evangelical zeitgeist. They were often heavily involved on campus, and presented as outgoing, confident, and self-accepting.
Liberated identity. These students (9 of 30, or 30%) perceived that their sexual identity and structures/positions of their university were incompatible. They experienced the religious community as antagonistic to queer people, and as such, rejected the religious community and practices, both on and off campus. Their conversations with Robbee and his colleagues oscillated between open fury toward the religious institutions and anger at their parents for how they navigated the coming out process. Robbee writes, “Anger toward and rejection of identity may thus have been healthiest response to parents or peers who presented Christianity in traumatizing ways” (p. 309).
Embattled identity. These students (5 of 30, or 17%) chose to hide their sexual identity while continuing to embrace their religious identity. Robbee notes that the percentage of students engaging in this strategy is probably much higher, and observes that these students spoke about sexuality in quiet tones, without eye contact. They consistently reaffirming that the research process was confidential. They adopted the conservative positions of the church, and described that if they wanted to remain a part of the church and family, they could not come out. In fact, Robbee noted that these students were the most informed of the church’s positions on same-sex relationships and queerness, and interpreted queerness as sinful, which led to a high volume of secrecy and shame.
Disillusioned identity. These students (6 of 30, or 20%) had negative experiences navigating both their queerness and religious communities. They often expended a lot of energy trying to communicate with their parents and religious communities about their queerness, with consistent resistance, and described with Robbee how much they attempted to resolve their tension with their parents, to no avail. Eventually, they silenced themselves, withdrawing from college activities, relationships, and beyond. They perceived their voices as insignificant, talking little with Robbee and his colleagues about religion or queerness.
Robbee notes two important features that enabled students to hold a both/and position:
Finding friends and support systems early in their collegiate experience. Liberated, embattled, and disillusioned students struggled to find relationships in the first year, which seemed to reinforce their pain. Meanwhile, integrated students either plugged into preexisting queer-friendly social groups and organizations in their university/church, or developed them on their own.
Accepting parents. Liberated, embattled, and disillusioned students all described different strategies for navigating the rejection from their families of origin. Liberated students were pissed. Embattled students attempted to hide. Disillusioned students attempted to negotiate (time and time again). Meanwhile, integrated students routinely experienced acceptance from their parents.
As we’ll talk about next month, the initial reaction from communities of origin to coming out significantly informs the quality of relationships for queer folks as they age, especially from an attachment perspective.
But for today, to religious folks who see queerness and the values of the Evangelical/Mormon/Pentecostal communities, it turns out that accepting your queer children is the most likely way to ensure that they will continue to engage in Christianity, even if their brand of Christianity looks different from yours. A sure-fire way to ensure that your kids will leave the church is to reject their queerness and engage in homophobic comments and behaviors.
Let’s heal together! (And happy Friday!)
Jeremiah and Julia