LGBTQ+ Inclusion: A Personal Case Study in Deconstruction

I want to walk you through how I changed my beliefs around LGBTQ+ issues over 30 years. Not all at once. Not in rebellion. Not for attention. Just slowly… painfully… honestly.

My LGBTQ+ Deconstruction Story

I want to walk you through how I changed a belief.

Not all at once. Not in rebellion. Not for attention.

Just slowly… painfully… honestly.

I’m using LGBTQ+ inclusion as the example—not because it’s the only thing I’ve wrestled with—but because it’s one of the issues that pushed me the furthest down the deconstruction path.

And I’ve come to believe it’s where a lot of you started too.

Of the first 250 people who joined Deconstruction Club, at least seven of you mentioned this specific topic as your first reason for questioning what you were taught. For some, it was your own identity. But more often, it was because a child came out. Or a close friend. Or someone you loved deeply who made it impossible to keep believing what you believed.

That was true for me too.

So this is my story.
Maybe you will see your own story in it.

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1. The Clarity I Inherited

I was taught being gay was a sin.
Not just a sin—an abomination.

That was the word. Big and dramatic.

It was one of the “worst” sins.
Nobody ever said why—it just was.

I grew up in a church culture where it wasn’t even debated. It was just known. And when something is “biblically clear,” you don’t question it.

So I didn’t.

I inherited a belief that felt set in stone.
I didn’t choose it. It was handed to me.

And like most inherited beliefs, it felt like truth.

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2. Wanting to Change (But Not Knowing How)

I’m 51—a Gen Xer.
In my high school years in suburban Columbus, Ohio, most gay kids were still closeted. But not all.

I had a couple friends I knew were gay. One of them, a Christian, told me he “struggled” with it. That was the language then—“same-sex attraction.” A battle. A thorn in the flesh. His cross to bear.

He went to conversion therapy. He did everything he was supposed to do to try to change who he was.

Later in life, he took his own life.

It’s a common story. And it still haunts me.

This was the stage where I wished it wasn’t a sin.
I started saying things like, “Sin is sin. We all fall short. That’s their struggle, but it’s no worse than my sins.”
It was an attempt at compassion, but really, it was deflection.

I was trying to soften a belief I hadn’t yet questioned.
And it helped me feel better.
But it didn’t help them.

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3. Ignoring It

Eventually, I hit the “I just won’t talk about it” phase.

As a pastor, I didn’t preach about it.
When I met someone who was LGBTQ+, I prayed they wouldn’t ask what I did for a living.
If they did, I hoped the conversation would change before it got awkward.

I felt shame.
Not about them—about me.
About what I believed… and what I didn’t know how to un-believe.

I was angry at God. I was also ashamed of God.
Why would He make people this way and then call it sin?
It didn’t feel fair. It didn’t feel right.
But I couldn’t admit that yet.

So I stayed quiet.
I ignored it.
And I told myself I was being “loving” by not making a big deal out of it.

Really, I just didn’t want to face it.

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4. Changing Some Beliefs While Affirming the “Authority” of Bible

Eventually, I decided to study the issue like a scholar.

I learned Greek and Hebrew context. Dug into Roman sexual ethics. Looked at ancient worship practices. I read affirming theologians who argued that what the Bible condemns isn’t loving, committed same-sex relationships—but things like abuse of minors, temple prostitution, and exploitative power dynamics.

And honestly? The case is strong.
You can make a fully biblical argument for LGBTQ+ inclusion.
Plenty of Christians do.

Maybe that’s where you are now.
If so, I respect it.
It’s a huge step.

And it gave me the ability to affirm people I loved—without having to diminish the “authority” of the Bible.

But eventually, I had to go even further.

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5. Changing My Core Beliefs Around the Bible

At some point, I had to ask:

What if the Bible is just wrong about this?

I can make all the arguments.
I can reinterpret all ten verses.
I can say Jesus never mentioned it.

But if we time-traveled Paul to today…
He’d probably still say it’s a sin.

He was a Pharisee. A first-century man.
He wouldn’t have been affirming—not the way I’d want him to be.

And Jesus?

We don’t know what he would have said. All we know is that he had a way of being unpredictable when answering hot-button questions.
I know what I wish he’d say.
But wishing doesn’t make it so.

So I came to the following sentence—maybe the hardest one I had to say in my entire deconstruction process as a Christian:

If Paul—or anyone in the Bible—would have condemned it… I simply disagree with them.

It took me nearly 20 years to be able to say that.

And now, I’ve made peace with it.

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6. Believing It Openly and Publicly

This is the part that took the longest.

I’ve held affirming beliefs for at least 15 years.
Mostly quietly.

It’s one of the reasons I stepped away from vocational ministry in 2012.
I didn’t say that publicly then. But it was.

I told people what I believed if they asked.
But I wasn’t very public about it.
Not because I was unsure—but because I didn’t want the fights.

It was selfish. Self-protective.
And I regret that.

I owe an apology to my LGBTQ+ friends.
Not for where I started—but for how long I stayed quiet.

And yet… even that was part of the process.
Part of my reconstruction.

I have some guilt over it, but also some grace for myself. Mostly because my gay and trans friends have extended that grace to me.

So if that’s where you are—if you’re affirming but not public yet—I get it.

I’m not here to rush you.

There’s grace for every stage of this.

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One More Thing

I used this story to show how one of my beliefs changed.
But it’s not just about this one topic.

I’ve gone through the same process on social issues like systemic racism and abortion…
On creedal doctrines like the virgin birth and the resurrection…
On theological frameworks like original sin, propitiation, and eschatology.

The same stages. The same wrestling.

And here’s something I heard years ago that I’ve found to always be true:

“If you’re one step ahead of someone, you’re a mentor. If you’re two steps ahead, you’re a heretic.”

I don’t remember where I first heard that, but it’s always stuck with me.

It’s one of the reasons I’ve waited so long to talk this openly. Not just about LGBTQ+ issues, but about all aspects of my deconstruction.
Because there’s a big risk telling it all at once.

You may be somewhere around stage two or three in your own process—and if I’m at stage five or six, what I say might feel wrong to you.
Too far.
Too much.
Too soon.

And I get that.

But I hope you can trust my heart and my story.
Because I trust yours.

I’m not trying to pull you where I am.
I’m just trying to walk with you wherever you are.

And show you the pattern in my life—just in case you see part of it in yours.

• P.S. I’ve gotten a few comments assuming I’m no longer a Christian. I get why—but I am. These days, I’d describe myself as a theologically liberal, mystic, materialist Christian. That’s just where I’ve landed. Of course, it’s totally okay if you end up somewhere else. If you're curious what that means for me, I wrote about it last week at this link.