John C. Rankin

   Oscar Wilde once said that homosexuality is “a love that dares not name itself.” In other words, it was a closeted reality, cowering in the dark corners of a fearful community of shared suffering. It was driven into these corners, it is said, by a “homophobic” Victorian moral ethos that was intolerant of “diversity” – to modernize the language by a century or so.

   This has all changed in recent decades, as homosexuality has adopted the identity of “gay pride.” It is not only out of the closet, but it now controls or has access to major levels of social influence, and is ubiquitous in its public profile.

   Yet, the suffering is still as real as ever, for the underlying pain, whether closeted or parading, remains unhealed.

   I stumbled onto this reality in 1988, while studying at Harvard Divinity School, taking a course in feminist ethics. About two weeks into the term, three women classmates approached me as I was sitting in the cafeteria. One of them introduced herself and her two friends as they pulled up chairs, and she said, “You know John, for an evangelical, you’re a nice guy.”

   She continued, and introduced a topic de nova, out of the blue. She noted that the three of them were lesbian, and that every lesbian they knew had been the victim of “physical, sexual and/or emotional abuse” by some man in her early years. This is anecdotal testimony and not a statistical attempt to describe the experiences of all lesbians (that would be unfair, as many would testify otherwise, including male homosexuals).

   But these women were in the middle of a large and international nexus of lesbians in the university rich Boston area. In only a minority of instances is the biological father implicated in the abuse. Rather it is a step-father, live-in boyfriend of the mother, some extended family member, or some other man with access to the household who is the usual perpetrator (apart from those who are violated by adults or other teenagers as teenagers, beyond the experiential orb of a present and loving father). In other words, it is usually the result of the chosen absence of the biological father; the absence of the one who was supposed to love, cherish and protect them in the unique power to give of godly fatherhood.

   I remember praying in my spirit as I heard these words, “Dear God above, has the church ever heard this? Or do we merely pass judgment on those who are homosexual and move on?” It was dramatic new information for someone like me who had little experience with professing homosexuals to date. I thought to myself, “These are women for whom Christ died, to offer them the gift of eternal life. How well are we in the church communicating such Good News?”

   This is also true for boys who grow up in the chosen absence of the biological father. Indeed, it is such male chauvinism that violates boys and girls, and breaks their trust in the possibility of a healthy marriage, and thus, such dysfunction leads to their heterosexual promiscuity as well as homosexuality when they grow up. If men were to exercise (fully) the power to give a) in chastity before marriage, b) fidelity within, and c) the embrace of fatherhood, the debate over homosexuality would be nearly non-existent.

   In 2003, I was part of a panel testifying before the Judiciary Committee of the Connecticut State Legislature. Those in favor of same-sex marriage had been pushing their issue hard, and controlled the process. It was covered live on CT-N (Connecticut Television Network, a public affairs broadcast, similar to C-SPAN at the state level). The main hearing room sat about 200 people, and perhaps 120 of those seats had been claimed early by same-sex marriage advocates wearing yellow pins advocating their position – the vast majority being women. Two overflow hearing rooms were also filled, the large majority in favor of marriage being one man and one woman.

   When I spoke, I shared the testimony of my fellow students at Harvard. As I did, the groans and moans in the room were so loud and cacophonous that I could barely hear myself speak.

   Afterward, a Christian woman approached me. She had been in the audience, and noted that virtually every person groaning and moaning was a woman wearing the yellow same-sex marriage pin. And she said that they virtually held their breaths until I was done with that brief story line.

   In other words, I dared to speak a pain that dares not name itself, indeed, a pain that no evangelical ministers should know about, as it were. It is a closeted pain that is kept that way while the homosexual movement seeks to reshape all society to protect themselves from such deep wells of truly undeserved rejection. This is one reason why a politically ascendant homosexuality is never satisfied apart from an insatiable appetite to dominate, and even when they dominate, they still need “safe” spaces. But safe from what? Safety from a pain that dares not name itself, rooted in deep and fearful reactions to a violated humanity.

   Even as the media were there in force, and the hearing was covered live on CT-N, I was not approached once by the media on this dramatic and defining moment. Why? The pain of abuse suffered by so many avowed homosexuals is not theirs alone – it belongs to many others as well, those who have suffered broken homes in a thousand ways, and/or have experienced broken sexuality in one form or another.

   In the midst of this wasteland, Jesus says to us all, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).

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