Loving Thy Neighbour—from a Distance:
After Exodus Comes Leviticus
Exodus International has left Asheville, and, as the confetti and streamers of its festival of self-loathing are being swept up, one is left to ponder, what now?
Personally, I am surprised that Exodus and its ilk have survived this long. Its track record, to the degree it can be traced, is dismal; and, in the public eye, it is too easily parodied. History teaches us that that which is lampooned does not live long. Still, adamantine exceptions exist—Dubya, for instance, has clung like a tapeworm to the American intestinal tract for eight long years despite the greatest satiric attempts to dislodge him—and Exodus, if nothing else, is resilient.
I spoke with an Exodite 25 years ago in Columbus, Ohio, and felt nothing but abject pity for the man. He and some of his coreligionists had invaded—it’s possible they were invited—a meeting of Ohio State’s Gay and Lesbian Alliance. As I had something of a background in religion (Bible Award in high school), our conversation spilt over into the corridor after the general discussion. Conversation is entirely the wrong word for it; despite my eloquence and gifts of oratory, I was no match for this man. He was on a mission. Clearly he mistook my dabbling in theology for an earnest quest to reform my benighted homosexual lifestyle.
The word lifestyle galled me. It conjured up images of orange shag carpet, heavy Mediterranean furniture, and silver Martini shakers. I almost didn’t notice that he staunchly refused to use the word gay, preferring instead that Greco-Latin hybrid that rang so clinical one could virtually smell the ammonia. I was a generally frumpy academic and therefore wondered with what sort of homosexual party-boy he thought he was dealing. As his sermon seemed unstoppable, I determined to seduce him on that very park bench with ribald tales of the cerebral orgies I attended, Dionysiac revels in which the participants’ horn-rimmed glasses clicked together passionately as they engaged in indiscriminate love-making. When I returned from my fantasy, he was still talking.
This irate theologaster fed me Exodus’ standard line, that I was only homosexual because I had been molested as a child. When I did not recall any incidence of molestation, he accused me of being in denial. When I asked him if he knew who had allegedly molested me, so that I could at least determine whether said molestation had been homo- or heterosexual in nature, he answered, in a tone nigh-on threatening, you don’t really want to know. I immediately had a flashback to the demoniac rape scene in Rosemary’s Baby.
While the Exodites may eschew science in general—don’t even get them started on the evolution debate—they seem fairly convinced that all homosexuals are the products of child sexual abuse. That and masturbation. They seem to have never heard the old adage that there are only two types of people: those who masturbate and those who lie about it. Exodites don’t masturbate.
When my companion finally paused for air during his sermonette, I asked, “So, are you a heterosexual now?” He became blessedly silent. I persisted. “I am no longer a homosexual,” he eventually replied, “and I pray that Christ Jesus will provide me with a wife, so that I may lead a normal life.” Should that not happen, he was determined, in the words of the immortal Oscar Wilde, to look forward to a passionate celibacy.
And that passionate celibacy is what it all boils down to.
To be sure, Exodus will have its successes, among the bisexuals for whom heterosexuality is viable and among those whose hormone levels favour the more encratite lifestyle. But do they actually achieve that highly-touted normalcy? What happens to “ex-gays” when they are no longer happy? They will get together for the Exodus International conferences once a year, but what happens in the intervening eleven months? Where do they spend their day-to-day existence, their quotidian hell?
Having left the homosexual lifestyle, “ex-gays” find themselves a new class of pariah, for they can neither fully join those religious communities that have sponsored them nor can they haunt their former, unsuitable habitats. In their churches they’ll be seated in the pew reserved for the untouchables. While they will absolutely be called upon to make public confession of their erstwhile, wicked ways, they will never be fully integrated into their new communities of faith. Few will trust them around children or young people, and the company of single persons will be completely unknown to them. “Ex-gay” women will be unwelcome in churches’ knitting circles, and “ex-gay” men will be discouraged from participation in ecclesiastical fishing and camping expeditions. Christians may profess love for their “ex-gay” neighbours but not in their own neighbourhoods.
However much Exodus and other organisations of its kind may want to bring “ex-gays” into the fold, their mission is not necessarily in line with mainstream conservative policy, whether that manifests in the sacred or secular realms. It is quite clear that the right is not interested in the conversion of LGBT types nor does it really wish we would just go away. It wants us to evaporate, to have never existed. While there are exceptions to that, exceptional people in mainstream congregations seldom carry the day, often resulting in an “ex-gay” welcoming committee of one.
It is perhaps smug to write that, after Exodus comes Leviticus, that enlightened book wherein we read about lying with mankind as with womankind and their blood being upon them. Still Leviticus is also where we first read about loving our neighbours as ourselves. And it is to us, in the LGBT community, that these “ex-gays” will come once they’ve had the welcome mat pulled out from under their feet. Although it is tempting to treat these post-ex-gays with contempt, to call them traitors, and to hurl stones at their heads, restraint must be the rule of the day. And who would cast the first stone? Who among us has not, at one time or another, been unhappy with what the fundies term the homosexual lifestyle? It has its drawbacks and frustrations, what with lack of legal recognition for our relationships and all the difficulties in adopting children, not to mention the out-and-out hostility that thrives in our midst. I should be remiss if I did not include the occasional boyfriend who still likes shag carpeting, Mediterranean furniture, and Martini shakers.
It is good for the LGBT community to be open and affirming. There should be room for those who stray from our fold, those who, in a world that demands conformity, feel occasionally compelled to blend like chameleons. We have the hard task of showing them an LGBT universe that is not all diesel dykes and drag queens but one that is also equal parts businesspeople, auto mechanics, stay-at-home moms, and so forth. In short LGBT people who are as boring as toast.
Of course, there’s the rub. Because so many of us do look and act like everyone else, we have no visibility; only the more outrageous—and, to the humble “ex-gays,” threatening—elements capture the media’s attention. To generalise, those drawn to the “ex-gay” movement are rarely cross-dressing camera-hogs like John Paulk; most are ill-at-ease in the limelight and don’t readily identify with the LGBT movement. Not many are likely to wander into a bar either. The need for support groups, particularly in more rural areas, is acute, groups that can provide a safe, non-threatening haven for troubled souls. A few such organisations do exist, although hardly on the scale of Exodus International. These organisations create that open and affirming space and are worthy of our community’s full support. And who knows? A church or two out there just might learn something from us.
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