Keith Fullerton

I was around 11 years old when I realized I was "different". It was during this time I started getting picked on at school for being sensitive and effeminate, while simultaneously becoming more aware of what was being preached at church every Sunday. I can remember sitting in our family pew one week and suddenly realizing that the perverted sinners he was describing (in detail) sounded like they could be me! Everything fell into place: I was a homosexual, and if I didn't do something about it than I was in danger of hellfire.

I accepted the Lord Jesus Christ as my personal savior and was baptized in a local creek all before I was 10 years old. I loved going to church! I actually tried witnessing to kids in my class and invited them to church. I was faithful! How could I be a homosexual? I couldn't make it go away, no matter what I did or how hard I prayed. I wanted to be perfect and when I simply couldn't be I was extremely hard on myself.

The constant guilt and confusion began to wear on my mind and body. After a series of traumas, including being outed to my family and church and being asked to remove myself from the congregation until I was ready to repent, I cursed God and gave up on everything. If I couldn't be a gay Christian, then I couldn't be a Christian at all. God had turned his back on me, and I him. Once, I laid down in the middle of the road at 3am and waited for a vehicle to hit me. That was probably the lowest point of my life.

I tried attending college in the fall, but ended up having to drop out and move in with my boyfriend, Jonathan, and his family. He was so supportive of my religious trauma recovery. After a few years, I was craving the sense of community I had lost when I left my church. I dipped my toe in the water, and decided to attend the Pittsburgh Friends Meeting of the Religious Society of Friends (Quakers). Their legacy of social justice and mode of worship interested me.

Jonathan and I made the trip one Sunday morning and nervously entered the meetinghouse. There were some folks already milling about, and we were promptly welcomed. When we introduced ourselves, no one seemed concerned that we had arrived as a couple. After several minutes, we all began filing into the large meeting room with tall ceilings and windows. There several rows of chairs all facing toward the center of the room. There was no pulpit or altar, nor were their hymnals or stained glass. All at once, I realized there were approx 90 men and women of every age and race all seated together in absolute silence, some with eyes closed and heads bowed, some smiling placidly as they looked around the room. They were calmly waiting for the Spirit to move them.

In that deafening silence, I let myself retreat inside. I allowed the hurt and pain and shame bubble up until I thought I would explode. I almost wanted to shout, I was feeling so angry at everyone and everything. Just when I thought I couldn't bear sitting there in that quiet room another moment I felt a warmth overcome me that made my head swim. What can only be described as a still, small voice seemed to say to me "I have always been here. I never left. I never will".

When the hour of silent worship was done, we all shook hands with one another and that was that. I found a smaller Friends meeting closer to home and have been a Quaker ever since. Regardless of what actually happened during that meeting for worship eight years ago, I have come to realize a very important truth: just because the church no longer wanted me DOES NOT mean God didn't as well. While I was begging God to change me, I couldn't hear Him telling me there was nothing to change. When I kept asking Christ to please come back back into my heart, I couldn't accept "I'm already here" for an answer.

My community based mental health center has saved my life. I cannot stress this enough: we must work harder to fund community mental health centers/crisis centers. Rural queer youth are at particular risk of suicide/mental health disorders and I know first hand how important receiving these services are. Seriously, if this building was not operational there is a 100% chance I would not be alive today.

While I still have setbacks, I experience so much more joy in my life. I do not fear separation from God. Christ's example is so important to me, more now than it ever has been. As Quakers, we have many terms for that direct connection between us and the Divine: the Inner Light, the Inward Truth, the Christ Within, etc. What I know is that I am loved. I am cherished. Nobody and nothing can change that. I hope to always be a witness of this radical love that I have come to know.