Coming Out, Part Six: Prism

vii. Exodus: The Exit

At the beginning of 2012, Justin Lee of GCN shared a stage with Alan Chambers, president of Exodus International, to participate in a panel discussion on ex-gay ministries. The event took place at a GCN Conference, the largest annual gathering of LGBT Christians in the world. For two and a half hours, Lee, Chambers, and three other panelists engaged in a cordial (but oftentimes, tense) discourse on the viability and repercussions of ex-gay enterprises. It was an emotional experience for the queer Christian community; many audience members at the event were survivors of reparative therapy. Although he defended the work of Exodus, Chambers made one huge concession: “The majority of people that I have met—and I would say the majority meaning 99.9% of them—have not experienced a change in their orientation…” It was a blatant reversal from the head of an organization that, for many years, pushed its agenda with the slogan: “Change is Possible.”

A year and a half after the event, Alan Chambers announced that he was shutting down Exodus International. He also issued an apology:

Please know that I am deeply sorry. I am sorry for the pain and hurt many of you have experienced. I am sorry that some of you spent years working through the shame and guilt you felt when your attractions didn’t change. I am sorry we promoted sexual orientation change efforts and reparative theories about sexual orientation that stigmatized parents. I am sorry that there were times I didn’t stand up to people publicly “on my side” who called you names like sodomite—or worse. I am sorry that I, knowing some of you so well, failed to share publicly that the gay and lesbian people I know were every bit as capable of being amazing parents as the straight people that I know… I am profoundly sorry that many have walked away from their faith and that some have chosen to end their lives.

Although Exodus was brought to a close, other anti-gay interest groups exist today, many of which promote the use of reparative therapy to “cure” same-sex attraction.

XXI. The Rally

In 2015, the US Supreme Court delivered the ruling that made gay marriage legal nationwide. In defiance, Alabama Chief Justice Roy Moore instructed the lower courts not to issue marriage licenses.

A rally coalesced in front of Mobile’s probate court, where I gathered with other queer friends and allies to make a stand against Moore.  News anchors and journalists swarmed the scene while attorneys darted in and out of the probate court. The moment felt surreal. Eight years had passed since I came out to my parents. Back then, only a couple states had legalized gay marriage, and nationwide recognition seemed like a pipe dream. Back then, I wondered if my life would ever get better, if mom and dad would ever truly accept me. It all seemed so improbable.

“Is that your dad?” asked a friend, gesturing. I spun around. There was my father, marching down the sidewalk right towards us. “What are you doing here?” I asked. “Saw you on the news,” he said. “Figured I’d join.” He came to stand with us, for all the country to see. One willing dad. One proud son.

XXII. To parents with a kid who just came out:

It’s been over a decade since I came out to mom and dad. If you ask my mom, she’ll tell you that it was one of the best things that ever happened to the family. “It made us better people,” she says. And it’s true. I’ve watched my parents become more aware, compassionate human beings regarding things completely unrelated to my sexuality. 

Coming out is hardly ever a smooth process, for kids or parents. For many years, mom struggled to find a church family that could meet her where she was. Dad wrestled with discomfort whenever I brought a boy around. But they both kept leaning in, even when it was difficult. I hope you’ll do the same. Somewhere on the other side of chaos is peace, but you’ll never find peace if you’re unwilling to engage the chaos.

XXIII. To the kid who just came out:

Keep going. You’re going to find people who see you and accept you for who you are. If your religious beliefs make you hate yourself, let them go. Gay Christian blogger Kevin Garcia put it best: “Bad theology kills.” Find a path that gives you life. Maybe that means leaving behind the understanding of God that you inherited as a child for a new understanding of God. Maybe it means trading in the pews for long hikes or dance classes or a support group. Whatever you do, be patient with yourself. It takes a lot of courage to let go of things you’ve believed for your whole life. It’ll probably require some grieving, too. You deserve all the time and space that you need. 

XXIV. Coming Home

After seven years of avoiding sanctuaries, I walked into Gulf Shores First Presbyterian Church. My partner at the time had emailed me a sermon written by the pastor, Steven Kurtz. The sermon was an argument for inclusion. Skeptical but curious, we decided to attend a service. It was my first time at an open and affirming church. After that visit, we decided to become regulars. 

Several months later, Steven invited me to join him at the Wild Goose Festival. The Wild Goose—sometimes called “Woodstock for Christians”—is a music festival that takes place on a campground in Hot Springs, NC. Steven thought I might have something to gain from the experience. He was right. The festival was soul-lifting. But what meant the most to me was the nine-hour car rides to and from Hot Springs. While on the road, the two of us dug into the issues that had kept me away from church for so long. Our conversations helped me understand how radically different some Christian traditions are from the tradition within which I grew up.

XXV. Prism United

Today, I serve as the music minister at Open Table United Church of Christ in Mobile, AL. In 2016, Open Table began operating a support group for LGBTQ teens—the first of its kind in the area. I began volunteering for the support group shortly after its genesis and eventually became a co-coordinator of the project.

The data on LGBTQ youth is sobering. They are disproportionately more likely to grapple with depression, be diagnosed with an eating disorder, end up homeless, suffer academically, and contemplate (or attempt) suicide than their straight peers. As my friend Justin Litaker and I led support group meetings, we heard the stories of rejection and victimization up close. Those stories ignited a sense of urgency in us. We began brainstorming about what else we could do. The youth gave us their suggestions, and we quickly realized that what we were dreaming up was bigger than a support group. In the fall of 2018, Justin and I launched Prism United, a nonprofit that responds to the comprehensive needs of LGBTQ youth in the Mobile area.

Today, Prism runs support groups for LGBTQ teens and preteens, and a support group for parents of LGBTQ youth. We provide safe space training for local universities and other organizations, we provide referrals to LGBTQ-knowledgable mental and medical health professionals, we’ve created a library of young adult LGBTQ literature, and we look forward to putting on the biggest queer prom that the Alabama Gulf Coast has ever seen. Since our early days at Open Table, we’ve served over 200 youth through our programming, referral services, and outreach.

One activity we do at Prism is called “Dear Future Self”. Using the website “futureme.org,” we write emails to ourselves that show up in our inboxes at some selected date in the future—two, three, five years down the road. Truth is, this is an activity I’ve been doing since before college. So every time we do the activity at Prism, it makes me think of a younger Corey, closeted and terrified, sending an SOS into the unknown. I look over his letters to me, and I close my eyes, and I feel him near, and I think about Prism—how he would’ve loved it, how he’ll someday create it, how it’s the love letter I’m writing him back.

For more about Prism United, email us at info@prismunited.org or follow us at facebook.com/prismunitedal and prismunited.org.

Justin Litaker and I launched Prism United in August of 2018. That same month, 9-year-old Jamel Myles took his own life after being bullied at school for being gay.

The featured image was taken by Kim Nichols Lovvorn of Nostalgia Studio. The last image is from Wild Goose 2015.

The Perry boys (from pt. 1 & 2) eventually teamed up with their sister to form the country trio The Band Perry.

Special thanks to mom and dad for digging up these memories for me, to all the unmentioned friends who’ve been a part of my journey (I didn’t want to write a book), and to Duke, Brandon, and Mike for helping me with the revision process.

A sermon by Steven Kurtz on LGBTQ inclusion: The Goodness of God in New Wineskins.

A message from pastor Ellen Sims at Open Table for LGBTQ Youth: Prism United Spotlight