I just thank you, Father, for making me gay

Three men holding a multicolour painted ‘Love Is Love’ banner. Photo by Rosemary Ketchum.

A story of self-acceptance from Jonny Masters, Diocesan Youth, Children and Families’ Adviser in the Church of England Diocese of Chester, and a founding member of our new Open Table community in Nantwich, Cheshire.

I’ve always loved singing. From a young age, I enjoyed singing in church and in school assemblies. When I was young, I used to sing quietly, letting the sound of those around me wash over me.

Nowadays, I tend to sing loudly, particularly if I’m in church and know the song. For me, quiet singing can’t capture the worship I wish to offer. But that’s for another post.

Old favorites in school included One more step along the world I go, Cauliflowers Fluffy, and, at least four times a year, If I were a Butterfly.

“My gayness opens up my eyes to what it means to be treated differently. It helps me understand what it is like to be looked down upon, to be ignored, to be oppressed. My gayness, in spite of all the difficulties it causes, or rather, because of them, gives me empathy. Praise God!”

If I were a Butterfly is about imagining yourself as different creatures and thanking God for one of their features:

If I were a butterfly, I’d thank you, Lord, for giving me wings.

The song is theologically coherent, however, and places humanity’s relationship with God as the chorus:

For you gave me a heart,
and you gave me a smile,
You gave me Jesus,
And you made me your child,
And I just thank you, Father,
For making me, me.

Wow! What an uplifting song for a child to sing, thanking God for who they are. I used to sing it with gusto, but I was secretly unsure I knew who I was. What if God had made a mistake with me?

That feeling only grew over time. As I entered my teenage years and began wondering about my sexuality, I worried that God had not made me right. He’d misread the manual or let the ‘fall’ allow me to be broken. God didn’t want me to thank Him for making me. No, God wanted me to change. A Christian can’t sing, ‘Thank you, Father, for making me gay.’

So, I lived knowing I was a mistake. I pretended to know God loved me because, in charismatic evangelical circles, that’s what you do. And in a sense, I did know it. In my head, at least. But that knowledge never settled in my heart.

I wrestled with my sexuality and prayed it would change for a long time. I ignored it, hoping it would go away and those straight feelings would one day make themselves known. That day never arrived.

Eventually, I accepted my sexuality and looked for a partner. I found him three and a half years ago. He’s amazing. He is kind, thoughtful, and funny. Most importantly, he has a deep faith in Jesus Christ, like me.

Even so, in my heart of hearts, if God had made me straight, then I would have been joyful. Sad for my partner, certainly, but joyful that I could live out the heteronormative narrative I’d played to myself throughout my childhood. I wasn’t ready to thank God for making me gay.

I was, however, ready to accept that God made me gay. Sure, there seems to be a fallen world, but I do not believe the unchangeable aspects of who we necessarily need to find redemption. No, I believe God knit me together in my mother’s womb. I believe God rejoices over me with singing. I believe I am gay because God made me gay.

Once that belief was settled within me, I wanted to be able to thank God for it. After all, I thank God for the sea, the sun, the stars, the grass, dogs, food, friends, and a thousand other things all the time. God’s provision and generosity are incredible. Why did I find it so hard to thank God for being gay?

Then something changed. I was praying one morning for my partner as he slept. I thanked God for him. I thanked God for providing me with someone so willing to love me. I thanked God for someone who is an advocate for justice. My partner calls out oppression, abuse, and wrongs done to others. Whether that is LGBT+ people, Global Majority Heritage people, or other oppressed groups, my partner names it. And I hear him, and my heart beats alongside his heart in solidarity with the downtrodden

That’s when it happened. That’s when I realized that my gayness is a gift. My gayness opens up my eyes to what it means to be treated differently. It helps me understand what it is like to be looked down upon, to be ignored, to be oppressed. My gayness, in spite of all the difficulties it causes, or rather, because of them, gives me empathy. Praise God!

Empathy is the ability to understand and share the feelings of another. Empathy allows me to be compassionate. I see people in need, and I care for them deeply. Empathy helps me to be more understanding of those who wrong me, too. I am able to see the world from a different perspective; empathy enables me to find grace for those who hurt me. It allows me to rejoice with those who rejoice and to mourn with those who mourn.

Empathy, in short, allows me to love.

Would I have empathy without my gayness? Yes, probably. But I would not have as much. I would see the world far more in black and white, and I fear I would be quick to judge. God, in His wisdom, prevented me from being blinkered by making me gay. What a gracious God!

My response? Gratitude. It has to be. Thank you, Father, for making me, me. Thank you, Father, for making me gay.

Jonny Masters writes about being a gay Christian, comments on culture and politics, theological ponderings, life anecdotes, and poems. He is a youth worker, poet, and questioner, curious to find out more and always willing to connect with others. Follow Jonny on Medium and Twitter.