“And That is What Some of You Were”: Forgiveness, and “the sin that would make God throw up”

God’s kingdom is full of messy stories. Messy people living messy lives – washed clean and held together by Jesus. This story was shared with me by someone who I have helped with many things. She trusted me enough to share her story with me and asked me to tell her story for you. I told it from her perspective, and as much as possible, I used her own words, but names and details have been adjusted to preserve her anonymity.

Truth is, in high school my life was a sinful mess. The deeper truth is, Jesus loves me, he keeps me close, and he worked my mess for his glory and my good.

I grew up going to a Wisconsin Evangelical Lutheran Church and enjoyed my nine years of Lutheran Elementary School. The ninth-grade took me to a public high school where I developed a close friendship with a girl named Emmersyn. We went through a lot and were close through it all. Like tell-each-other-everything-and-keep-no-secrets kind of close. Like rate-each-other’s-crushes-and-go-on-double-dates kind of close. Like frequent-sleepovers-where-we-shared-the-bed kind of close. Like one-thing-led-to-another-and-we-had-a-secret-same-sex-physical-relationship kind of close. This went on for years.

My grades were stellar. My church attendance was weekly and attentive. Youth group participation – I was all in. I loved learning and applying my faith.

On the inside, though, I had this secret relationship that dripped poison on it all.

Did God really say?

I did things I couldn’t imagine telling anyone. Except Emmy. I had no secrets from Emmy. Except one – the secret that I didn’t want this to go on forever. And the other one – that sometimes I did.

See, this wasn’t just a mistake. I’m not a mistaker. It was a sin. I sinned. I’m a sinner. And I was stuck in this persistent, pre-planned sin. A sin we’re not allowed to share. The weird thing was, in my head, confessing my struggle meant saying that I didn’t always feel sinful.

I wanted it. I looked forward to it. Every time I wondered how I could ever get married and have a family. Maybe the sexual part would just fade; we could be best friends, have spouses, have families, stay close, have it all. I tried to convince myself of these fantasies.

At church I took Communion every time it was offered, relieved by the forgiveness I was given for what I’d done with my body. Sometimes I would just wish there was a way to make it all stop. I would doubt the “have it all” thoughts and want it all to be over. Quietly.

I was passionate about my faith, living it and applying it like never before in my life. Jesus was drawing me closer, even as I was pushing him away. I knew Jesus died for me.

My faith clung to Jesus, even while I secretly jumped off a sexual cliff.

But did Jesus die even for intentional, perpetual, sexual sin? Isn’t that the “bad one?” Even though I “knew” Jesus forgave me, I didn’t trust anyone to forgive me.

The worst sermon I ever heard was preached while I struggled with same-sex desire. I knew that day I could never tell my pastor about my problem. It was on 1 Corinthians 6:9-11, but he never really got to verse 11. He should have shown me how Jesus rescued me. Instead, he used the text to tell us not to worry because murderers and homosexuals won’t be in heaven. I was appalled. Even then, I knew his point was not biblical. What he communicated to me was: “Don’t worry, you won’t be in heaven.”

I still wanted marriage and a family someday. I knew my spouse would have to know everything. This couldn’t be kept secret, not then. He would have to know this dirtiness. But the thought of telling someone, anyone, just simmered with anxiety in my heart. How could any self-respecting person forgive all of this? I wanted to marry someone who shared my faith, but every church person I knew talked about homosexuality with utter disgust.

God provided me a way out of the sin when I moved away to college. Relief seeped in as the pressure to sin evaporated. At that safe distance, I could see how rotten it all was. I made a promise to myself – and prayed I could keep it – never to go back to that.

Then I met someone. Our relationship was serious from the start. But good serious, like talking-openly-about-life-goals-and-wanting-to-set-proper-boundaries-and-figuring-out-where-we’re-headed-before-we-get-in-too-deep serious. Like this-guy-really-gets-grace serious. Like my-gut-says-I-can-trust-him-with-my-past serious. He can know my secrets and not use them against me.

Still. I was reluctant to share.

Christmas break. My relationship with Emmy was over, but Emmy didn’t know it. I’m not sure I did either. We spent one night in the same room. One night of opportunity to rush back to my sin. One night to pick up again the habit I’d formed over years, or to maintain the new habit I’d formed over just a few months. Jesus helped me say no. I slept on the floor. One night of discomfort. One night of no.

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Our goodbye the next morning was polite, but final. We never spoke again. And that’s for the best. My choice was clear, and without explaining it, I ended it.

Without naming it, I left it.

Did I miss it? I missed the familiarity. The certainty and security; I still didn’t know if my new someone would be around forever. Maybe that’s when I chose him over Emmy. How insulting to him. How devastating to her. How appalling that the situation existed. How desperately I needed Jesus.

Do I miss it? I don’t miss the manipulation. The guilt. The secret anxiety. No, I don’t miss it.

Over the next months I heard lots of sermons about Jesus forgiving “anything,” but they were never about me.

Truth is, I was dirty. His Word told me I was forgiven, but my sin had never been spoken aloud. I was still sure no pastor would understand. I was still sure no Christian would know what to do with same-sex attraction. I absolutely had to keep my sin a secret.

But there was this guy…

And somehow I knew I had to work up the courage. I had to tell him I wasn’t normal. I had to be able to explain my sexual sins and my twisted past and somehow show him that I still desired a godly future. I had to tell him.

I told him.

He was… only a little overwhelmed. And more than a little capable. “Jesus forgives you. And so do I.”

Forgiveness. Sweet, blessed, amazing forgiveness. Forgiveness given by Jesus through another human being. Forgiveness enough for both of us. Forgiveness enough for us to be together. Forgiveness that does not waver. Forgiveness that does not stop. Jesus’ forgiveness for my mess.

Jesus used his words to share the specific Gospel my past sexual sins needed. Jesus loves me. Jesus forgives me. Jesus blesses me. For my good and for his glory.

And that is what some of you were. But you were washed, you were justified… by the blood of Jesus.

1 Cor. 6:11

I still hesitate to share this with people.

I’ve sat in Bible studies and heard well-meaning Christians say things like, “Homosexuality is the sin that makes God throw up!” and “It’s just so sick and twisted.” Those scared me away as a struggling teenager, and they scare me away now from sharing what Jesus did for me.

Brothers and sisters, this should not be.

Jesus is amazing. His forgiveness needs to be shared. His strength needs to be shared.

For your niece who just experimented with a friend and doesn’t know who to talk to. For your grandson who knows his desires are wrong. For your brother whose lifestyle has separated him from the family. For your son or daughter who feels ashamed – or doesn’t anymore. For your pastor who secretly fights his desire. For your friend who neither fights nor hides it. For your own heart that sometimes carries guilt and shame.

Truth is, Jesus loves you. He loves me. He loves us all.