"Already, this is an uphill battle,” he says. “It’s hurting you in multiple ways. Maybe I need to resign tomorrow."
"What?" My first thought is he means that he’ll resign from me. But Luke says, "You heard me. Maybe I should just resign from Evermore and stop trying to be something that I don't think I can be."
"What is that?" I ask gently.
"A gay pastor."
"And why can't you be one?"
"Because I'm gay. Because the Bible's nebulous, and people think inside the box, and politics—"
I’m shaking my head. "You can help them get out of the box. People follow leaders, and you are one, Sky babe. You're a great one. It's not a job, it's a calling. You told me that."
He rubs a hand back through his hair, and with his head hanging, chin to his chest, I can see how blotchy his face looks as he stares down at his lap, shoulders rising as he breathes in short tugs. "I don't know if I can do it."
"Yeah?"
Sky nods, looking at me miserably. "When I think about doing a Q&A like I told you, it makes me feel sick."
"Maybe just don't do one."
"Then I feel like a fraud. Like I'm not open and accessible and honest anymore. I want to be all the way out, but every time I think about it..." He shakes his head, tugging at his hair again. I see him struggle to swallow. "I just keep hearing all the things that people said,” he rasps.
I scoot closer, so our arms touch, and since I'm cross-legged, my knee touches his.
"You know what I mean.” He sighs. “I heard forever—for my whole life—all kinds of shit, Vance. How it's Adam and Eve and not Adam and Steve. God hates fags is practically a catch phrase with some people.”
“Yeah,” I interrupt. “The fucking assholes. Sorry,” I add, realizing that I interrupted him.
Sky keeps going. “I've been around countless people who will say, like right out in the open, that you can love the sinner but hate the sin, and if someone who's gay can't live a ‘Godly’ life, then it's okay to cut them out until they choose to obey God’s word. It's not uncommon at all. It's common. You should see things in the South.”
"Does anyone in leadership roles ever talk about this? Like what about pastor forums and shit?" I ask. “Doesn’t anybody strategize or talk about theology together?”
"People in positions like mine tip-toe around it like it's a bomb."
"But you... Luke, you're influential. You could change this, all of it." I fucking know he could, but only if he wants to take it on—and I don’t want to push him if he doesn’t.
"I'm not trustworthy anymore. Don't you see? Because I'm one of ‘them’ now. I'm one of the gays. I’m...biased. Because of course I'd say it's okay now.”
Shit, he’s really thought this through. Probably obsessing about this all damn day. He even speaks as if he’s their mouthpiece—the bigots.
“So what is the main fear here?” I ask. “Of losing ground with the church as a whole, or more like not connecting to the congregation? Being judged? Or what?”
“All of it,” he says, blowing a breath out. “I don't want to lose ground, but that's not the worst thing. I guess I'm scared of being called a hack. A hypocrite. I don't know. That's not that big of a deal. But what if...I don't know. I guess it's...what if someone shouts me down while I'm up on the stage?"
He mentioned this in the car, too—the fear of being confronted and not knowing what to say. "You said there's a lag time. It's not really live. Right?"
He nods, looking shredded.
"But that's not the point. I know that, baby." I shift so that I’m close enough to wrap my arms around him. "You are not a fraud. At all. I don't know much, but if your God made people in the image of whatever God is, some of God must be gay. Got a little rainbow in there...you know what I'm saying?"
He laughs—it sounds choked, but it’s a laugh for sure—and I hug him tighter. "I know there’s that old misconception that being gay is a choice. It's falling out of favor more with every generation, and with common sense and research and shit. But it's something people still say sometimes. But we both know it's like having blue eyes. It’s just something about you. And it's okay. You are okay. And this misconception...you could maybe fix it. I know that sounds radical, but—"
"No, you're right, Rayne." His arm comes around me. "I know I could…maybe, at least. I've just been scared to."
I wait a second for him to go on, and when he doesn’t, I say, "I think you should accept that some people will walk. You're going to lose some of them. Some people won't be able to break out of the box they're in, others won’t want to. And that's..." I suck a breath in, trying to choose my words with care. "I think that's gotta be okay, McD. If not emotionally, then intellectually, it's gotta be something you understand and can accept.” Fuck, I sound preachy. I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing onward, to my point here. “Who's left when the dust settles—that's your people."