Guest commentary by Amy Cerniglia
National Coming Out Day is older than I am, but I only learned about it through social media as a college freshman. On October 11, 1988, National Coming Out Day celebrated the anniversary of the 1987 March on Washington for Lesbian and Gay Rights. Of that day, founder Robert Eischsberg said: “Most people think they don’t know anyone gay or lesbian, and in fact everybody does. It is imperative that we come out and let people know who we are and disabuse them of their fears and stereotypes.” Nine years ago, on National Coming Out Day, I decided to test Eischberg’s theory.
Far from being a decisive moment of transformation, the day better resembled a cry in the wilderness. Specifically, I sent a text message to just a few close friends, appreciating the distance that this form of communication allows. This was not the day that I came out as a lesbian, as everyone in my life now recognizes me. Looking through a glass darkly, I only knew that I was not heterosexual.
The Old Testament story of Hagar in the wilderness has captivated the prophet imaginations of many marginalized people. Womanist theologians such as Wil Gafney have noted that Hagar not only speaks directly to God, but takes the extraordinary step of actually naming God. For God, Hagar offered the name El Roi (Hebrew: אל ראי), commonly translated as “the God who sees me.”
At my childhood church and Christian university in Jackson, Mississippi, I did not see many people like me. The literary critic Terry Castle has written much about the invisibility of lesbians in media from books to films. My undergraduate education in organ performance introduced me to a lesbian composer named Pauline Oliveros, who composed with electronic music until her death in 2016 precisely because conventional musical forms failed to fully express her experiences. As a person so far on the margins of society with no representation in broader culture, Oliveros felt that only the most unusual and experimental musical forms could represent her.
When I tested Eischberg’s hope for coming out almost a decade ago, the wilderness was wide. Scholars can’t pinpoint Hagar’s age as she despaired in the wilderness of Beersheba, but teenagers’ developing minds certainly lack the long-term vision to perceive an end to a lengthy road. Most sexual and gender minorities realize this aspect of their identities as youth — a difficult age especially because most youth have less power than adults to leave discriminatory schools, households or other relationships.
Still, Elsa Tamez writes: “God does not leave [the oppressed] to perish in the desert without leaving a trace. They must live to be part of history and struggle to be subjects of it.” The struggles of my elders, prophets who expanded the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) created a shelter where I could work as a musician and marry by the time I decided to give the church a chance. For most of history, the idea of openly gay women attending, serving or marrying in churches would exceed the wildest imagination. And while I had always loved God with my whole heart, I had long feared the wrath of the church.
But Genesis 21:19a says: “Then God opened her eyes and she saw a well of water.”
I will never forget the transformative power of God’s love on full display in brave Fondren Presbyterian Church in Jackson, Mississippi. The love of people serving as Christ’s hands and feet softened the walls I had built to defend myself against the dangers of the wilderness. The Holy Spirit at work in my congregation both advocated for me when I faced discrimination at my university, and comforted me with the fellowship of other gay Christians and allies. Now serving at another wonderfully affirming church in Florida, I hope to carry forth the flame ignited in me by the people of God that saw and embraced me.
Lesbians were not the first choice for inclusion in the covenant, just as Hagar and her descendants were not favored family members enjoying the full inheritance. But God sees all and makes a way in the wilderness. Every day, I give thanks for the prophets in the PC(USA) like David Sindt, who stood on the floor of the 1974 General Assembly of the United Presbyterian Church, holding a hand-written sign that read, “Is anyone else out there gay?” A decade before Eischberg would establish National Coming Out Day, Sindt made himself visible in a time when he would have been seen as a target. Gay Christians growing up in the church today no longer need to resort to the furthest corners of experimental music to find ourselves, with even our “Glory to God” hymnal including gay hymnists and references to our experiences. The church need not be the chosen family steering others to the wilderness, but rather, it can offer the living water.
Of course, there are still individuals, churches and presbyteries who would rather not see gay people. There are further disenfranchised sexual and gender minorities, especially people of color, who rarely see themselves reflected in church leadership. They are invisible at our altars, in our pulpits and even in most of our pews. Fears and stereotypes cover the eyes of allies for gay and lesbian people. Gay and lesbian people can also fall prey to discomfort when we see sexual and gender minorities that don’t resemble us. We are tempted to look away from the most marginalized.
God sees them, too, and points to the well in the wilderness.
AMY CERNIGLIA is the Director of Music and Arts at Peace Presbyterian Church in Bradenton, FL. She is also pursuing a Master of Divinity at The University of Dubuque Theological Seminary.
