Like a lot of gay men of my generation, I did not even begin to explore what it meant to be gay, much less come out, until my mid-thirties. Unlike most of them, I arrived on the scene directly from a monastery rather than a relationship with a woman. But, like them, I was the proverbial kid in the candy store. A quarter of a century later, (twenty of those with my spouse), I am sometimes tempted to look back on those years with shame. A committed monogamous relationship wasn’t on my agenda.
I was looking. In the words of a song I often heard on my first forays into the bars, I was looking for an angel. I needed angels right then who would tell me that I was desirable. I needed angels to be patient with my inexperience. I needed angels who would help me find a new sense of belonging.
I prayed in sync with the hypnotic beat of “Send Me an Angel”. And, I believe, my prayers were answered with flesh and blood angels, genuine messengers of God. Mostly sweet, patient, generous, loving men, each of them angels unaware, who are all a part of who I am today, including and maybe even especially, the pastor part. When I am tempted to be ashamed of me in those early days or, worse, to see those men as themselves tempters, I remember my song from those days and the men who were an answer to my prayer. Perhaps you have your own angels whom you wish to remember. In this particularly devastating and yet hopeful Pride season, we stand in the midst of a great company of angels, praising God and joining in their song: “Holy, Holy, Holy!”
Austin Newberry (he, him, his) is serving in his first call as a pastor with the community gathered as First Lutheran Church in Louisville, KY and lives with his spouse in Columbus, IN.