Not Losing My Religion



I just received my current issue of RFD Magazine, with my story, “Not Losing My Religion” in it:

Born in the South at the end of the Baby Boom, I have a long and complicated relationship with the church. ‘The church’ for me being Christian, and, more specifically, the conservative Missouri Synod branch of the Lutheran Church.

As a child, I loved my religion. I remember sitting in Christ Lutheran’s sanctuary of blond wood and stained glass windows, a larger-than-life statue of Christ resurrected hanging over the altar, feeling transported by the setting, the music, and the rhythms of the liturgy. Some of my earliest memories are of liturgy—the Te Deum laudamus and Create in Me a Clean Heart, O God.  As a gay child, I found great comfort in the teachings of love and meekness and the reverence of a savior who taught us to “turn the other cheek.” Fights at school and the bus stop were common occurrences growing up, and I was a ‘sensitive’ child in my mother’s words; a ‘mama’s boy’ in my older brothers’ eyes; a ‘sissy’ in the words of at least one teacher; and all that or much worse in the taunts of my classmates. Church was truly a refuge for the pre-adolescent me.

All that changed with my sexual awakening, which was so different than that of my straight brothers and peers. I came to hear more clearly the message of the church that I was wrong—an abomination. Like so many other gay and lesbian men and women, I slowly turned away from religion, dismissing my previous feelings of comfort and belief as being primitive and naïve. I stopped going to church when I left home for college, and it was a long time before I found my way back there again.

Two pivotal things worked to bring me back into the church’s orbit and, finally, into a pew. The first incident happened soon after I graduated from college. I found myself in the Southern gay mecca of Atlanta, and I found myself with a boyfriend. As Christmas approached, I realized that I was going to have to choose between spending the holiday with my family or with my new boyfriend—an untenable choice in my mind. Hoping to be able to spend Christmas with my family and my boyfriend, I came out to my mother. Not surprisingly, my mother, a good Missouri Synod Christian woman, struggled with my revelation. “Are you sure?” she asked, hoping that I had somehow made a mistake. My boyfriend did not come home for Christmas. I, however, continued coming home every weekend after coming out in hopes of showing my mother, recently widowed, that I was the same person she had always known.

One evening, as I was standing at the kitchen sink doing the dishes, my mother returned home from a Lutheran Women’s Missionary League meeting. She walked up behind me as I continued washing the dishes, wrapped her arms around me, and said, “I talked to Pastor about you after everyone else left the meeting. He said that God still loves and accepts you. I hope you know that I do, too.” My hands immersed in the hot soapy water, I stared forward, out the kitchen window, unable to wipe the tears that ran down my face. We had a good talk that night, and I called ‘Pastor’ the next morning to set up a meeting to talk with him. He admitted that he didn’t know anyone who was gay, but he was sure that God loved me. He and I became pen pals for several years after, corresponding regularly while I was away in the Peace Corps in Guatemala.

While his loving—his Christian—response was enough to keep me interested in God, it was not enough to overcome my fears of condemnation by God’s church, and I continued to keep my distance through my years in the Peace Corps and my return to the United States. I did, however, read and study on my own, finding much comfort, to my surprise, in the Bible. I also read historian John Boswell’s Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality and Scanzoni and Mollenkott’s Is the Homosexual My Neighbor? and began to realize that ‘God’ and ‘church’ might not be synonymous. Nonetheless, I avoided the institution and the risks associated with it. Then, something happened in 1987 that brought me back through its doors and into a pew.

I had returned from the Peace Corps and was a nurse at George Washington University Hospital in Washington, DC, working with AIDS patients. One afternoon, as I was walking into a patient’s room to hang an IV, I heard a conversation taking place and, for some reason, I stopped and waited—and listened. A minister was visiting the patient, a gay man with AIDS, and they were having a beautiful talk, full of kindness and acceptance—no condemnation or guilt. I even heard the minister talk about the patient’s partner, who was also apparently a parishioner, in loving words. I was surprised—genuinely and pleasantly surprised. When the minister walked out, I asked him about his church. He was also a Lutheran, of the more liberal Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, and he invited me to come to a service. After thinking it over for a few weeks, I did, and I felt as if I’d returned home, easily falling into the rhythms of the liturgy. I ended up joining, and God seemed to bless my return by introducing me to the man who has been my partner for over 25 years at that church.

I still go to church, although I moved to the Episcopal Church in 2002 because I found them more theologically welcoming to LGBTQ persons. The Evangelical Lutheran Church has since opened its doors wide as well, but I’m a committed Episcopalian now, often serving on the altar with the priest. I remember the first time I gave communion to my partner—I had to choke back the tears as I offered the cup of wine, “The blood of Christ, the cup of salvation.” Another time, a parishioner called me after church to tell me that he had watched as the priest and I walked out into the congregation to commune an elderly member who couldn’t come forward. He said he had watched as I offered her the cup, and my face was changed. In truth, I do feel changed into a better version of me when participating in the service this way.

While I, too, have wandered down alternative paths on my spiritual journey, they have always brought me back home to ‘church’ through the blessings of clergy and others who have truly shown me the loving image of Christ that is at the heart of all true Christianity. At the same time, I understand that is not the case for so many of my LGBTQ brothers and sisters, and I pray that all of us find that love and acceptance somewhere, whether it be a church, a synagogue, a mosque, or in community or nature. We are all children of a loving God.

Fear . . . and the Death of Innocents


On Wednesday of this week, the Church remembered The Epiphany of Our Lord Jesus Christ, the conclusion of Christmas and the beginning of the season of Epiphany. In this season, we remember those events in Jesus’ life were his Lordship was revealed to various peoples.

As my priest Matthew noted on Sunday, during the joyous season of Christmas, we celebrated some pretty “gritty” events of Christian history—the Feast of Saint Stephen, the Church’s first martyr, celebrated the day after Christmas, followed two days later by the Feast of the Holy Innocents of Bethlehem. In the Feast of the Holy Innocents we remember the many children and infants slaughtered by King Herod in an attempt to kill Jesus. The story of those Holy Innocents of Bethlehem is anticipated in the Gospel reading for Epiphany, which begins:

In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.” When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born.

“And all Jerusalem with him” were frightened. Like peoples everywhere, the citizens of Jerusalem had grown comfortable with the current system. Fear is a strong argument when it comes to politics—fear of the ‘other,’ especially. Bishop Dietsche addressed this very issue in the politics of our day in “The Bishop’s Message” in the current edition of The Episcopal New Yorker:

We are watching as an alarming number of Americans, and many who would be our leader, are insisting in what could pass for apocalyptic times that the desired peace can only be found by filling more prisons; by demonizing Moslems and every immigrant; by building higher walls behind which to hide; by fearing and shunning the stranger at the gate, even the naked hungry refuge; and by making more and more war. My God. Not as these false prophets give peace does Jesus give peace.

“And all Jerusalem with him” were frightened. Fear is a strong argument that our politicians—and apparently Herod, too—wield to get in power, but we, as Christians, are called to “fear not” and put our trust in God. As Bishop Dietsche goes on to say:

 . . . turn away from the false idol of Safety-Safety-Safety to take the risk of connection and communion and going deeper and trying out what it might mean to all-be-one-as-Christ-and-the-Father-are-one.

Don’t let the Herods of our day lead us to believe that our safety requires the killing of our innocents—our Holy Innocents.

AdventWord by the Society of Saint John the Evangalist


The Brothers of the Society of Saint John the Evangelist have created an online Advent Calendar called #AdventWord. They send a word a day with a short meditation and invite us to take a picture which represents that word and share it via Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter. I’m planning on participating by posting a picture and a short poem for each day’s word.

Today’s word is “Wake Up,” and the meditation they sent with it is:

Look clearly and honestly at your life–and take action. Now. For now is the time to waken out of sleep. This is the watchman’s trumpet call–the clarion call of Advent. Now is the time for you–a choice to be made, a decision to be taken.

My photo is above, and this is my short haiku to go with it:

Wake Up! Awaken
From the darkness where we sleep
Into God’s pure light.

Sign up and share your photos and thoughts!

Happy Advent!

A Thanksgiving Blessing


Bless those who harvest–
Bless all who toil in the soil–
So God can feed us.

Bless those who butcher–
Bless the beast which makes our feast–
So God can feed us.

Bless the store grocer–
Bless the store, with food galore–
So God can feed us.

Bless those who prepare–
Bless their hands, in pots and pans–
So God can feed us.

Bless those who gather–
To see friends and family–
For God has blessed us.

Bless those we love–
So dear, whether far or near–
For God has blessed us.

Bless our pets, Dear Lord–
In their eyes, a deep truth lies–
Of how you bless us.

Bless those who must work–
So that they, their bills may pay–
This Thanksgiving Day.

Patient, prisoner–
Alone who live, to care give–
That God may bless us.

For those in mourning–
On this day, Dear God, we pray–
That we may bless them.

Bless those who worship–
Prayers that rise to the skies–
For God to bless us.

Bless all creation–
Who sing this song all day long–
Dear God, please bless us!


Letter to Kim Davis, Rowan County, Kentucky, Clerk


Dear Ms. Davis,

I’m writing to you because, when I listened to this past Sunday’s Gospel reading, I couldn’t help but think of you. And, not for the reasons that you might think. I hope that you will hear me out.

Sunday’s Gospel reading was from Mark:

Some Pharisees came, and to test Jesus they asked, “Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?” He answered them, “What did Moses command you?” They said, “Moses allowed a man to write a certificate of dismissal and to divorce her.” But Jesus said to them, “Because of your hardness of heart he wrote this commandment for you. But from the beginning of creation, ‘God made them male and female.’ ‘For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.’ So they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.”

Then in the house the disciples asked him again about this matter. He said to them, “Whoever divorces his wife and marries another commits adultery against her; and if she divorces her husband and marries another, she commits adultery.” (Mark 10:2-12)

Now, I know where you must think I’m going to go with this, but you would be wrong. As I thought about this passage, I began to realize how alike you and I and our spiritual journeys must be. This may come as a surprise to you when you learn that I am a gay man—a gay man and a Christian.

As a gay man, I have had to come to terms with certain passages in the Bible that seem to be pointing their fingers directly at me, just as you, as a divorced woman, have had to come to terms with what Jesus says regarding divorce in that passage. At first, I took those passages pointing directly at me as meaning that I was not welcomed in Jesus’ church, and I left the church for some time. Luckily, I have had many people who have shown me, in their words and actions, what it truly means to be a Christian, starting with my mother and her pastor.

When I came out to my mother, she struggled, as any good Christian would—as I did, too, when I realized that I am gay. Her struggle led her to talk with her pastor at the time, back in 1984. Like your church, her church—the church I grew up in—teaches that homosexuality is sinful. Nonetheless, my mother’s pastor understood Jesus’ message clearly:

“’Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.” (Matthew 22:37-40)

He saw me as a child of God and as his neighbor, and he loved me and told my mother that God loves me, too.

I have been fortunate to have had other such loving—Christian—responses, which led me to wonder, “How can I reconcile what I know to be my created truth with what the Bible seems to teach?” As I studied, I found that Christians throughout the centuries have struggled with this question on a variety of issues—the Bible and slavery; the Bible and divorce; the Bible and women’s authority over men. How do we reconcile those teachings with life as we know and live it today?

In the end, I go back to those two commandments—“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind,” and “Love your neighbor as yourself.” I believe that the second one, about loving your neighbor as yourself, is the path we must follow to love God. It’s all about love. “In my Father’s house are many mansions.” (John 14:2) Even a mansion for me. And for you. It would be a step toward ushering in God’s kingdom “on earth as it is in heaven” if we were to live as neighbors here and now and love one another as Christ loved us—unconditionally.

Your neighbor,

Alan Yount

Motor Mouth


As Daddy backed the car out of our short driveway and headed it up the dirt road, Mama twisted around from the front seat to face me. “Tell me about school. Do you like it? Do you have friends? What’s Mrs. Bost like,” she asked.

We were going to school—my new school—for the first open house with my new teacher in my new classroom. I had attended Christ Lutheran’s church school for kindergarten, first, and second grades, but, now that we had moved far out of town, I had been moved to the county public school, Startown Elementary.

I didn’t really know how to answer her questions. I didn’t like this new school. It scared me. The classes were bigger, and the boys meaner. The only friends I had were girls, but I didn’t want to tell Mama and Daddy that. Mrs. Bost seemed okay, but I still got in trouble for talking too much. At Christ Lutheran, my teachers took care of my talking too much by punishing me in class and simply noting that “Alan talks too much” on my report card. That was all about to change.

I led Mama and Daddy into the building where my third-grade classroom and Mrs. Bost awaited, a new one-story structure built next to the imposing original three-story building that housed the principal’s office and upper grades of elementary school. We only went in there for a weekly visit to the library and for lunch in its basement. Mrs. Bost was busy talking with other parents when we entered, and Mama asked to see my desk.

All our desks had little folded tents made of cardstock with our names neatly written on them by Mrs. Bost. We weaved our way through the classroom, and I pointed out different students I knew, pretending to have more friends than I did. As we approached my desk and its little folded tent, I noticed that it looked different, and my heart began to pound in my chest. By the time I realized what was written there, it was too late—Mama and Daddy knew it was mine. The tent read “Motor Mouth,” neatly written in Mrs. Bost’s hand. I flushed from fear and embarrassment; Mama and Daddy flushed from anger. And, here was Mrs. Bost, walking across the room to explain how my talking too much disturbed her class. I was silent on the ride home, while Mama and Daddy discussed how to handle me and my Motor Mouth.

In my junior year of high school, I had occasion to call my mother at work one afternoon. She worked with several other women in a kind of secretarial and administrative pool above an auto parts store in town. Mary Jane, who answered the phone when I called, didn’t put me on hold. Instead she yelled across the upstairs office for my mother, “Jet Jaws! The phone’s for you!”

Jet Jaws! Mother of Motor Mouth. If only I had known.

Do as I say, not as I do . . .


We have all heard those words, used to call out the hypocrisy of someone—they’re saying one thing and doing quite the opposite. Well . . . let’s look at Jesus’ words—what he said—from last week’s Gospel:

“Listen to me, all of you, and understand: there is nothing outside a person that by going in can defile, but the things that come out are what defile. For it is from within, from the human heart, that evil intentions come: fornication, theft, murder, adultery, avarice, wickedness, deceit, licentiousness, envy, slander, pride, folly. All these evil things come from within, and they defile a person.”

Now, let’s look at what Jesus says and does in this week’s Gospel:

[A] woman whose little daughter had an unclean spirit immediately heard about him, and she came and bowed down at his feet. Now the woman was a Gentile, of Syrophoenician origin. She begged him to cast the demon out of her daughter. He said to her, “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”

The parallel passage in Matthew is even clearer:

[A] Canaanite woman from that region came out and began to cry out, saying, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is cruelly demon-possessed.” But He did not answer her a word. And His disciples came and implored Him, saying, “Send her away, because she keeps shouting at us.” But He answered and said, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” But she came and began to bow down before Him, saying, “Lord, help me!” And He answered and said, “It is not good to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs.”

“I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. . . . It is not good to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs”! Did Jesus just call this woman, this Gentile, Syrophoenician, Canaanite woman a dog?! Did he just tell her that she’s not worthy of the bread—that ‘Bread of Life’ we heard so much about in previous Sundays—meant for the chosen ones of Israel. Is this the same Jesus who just last week warned us that it is “the things that come out [of us] that defile”?

Now, this is a Jesus I can relate to! I’m very good at giving advice but not so good at following it. I find it very easy to get angry and ignore those who are different than me, even put them down with slurs and a clever remark to justify my anger. But, that is the point, isn’t it, of having a God who cares enough to find out what it’s like to be human, to live in our skin and grow up in our world of prejudices and biting words? A God who says the right thing one day and does quite the opposite another?

Of course, we all know how the story ends. Jesus relents, telling her, “O woman, your faith is great; it shall be done for you as you wish,” and heals her daughter. He doesn’t try to convert her. He doesn’t beat himself up about not getting it right the first time. He goes on and does the right thing. This is a Jesus that I have a harder time relating to, but . . . that other Jesus lets me know that this Jesus understands me. He gets me. And, he shows me how to move on from “do as I say, not as I do” to an integrity of words and actions.

“Coming Out for Owen” . . . Coming Out on August 25th!


I am very excited to announce that my story “Coming Out for Owen” has been published in Kevin Jennings’s book One Teacher in Ten in the New Millennium. The book will be released on August 25th. (You can pre-order it now on Amazon!)

“Coming Out for Owen” is my story about coming out to my sixth graders in my eighth year of teaching. Up to that point, “I never saw the need to tell [my fifth- and sixth-grade students] about my sexual orientation. The word sexual in that descriptor gave me pause in coming out to them: “Fifth or sixth graders don’t need to know who I sleep with,” I thought.” But, when the parents of one of my students complain that he’s being picked on because “he was perceived to be gay,” I have a change of heart.

Recalling the humiliation I felt when my fifth-grade teacher sent me to the guidance counselor to be evaluated with a note that read, “Alan is a sissy and seems to enjoy being that way,” I realize that I can’t remain silent any longer. My students’ reactions were nothing short of amazing, making us a real community, and “it made me a better teacher–and a better person.”

This third edition of One Teacher in Ten includes “voices largely absent from the first two editions–including transgender people, people of color, teachers working in rural districts, and educators from outside the United States– . . . providing a fuller and deeper understanding of the triumphs and challenges of being an LGBT teacher today.”

While “Coming Out for Owen” is my story, it also reflects the story of gay and straight allies, from the teachers and administrators at School of the Future, the public school I taught at in Manhattan, to the group of teachers with whom I workshopped the story at the Hudson Valley Writing Project. No teacher, straight or gay, should feel alone in her or his classroom.

If you are in New York City on Thursday, September 10th, come to the book launch for One Teacher In Ten and hear our stories as we read from the book! The event is from 6:00 to 8:00pm at the Little Red School House & Elisabeth Irwin High School at 40 Charlton Street between Sixth Avenue and Varick (the high school’s location). Please RSVP by clicking this link by Tuesday, September 8.