April 21, 2025 - Celebrating 52 Laps Around the Sun
A Personal Reflection on Progress, Pain, and the Unfinished Journey
Today, as I mark my 52nd birthday, I find myself not just celebrating another year of life, but reflecting deeply on the journey of the LGBTQ+ community since 1973—the year I was born. My own story, shaped within the walls of a conservative Christian home, is woven into our collective struggle for dignity, safety, and love. The arc of these five decades is long, bending toward justice in society at large, yet the church—my first home—has often lagged behind, clinging to exclusion while the world changes outside its doors.
1973: The World We Inherited
In 1973, the American Psychiatric Association finally removed homosexuality from its list of mental disorders, a watershed moment that began to chip away at the medical and social stigmas that had long defined queer existence. Yet, that same year, Maryland became the first state to explicitly ban same-sex marriage, a reminder that progress is rarely linear. The founding of the National Gay Task Force in New York City signaled a new era of activism, as did the first meeting of what would become PFLAG, giving families a voice in the movement for acceptance.
But the world was still dangerous. On June 24, 1973, an arsonist set fire to the Upstairs Lounge in New Orleans, killing 32 people—many of them members of the Metropolitan Community Church, one of the few Christian congregations to welcome LGBTQ+ people at the time. The tragedy was met with silence, even mockery, by much of the public and the church. It would remain the deadliest attack on LGBTQ+ Americans until the Pulse nightclub massacre in 2016.
The Church: A Reluctant Witness
Raised in a conservative Christian environment, I learned early that faith and queerness were seen as incompatible. The church’s teachings were clear: to be gay was to be sinful, broken, in need of healing or erasure. Conversion therapy was not just tolerated, but often encouraged—sometimes in the form of prayer meetings and counseling, sometimes in the form of formal “ex-gay” camps. The scars of those experiences for so many are deep and lasting.
While society inched forward—decriminalizing same-sex relationships, electing openly gay officials, organizing marches and protests—the church, especially in its conservative branches, doubled down on exclusion.
The rise of the Religious Right, and organizations like Focus on the Family, in the late 1970s and 1980s brought new waves of anti-LGBTQ+ rhetoric and legislation. This was often couched in the language of “family values”. These organizations further empowered the conservative church’s relentless rejection of anyone identifying as a homosexual.
The 1980s and 1990s: Crisis and Courage
The AIDS epidemic in the 1980s devastated the LGBTQ+ community, exposing both the indifference of the government and the cruelty of many churches, which often framed the disease as divine punishment. Yet, it also galvanized activism. Organizations like ACT UP and the AIDS Action Council forced the world to pay attention, demanding research, treatment, and compassion. The National LGBTQ Task Force and other groups laid the groundwork for the rights battles to come.
But the pain was everywhere. Conversion therapy persisted, sometimes under new names, always promising change but delivering only shame and self-loathing. The church’s resistance to progress was not passive; it was active, fueling political campaigns against anti-discrimination laws and marriage equality. For LGBTQ+ Christians, the choice was often stark: stay and hide, or leave and lose not just faith, but family and community.
Matthew Shepard: A Name That Changed Everything
In October 1998, Matthew Shepard, a 21-year-old college student in Wyoming, was brutally beaten and left to die because he was gay. His murder shocked the nation, putting a human face on the consequences of hate. Candlelight vigils and protests erupted across the country. Matthew’s parents, Judy and Dennis Shepard, became tireless advocates, channeling their grief into the fight for hate crime legislation. In 2009, The Matthew Shepard and James Byrd Jr. Hate Crimes Prevention Act was signed into law—a bittersweet victory born of tragedy.
Matthew’s story forced Americans, including many in the church, to confront the deadly consequences of their words and actions. Yet, even then, many churches refused to acknowledge their role, choosing silence or condemnation over repentance and change.
Pulse Nightclub: Grief, Solidarity, and the Limits of Safety
On June 12, 2016, a gunman opened fire at Pulse, a gay nightclub in Orlando, killing 49 people and wounding 53 more. It was Latin Night—a space of joy, music, and community. The attack was not just on a nightclub, but on the very idea that LGBTQ+ people could ever be truly safe, even in our own spaces.
The response was immediate:
blood banks overwhelmed with donors,
vigils in cities large and small,
hashtags of #solidarity trending worldwide.
Yet, for many, the pain was compounded by the knowledge that the conservative church remained largly silent.
Victories and Setbacks: The Arc of Justice
The 21st century has brought breathtaking progress. “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” was repealed, allowing LGBTQ+ people to serve openly in the military. The Supreme Court struck down the Defense of Marriage Act and, in 2015, declared same-sex marriage the law of the land. The Obama administration made LGBTQ+ rights a central part of its agenda, both at home and abroad.
However, in 2025, the landscape shifted dramatically with the inauguration of President Trump for a second term. Within hours of taking office, he issued a flurry of executive orders that dismantled many of the protections LGBTQ+ individuals had gained since 2015. These orders, influenced by the Project 2025 policy agenda, targeted a wide array of safeguards:
Rescinded federal guidance prohibiting discrimination against LGBTQ+ people in adoption and foster care.
Redefined “sex” under federal law to exclude gender identity and non-binary recognition.
Rolled back protections for LGBTQ+ students under Title IX.
Barred transgender and non-binary individuals from military service.
Halted gender-affirming care for service members and veterans.
Dissolved the Gender Policy Council.
Removed LGBTQ+ data collection, signaling a systematic effort to erase recognition and protections for the community.
Dissolved all policies and program related to Diversity and Inclusion (DEI).
These sweeping changes marked a stark reversal, threatening hard-won rights and underscoring the ongoing vulnerability of LGBTQ+ Americans in the face of shifting political winds.
The Church Today: Still Behind
While society has moved toward greater acceptance, the conservative church has largely remained stuck. Many denominations still bar LGBTQ+ people from leadership, refuse to bless same-sex unions, and support or tolerate conversion therapy. Even as some congregations and denominations have become fully affirming, offering a vision of Christianity that is inclusive and loving, these remain the exception, not the rule.
The divide is not just institutional, but deeply personal. For LGBTQ+ Christians, the pain of exclusion is compounded by the knowledge that faith should be a source of hope and belonging—not condemnation. Nearly two-thirds of LGBTQ+ people raised Christian have left the church, often because they could not reconcile their faith with the rejection they experienced.
52 Laps—and the Road Ahead
As I complete my 52nd lap around the sun, I carry the memories of those we have lost—Matthew Shepard, the victims of Pulse, and so many more. I honor the survivors of conversion therapy, the activists who fought when hope seemed impossible, and the young people coming out today in a world that is still too often hostile.
Our journey is not over. There will be more battles, more heartbreaks, but also more victories and more love. We are, as the Stonewall monument reminds us, “pioneers, trailblazers, and heroes.” We are here because we refused to be silent—because we believed, and still believe, that love is worth fighting for.
As someone who has navigated both faith and identity, I long for a day when the church’s message to LGBTQ+ people is not one of exclusion or conditional love, but of full acceptance. Until then, the church’s slow progress remains a source of grief for many—evidence that, on this issue, it has not kept step with the world it claims to serve.
Here’s to another year, another lap, another chance to live beyond limits. May we remember where we’ve been, honor those who got us here, and keep moving forward—together.
Thank you, Timothy, for keeping hope visible and speaking out. And may your next trip around the sun be filled with good things.