CONVERSION THERAPY DROPOUT

Rodriguez’s story offers a testament to being “gay, faithful, and fully loved by God.”

As a teenager in Peoria, Illinois, in the 1990s, the author says that he found a sense of belonging in his church’s youth group. Its leader, Derek, offered him the chance to move to Washington state with him and help build a youth group. (Some names in the text have been changed, according to the author.) Rodriguez jumped at the chance to leave behind a stifling town and make something of himself while serving God. Instead, he says, he endured Derek’s increasingly domineering behavior; Rodriguez was also rejected by church authorities when Derek looked into his internet search history and discovered that he’d been visiting gay chatrooms. This discovery began the gay author’s yearslong attempt to change his sexual orientation through “reprogramming.” He initially attended the Living Hope Youth Retreat, then found a Christian therapist and was eventually invited to attend the exclusive Transformed by Grace ministry. Not until a florist named Chad entered his life did Rodriguez begin to see a path for his life based on self-acceptance, rather than self-repression. Chad was openly gay, and soon, Rodriguez began to talk to more people about the possibility of being both queer and Christian. He attended a support group dedicated to “building bridges between the church and the LGBTQ+ community” and came to realize that “reprogramming” groups weren’t the safe space he thought them to be. His journey to accepting himself as a gay man, and then coming out, didn’t follow a linear path. He’s “still undoing the harm of conversion therapy,” he writes, but he’s also found the courage to speak out against churches that harm queer people and champion those that embody the ideal that “God loves you just as you are.”

Rodriguez writes earnestly and honestly about a traumatic topic without sacrificing humor or hope, which is a rare talent. He opens his recollection by describing himself as “hustling for Jesus while chatting on Grindr with a man named Jesús”; throughout, he details the tension between his identity and his faith with careful self-awareness, as well as sharp wit. This tension can be seen most poignantly when he tells of confessing to his therapist that he no longer wished to deny his sexuality; his therapist admitted that he’d long wished for that, but he’d chosen not to say anything. Rodriguez’s reply—“You knew I was drowning. And you just…let me?”—perfectly encapsulates the feelings of betrayal he suffered, and the injury that had been done to him. Lines such as “Churches want the time and privacy to ‘figure it out’ while queer people bear the pain of their ambiguity” effectively demonstrate the pain that churches inflict when they deny the harm of conversion therapy and the possibility of queer acceptance within the Christian faith. The author went on to co-found Church Clarity, an organization that helps queer people find affirming faith communities. Overall, Rodriguez’s memoir effectively advocates for change while maintaining the inherent value of organized religion.

A compelling journey of faith, healing, and finding purpose.