Free The Cross in the Closet by Timothy Kurek Page B

than I can ever love myself. And if that’s true, what else is there to know?”
    Ben’s humility is a breath of fresh air, and it takes me a second to remember I’m not talking to a typical believer. But is his faith really legitimate?
    “Fair enough,” I say, fearful of the direction the conversation might take me. If it is possible that Ben actually has a relationship with God, then what the church has told me all along could be wrong—and the consequences of
that
are something I do not want to contemplate right now. I am not ready for it. I am still struggling to understand the effect of what I consider to be unrepentant sin on a relationship to God.
    “I saw you talking to Will the other night. You guys old friends?”
    “Yeah. We grew up together but have just reconnected,” I say.
    “He’s a great guy. A total lover. He loves everyone who comes to this bar, and everyone loves him back.”
    “That’s not hard to imagine.”
    “So what’s your story? Are you new to Nashville?” Ben asks. His enthusiasm is contagious.
    “No. I’ve lived here since I was two.”
    “Why haven’t we met here before?” Ben probes innocently.
    “Well, I just came out in January,” I reply nervously.
    “
Really
?” Ben’s inquisitive expression turns into an all-out grin. “I’m so happy for you!” And before I can respond, he hugs me. Of the thousands of hugs I have had in my life, this one feels different. I feel a totality of acceptance, a sense of overwhelming support, and I feel valued. Ben isn’t just hugging me; he is sharing his heart with me, and I am ill equipped to respond. “Devon, get Tim here another beer. We are celebrating his coming out!”
    “Seriously? This one is on the house.” The bartender pours me another Blue Moon and puts an orange slice on the edge of the glass. “Welcome to freedom,” he says, putting the beer in front of me.
    “Cheers to your new life, your search for faith, and to gorgeous men!” Ben toasts and our glasses clunk together, spilling a few drops of beer on my thumb. I cannot help but laugh.
    “Hell, yeah, to gorgeous men!” I say.
    “Here here!” the bartender says.
~~~
    After another hour of conversation, I’m convinced of two things. The first is that Ben is perhaps one of the most interesting men I have ever met. The second is that Ben defies most of the stereotypes I have ever held about the faith of an openly gay man. Until now, I had not met someone who claimed to believe the Bible literally and still openly referred to himself as gay. I was taught that gay Christians are Universalists (meaning that if there is indeed a Heaven, then everyone goes there, regardless of their deeds, beliefs, or sexual orientation); that they hold a non-literal view of the Bible (to hold a literal worldview would mean their sexuality is a sin); and they only attend churches whose parishioners are predominantly gay or lesbian. But Ben seems to be every bit as conservative as I am, and he goes to a run-of-the-mill Baptist church. Not only is he a young-earth creationist, he believes in the divinity of Jesus, the necessity of repentance in salvation, and, most surprising, he believes in a literal Hell.
    But how can he reconcile his life and his orientation while living the life of a social and theological conservative? One thing is sure: I have lived my life in a bubble. The fact that there are men and women who share Ben’s beliefs demonstrates how broad the social spectrum is within the gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender community. It is so broad that I hesitate to use the word
community
—a word that Ben explains negates the profound intricacies of the queer-associated populace.
    Ben makes a point to introduce me to the regulars that he says I should be friends with, and one of them really makes an impression. Phil is in his forties, balding, and wears glasses. Phil is the epitome of soft spoken. Even his handshake is gentle and friendly, and I feel as though I will