There is Power in a Name

Our words have an impact, whether we realize it or not.

One of my goals for this blog is to highlight voices and perspectives that you might not otherwise hear from. For the month of June (and beyond) I have asked some of my queer friends who grew up in or spent significant time in conservative evangelical communities to share their stories.  

1. Please read each of these stories with an open mind. Put yourself in their shoes while reading by being curious about their experience. 

2. If you are a Christian remember that from your perspective each of these people are beloved children of God made in God’s image. 

3. I love and respect each of these people deeply and I’m grateful for the courage they’ve shown in sharing their stories. Engage with respect and empathy, even if you disagree. Let’s keep this space thoughtful, supportive, and open to different perspectives. 

4. Just because they are sharing their stories here on my blog does not mean that they agree with everything I have previously posted. 

I met Taylor Graffum in the Fall of 2016 at Gordon College. They were in their senior year of college, studying Christian Ministry and Psychology, and I was there to meet with them about joining my youth ministry team as an intern. Taylor came highly recommended to me by a friend and as we met for coffee I was immediately impressed! Taylor is an intelligent, thoughtful, energetic, passionate, and highly skilled youth worker. After they joined my team they immediately made a significant impact on the program, on my life, and on the lives of so many teenagers.

At the time I hadn’t finished wrestling through the question of if it was ok for me to be in ministry and be open and affirming towards the LGBTQ+ community. I was starting to think about heading in that direction, but I was afraid to take the step of actually saying it out loud. All of this meant that Taylor had to keep parts hidden from me. I regret that and wish I had been further along on my journey back then. 

As we keep saying throughout this series though, proximity changes perspective. Taylor’s friendship over the last nine years has been profoundly influential for me. They have faced significant challenges with incredible strength and resolve. I am so thankful for Taylor and where our friendship is now. 

- Adam Rowe

There is so much power in a name. As a minister to children and youth, I get a front row seat to this fact. I see kids become empowered and encouraged when someone gives them a good name: hardworker, friend, inspiration etc. On the other hand, I see discouragement and sadness when they are called negative names: loser, dumb, coward, etc.

There is so much power in a name. 

I have had the pleasure of working in churches for over 10 years. I attended a Christian college for undergrad, and now am a grad student at a local seminary. Needless to say, I have been around Christians a lot. 

When you think of the church, what words come to your mind? Are they negative? Are they positive? Why?

I want to preface this by saying that the church is not just negative or positive. I believe in the goodness of the church (hence why I work at one).

But I have witnessed and experienced firsthand how the names the church gives people can impact how they understand who they are—and how they understand who God is.

I grew up attending a UCC church (more progressive-leaning denomination). I never thought twice about being queer and being wicked involved in church. As a kid, church was a place I liked to be. I was curious about God and faith. My pastors and the church gave me names like dedicated and called. 

I didn’t really understand the water I was swimming in until I decided to attend a non-denominational Christian college to study ministry. Before I left, my pastor pulled me aside and warned me about conservative Christianity and the need to hold on to my beliefs despite being in a community that would likely not believe what I did—especially regarding queer folk.

During undergrad, my peers and I witnessed an intense period of explicit homophobia and transphobia. As a closeted queer person, the names that were indirectly applied to me—and that I internalized—were: intruder, unwelcome, wrong, sinner. There is power in a name, especially when it comes from people in positions of power. 

Our words have an impact, whether we realize it or not. 

When I began full time ministry at a regional (conservative-leaning) church, I realized I would never allow any of the kids in my care to be named negatively. It is so easy—especially for adults —to label kids based on their ability, energy, talents, manners, and yes, their gender identity and sexuality. But where I was involved, negative names would not be used to label a kid. 

Stepping into that role meant making a clear decision: I had to put parts of my experience aside. I would have to tuck away parts of my authentic identity in order to fit into the church and keep my job. And if I am being honest, I will always fight for someone else more than I would for myself. So that’s what I did. I put part of my own authenticity aside—left unacknowledged for four years—in order to best serve the kids under my care.

Part of this was a conscious effort and part of it was a survival tactic simply in order to do the work I felt created to do: minister to youth. A part of me had to die for the kids to live. 

I hate to break it to some, but queer and trans people are everywhere, even if you don’t think so. Even in that conservative Christian church, a number of kids came out to me. I remember the first time. I teared up. The kid asked me why I was crying, and I replied, “Because you are so brave. And I am so honored that you were willing to share who you are with me.” 

That moment hit me deeply, because I could never come out in that space the way she did. Over the years, more kids came out to me—wanting to tell someone safe, yet afraid of what people, parents, and their church would think of them. Over and over, I told them the truest words I knew: “You are so brave. Thank you for being willing to share with me. You are loved.”

Loved. 

The name we all want to be called. 

Loved. 

The name that reminds us that we are not alone.

Loved. 

The name that teaches us how God feels about each of us. 

Over time, I developed increasing anxiety about being in a conservative Christian environment. The part of me I had pushed aside for so long—just to do the work God called me to—finally felt so broken I could no longer contain it. I wasn’t safe. I could not experience the true joy that comes from being my whole self. The fear cascaded into an onslaught of mental illness. Anxiety and depression ran rampant in my inner world. 

Whenever I had a moment to myself, I would wonder: do I continue denying who I am in order to be a minister of the gospel? My anxiety ran laps in my mind and body as I weighed what being fully myself would cost me: my job, my friends (fellow pastors at the church), my ministry reputation—everything. 

All because of a name. 

It was hard to leave. To choose myself. To leave behind my closeted queer students for whom I was their safe person. But I knew I would be a better minister in a community where I could show up whole. 

I’ve been back in the progressive church world for four years now. There has been a lot to process— things from my past that I didn’t realize were impacting me because I pushed them to the side in order to care for those around me. But there has also been a lot of change for me—change for the better. 

What I’ve come to reflect on is the names we are called. In the conservative church, the name we often first receive is sinner—a name that diminished who I was and my wellbeing. 

But in the church where I serve now, the first name that anyone receives, especially queer folk, is beloved.

It may not seem like much. But I promise you, the difference between those two names—for me and maybe for other queer folk—can be the difference between life and death.

So, as a queer, non-binary person, I would just say this: if you’re not explicitly telling someone they are loved for all that they are—whether you are friends, family, church leaders, congregants—then from my experience, it leaves a lot of unknown, uncertainty, and fear. Queer folk in the church need to know that you love them, all of them—including their gender identity and sexuality. 

Please don’t let the explicit and implicit messages of conservative Christianity be the way that queer folk, especially queer youth, piece together whether you care about them, whether you love them, or if they are safe with you.

Names matter. 

Loved. Sacred. Child of God. Made in God’s image. Cherished.

- Taylor Graffum