Navigating Faith and Identity: Understanding the Nuances of Being Gay within Amish Communities

The conversation began with a quiet intensity, a sincerity that cut through the murmurs of the room. As the Old Order Amish minister's gaze met mine, I knew this wasn't a casual inquiry. It was a question years in the making, delivered with a prayerful deliberation: "Are you gay?" For me, the answer was an undeniable yes. As a professional who had dedicated considerable time to building alliances and working alongside a group of Amish men, this moment presented a stark crossroads. Should I honor the Amish belief that homosexuality is a sin by remaining silent, or speak my truth and face the inevitable consequences? In that moment, the path I chose, the one less traveled, has indeed made all the difference in my understanding of faith, community, and the human heart.

For many, wrestling with same-sex attraction can feel like a solitary battle. I certainly know the internal struggle. As an adolescent, the feelings I had for other boys felt like a burden, a curse I desperately wished God would lift. Without a clear moral compass, my early intimate experiences were often shallow, confusing, and left me feeling profoundly empty. Eventually, this frustration led me back to a deeper spiritual seeking, not with the demanding prayers of youth, but with a humble plea: "What do you want of me?" And here, my journey diverges from many who feel their same-sex desires are divinely steered away. I believe, with all my heart, that God speaks to all who genuinely seek His will, guiding each of us down a unique path. For me, that path involved cultivating a profound respect - for myself and for others - a quality that had been notably absent in my earlier life. I was called to acknowledge the sanctity of sexuality and to remember that we are all, without exception, children of God. Yet, I didn't feel condemned for my orientation. My sin, as I came to understand it, lay in the selfish misuse of a precious gift.

My work brought me into the orbit of several Old Order Amish settlements, and their distinctive culture and traditions immediately captivated me. As I partnered with other professionals to develop and enhance mental health programs tailored to their specific needs and beliefs, my admiration for their way of life deepened. This collaboration fostered a trust and a genuine affection for several Amish families. These early days were filled with a unique blend of professional purpose and personal questioning. The ever-present awareness that while the Amish strive for separation from the "world," they are by no means isolated, loomed large. It was only a matter of time, I reasoned, before someone within the community would learn of my personal life and share that information, potentially igniting a firestorm that could engulf my work.

When Transparency Meets Tradition

Engaging with Old Order Amish clients, particularly those referred through court systems or mandated programs, often requires a level of personal transparency that diverges from my usual professional demeanor. Many within these communities view mental health professionals with skepticism, seeing them as extensions of the outside world. It was during this period, while working with primarily male Amish clients, that I encountered several individuals grappling with their own same-sex feelings. Years ago, I was a vocal advocate for gay rights, often unyielding in my stance. Time and experience, however, have taught me the profound truth that the Lord works in mysterious and often inexplicable ways. I cannot logically explain why some faithful individuals feel called to abstain from their same-sex desires while others do not. What I can do, and what I strive to do, is respect the unique paths each person walks as guided by their faith.

My Amish clients who have shared their struggles with same-sex attraction have been remarkably consistent in their belief that their desires are inherently sinful. Crucially, they also express a deep-seated fear of sharing this truth within their families, church, or community, worried about judgment. In these instances, I've found myself becoming a confidant, a silent partner in their journey. I share my own experience of living openly and authentically as a gay man, while simultaneously expressing my profound respect for their choices and their faith. It's a delicate dance, navigating their disbelief that a gay man could ever respect their deeply held convictions. Yet, almost universally, I witness a palpable sense of relief in them. To have one person who knows their secret, who doesn't judge their struggle, and who doesn't pressure them to deny their feelings, can be a lifeline. Of course, ethical considerations arise, particularly with adolescent clients. In such cases, I've felt compelled to share my own sexuality with their parents, believing it necessary for transparency. I also understood that at some point, this information would inevitably surface within their close circles. The consequences, I knew, were a matter of time.

This brings me back to that pivotal moment. After several months of working collaboratively with a group of Amish men on a booklet addressing sensitive topics of sexual sin - a project initiated by them to confront issues their community often shied away from - a bond of trust had been forged. Within this context of mutual respect, the minister's question landed. My honest response, "Yes, I am gay," was met not with malice, but with a pastor's concern for the spiritual well-being of his flock. My immediate fear wasn't for myself, but for those within the Amish community who had kept my secret and might now face discipline for their discretion. The minister, unsure how to proceed, shared this information with his bishop. The bishop, however, held no such reservations. The following Sunday, a stark warning was issued: I was to be avoided. This was my first overt rejection, a direct challenge to my credibility. Doors that were once open were now closed. Some families refused me entry into their homes, while others declined my services. Programs I had helped establish faced inquiries about my continued involvement. For a segment of the community, I was effectively shunned.

My initial human reaction to such rejection is, understandably, hurt. It's painful to be perceived as evil by those who profess to follow Christ. However, this pain soon gives way to a deeper compassion. I find myself thinking of those within the Amish community who might also struggle with their own same-sex desires, and the profound sadness that arises from seeing them potentially shamed by the attitudes of loved ones. Yet, a surprising realization also emerged: many who knew me well remained unphased. Others, meeting me for the first time, showed no concern. Over time, the group that shunned me proved to be a small minority. My advocacy now extends to supporting those who strive to live according to their faith, often suppressing their same-sex desires, but who desperately need the affirmation and support of their families, church, and community to navigate this challenging path. What initially seemed like the potential demise of my work has, in fact, propelled me into new avenues, enabling me to encourage a vital breaking of silence for countless individuals who might otherwise remain unheard.

Lessons Forged in Faith and Friendship

What has this extraordinary journey taught me? My faith has undoubtedly been enriched far beyond anything I could have offered. This experience has underscored the paramount importance of open dialogue over fearful withdrawal. It would have been incredibly easy to retreat, to disengage from any further work with the Amish. Instead, I chose to continue serving. One of the most profoundly moving encounters stemming from these events was with the very bishop who had initially advised avoidance. I sought him out, and we engaged in a lengthy conversation, sharing our perspectives and forging a mutual respect that endures to this day.

I've learned to better distinguish between genuine humility and humiliating subjugation. As an older gay man, I vividly recall the slurs, the threats, and the public degradation that accompanied the early years of my self-disclosure. The sting of that emotional bruising can resurface when another person of faith frames my sexual orientation as inherently sinful. Yet, I am the one who holds the power to choose whether to feel humiliated or to humble myself in the presence of another child of God, extending compassion for their deeply held beliefs. This distinction offers a powerful path to emotional healing. It reminds me, once again, that true spirituality transcends theological boundaries. There are Amish men and women who love and support me, just as I offer them my love and support, even though we hold fundamentally different views on the moral value of same-sex love. The spirit of God, I believe, moves with an unyielding energy among those who earnestly seek Him.

I recently had the privilege of attending a gathering where individuals from diverse faith backgrounds were present, including an Old Order Amish man. As our time together drew to a close, we formed a circle and shared the sacrament of Communion. In that moment, we were united, not by shared dogma, but by a profound love for one another and a shared love for Christ. It was a powerful reminder that God's presence is felt not only in these sacred moments but also in the ongoing journey, guiding me even when the path ahead remains unclear. I may not know precisely where God is leading me, but for this moment, I am profoundly grateful that He has provided a space for a gay man to walk alongside the Old Order Amish.

The journey of understanding faith and identity is deeply personal and often complex. For individuals within the Amish community, navigating same-sex attraction presents unique challenges, requiring immense courage and a deep reliance on personal faith. The experiences shared here highlight the possibility of finding connection, respect, and shared humanity even amidst profound theological differences.