An Open Letter to Matt Moore
By now, you’ve probably seen the story about Matt Moore, a Christian blogger who was spotted on the gay hookup app Grindr after he wrote about his choice to no longer engage in sexual behavior because he believes sexual behavior between two people of the same sex is sinful. Much of the coverage has been focused on the hypocrisy of his public writing versus his private actions, and I think some of that coverage has been unfair. Mostly he’s been identified as a member of the “ex-gay” movement, which seems at least factually incorrect. If you’d like to read up on this story, I suggest beginning with Zinnia Jones’ piece about it, since that’s where the recent story begins.
I’m not sure exactly where to begin. I don’t want this letter to seem hurtful. Honestly, I watched the video you posted to youtube last night, and looked at your twitter feed, and my impression is that you’re a person who’s hurting an awful lot right now. I don’t want to add to that, but there’s some more that needs to be said, and I don’t see a lot of people saying it. I prefer getting the harder stuff out of the way first, so that’s where I’ll begin. If you read this, the stuff at the end is more pleasant than the beginning. So at least there’s that.
I’m glad that you’ve spoken out about being mislabeled as an “ex-gay.” You, and I, and just about everyone out there knows that’s just a hurtful fiction. It’s snake oil, and it’s being pushed on vulnerable kids and young adults, sold to their scared families. It makes their lives more difficult, and every year it drives some gay kids to take their own lives before they’ve even begun.
Here’s the tough part, though. What you’re doing is just as hurtful. Unlike the “ex-gay” folks, you aren’t lying about it. And I don’t think you intend to hurt them, so if we’re comparing morality, you’re a lot better than the “ex-gay” charlatans. But the dead teenagers are just as dead, Matt. And your writing contributes to a social structure that devalues those kids, tells them they are less than everyone else. This is why some of the coverage of your story has seemed gleeful — lots of folks feel that by discrediting you, young lives are saved. A confused mother who reads your writing isn’t going to understand the nuanced difference between “not acting on homosexual feelings” and “not being gay anymore.” She’s going to read your posts and decide that if her gay kid just works hard enough, just loves God enough, he can live the life she wants him to live. And that kid loves his mother, and he probably loves his church, and being gay is cloaked in mystery and fear for him, so he’s going to try his hardest. And he’s going to fail. Of course he’s going to fail! You’re telling him that he needs to live his entire life alone, that he must never know love. And it’s going to make him feel like the reason he failed is because he just didn’t love God enough. And if he just doesn’t love God enough, doesn’t that reflect on his value as a person, within a social/religious structure that places loving God at the very top of its priorities? It’s like Cinderella going to the ball. Her sisters get to go, and so does she. She just has to pick all of those lentils out of the ashes first. An impossible task, designed to let her know how much less value she has as a person. But gay teenagers can’t talk to birds, so they have to do it all alone.
Unavoidable in all this talk is the idea that love is sin. That somehow, the very best of us is the very worst. I’m not religious anymore, but I try to be a good person. I have varying degrees of success, like anyone else. My ten-year relationship with my husband, though filled with compromises (like any relationship), is not a compromise. It is the very best of me. My marriage and my children are what I have to show for my life, really. They aren’t asterisks — “Mark is a great guy. Too bad about that gay marriage and the children he and his husband raised in sin together.” But that’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?
All right. If you’ve gotten this far, I’m done with the tough part, and can move onto the pleasant part.
I’d like to invite you to come to Massachusetts and spend a day with my family. You certainly won’t see a perfect family. I’ll try to clean up, but my house will still look like a mess. I’ll vacuum, but you’ll be brushing dog hair off your clothes for days after you visit. My kids are sweet, but they will cry about ridiculous things, and probably fight with each other, and each of them will have at least one tantrum. They can’t put on a show for guests. We are who we are. I’ll make dinner, and it’ll be fine, but it won’t win any awards. What it lacks in quality, I’ll at least try to make up for in quantity. You won’t go hungry.
After dinner, you’ll finally get a moment of peace. Austin and I will put the kids to bed — there will almost certainly be some more screaming at this point — and then the house will be quiet. We can go into the living room — I suggest keeping your shoes on, because legos are hazardous — and have a chat. Austin and I are pretty much open books, and we’d be happy to tell you just about anything you’d like to know about our life. We’ve had plenty of practice talking about our lives with relative strangers during the adoption process.
When you leave, I’d like you to take some time to think about my family. Once you’ve done that, I’d ask you to identify the parts of my life that you think make God unhappy, and the parts of my life — if you can find any — that you think make God happy. No tricks, no gotcha.
It’s an open invitation, Matt. No time limit. I can probably even convince Austin to use some of his frequent flier miles for you, if you need. We don’t use them for very much these days.