God's Doors
Rainbow-colored displays are signs that LGBTQ persons are part of the church. (File Photo)
Special to United Methodist Insight
Every Sunday, I sit in the pews with a small knot in my stomach. I listen closely to my husband preach, nervous that his sermon might include even a passing reference to LGBTQ+ persons. Very often, his messages don’t. But the experiences I’ve had in church spaces have left me with this persistent, uneasy feeling that we might come across as “too gay.”
This fear isn’t just mine. It is carried by many in the LGBTQ+ community, this constant worry of being “too much,” of one mention, one moment, one rainbow flag being enough to get us into trouble. It is the weight of wondering if who you are will ever be fully accepted. It is a small glimpse into what it feels like every day to be a marginalized person in our society: always looking over your shoulder, second-guessing, carrying anxiety just under the surface. It is exhausting. It should not have to be this way.
Over the years, discrimination has shown up for us personally in many ways—from formal complaints to death threats. There are days I look at Greg and say, “I just want to be.” To be in ministry. To be able to help others. To just be—without fear, without judgment, without worrying that one word could change everything.
This is why we name it. This is why we put rainbow elements across the campus. Not to be political. Not to be divisive. But to be clear. To say out loud what so many carry quietly—that we belong, that we are seen, and that we are safe here. Symbols matter when life has been spent questioning whether or not you are truly welcome.
I was an adult before I ever knew a church like ours existed. A church where I didn’t have to wonder if I was welcome, where love wasn’t conditional. I want as many people as possible to know this place exists. I want them to know that when they walk through our doors, they will find sanctuary. Not just in word, but in action. I want them to see and hear that we live out everything we claim to be. That here, love is not a statement, it is a practice.
We have found a church that embraces and loves us fully, and I am endlessly grateful for that. Yet even in this amazing place, I carry the fear that one too many affirmations could make it all collapse. That fear is not rational, but it is real. That is why every Sunday, I ask Greg for “the rundown” of his sermon—because I am afraid.
The reassurance from members who remind us we are welcome and loved does not go unnoticed. It means more than I can say. It makes the weight lighter. It reminds me that we are building something beautiful together.
This healing is a journey, and I am grateful to have so many walking this path with me. A special thank you to those who encouraged me to share this part of my story. Our conversations this week have brought comfort and clarity in ways I didn’t expect, and I am deeply thankful for that.
Kade Rogers is a member of Grace UMC in Des Moines, Iowa. He is married to the Rev. Gregory S. Neal, senior pastor of Grace. This post is republished with permission from Mr. Rogers' Facebook page.