These responses were prepared for a public dialogue at Berry College in February 2026 about Christian faith, human sexuality, Scripture, and the life of the Church. They reflect my personal story, theological convictions, and hopes for how Christians can approach difficult disagreements. My goal was not to minimize our differences, but to speak with honesty, humility, and love while treating one another as people made in the image of God.

A season ago I posted a video sharing why I believe God’s wisdom for our sexualities is worth following. I anchored that reflection in Proverbs 4 and Matthew 7. Proverbs 4 tells us to seek wisdom, love wisdom, and hold onto wisdom because wisdom guards us. It portrays wisdom not merely as information but as a protective gift—something that keeps us from harm and guides us into life.

A widely debunked documentary called “1946” has been making the rounds claiming that translators added a prohibition against gay sex to the Bible during a 1946 round of English translation updates. Here’s the truth: nothing changed about the original text or its translated meaning in 1946.

It’s a question I hear often from LGBT+ people and allies who feel frustrated by what the Bible seems to say about sexuality. That God sounds like a buzzkill. Or worse, controlling.

If you’re an LGBT+ Christian and trying to walk out celibacy but you feel like your convictions are starting to slip, maybe this sounds familiar. And maybe it’s helpful.

Colorado’s "conversion therapy" ban got its day before the Supreme Court. Hopefully, it was its last.

If your church has used hell to scare you into celibacy, I’m sorry. That’s not the gospel. A guy recently DMed me on instagram wondering whether he would go to hell if he married a man (and died without specifically repenting of any gay s*x he engaged in).

A friend who no longer identifies as a Christian recently asked me, “Why would God not bless my gay marriage? What’s so wrong with gay sex?” If you’re a gay person trying to make sense of spirituality and sexuality, I have a heady theological answer. But to be honest, my first answer was: I don’t know.

If you’re a gay person trying to make sense of spirituality and sexuality, I hope this helps. When I hang out with friends who don’t believe in God, or who have been deeply hurt by the Church, our conversations eventually land on the big question: why do I even believe God exists?

When the U.S. Supreme Court upheld Tennessee’s ban on puberty blockers, cross-sex hormones, and surgery for minors (United States v. Skrmetti, 18 June 2025),¹ the decision was widely reported as a clash between conservative lawmakers and transgender advocates. Less attention fell on the division it exposed within pro-transition rhetoric. Within a single afternoon, two sharply different protest statements arrived in my inbox. One lamented that the court had “erased trans kids,” because some children are girls trapped in boys’ bodies and therefore need swift medical intervention. A second statement expressed concern that the ruling reinforced what it called “colonial fictions,” suggesting that rigid notions of male and female can be limiting and deserve re-examination.

The real problem with purity culture wasn’t its commitment to abstinence. It was its promise of marriage.

That line from Eve Tushnet has stuck with me for years.

I recently went on the In the Church Library Podcast with Kelsey Kramer McGinnis and Marissa Franks Burt to explore how Focus on the Family impacted my masculinity and same-sex attraction.

I’ll give you a hint: nothing… Scripture doesn’t talk about high school crushes or casual situationships. It doesn’t speak to whether it was wise for 1st century Christian teens to go for a swim in the Jordan River together, kiss goodbye at the end of the hangout, and giggle to their respective families afterward.

Pastors and mentors offer 1 Cor 6:18 as the default, one-size-fits-all response to all sexual temptation: flee.

But when it comes to my sexual stewardship, I’ve been taught and practiced something different.

A parent recently asked this about their former babysitter, someone they love and who has since medically transitioned. They wanted to welcome this person into their home during a visit, but didn’t know how to explain what had changed to their 5- and 7-year-old.

Miraculous healing from gender incongruence (like same-sex attraction or chronic pain) isn’t promised to faithful Christians.

That might be a hard word. But it’s also a hopeful one.

I recently went on the @felixoutstheworld Podcast with Felix Chen to talk about loneliness, spiritual kinship, and what churches owe their single members. I shared
something that gave us both pause.

I recently posted about how nearly 40% of Gen Z now identifies as LGBTQ+. But here’s a twist I can’t stop thinking about: What if Gen Z’s weird aversion to labels (and the rise of pansexuality) are actually paving the way for more honest, stable, holy marriages than the ex-gay movement ever could?

Stephen Adubato and I have been cross-blogging on our respective Substacks/platforms. I was honored to write a piece for his spaces exploring the seemingly parallel yet contradictory trends of a new ex-gay movement (under the name of reintegrative therapy) and increased pansexual identification among GenZers. Now it’s Stephen’s turn. And he has not disappointed.