Page 91 of Robbin’ the Rich

"We're concerned about you, Micah," my mother said.

Concern was the favorite weapon of every religious manipulator.

I nearly rolled my eyes. Instead, I sat.

The next forty minutes went exactly the way I expected. My father droned on about responsibility. My mother guilt tripped me about what it meant to be a member of this family. While my oldest brother chimed in about taking more of a leadership role. My younger brother mostly avoided eye contact while the family piled on.

Five years ago, I would have spent the entire conversation trying to explain myself. Three years ago, I would have left feeling guilty. Today I mostly felt tired.

"I haven't changed," I finally said.

"You clearly have changed. You never used to behave in such a manner than had us questioning your loyalty,” my father said.

"No." I shook my head. "I'm just finally being honest."

My mother's expression tightened. "Honest about what?"

"I’m being honest about all of it. I don’t think you guys have any interest in who I am or what I actually believe. I don't believe what the church teaches."

The words landed like a grenade. My father's jaw tightened.

"Micah—" my father began.

"No." I held up a hand. "You wanted honesty. Here it is."

I took a deep breath because it was now or never. I stood up to them today and I came clean to Robin tonight. It was time I showed the same courage Robin lived her life with every day.

"I don't think queer people need fixing. I don't think women should be treated as lesser. I don't think fear is a valid ministry strategy. I don't think shame changes people. I don't think making people hate themselves brings them closer to God. And I don’t think taking money from people who are barely surviving to further the ministry while you live in this house is ethical."

The realization arrived so suddenly it almost made me dizzy. My mother looked horrified and my father seethed next to her. But none of it mattered, because for years I'd been treating their approval like oxygen. And somewhere along the way I'd discovered that wasn't true. I'd built a life with people who didn't require me to become someone else before they decided I was worthy of love.

Then I looked directly at my father.

"The people you talk about from the pulpit?" I said. "The people you think are broken? They are some kindest people I know. The bravest people I know. The people who show up for each other when nobody else will."

My voice stayed calm.

"I won't be part of hurting them anymore."

My father stared at me. "So that's it?"

I nodded. "That's it."

"And because of that, you're walking away from your church?"

The wording almost made me laugh. My church. As though it had ever belonged to me.

"I'm walking away from a system that hurts people and calls it love."

My mother finally shook her head. "That isn't who you are, and quite frankly, I’m hurt that you would insinuate that we hurt people–"

My father held up a hand and she immediately stopped talking. “I’ve made things better since Pastor Young left. I have made the church more welcoming.”

I scoffed. “But what have you done to right any of the past wrongs?”

“What is it you want us to do? I am a pastor. There is still right and wrong. There is still scripture that guides us.”

“Well, you do what you feel is just and loving and I will do the same,” I said.