The Single Life

Have you ever thought of single life as a vocation? The same way Holy Orders and Marriage are callings, the single life can allow individuals to do things and commit to God in ways other paths cannot. Recently, I posted an article from a faithful Catholic young man who also happens to have same-sex attraction. His writings have found their way around the Catholic blogosphere, and I saw this one on a Newman Center website while searching for something else. The single life -- give it some thought. Read it in its original form here.

After the desert: A faithful Catholic's reflection on same-sex attraction

By Steve Gershom

What would I know about vocation? I'm 28, a faithful Catholic and gay.

A little explanation of that last part: It would be more accurate to say that I have same-sex attraction than that I'm gay. My attraction to men is deep and, as far as I can tell, permanent, but I'm celibate. I sometimes use the word "gay" as a convenient shorthand, but it carries a lot of political and even theological baggage, and doesn't really apply to me, because of my celibacy and for other reasons that I'll try to make clear below.

The upshot is that I'm unmarried and likely to remain that way. I'm not discerning a vocation to the priesthood or the religious life, either. I've been there, done that, and I've let the Lord know he can do whatever he wants with me – up to and including sending me to Calcutta or the Bronx – but that if he wants me to be a priest or a monk, he'll have to do something drastic. I've spent a long time checking my internal compasses, and none of them point in that direction.

So what then? I know what not to do: Don't believe the gay activists, don't water down the faith, don't pretend homosexual actions aren't sinful. Don't have a boyfriend; don't get married. Don't, don't, don't. But nobody ever had a vocation that consisted in not doing something. Marriage, the priesthood, the religious life – these involve definite actions, definite commitments.

Parched, Despondent

I'd like to give a road map to people like me – I mean not only other men and women with SSA, but everyone called to the single life – but it's difficult to make a map when you're still on the ground. At least I'm not lost in the desert any more, parched and exhausted like I was through my teens and early 20s. I'm heading toward civilization now, or better yet toward Zion, but there's a lot of rugged landscape between here and there. The best I can do is to tell you where I've been and what I've learned.

It's good to start on the edge of the desert. I'll pick age 14, because that's when I first started thinking of myself as gay. At the time, I understood exactly two things by the word. The first was that I was totally, irrevocably different from other boys. The second was that being gay and Catholic meant a long, dreary life of self-repression. So I believed at the time.

That was the beginning of my vocation as a professional sufferer, a position I held until somewhere in my early 20s. The darkness gathered around me, and I let it in, and was even proud of it. My suffering meant I was deep, sensitive and tragic. I don't mean to downplay the experience; when I call it a desert, I'm being poetic but I'm not exaggerating. This was Death Valley in July, except when it was Antarctica. But in more literal terms, the darkness consisted of these things: intense self-consciousness; near-constant feelings of isolation; pervasive regret at what I considered a wasted past; an absolute inability to live in the present; and terror at the prospect of the long, lonely future.

The technical name for the condition is despondency. I call it despondency, rather than depression, because depression is a state of the mind, the emotions, and even the body; whereas despondency is a state of the will. It comprises a particular response to depression. Depression doesn't necessarily constitute a roadblock to one's vocation. Despondency does, because we are judged on the basis of what we do rather than what we feel.

What I was doing was precisely nothing, because that was all I believed I could do. That's what despondency is. I thought I was doing something, namely living through the suffering that I believed was my vocation, that I even believed God wanted for me. And maybe I was justified in believing these things, given the premises I had accepted. It's just that my premises were very, very wrong.

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