In Sunday school, I was told to love my neighbors like I would myself. I was told to be the friend of an outcast, the light in the darkness. I watched as my peers who went to church alongside me stayed in their huddle, while they kicked me out for being “different”. I sat on the outskirts of the socially ranked middle school cafeteria and wondered, “If we’re supposed to befriend the outcast… how can you do that within your own little huddle?” I found comfort in the outskirts among friends I would have never met otherwise, but felt distanced and pushed out of a church meant to be built on love. I learned to never give up on my beliefs, be equipped to fight every battle, and live a life of love, no matter whether those efforts are recognized or not.
Amidst struggling friendships and weak relationships, my parents were distant and I felt extremely closed off to the world. I felt alone and scared to be my true self because society told me I had to fit into one box. Yet, my high school AP English teacher told me, “Don’t think outside the box, destroy the box.” At the time, I was ill-equipped and not confident enough to destroy the box, so I hid for a time longer.
My sophomore year of high school led me to find a wise, young classmate who opened up my eyes and taught me that I wasn’t alone in my battles. They never knew the lasting influence they had on me, but their comfort and confidence to share their story led me to share my own. This one perspective was the catalyst of change inside me, allowing me to be more open about the turmoil I experienced growing up at home and within the church. One story and one person willing to listen can cause a domino effect…. Much like Jesus sharing his story to a crowd of people willing to listen, I too found faith in a stranger.
At school and at home, I began to break down the barriers I put up, letting people into my life and showing them who I truly was. However, at church, those barriers were put back into place. My peers and leaders weren’t accepting of my change and only saw me for the shy, quiet girl I used to be. They identified me as the girl who didn’t want to play kickball and read books that weren’t from the church library. I grew up and was baptized in a church that shamed me for being different and criticized my belief in God because I didn’t think the same way they did.
The scarring I endured from the church growing up was a gaping fissure in my body, waiting to be stitched up. I was unaware that the opportunity for healing would be found in a small college faith-based community, Christian Student Fellowship, at West Virginia University. I had been trapped in a small town soap opera with a never-ending plot line, but found refuge at WVU among people who wanted to know who the real Hannah Burkhart was. It wasn’t that I got to write a new story for myself, but rather that I got a chance to share my true story. CSF was a safe space to grow and deconstruct my faith. On my first night at CSF, Gary Gross welcomed me with open arms. Over the next year and a half, he took a leading role in my spiritual journey.
I’m proud of myself for making it through my sophomore year of college. I knew my faith was strongly cemented, but wasn’t expecting to fight a war on top of its firm foundation. One night, one Jeep ride, that’s all it took. Coming out as asexual pan-romantic wouldn’t come until a year and a half later, but through the questioning of my sexuality, I embraced the meaning of true love and dedicated my life to ensuring everyone feels that love. I came home that night, that Jeep ride, feeling the most myself, only to start questioning everything that made me who I thought I was. My emotions were at war with my morals, values, and traditions. Fear and confusion took hold of my body, and I was overwhelmed by who I was becoming. Turns out this frustration wasn’t about who I was becoming, but who I was all along.
My goal and mission is to “be equipped to live a life of love”. Stemming back to a retreat I barely remember and probably didn’t listen to (but have a shirt to prove it) is this notion of being equipped. I now dedicate my life to being equipped with the knowledge and understanding of my core self and beliefs so I can better defend against those who oppress me. The second part of this statement is a call of action for the future. I will live a life of love, where love is given and received equally to everyone. I will redefine the term “love” from an ace, Jesus-following perspective. I will shed light on and deconstruct Christianity to take back a faith that has led to the oppression of all folks. I am here to be a voice in the future and to build a community of like-minded individuals who are equipped to go into this battle and share their own story of love. I hope to plant my own church and create a community dedicated to sharing how God’s love supports and embraces all individuals no matter their race, gender, age, sexuality, socio-economic status, and ethnicity. I hope to empower communities to spark change within their own circles and be a catalyst of inclusion and diversity within the church. Like I once learned in the middle school cafeteria, we are meant to go beyond ourselves to reach those who need us the most. I am one voice, but together we stand up and share our voices in hopes that ears are willing to listen.
Studio 710 