Smith: Gay Christians. The other victims of 'religious freedom'

"Come on in!"

Tall and soft-spoken, my friend Lee Campbell squinted into the sunlight long enough to hold open the door of Christ Church Cathedral on Monument Circle. Somewhere, a choir was singing.

Most of the time when I see Lee, it's at night on Mass Ave and he's cooking up a batch of mozzarella sticks that I don't particularly need. But on Thursday, the same day Gov. Mike Pence signed the "religious freedom" bill into law, he was solemnly polishing candleholders in a tiny room of one of the oldest churches in Indianapolis.

Lee is a Christian. He's also gay.

Those are facets of his identity that he made peace with years ago, even if others still find it strange, or even impossible. And yet with Indiana's new law, pushed by conservative Christians to make it easier to discriminate against gays and lesbians, threats to his identity are back. Not in big ways, but in small annoying ones.

"It's hard to be gay and Christian in the first place," said the 34-year-old son of a fundamentalist pastor. "A lot of people don't understand how I can be both."

And he's not the only one.

Indiana is full of gay men and women who were either raised in the church or joined one later in life. People who, often through years of mental and emotional anguish, have found a way to worship a God who is loving and accepting of all people, regardless of sexual orientation or gender identity.

With the state's newly enacted license to discriminate under the guise of "freedom," a gay Christian is probably the most a confounding thing a person can be in Indiana right now.

These are the hidden victims of "religious freedom."

"I feel betrayed," he said, his voice breaking as we spoke Thursday afternoon. "Literally, last night, there were moments when I was almost sick. Just going to bed and waking up knowing that this thing was about to change and change in a way that was not good. That our politicians couldn't listen to reason. It's very hurtful."

Indeed, hurtful for everyone.

In the handful of days since Pence made the divisive bill into law — surrounded by nuns, politicians and lobbyists — Indiana has been pulled apart. We've been boycotted, both by celebrities and entire cities. Conventions have vowed to leave. Companies, too. The NCAA is upset. The NFL, too. We've been labeled as backward and hateful.

Even among ourselves, we've been fighting. It's the Christians against the gays. The close-minded against the open-minded. The hateful against the loving. Or so the story goes.

The rhetoric is not only sad, but maddening for gay Christians. People who have a stake in both camps. People who cringe at the blame being laid at the feet of Christians for being fearful and close-minded, but who also understand the uproar.

If a culture war is indeed raging in Indiana, Hoosier brother against brother and Hoosier sister against sister, gay Christians embody the conflict. They don't know what to do about it either, other than fume silently.

"Gay people don't understand how you can be a Christian and Christian people don't understand how you can be gay, so there's always a little of being caught between two worlds," said Ruth Hawkins, a lesbian who grew up fundamentalist, but now identifies as a non-denominational Christian. "I feel like a lot of us are sort of stuck as to what to say because fundamentalist Christians are the ones who are pushing these bills."

She huffed in anger.

"That's the worst part about being a gay Christian in America. my own brothers and sisters in the Christian church are twisting the teachings of the God that I love to discriminate against people — and to discriminate against me!"

That said, neither Lee nor Ruth have plans to abandon Christianity. Not only would that be giving in to people they both call "bigots," it would be doubting their loving God.

They know the next few months will be hard, though. Perhaps harder than for most people in Indiana. They expect to have to explain themselves more, bite their tongues more and double-down on their faith.

"It's just more shame. And I feel the shame more on the religious side than the gay side," Lee said. "I feel that people who claim they are doing this out of Christian principles are not understanding Christian principles. My soul breaks for them spiritually, more than it does anything."

Contact Star columnist Erika D. Smith at (317) 444-6424, erika.smith@indystar.com or on Twitter at @erika_d_smith.