Change Beyond Sexuality
How the Gospel Transforms Every Part of Life
In the previous two posts in the Redefining “Change:” Hope for Sexual Minorities series, we examined the ex-gay promise of orientation change, as well as changes that sexual minorities can hope to experience within the realm of their sexuality, desires, and temptations. This third, and final, installment in this series describes a range of changes that sexual minorities can pursue that are only secondarily related to their sexuality.
For many people, conversations about faith and sexuality quickly turn into debates about what kinds of change are possible for gay Christians who hold to the historic sexual ethic. In the previous entries in this series, we explored what transformation can look like in how LGBTQ+ Christians live out their sexuality. But the gospel reshapes us in deeper and broader ways than sexual holiness alone.
In this final post, I want to look at three areas where the Spirit continues to bring real change: in how we understand ourselves, how we engage the church, and how we build relationships. These are all ways that Christ forms us into people who reflect His love. Gospel change, after all, isn’t only about what kinds of sin we resist—it’s about how the Spirit renews every part of our lives.
Self
Integrating Faith and Sexuality
For many Side B Christians, one of the deepest areas of transformation happens in how we understand ourselves. As we navigate the journey of integrating our faith and sexuality, we learn to hold both with honesty and proportion—neither hiding from what we experience nor letting it define everything about us.
But integration can be tricky to pursue. On the one hand, denying or ignoring our same-sex attractions can lead to shame and isolation. On the other hand, making sexuality the center of who we are can eclipse our identity in Christ. Both paths miss the gospel’s invitation to wholeness centered on our union with Christ.
Furthermore, many of us have lived in churches where honesty about sexuality felt dangerous. Fear of rejection and judgment taught us to hide. But secrecy breeds shame. And wholeness is only possible when we step into the light—acknowledging the reality of our experiences and entrusting them to Jesus. In His hands, honesty becomes the pathway to freedom.
At the same time, it is easy for others to swing to the opposite extreme. We no longer wish to feel unseen or misunderstood in faith communities, and so we try to center our sexuality as a way of reclaiming dignity. But when any aspect of our story—sexuality included—becomes the main lens through which we view everything, it can actually end up pushing Christ closer to the margins of our lives.
And really, these extremes are just opposite sides of the same coin. When our whole spiritual life becomes about running from our sexuality or keeping it tightly under control, it still ends up sitting at the center of the story. In a different way, we’re still letting it define us—just from the opposite direction. A life built around fear or avoidance isn’t freedom; it’s another kind of captivity. The gospel invites us to something better: to make Christ, not our struggles, the center of our lives. When we turn our attention toward Him rather than toward managing or escaping from ourselves, we begin to experience the deep rest that comes from being defined by His love, not by our resistance or our desires.
In other words, true integration happens when sexuality is neither the whole story nor erased from the story. We become more whole as we learn to see our attractions as one part of our humanity—real, but not ultimate—held within our larger identity as beloved children of God (Col. 3:3–4). This kind of self-understanding leads to freedom: freedom from the loneliness of secrecy, from the burden of self-definition, and from the weight of shame. “Then you will know the truth. And the truth will set you free” (John 8:32).
Acceptance of Our Humanity
Another major area of change in the way LGBTQ+/SSA Christians can understand ourselves is about how we learn to accept our humanity in light of the gospel. Scripture teaches that we live in the tension of the “already” and the “not yet.” We already belong to God, already share in His victory, and already taste new life through the Spirit. Yet we are not yet free from weakness, longing, or pain. (Rom. 8:23–25)
It would be so much easier if discipleship were simpler—if our attractions didn’t feel so complicated at times, or if rejection and misunderstanding weren’t waiting around seemingly every corner. But following Jesus has never been about erasing struggle; instead, it is about embracing the process, knowing that God’s plan has always been to walk alongside us so we learn to rely on him. God doesn’t promise an easy road—He promises His presence with us on the journey. (2 Cor. 12:9–10)
Learning to embrace God’s presence with us in the tensions we experience can result in deep peace. We don’t have to pretend we’re stronger than we are. We can rest in knowing that the Spirit is shaping us through our experience of limits, not in spite of them. Those of us who are LGBTQ+/SSA Christians learn that ongoing temptation, lingering longings, or the ache of being misunderstood don’t disqualify us from God’s love or usefulness. They remind us that our hope is anchored in Jesus, not in achieving a certain level of freedom from struggle or in gaining the acceptance of others.
I remember a time in my own life when I felt paralyzed by deep regret and discouragement. Each time I experienced a particular kind of relational failure felt like another confirmation that I was too broken, too needy… too much. No matter how hard I prayed, no matter how hard I tried to fix what I saw as weakness in me, the more exhausted I became. At times, self-reproach even kept me from prayer entirely.
Seasons like this ebb and flow in many of our lives, but for me the words of Psalm 103 are especially powerful to contemplate: “As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him; for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust.” When I ponder these words, I remember that God is not disappointed at my frailty. He understands it. He isn’t asking me to be perfect—only to be honest, and to accept his love for me in my imperfection.
I still ache at times when I bump up against weaknesses like this in my life. But I’m learning to see them not as blanket barriers to holiness but as places where my Father wants me to experience his compassion for me. Even now, when I sense regret or disappointment in my heart, I remember that Father knows I am dust—and somehow, that knowledge doesn’t diminish me. It dignifies me because it means that I am nonetheless known. I am his child, still loved, still growing, and still being formed until the day he completes His work and makes all things new within me. (Phil. 1:6)
A Hunger for God’s Word
A third mark of change in the way LGBTQ+/SSA Christians understand themselves is a renewed hunger for Scripture. Many of us grew up hearing the Bible used against us, as a weapon inflicting harm rather than a wellspring of life. Some churches wielded Scripture in ways that wounded us. Deeply. Yet the Spirit can redeem even those painful memories.
As Side B Christians begin to encounter God’s Word for themselves, they can discover that the Spirit of Life is much more interested in leading us beside the quiet pastures of God’s Word than in leaving us in the hopelessness of condemnation and shame. The same Word once used to harm can become the very place we meet our Father in all his kindness and power. (Ps. 119:103–105)
As this happens, fear can turn into curiosity, and curiosity into delight. Even verses that once stung can feel healing as we discover a fresh awareness of humanity’s common need for a Savior. We come to see that Scripture consistently points to the One who loves us most. This hunger for the Word becomes a quiet miracle—a sign that God is writing the truth of his Word upon our hearts. I have been amazed to see the hunger for the word displayed at our annual conference. Each year, members of the community, unbidden, submit breakout proposals about engaging scripture - shared only from their delight for God's word. (Ps. 19:7–8)
And as our love for Scripture grows, it actually becomes an act of resistance against all the ways the Bible is misused. As we submit to it, our delight in Scripture declares that truth and love can coexist, that the Word of God, rightly received, always leads to life. (Prov. 6:23)
Church
Valuing the Church
Change also appears in how Side B Christians relate to the Church. As we just observed, the Church has been both a source of life and a source of pain for LGBTQ+/SSA Christians, even those of us who adhere to the historic Christian doctrine of marriage and sexuality. Experiences of misunderstanding, passive exclusion, or even outright rejection can make trusting not feel worth the risk. But the Spirit can soften guarded hearts and fan into flame a renewed desire to pursue belonging within the Body of Christ, despite the possibility of experiencing harm.
The Spirit does this by helping us see that we can’t love Christ without loving His people. Belonging to Jesus means belonging to His body—even when that body limps. The Church, imperfect as it is, remains God’s chosen means for forming all of us into maturity, whether gay or straight.
And choosing to continue engaging in faith communities again after being hurt is an act of courage and grace. It’s not denial or naïveté—it’s faith. It’s saying, “Christ hasn’t given up on His church, and neither will I.” As we bring our gifts, our presence, and even our wounds into the life of our faith communities, we help the body “build itself up in love” (Eph. 4:15–16). Our very perseverance becomes a living example of how Jesus is also persevering to redeem His bride.
Embracing Discipleship
For many LGBTQ+/SSA Christians, discipleship has often been presented as “sin management”—a list of rules or behavioral expectations to follow so we don’t let God down. But when the Spirit renews our hearts, discipleship becomes something far richer and more personal. It becomes the way we walk with Christ and one another in honesty, grace, and love.
This change often shows up as a new willingness to let others in—to seek mentors, to ask for prayer, to confess sin when we’ve fallen short. Instead of hiding out of fear or shame, we learn that living in transparency and integrity is worth the risk. True discipleship isn’t about blind submission to spiritual leaders; it’s about shared transformation. (James 5:16)
For many who once felt isolated, a shift towards letting people into our lives can be a mark of profound healing. Choosing transparency over secrecy, fellowship over isolation, and grace over self-reliance is evidence of God’s Spirit at work. Through the rhythms of discipleship, we learn not just how to avoid sin, but how to grow in love for God and one another. (Gal. 6:1–2)
Serving the Body
Another sign of change in the way LGBTQ+/SSA Christians can relate to the Church is the desire to serve in a local church congregation. For those who have felt sidelined or invisible, it can be tempting to stay on the margins where it feels safe. But the Spirit gently reminds us that everyone in the body of Christ has something essential to give. (1 Peter 4:10–11)
Others may experience growth by learning that serving isn’t about earning approval—as though our attractions make us so bad that we need to make up for them by serving the Church. Instead, we serve from a joyful overflow of our love for Jesus and His people. Whether teaching, mentoring, leading worship, or simply showing hospitality, each act of service reflects a heart being renewed by grace as we follow the example our Savior set. (Mark 10:45)
And for Side B Christians in particular, stepping into service in spaces we might have associated with pain in the past can be a radical act of hope. It can be a declaration that the gospel isn’t a story about all the things we need to do to be accepted, but about the work that Christ is doing in and through us. Our participation says to the world: we belong here—not because we’re perfect, but because we’re loved by Jesus.
Relationships
Relationships and Attachment
The gospel also changes how we relate to others. Many LGBTQ+/SSA Christians carry deep wounds of rejection or loneliness, which can shape how we form friendships. If unaddressed, those wounds can lead to insecurity or unhealthy dependence. But as the Spirit heals our hearts, we can slowly learn a new way of connecting—one that’s rooted in security, not fear.
This transformation doesn’t happen overnight. The Spirit patiently teaches us that our value and worth are anchored in Christ, not in the approval or affection of others. As we rest more deeply in God’s love, we become freer to love others without grasping for attention or fearing loss of love. (1 John 4:18–19)
And over time, the way we engage in our friendships matures. Our friendships become spaces of mutual respect, stability, and joy. We still feel the ache of unmet longing at times, but those feelings no longer consume us. The Spirit helps us experience them against the backdrop of the larger story of Christ’s sufficiency. That’s what healthy attachment looks like in the kingdom of God—love that gives, not clings; love that reflects Christ’s faithfulness back to our friends, rather than centering our own fears and sense of lack in our interactions with others. (Eph. 3:17–19)
Forgiving Others
Another powerful change the Spirit works in our hearts is the ability to forgive. As I’ve stated a few times already, LGBTQ+ Christians often bear deep hurts from family members, friends, churches, places of employment, and other life contexts. Some wounds cut so deep that forgiveness might seem impossible.
And yet, as we grow in understanding how much we ourselves have been forgiven, our hearts can begin to soften toward those who’ve wronged us. Of course, forgiveness doesn’t mean excusing harm or pretending everything’s fine—it means choosing freedom over bitterness. God desires so much more for his children than for us to hold on to dehumanizing opinions of others who have harmed us. He wants us to choose to release them to God, who alone is their judge. (Col 3:12–14)
This doesn’t erase pain, but it reframes it. The Spirit teaches us to pray for those who hurt us, to speak gently instead of harshly, and to trust that God can redeem even the hardest parts of our story. Over time, forgiveness becomes a sign of maturity—a living witness that grace is stronger than resentment. (Matt. 5:44–45)
Receiving Healthy Intimacy
Finally, sanctification changes how we receive love and intimacy. For many of us, the longing for closeness can feel overwhelming. It is easy to focus on one particular kind of relationship we wish we had—a spouse, a best friend, a community that truly understands us—and to feel as though we have missed out on love and belonging entirely. For some, this sense of absence can feel acute; we look around and see few, if any, tangible expressions of God’s care in our day-to-day relationships. The loneliness is real and deserves to be named with heartbreak and compassion, not brushed aside. (Ps. 34:18)
Yet even here, the Spirit is quietly at work, expanding our vision of what intimacy can look like, and slowly growing in us a capacity to receive love from God that is real and worth pursuing. Our Father often demonstrates His love through friendship, family, mentorship, spiritual kinship, and the shared life of the church. But even when those human forms of love feel distant or incomplete, God Himself does not withhold His presence. The Spirit teaches us to recognize divine love in subtler ways—in Scripture that comes alive, in prayer that feels more like communion than mere formality, and in the mysterious comfort of knowing we are held in the arms of our Father, even when we do not feel it. (Rom. 8:38–39)
As we learn to see love in these many forms, gratitude begins to take root. We can begin to delight in what is given rather than despairing over what is withheld. The ache for deeper connection remains, but it becomes a holy ache—a longing that points beyond this life to our ultimate belonging in God. Every friendship, every shared meal, every glimpse of affection becomes a foretaste of the day when love will lack nothing, and when every heart will be satisfied in Him who is Love itself. (Ps. 16:11)
Conclusion
