Being Queer at Fox: Joy, Pain, and Resilience
Reported By: Benny Schorie
Photo Courtesy: Table 14
On Aug. 25, 2021, I moved into the second floor of Hobson Hall and took my first steps onto George Fox University’s (GFU) campus as a new student. As a bright-eyed 18-year-old and newly out lesbian, I felt invincible. I was clueless about the state of queer acceptance and existence at GFU, but I didn’t care. I had purple hair, a new septum ring, and the courage to handle whatever would come my way. Serendipitously, I met some beautiful queer friends on my floor and fell into the LGBTQ+ community at Table 14. Along with making friends, I was learning so much in my classes and loved my major. Nothing can compare to the freshness of that first semester of college.
However, as I walked around campus, I began to notice the lack of diversity. Compared to my public high school, everyone looked the same; there were few skaters, goths, punks, freaks, or geeks. I was instead greeted by a monolithic mass of cheery white Christians who all dressed the same, and who were equally confused by me. Everywhere I went I got weird looks for my colorfully queer presentation.
So, I sought comfort and escape in my community. I found wonderful individuals who also felt this pain and rejection, and like all good outcasts, we clung to each other. They have been my lifeline; I owe my survival at GFU to Table 14. During our life groups, we cried and grieved together over family estrangement, the horrors of coming out, and keeping faith despite the Church’s rejection. During movie nights, we laughed so hard our stomachs hurt, ate too much pizza, and freely joked about queer culture and GFU. At our dances, we dressed how we wanted and moved awkwardly.
If you have limited knowledge about being LGBTQ+ and happened to meet some of my community members, you would be struck by how they challenge your misconceptions. Being queer is more than falling into an acronym, more than attraction and relationships, more than altering your body with hormones and surgeries, more than a Pride collection at Target, and a whole lot more than the politicized mob we’re made out to be by politicians, the media, and the church. To be queer is a rupture in your cultural identity, a radical disruption of everything you’ve been told is right. And once everything’s been undone, you start from the bottom and rebuild, slowly and painfully.
It is grueling work, but to be an ally to LGBTQ+ people requires this of you as well. You shouldn’t be allowed to go through the world unexamined. The friends that you have, the churches that you go to, and the politicians that you vote for have all potentially caused my pain. Your willingness to make certain decisions and turn a blind eye is fundamentally un-Christian.
Beyond the institutional homophobia queer students face on campus, it is also risky being an affirming faculty member at GFU. Many affirming professors have mentored, encouraged, and guided me during my time in college, and it is pathetic that these amazing people must be secretive about their support for LGBTQ+ people while homophobic professors can preach misinformation and dangerous rhetoric–the kind of language that no LGBTQ+ Bruin can ever un-hear.
Every member of our little community is a survivor. We’ve all suffered at the hands of GFU, the Church, and family members; we’ve been rejected for who we are and, consequently, have had to challenge everything we once believed. Amid this pain has grown the most beautiful, radical love. It tells every person who walks through our doors that they belong without any (lifestyle) agreement. To experience this kind of love is rare, and to know it is to be changed forever.
However, love and joy don’t erase the pain, and throughout my time as an undergrad, I have consistently turned to the wisdom of medieval theologian, Julian of Norwich, for comfort. She believed in the power of suffering and hardship to bring us closer to God; when we are in pain, we should think of Christ’s suffering on the cross and find solace in that common experience. Whether you are a Christian or not, these words can have deep resonance. Suffering is a common denominator of human life, and perseverance makes us stronger. Pain’s constancy in life makes suffering a sacred tradition. Although I cling to this mantra and believe in its profound truth, another core feature of suffering is how it wears down its victims. And as one of its victims, I confirm its effects on my mind, body, and soul.
GFU has worn me down. I live in constant fear and paranoia, unsure of who I can be fully authentic with and regularly being concerned for my safety. I have gone through the wringer of GFU’s conservative ideology, enduring peers and professors who question my right to exist. I have lived through the consequences of institutionalized homophobia and transphobia. And as I reach the end of my time as a GFU student, I have to remind myself that it will not be like this forever and that the world is different from this institution.
And yet, despite my best efforts to remain positive, the damage has been done. GFU’s toxic positivity has been shoved down my throat and poisoned my soul. Its bitterness reminds me I will never “Be Known” here, and as it eats away at my insides, I feel devastated by the reality that this Church will never unconditionally love me. My brain has been altered to wince at words like “God’s love is never-ending” because I have also been told that God’s love does end, for me. This poison rotted my freshman optimism about GFU, the belief that I could be happy here, and it turned me into a seething, resentful beast. Perhaps an antidote could have cured me, but it’s too late now, and I will never know what the cure could have been.
Now, I can only hope for freedom and that walking across that graduation stage will be enough to help me put behind all my grief and sorrows. Maybe, my pain will become fertilizer on the barren soil of my heart from which new life will spring forth. And maybe, it’s not too late to heal from the trauma of the past three years of my life, because there’s a chance I’m not completely ruined.