Dominique Deming

Class of 2008

Greetings in the name of Jesus Christ!

My name is Dominique Deming (she/they). In addition to being an alumn of PHC (2008), I was the Resident Director of Women (2009-2011) and the Teen Camp Director (2009-2012). I am also queer, and coming out saved my faith.

Like many students at PHC, I grew up in a fervently religious home. We were homeschooled so that we could be kept away from the godless schools, my parents were always leaders in our churches and eventually became missionaries, and I grew up reading scriptures and engaging intensely in pursuit of my faith. And while many aspects of that upbringing were painful and isolating, I embraced the Christian faith. Something I saw in the Gospel and in Jesus was absolutely compelling.

Most of my experience at PHC was good. It was a time of earnestly pursuing my faith and making it my own, seeking truth, and interrogating theology. I was an active student on campus, participating on multiple debate teams and in several clubs, an RA, a Teen Camp counselor, and an eager student. But there was one event that darkened and tainted all my experiences there. In the Spring of 2007, my junior year, Soulforce, a group of queer Christian college students, embarked on a bus tour to various Christian colleges nationwide to discuss how it is possible to be queer and Christian. Their goal was conversation, and PHC was among their destinations. When the PHC administration heard about this, they convinced over 100 local law enforcement to come to campus that day to keep them away. They threatened to have any of those Christians arrested for trespassing. I was not yet out, even to myself, at that time, but that memory of absolute hostility is indelible. PHC has hosted many groups who do not align with their statement of faith or worldview for conversation and dialogue, but these Christians were greeted with hate and threat of violence.

After I graduated from PHC, I worked at the school. It was during this time that I finally named my experiences. I am queer. If pressed to be more specific, I would probably say I am a genderqueer lesbian, although I’m not committed to these labels. Naturally, finally admitting this to myself caused me to panic. PHC is not a safe place for queer people. If I came out, I would either be fired or required to participate in a conversion therapy-type program and/or mentoring. I would have to repudiate this part of myself completely.

Around this time, I experienced what I can only describe as a mystical experience one Sunday in church. At that moment, time both stood still and sped forward, the room narrowed and expanded, and I felt the overwhelming peace and love of Christ surround me. God told me that day that he loves me as I am. I desperately held on to that moment. I could not repudiate my queerness, so I stayed absolutely silent. I told no one about either experience, even my sister, who is my closest confidant. I stayed in the closet and presented in a fairly conservative feminine manner. I made a choice. My faith was so important to me and so central to my identity that I chose to ignore my queerness in order to hold on to that and my faith community.

For over a decade, I stayed in the closet, continued pursuing my faith, and chased the closeness to God that the scriptures promise. I moved through different churches looking for a faith home and served in various ministries. But the whole time, I was slowly dying inside. Looking back, I can only describe it as slowly drowning or suffocating. It was so slow that I didn’t even realize it was happening until I was in the depths of depression and completely unable to connect to God, the same God who had met me in church with overwhelming love. I slowly abandoned praying, reading the Bible, and going to church. Eventually, I admitted to myself that I no longer thought of myself as a Christian, which devastated me.

My faith had been the most central piece of my identity, and I no longer knew who I was. But at that admission, a small voice, which I now identify as the Holy Spirit, whispered to me, “If you aren’t a Christian, at least you could come out.” That thought was invigorating, and I tested it out by coming out to my sister and best friend, who I knew would be affirming. In doing so, I felt a bit of life and some weight lifted from my shoulders. I decided to come out to some PHC friends with whom I have remained close. We meet once a year, and in 2020, those within driving distance met for a weekend (after testing and quarantining because of the pandemic). The entire 8-hour drive, I was an anxious wreck, but I mustered the courage to come out to them and, to my relief, was met with nothing but love and affirmation.

In telling my story and how I had chosen to come out because I could not be a Christian anymore, one of them looked at me and said, “D, you are such a spiritual person, and you love the liturgy. Have you considered trying the Episcopal church?” This time, the Holy Spirit spoke through a friend. I had a glimpse of hope. When visiting the Episcopal Church in my hometown, I had yet another confirmation moment as the first words out of the priest’s mouth were a move toward answering a question about the Bible that had been brewing in my head. The Holy Spirit brought me home.

Words are inadequate to describe the difference I felt after coming out. I felt like I could breathe for the first time in over a decade. I felt like a boulder had been removed from my shoulders. I felt life reinterring my soul. And! And! And I was able to reclaim my faith once again and embrace the God who had come to me in that church years ago, who was always there and waiting for me with open arms to walk into God’s embrace with my whole self. I’ve learned that it is impossible to have an intimate relationship with anyone, but especially God, when you do not bring all of yourself into the relationship.

Intense study of the scriptures, theology, and Christian history has confirmed that embracing my queerness and being a Christian are not antithetical. The example of queer Christians, the fruit of the spirit I see in them, also confirms this. And my growth in love for God and my neighbors is additional confirmation. Being queer and being Christian are perfectly and beautifully compatible.

The difference in my spiritual life is amazing. I’ve found a renewed love for reading the scriptures, solace and joy in prayer, and love worshiping in church. Being in a church that affirms both LGBTQ+ people and women has meant that I can finally follow the call to become a pastor that I have felt since childhood. Growing up in and belonging to churches that, contrary to the example of the scriptures, said that women could not be spiritual leaders meant that I had to assume I heard the call wrong – even though the call was always present and loud. I began discerning in community with my priest, my local church, friends outside the church, our diocesan commission on ministry, and now my bishop. Those around me have continually affirmed my calling. I am currently attending seminary and have just been accepted as a Postulant for Holy Orders in the Episcopal Diocese of Atlanta.

Every Sunday, when we affirm the Nicene Creed in my church, I affirm that I look for the resurrection of the dead. I believe in the resurrection. I believe in resurrection because I have already experienced resurrection. I once was dead, but now I live in Christ. Staying in the closet nearly killed me, coming out allowed me to have spiritual life. There are “Christians” out there who will argue until they are blue in the face that you cannot be queer and Christian, that God disapproves of me embracing my queerness, and that being queer is a sin. In saying that, they are driving queer people away from God. What is sin if not the destruction of relationship between God and us? When I listened to those people, that’s precisely what happened. My relationship with God was destroyed. When I stopped listening to them and gave up the faith they claimed was true, I found God again. I found the Jesus who loves and embraces me fully, including my queerness, and draws me to himself. I found the Jesus who came that we might have life. I found the Jesus who saves.