Faith & identity — no closet
Holding hands is not a crime.
And loving God never required hiding. This site exists to say it out loud.
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Why on earth would —
And the book they hold against you?
These are old laws. And laws get revised.
Three traditions. Three laws set aside — and no faith collapsed. One exception only: the one aimed at us.
And the indoctrination?
Who's really indoctrinating?
Have you ever seen LGBTQIA+ people going door to door to “convert” anyone? Evangelising? Recruiting? No.
An orientation isn't a creed. Not a faith, not a religion. It's an identity — our way of choosing who we want closest in our lives.
And really —
What drives people away from God isn't us.
The violence, the contempt, sometimes the cruelty of anti-LGBT+ believers: that is what turns people away from religion the most. They claim to defend the faith — and empty it of meaning.
Like racism, this hatred doesn't judge actions. It condemns people for who they are. It says nothing about those it targets. It says everything about those who carry it.
So what does it really say?
Whoever is at peace with themselves attacks no one.
Someone at ease with their own sexuality doesn't feel threatened by anyone else's. They can hug a friend, cry, wear whatever colour they like, call a man handsome — nothing wavers. Inner security needs no enemy.
Aggression, on the other hand, often says the opposite: the fear of being taken for one of us. Many attack not out of conviction, but to prove — to the group, the locker room, the family — which side they are on. A little give on gender or orientation, and they dread being filed away with us. So they strike first.
Hardening yourself for fear of how others look at you isn't strength. It's a prison — and you hold the bars yourself.
Let's be clear-eyed —
The faith is old. The charge is new.
These texts knew neither “homosexuality” nor “orientation”: those words are less than two centuries old. “Sodomy” itself only became a named sin in the 11th century, under the pen of a monk. We are judged in the name of a category Scripture knows nothing of. That is not faithfulness to the text — it is a recent reading handed to us as though it were eternal.
As for the crusade, it can be dated. It begins in the late 1970s, in the United States, then is exported to Africa and Eastern Europe. It has dates, budgets, names. It is no thousand-year tradition: it is a political campaign that wrapped itself in one.
Let us keep the living heart of faith — love, justice, compassion. Leave the rest to the superstitions of another age.
And what if we turned the question around —
God is alive. His law is not him.
He calls himself living. He calls himself love, and even unconditional love. He calls himself compassion, justice, mercy — so the fate of every single person is close to his heart, including those life has broken, including the misery of the soul. These are his words, not ours.
So if a reading of the law leads to less love, less compassion, less justice, it is not God contradicting himself. It is the reading that is wrong.
To want the law fixed and eternal, to worship it, to set it above the one who gave it — is to put it in his place.
The idea that an LGBTQIA+ person is a “criminal in disguise” contradicts our one and only demand: never having to hide again.
A fictional letter. Real a thousand times over.
To you who remain,
God created me as he created each of you: like every other, and unique all at once. I chose nothing, invented nothing. I arrived in the world the way you did — with open hands.
I loved him, you know. Quietly. I prayed in the dark, my heart split in two: one half for the faith you passed on to me, one half for the fear you taught me.
What I regret is nothing immense. A hand held in the street, in broad daylight. A place at the village feast. A wedding where someone would have wished me happiness. Children to watch grow up. Ordinary happiness — the kind everyone is entitled to without even thinking about it. It wasn't taken from me all at once: it was refused to me crumb by crumb.
A book was held against me. I learned, later, that its harshest laws your sages had known how to reread — all of them, except the one aimed at me. I was accused of recruiting, of indoctrinating. Yet I never knocked on a single door. I only asked that you not close yours.
I was hated in God's name — and in the end I saw what that hatred was hiding: so much fear. The fear of being mistaken for one of us, the fear of the group, the fear of being seen. I no longer hold it against you. But it cost me my place at your table.
I had the same gifts as you — intelligence, courage, tenderness, exactly as much. I wanted so much to offer them. You did not want them. They go with me, intact: a gift never opened.
So farewell. Do not look for what was written — it is what was never written that I missed. A word of welcome. A place. A simple: “stay.”
Created by God. Like you. Unique — like each of you.
No one should ever have to write this letter.
If these words sound like yours, don't stay alone with them: findahelpline.com — free helplines, everywhere in the world.
And so many lives in silence —
How many of us believe, in secret?
Torn between a faith, a culture we deeply love — and the rejection of those who claim it. So many LGBTQIA+ people pray quietly, their hearts split in two.
And the first belonging —
The village that saw us born: we just want to belong.
To be part of the village, the town, the community that saw us born — we want it like everyone else. To be at the feast, at the market, at the wedding, at the funeral. To count among our own.
And so often, we are afraid to show ourselves there in full, as we truly are. Because of stigma, prejudice, violence, of what people will say. It isn't us who are missing from the table — it's fear that keeps us away.
And the circle turns: what is discriminated against is made invisible. What is invisible becomes suspect. What is suspect breeds rumors. Rumors feed hatred — and hatred, discrimination.
This circle is not broken by hiding better. It breaks in broad daylight.
So let's step into the light
Here, you have nothing to hide.
An LGBTQIA+ person also has the right to express their love for God. To celebrate their joy, their potential, to be surrounded by a community, by allies, and by loving parents — who, in loving them exactly as they are, honor the trust God placed in them when entrusting that child to their care.
And what we do with them —
The same gifts. A different use.
God took nothing away from us. Intelligence, courage, patience, tenderness, talent: we received exactly as much as everyone else. What remains is the only question worth asking — what do we do with them? We choose to put them at the service of compassion and welcome. And we are ready to show that qualities used to understand rather than to condemn are worth no less. Often, they are worth more.
No less, no more than anyone else. Just like everyone, differently. And that's perfect as it is.
“Shall I tell you the secret of the gay agenda? It is to be loved and accepted as is. That's all.”
What we really want
In solidarity. Peaceful. At peace.
In solidarity with one another — and beyond, with every community our members belong to. We threaten no one. Our only wish: to live in peace, in a world that is too.
You are not alone.
All over the world, associations bring us together, defend us, welcome us: