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Journal of LGBT Issues in Counseling

ISSN: 1553-8605 (Print) 1553-8338 (Online) Journal homepage: https://www.tandfonline.com/loi/wlco20

Religion, Spirituality, and LGBTQ Identity Integration

Brenda L. Beagan & Brenda Hattie

To cite this article: Brenda L. Beagan & Brenda Hattie (2015) Religion, Spirituality, and LGBTQ Identity Integration, Journal of LGBT Issues in Counseling, 9:2, 92-117, DOI: 10.1080/15538605.2015.1029204

To link to this article: https://doi.org/10.1080/15538605.2015.1029204

Accepted author version posted online: 09 Apr 2015. Published online: 26 May 2015.

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Journal of LGBT Issues in Counseling, 9:92–117, 2015 Copyright © Taylor & Francis Group, LLC ISSN: 1553-8605 print / 1553-8338 online DOI: 10.1080/15538605.2015.1029204

Religion, Spirituality, and LGBTQ Identity Integration

BRENDA L. BEAGAN School of Occupational Therapy, Dalhousie University, Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada

BRENDA HATTIE Women’s Studies, Mount Saint Vincent University, Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada

Processes of navigating intersections between spiritual/religious identity and lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, or queer (LGBTQ) identity are just beginning to be explicated. In-depth interviews with 35 LGBTQ adults from a range of backgrounds explore experiences with religion and spirituality. Although not all participants expe- rienced conflicts, the psychological and emotional harms done to some participants through organized religion were extensive and knew no age boundaries. Disconnection from bodies and delayed sexual activity were common. Many left formal religions; those who stayed distinguished between religious teachings and institutions, and between religion and spirituality. Heightened knowledge of theology proved helpful to some. Limitations and implications for counseling are discussed.

KEYWORDS religion, spirituality, LGBT, queer, identity, conflict, integration, counseling

Lesbians, gay men, bisexuals, transgender people and those who identify as queer (LGBTQ) almost inevitably have conflicted relationships to religion and spirituality. Condemnation by mainstream faith traditions has inflicted considerable harm on sexual and gender minorities. The purpose of this study was to explore how a range of LGBTQ individuals experienced and perceived religion and spirituality. In particular, it was to examine potential identity conflicts, how people sought to resolve conflicts for a coherent sense of self, and how they experienced the place of spirituality and religion in

Address correspondence to Brenda L. Beagan, School of Occupational Ther- apy, Dalhousie University, P. O. Box 15000, Halifax, NS B3H 4R2, Canada. E-mail: [email protected]

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Religion, Spirituality, and LGBTQ Identity 93

LGBTQ communities. The results may alert counselors to critical factors at both individual and community levels.

LITERATURE REVIEW

The Place of LGBTQ in Mainstream Religions

Religion and spirituality are fraught with tension for many LGBTQ peo- ple, as most mainstream religions denounce variance in sexual orientation and gender identity to some degree (Yip, 2005). Although not all LGBTQ people involved with organized religions experience identity conflict (Murr, 2013; Rodriguez, 2009; Subhi & Geelan, 2012), many do. As Barton (2010) suggested, “The stakes are high when even one’s thoughts threaten one’s eternal soul. Fear of hell is a powerful motivator . . . it terrifies young people who cannot control for whom they feel a romantic and sexual attraction” (p. 471).

A growing body of research has documented the often-intense iden- tity conflicts experienced by LGBQ Christians (Barton, 2010; Dahl & Galli- her, 2009, 2012; Garcı́a, Gray-Stanley, & Ramirez-Valles, 2008; Murr, 2013; Ream & Savin-Williams, 2005; Rodriguez, 2009; Rodriguez & Ouellette, 2000; Schuck & Liddle, 2001; Super & Jacobson, 2011). Far less research has been conducted with transgender Christians. Compared with sexual orientation, explicitly intolerant religious teachings concerning gender identity are fewer, though more conservative Christian faiths proscribe rigid gender roles, leav- ing congregants unclear where gender variance fits (Kidd & Witten, 2008; Levy & Lo, 2013; Westerfield, 2012). Perhaps because of this ambiguity, there are indications that transgender people may be more involved with religiosity than are gays and lesbians (Frederiksen-Goldsen, 2011). Nonetheless, many experience intolerance and hostility, and some have been asked not to dis- close their transgender identity and/or to leave their churches (Levy & Lo, 2013; Westerfield, 2012; Yarhouse & Carrs, 2012). Like other LGBQ people, they are less likely to be involved with organized religion than the general population (Porter, Ronneberg, & Witten, 2013).

Research is also scarce concerning LGBTQ people in faith traditions other than Christianity, though there is some suggestion that Judaism, Native spirituality, Buddhism, and Hinduism are more welcoming (Porter, Ron- neberg, & Witten, 2013; Schnoor, 2006; Westerfield, 2012). There is some debate about the extent to which Islam condemns male homosexuality, though culturally and legally it is highly intolerant (Jaspal, 2012; Siraj, 2011). It is virtually silent on lesbianism, which is culturally seen as incompati- ble with Islam (Siraj, 2011). The scant research evidence available indicates Muslim LGBTQ people experience tremendous identity conflict stemming from religious and cultural condemnation (Jaspal, 2012; Siraj, 2012). Jaspal (2012) suggests that though Sikh and Hindu religions do not explicitly forbid

94 B. L. Beagan and B. Hattie

homosexuality, cultural norms mean LGBTQ people fear loss of family and community.

Acceptance of homosexuality within Judaism varies from Orthodox in- tolerance to widespread acceptance in Reform and Reconstructionist tradi- tions (Abes, 2011). In one study with lesbian and bisexual women, all of the participants’ synagogues had been at least somewhat open to LGBTQ mem- bers, with several supportive rabbis (Barrow & Kuvalanka, 2011). Nonethe- less, Schnoor’s (2006) found that Jewish gay men in Toronto, Canada, all engaged in struggles to integrate gay and Jewish identities.

Psychological and Emotional Consequences for LGBTQ People

There is now compelling evidence that conflict between sexual or gender identity and religious teachings can significantly damage the psychological and emotional well-being of LGBTQ individuals (e.g., Barton, 2010; Bowers, Minichiello, & Plummer, 2010; Ganzevoort, van der Laan, & Olsman, 2011; Garcı́a et al., 2008; Hattie & Beagan, 2013; Lease, Horne, & Noffsinger- Frazier, 2005; Ream & Savin-Williams, 2005; Rodriguez, 2009; Rodriguez & Ouellette, 2000; Schnoor, 2006; Schuck & Liddle, 2001). Super and Jacobson (2011) argued that the psychological distress extends as far as “religious abuse,” using the power of position and teachings to oppress, coerce, and manipulate LGBTQ people through shaming, stigmatizing, rejecting, ousting, exorcising, and ex-communicating (Super & Jacobson, 2011). Barton (2010) reported that simply living in a “Bible belt” region of the United States was described by gays and lesbians as a “spirit-crushing experience of isolation, abuse, and self-loathing” (p. 477).

Depending on degree of welcome or intolerance, LGBTQ people may be harmed emotionally, mentally, and spiritually, either within a religion or in choosing (or being forced) to leave a religion (Ream & Savin-Williams, 2005). People often struggle with confusion, low self-esteem, guilt, shame, isolation, hopelessness, depression, anxiety, fear of damnation, feelings of worthlessness and inadequacy, and suicidal ideation (Barton, 2010; Dahl & Galliher, 2009, 2012; Garcı́a et al., 2008; Jaspal, 2012; Rodriguez, 2009; Schuck & Liddle, 2001; Siraj, 2012; Subhi & Geelan, 2012; Super & Ja- cobson, 2011). This litany of harms appears to include transgender peo- ple, at least in Christian traditions (Westerfield, 201; Yarhouse & Carrs, 2012).

Evidence concerning psychological well-being is mixed. Clearly gays and lesbians affiliated with nonaffirming Christian traditions develop greater internalized homophobia and lower self-esteem (Barnes & Meyer, 2012; Bowers et al., 2010), yet it is not clear that those are accompanied by poorer psychological well-being or greater depression (Barnes & Meyer, 2012). Affiliation with affirming religions seems to benefit psychological health, self-esteem and spirituality, for LGBQ and transgender people (Lease et al.,

Religion, Spirituality, and LGBTQ Identity 95

2005; Rodriguez, Lytle, & Vaughan, 2013; Yarhouse & Carrs, 2012). The process of reconciling or integrating religious and sexual/gender identities appears to strengthen spirituality, self-acceptance, and acceptance of others (Dahl & Galliher, 2012; Murr, 2013; Yarhouse & Carrs, 2012).

Staying, Leaving, and Integrating

Several studies have found similar patterns in LGBTQ response to conflicts with religious identities: rejecting the gay identity, rejecting the religious identity, compartmentalizing the gay self and religious self, or identity inte- gration. These patterns have been found with gay and lesbian Christians in the United States and The Netherlands (Ganzevoort et al., 2011; Rodriguez & Ouellette, 2000), with Latino gay men (Garcı́a et al., 2008), and with Jew- ish gay men (Schnoor, 2006). Such patterns are less clear for transgender people, but there is evidence that they disproportionately change faith tradi- tions, leave organized religions altogether, or try out new faith traditions and spiritual paths (Kidd & Witten, 2008; Levy & Lo, 2013; Porter, Ronneberg & Witten, 2013).

For some, the process of identity integration means changing religions, reducing participation, or changing denominations or congregations, but it can also mean altering beliefs or relationship to beliefs (Brennan-Ing, Seidel, Larson, & Karpiak, 2013; Dahl & Galliher, 2012; Garcı́a et al., 2008; Schuck & Liddle, 2001). Some distinguish between spirituality and religion, seeing the latter as political and fallible; some deepen their knowledge, identifying where doctrines may deviate from original spiritual teachings; some focus more on the core spiritual values of their faith tradition, such as love, compassion, and respect (Barrow & Kuvalanka, 2011; Barton, 2010; Brennan-Ing et al., 2013; Dahl & Galliher, 2009; Levy & Lo, 2013; Murr, 2013; Schnoor, 2006; Schuck & Liddle, 2001; Siraj, 2012; Westerfield, 2012).

For counselors working with LGBTQ clients, obviously acknowledging that religion may have left lasting scars is critical, though it is important not to assume conflict (Rodriguez, 2009). Kocet, Sanabria, and Smith (2011) sug- gested a framework for counselors: understand the relevance of religion and spirituality to the client, explore unresolved feelings, help clients identify what relationship they want to spirituality and religion, and help clients con- nect with resources in LGBTQ and faith communities. Bozard and Sanders (2011) put forward the goals, renewal, action, connection, empowerment model (GRACE) for use with LGB clients who want to explore religious forms of spiritual engagement. Counselors may help clients identify their goals, find renewed hope in spiritual engagement, determine action such as altering relationship to an existing faith tradition or trying a new one, facilitate a different connection with the divine and/or with community, and promote empowerment as clients navigate identities.

96 B. L. Beagan and B. Hattie

THIS STUDY

This qualitative study was conducted on the East coast of Canada. We explore relationships to spirituality and religion among LGBTQ people of varying gender identities and sexual orientations. The study is novel in including the spectrum of LGBTQ identities, as well as including participants from any religious or spiritual background and any current beliefs and practices, including none. We examine not only past and current experiences, beliefs and desires, but also perceptions of the place of religion and spirituality in LGBTQ communities.

METHOD

Approved by the Research Ethics Board at the lead researcher’s university, this study used interpretive description, a qualitative methodology designed to explore direct experiences analyzed through an interpretive lens informed by theory (Thorne, 2008). Grounded in critical theory, semistructured inter- views were used to explore participant experiences of religion and spiri- tuality, and the meanings those hold. Participants were recruited through notices distributed via LGBTQ websites and Facebook pages, in bars and community sites, as well as e-mail networks. Maximum diversity was sought, in sexual orientation, gender identity, age, ethnicity, relationship to orga- nized religion when growing up, and current affiliations. Recruitment was targeted as needed to fill gaps in diversity, such as when few Buddhists were volunteering. The response was overwhelming, and recruitment had to be halted at 35 people due to resources. Saturation had been reached on major themes.

Following discussion of informed consent, each person participated in an audio-recorded interview that lasted 1 to 3 hours. Interviews asked about LGBTQ identity and processes of disclosure, religion and spirituality while growing up, changes over time in LGBTQ identity and in religious/spiritual beliefs and practices, and integration of LGBTQ self and spiritual self, per- sonally and in the broader LGBTQ community. Interviews were transcribed verbatim, and pseudonyms were assigned. AtlasTi (Version 6.5) qualitative data analysis software was used to code data through regular team discus- sions interpreting transcripts. Analysis drew on coded data, but also returned to raw transcripts repeatedly, reading and re-reading, comparing across indi- viduals, and exploring potential patterns by demographic differences (Boy- atzis, 1998). A summary report was sent to all participants for feedback, and results were presented at two workshops attended by LGBTQ community members. Responses indicated that preliminary analyses resonated.

The team comprised two researchers, both raised Christian. One of us left her faith tradition as a young adult, one joined a Pentecostal church

Religion, Spirituality, and LGBTQ Identity 97

TABLE 1 Participant Demographics

Age (Years) # Gender Identity # Sexual Orientation #

20–30 11 Man 11 Gay 10 31–40 6 Woman 19 Lesbian 11 41–50 7 Trans/queer 4 Bisexual 4 51–60 7 Other 1 Heterosexual 1 61+ 4 Queer 7

Other 2 Ethnicity (#) Euro-Canadian 23 Jewish 4 Other 8

in her twenties (she was asked to leave the church in her thirties.) One of us identifies as highly spiritual, the other less so. One identifies as lesbian, the other as queer. We have academic training in sociology, education, and women’s studies. We are both of White Canadian heritage. Our differing experiences and perspectives provided checks and balances during data interpretation, enriching our analyses.

Participants

Participants ranged in age from 20 to 68, fairly evenly distributed (see Table 1). About two thirds were Euro-Canadian, which is somewhat less than the population of the region. Participants included 19 women, 11 men, four transgender or gender queer, and one other gender. Most identified as gay or lesbian, four as bisexual, seven as queer, one as heterosexual, one as Two Spirit (an Aboriginal sexuality/gender identity), and one as other. Five were raised in Jewish traditions, one was raised with no faith tradition, the rest grew up in Christian traditions with varying degrees of intensity. This is about the same proportion of Christians that constitutes the local population (Statistics Canada, 2005). Four had studied theology or divinity in different Christian traditions. The participants included clergy as well as deacons and church elders.

We have categorized the Christian participants as having been raised “intensely” or “somewhat” Christian (see Table 2). This is a distinction we have imposed, not their words. The 12 “somewhat” Christian participants grew up with organized religion, may or may not have attended church regularly, were not very involved beyond that, and typically did not discuss religion at home. They were raised in Catholic, Anglican, Salvation Army, and a few mixed faith traditions. The 18 “intensely” Christian participants grew up in Presbyterian, Baptist, Catholic, and Pentecostal/ fundamentalist evangelical faith traditions. Two were raised in the United Church. All were heavily involved in church, usually in youth groups, choir, Bible study. They

98 B. L. Beagan and B. Hattie

TABLE 2 Faith Tradition Growing Up and Current Beliefs

Tradition Raised In # Current Beliefs #

Non-Christian 6a None 8 Somewhat Christian 12a Spiritual 8 Intensely Christian 18 Christian 7

Other 4 Jewish 3 Buddhist 3 Pagan 2

aAdds to more than 35; one person was raised by one Jewish parent, one Christian parent.

led church camps, were altar boys, became church elders or deacons, studied theology, worked for their churches. Religion was often central to family, schooling, and community.

RESULTS

The theme that dominated interviews concerns the ways faith traditions negatively affected LGBTQ people, including shame, guilt, sex negativity, disconnection from body, and severing of relationships to self and others. A second major theme concerns how people resolved any conflicts between their LGBTQ identities and their religious or spiritual beliefs. A final theme concerns the relationships between spirituality and LGBTQ communities.

There were no age patterns in our interviews. Stories of harms done through faith traditions were as intense for those in their twenties as those in their fifties and sixties. A few of the younger participants were raised in relatively tolerant religions and actually sought out more conservative groups, usually seeking a place of belonging or emotional intensity.

Conflicts between LGBTQ Identities and Religion/Spirituality

The five participants who were raised Jewish (Conservative and Reform) did not appear to have internal conflicts in coming to terms with LGBTQ identities. Some were raised in secular families and experienced Judaism as connection with a people more than religion (Abes, 2011). For some, however, Judaism provided direction for living a moral and ethical life, at individual and community levels.

Judaism was very much my moral compass; like, it was very much rooted in how to be a better person.... It’s such a huge part of who I am, and how I see the world and how I navigate the world, and my relationship to everything from food to money to sex and gender. (Deborah, queer woman, 26)

Religion, Spirituality, and LGBTQ Identity 99

None of the Jewish participants experienced religious or spiritual shame in relation to being LGBTQ. Some had heard no teachings about homosexual- ity while growing up; one suggested that while Jewish teachings assumed heterosexuality, they were not overtly homophobic. One woman had only encountered rabbis who were strongly supportive of LGBTQ rights.

In general, the non-Christian participants did not experience internal conflict, guilt, or shame. This may be because they were not exposed to teachings about sin and evil, but it may also be because three of them (two Jewish, one atheist) identified as transgender. Two other participants who identified as transgender or gender fluid, who were raised Christian, also experienced little or no conflict between religious beliefs and gender identity. It is possible that the religious messages they heard concerning gender identity were not explicitly intolerant.

For 18 of the 29 participants who were raised Christian, internal conflicts had been intense (16 were raised intensely Christian). Several described deep shame as they struggled to come to terms with their sexual orientation. For example, Natasha (raised Catholic) said, “I didn’t have barriers of guilt regarding what God specifically would think. But I did have the internalized shame associated with sexuality that just gets conditioned into you, if you’re part of the church from a very young age” (bisexual woman, 20). Also raised Catholic, Sam (gay man, 48) learned to see same-sex desire as “something dirty, to be ashamed of, to be hidden.” With prevalent messages about gay people being “child molesters,” he feared becoming “a monster.”

Participants from evangelical churches and some Catholics struggled with the belief that their sexual orientation meant they were sinners and would go to hell. Deirdre had left church in her early twenties, while coming out as lesbian. At age 27, she said, “Part of me is a little scared, I guess. You get taught if you don’t follow this path of righteousness, you’re going to hell.” Melanie had left her evangelical church as a teen:

But I still believed a lot of that stuff. Or feared that that was the way it was; that there was some horrible deity that was watching, and just waiting for an opportunity to land on you like a ton of bricks. (bisexual woman, 56)

Beyond homonegative messages, several participants had experienced church as more broadly sex negative. Of his Wesleyan family, Daniel said, “We could watch a little bit of television, and if there was any reference made to sexuality, (gasps), you know, ‘Isn’t that awful? Isn’t that disgraceful? Isn’t that disgusting?" (gay man, 48). Raised Catholic, Jardine said, “Conversations about sexuality and sex and homosexuality were always very negative. And more than homophobia, . . . more problematic for me was the intensely sex-negative attitude” (queer woman, 26). Several participants said the

100 B. L. Beagan and B. Hattie

construction of even masturbation as sinful left them feeling sex in general was shameful, and same-sex attraction doubly so.

DELAYED SEXUAL ACTIVITY

Not surprisingly, given negative messages, many participants delayed sexual activity until relatively late in life. They simply avoided sex. Natasha said though all her teen peers were sexually active, she was paralyzed by “inter- nalized shame that was associated with having sex.” When she did have sex with a male partner she experienced tremendous self-loathing :

It just all compounded to the point where I felt disgusted with myself, for being sexual. I felt disgusted by the idea of being sexual with somebody, even if I knew that that person loved me, I still felt really weird and just wrong, thinking about having sex with someone. (bisexual woman, 20)

Similarly, Kyle (raised Presbyterian) avoided sex until he was well into his twenties, yet in his first sexual relationship a lot of early messages arose, “It started bringing up things like, no sex before marriage and things like that. They were still really ingrained in me” (gay man, 29). Other partici- pants, too, found initial sexual intimacy challenging, as they battled guilt and shame.

Sam said in his Catholic upbringing “sex was essentially viewed as a necessary evil.” As a result he was distanced from his physical self, with “hangups about sexuality, in general” as well as about his body (gay man, 48). Similarly, Beth described herself as having been “a disembodied head” for decades; it was only in her forties, more than 20 years after coming out, that she began to integrate her body into her sexuality (lesbian woman, 47). Raised in a culture where girls holding hands was very common, Amani always avoided touching friends, fearing her body might betray her, “What if you think I like you in a way that I shouldn’t?” (bisexual woman, 28).

Separation from the body and delaying sexual activity allowed partici- pants to come to terms with identity apart from feelings and beliefs about sex. As Kyle said, throughout his teens and into his twenties, sexuality was “on the back burner”: “I wasn’t seeking a relationship with anyone. I wasn’t engaging in sexual behaviour and things like that. I was very much kind of a, a neutral body, I guess” (gay man, 29). Dierdre used almost the same lan- guage, describing herself as putting sexuality on the “back burner . . . didn’t even think about it . . . never dated until I was twenty two” (lesbian woman, 27). She experienced herself as devoid of sexual desire.

DENIAL OF THE SELF

In addition to the ways some participants put their sexual selves and ex- ploration of their bodies on hold, some denied or separated from whole

Religion, Spirituality, and LGBTQ Identity 101

aspects of themselves. Raised Catholic, Lee-Anne disavowed her bisexuality for many years, “I could somewhat hide behind the fact that I was still at- tracted to men.... I never really mentioned that other part of myself, which was difficult because it was just– I really denied a part of who I was” (bisex- ual woman, 33). Twenty years later, she has never disclosed to her family or friends in her hometown. Still active in her faith, she experiences her sexuality and her religion as totally separate.

Raised in a “very Catholic” family, early on Ross decided he could not be “worthwhile and successful” if he were gay, so he denied his feelings for men for about 30 years. Beth came out as lesbian in her twenties but felt highly separated internally for years, “It took me a long time to fully be myself. I think I tried to pass as not a lesbian in a lot of situations, for most of my life, until the last couple years” (lesbian woman, 47). She was quite judgmental of others who looked “too” gay. Sexually active as an adolescent, Will still kept his Christian and gay selves separate:

I used to have to segregate it in my body, in my mind. It’d be like, “Okay, with my gay friends, I do gay things. And we talk about gay things. And with my Christian friends, we talk about Christian things and Biblical things and conservative things.” . . . Segregation makes a person crazy. (gay man, 30)

Not only did participants deny or separate from parts of themselves, but some turned to their faith to banish unwanted desires. A deacon and elder in an evangelical church, Peter saw his same-sex attractions and occasional encounters as shameful, and prayed for redemption, “There wouldn’t be a day that I wouldn’t pray to God that that desire would be taken away. . . . It drove me nuts” (gay man, 59). In his twenties his minister directed him to a Christian program aimed at healing sexual and relational “brokenness”:

He put me on this Living Waters program, and all I would do is listen to the tapes and hear a voice that was so distinctively gay confessing that he was healed and he was all better (laugh)....Well, I fantasized what he looked like! (laugh) Honestly, the more intense the procedures to deny it, the more real it became.

Two other participants also engaged in church-based programs to try to exorcise their demons. Others willingly or unwillingly had congregations pray over them to heal their sexuality. One who refused was forced to leave his church; he did leave, but he also went back in the closet. Another young man was forced to attend a residential program thousands of miles away for “conversion therapy.” Later, church leaders told him there was no place for him in the church.

102 B. L. Beagan and B. Hattie

LOSSES: COMMUNITY, FRIENDS, FAMILY

Those who were asked to leave a church because they were LGBTQ gen- erally experienced profound loss. Often the church was their entire social network: family, friends, community. Many who were highly active in their churches—clergy, secretary, outreach worker, youth group leader, choir, deacon, elder—lost those organizational roles when they came out (or were outed). Even those who gradually left religions lost friends, community, and family. All but two of those raised intensely Christian described such losses, and those two had already left for other reasons.

Some mourned the loss of a relationship with God. Some mourned the loss of church community. As Jennifer said:

What I haven’t been able to pick up—and perhaps I haven’t gone looking hard enough yet—is that sense of community. When you’re no longer part of an active worshipping congregation, where you’re with a set group of people,...where does the Christian community come? I haven’t figured that one out yet. It’s a little isolating. (lesbian woman, 35)

When Kyle was confronted by his pastor and asked to leave, he felt totally abandoned:

I’d never felt so alone in my life, and I’d never felt so unsupported in my life, once I started coming out and once I was confronted.... I lost a lot, when I needed them the most.... It really felt like my heart broke, because there was nothing there.... I think that I still haven’t gotten over the break up. (gay man, 29)

After leaving an evangelical church, Dierdre hadn’t found anything to replace the intense connection, the shared passion (lesbian woman, 27). Similarly, upon leaving a Christian community in his forties, Daniel experienced deep loneliness and “profound despair” (gay man, 48).

Clare, raised Catholic, named the loss of her faith tradition as loss of connection to ritual, which she had not managed to replace, “There’s a lot of comfort in the familiar, and ritual around a very dogmatic approach to religion can be very comforting and very anchoring in times of uncertainty” (lesbian woman, 51). Clare worried about how to raise her children with a sense of moral values in the absence of a faith tradition, the only way familiar to her.

Loss of family connections was even more common than loss of com- munity. Some simply grew steadily more distant from family, especially if they were not out to family. Even those who maintained good relationships with family had to find ways to navigate beliefs. Sarah, for example, was close with her family in part because she had moved away, “The way I chose to continue my life was leave. I left my community that I grew up

Religion, Spirituality, and LGBTQ Identity 103

in. I left, essentially, my family. And I didn’t think of it as a loss then.” The physical distance was becoming harder as her parents aged, and she once again had to navigate their belief that she would burn in hell.

Ross was estranged from his mother for years after she suggested he should have committed suicide. Beth and Marie (both lesbians age 47) had each lost 15 years of relationships with their parents due to religious beliefs, until they managed to heal the rift—for Beth only partially. Clare had also lost over 15 years of connection with her parents. She delayed coming out until her early thirties, “because I knew I could lose all of them.” She reconnected with siblings in her midforties, and with her parents at age 49. They had missed huge parts of her life, “I fell in love. I bought my first home. I got married. I had two kids.... The absence is very profound.... Then it becomes normal. And you get used to it” (lesbian woman, 51).

NEGATIVE EFFECTS ON EMOTIONAL WELL-BEING

Several participants described detrimental effects on their self-esteem from persistent condemnatory messages. Daniel, for example, went to the altar weekly to try to cleanse himself of same-sex attractions, “I am an awful person, for me to be thinking like this every day. I must not be good. How can there be any good in me?” (gay man, 48) He described his self-worth at the time as “a zero, it was just a negative quantity for me. I really believed that in God’s sight, I must be an awful person.” Amani tried to be “saved” in her evangelical church at age 17, hoping it would “make [her] straight, forever. But it didn’t.” At the time of our interview she was struggling with a pervasive lack of self-worth. Although she still defined as Christian, she said, “I sometimes feel like God shouldn’t be loving me, for being gay” (bisexual woman, 28).

About one half of the 35 participants had faced some psychological or emotional struggles. Common concerns were low self-esteem, body image issues, a pervasive sense of not being worthy or lovable, and times of ex- treme shame. Several experienced depression, some were cutting or harming themselves, and several had been suicidal at least once. Some described anx- iety disorders and panic attacks. As Beth said, “I had my own homophobic stuff. You know, I wanted to kill myself for a while, ‘cause it was really hard for me to swallow, to go against the norm and everything” (lesbian woman, 47).

Two women in their twenties described suicidality and depression, as well as cutting themselves as a physical release from emotional pain. Aron experienced bodily disconnection until beginning to take testosterone, and connecting with a transgender community, “I think that a lot of my self- harming tendencies like physically self-harming [and] a tendency towards addiction, had to do with numbing my body” (queer transperson, 23). Aron described at one point, “being really depressed and self-destructive and

104 B. L. Beagan and B. Hattie

suicidal,... trapped in this dysfunctional relationship, and then also dealing with a pretty serious drug addiction.”

Many of those who suppressed LGBTQ identities for extended periods said their depression or anxiety lifted once they came out. With loss of family and community they may have been lonely or isolated, but they felt less internal conflict. Jennifer noted that the year she left her church was the first year in her adult life that she did not have a major depressive episode, “I think it was the stress of trying to live a double life . . . living that duality, that takes a dreadful toll on a person” (lesbian woman, 35).

Only five participants spoke about addictions, though we also did not ask about this specifically. Will went through periods of homelessness after he was asked to leave his church for being gay. When he tried to reconnect with his former church, he faced a painful meeting with the elders and deacons:

They basically told me I was a horrible person.... They basically, what I would call, religiously abused me. They used their authority and they made me feel crazy. After that, I went into the mental ward, because it was that intense. (gay man, 30)

Eventually he was drug addicted and living on the street. By age 30 he had been in detoxification programs three times. Bernie used drugs and alcohol for decades, in part to deal with being sexually abused by a priest, in part to suppress his fear about stigma and discrimination because he was gay. He progressed to heavy heroine use and tried twice to kill himself (Two Spirit man, 51).

Resolving Conflicts between LGBTQ Identities and Religion/Spirituality

Interestingly, those who had studied Christian theology intensely appeared to have much less internal conflict about their LGBTQ identities. They saw teachings condemning homosexuality as (flawed) human interpretations of Biblical teachings. Quincy, for example, had attended a Christian univer- sity and frequently preached as an ordained head elder in his conservative church. He really never struggled with coming out as gay, because he knew academic scholars of theology acknowledge considerable ambiguity regard- ing homosexuality. Quincy’s conflict concerned the impact of coming out on his family and community, not on his soul.

A participant who had trained as a minister described similar turmoil. She completed seminary training, and was in her second position as a pastor when she started coming out to herself. Again, her faith did not pose conflicts for her as a lesbian, the church community did:

Religion, Spirituality, and LGBTQ Identity 105

For me, it’s never been a theological issue. This is not God’s problem with me. This is other people’s problem. This is the perception of some of the church community. This is not God; this is other Christians you have to worry about. (laugh) . . . You know, “God is okay with this. It’s the people that I work with and for, how do I navigate this?” (lesbian woman, 35)

Another participant fell in love with a woman while training as a minister in her late thirties, and came out as lesbian; she experienced no conflict with her religion, only with church members.

Lastly, Dayna had studied intensely in numerous faith traditions through- out more than 40 years, including several Christian denominations, Judaism, Buddhism, Hinduism, Druidism, Native spirituality, Sufism, Kabbalah, mysti- cism and Gnosticism, Wiccan, Asatru (Norse paganism), and Icelandic runes. Dayna’s masters degree in Christian theology confirmed Dayna’s belief that mainstream churches preach selective theology, governed by politics more than faith (woman-loving, gender fluid, 48).

SEPARATING RELIGION, CHURCH, AND SPIRITUALITY

Separating beliefs from the people and politics of a specific church appeared key for many participants as they found ways to integrate LGBTQ identities. Kyle found it impossible to reconcile teachings about love with the judgment he experienced in his Presbyterian church. Although many of his personal beliefs remained congruent with Christianity, he could not connect with a church, “I guess the head honchos of the Christian faith let me down so much that I refuse to give them my faith. Because I don’t think that they deserve it, they let me down” (gay man, 29). Also raised Presbyterian, Will echoed, “I still love church. I still love God, but I had an issue with the people” (gay man, 30). Jennifer emphasized the importance of separating religion from people:

I consider myself blessed, having been able to make that distinction, that this is not God who has a problem with me, this is the church. This is people who have their minds bound up in an ideology that is not necessarily what I believe to be true. (lesbian woman, 35)

Others clearly separated religion from spirituality. Cameron, for exam- ple, loved the ritual and majesty of Catholicism, but never experienced it as spiritual, “I knew what God represented to me, but the messages coming through the official channels didn’t match what I thought God would go for (laugh).” She described her spiritual life even as a teen as “intense, deep” and focused on mysticism and direct connection to the divine (bisexual woman, 38). Daniel had left an evangelical church and saw himself as spiritual but not religious, “I don’t call myself a Christian anymore. I call myself more

106 B. L. Beagan and B. Hattie

of a spiritual person. Because I don’t go to church. I don’t find solace in the church. I don’t find that I can worship there.” Peter had also left a very conservative Christian church, but his belief in God had not changed, only his belief in the church, “I have exactly the same beliefs I had all my life. . .. But there’s no mediator. There’s no church there telling me how I connect with Him. It’s so liberating” (gay man, 59).

Dale and Clare argued that separating religion from spirituality in fact deepened their spiritual lives. Dale thought the hypocrisy he had witnessed in mainstream religions blocked spiritual connection, as that which is “good and pure and honest” is rejected through church dogma (gay man, 35). Clare found leaving Catholicism substantially enhanced her own spiritual life, because she had to figure it out for herself:

I have a far more articulated and self-aware construct of spirituality than I did when I was going through the motions. . .. My own spirituality, while deeply framed by that ritual and by that practice, only surfaced once I was able to look at it from the outside. (lesbian woman, 51)

REMAINING WITH THE FAITH TRADITION OF UPBRINGING

Nine of the 35 participants remained more or less in the religious traditions with which they were raised. This was true for three of the four Jewish par- ticipants. Deborah reconnected with an anti-Zionist Judaism in her twenties. She maintained weekly prayer and ritual, respecting Jewish holidays, and “queering” traditions, “I sit with what I know to be the tradition and really sort through what makes sense for me. So I do a lot of like, queering every- thing, every ritual that I partake in.” She held Seders with friends, collectively writing their own guiding Haggadah. Rather than leaving her faith tradition, she was finding ways to make it fit for her, such as emphasizing the Jew- ish tradition of critique and critical thinking, “Queerness is about querying our sexuality but also querying everything that we do, which is about re- ally thinking critically and not accepting the status quo” (queer woman, 26). Isaac (gay man, 68) stayed involved with his synagogue, joining committees to examine inclusiveness in rituals and in the language of prayers, as well as participating in decision making concerning same-sex marriage.

Three of the Christians who stayed involved with the faith traditions of their upbringings were with churches that were relatively affirming of LGBTQ people. Three others remained connected to much more conservative Chris- tian traditions. Lee-Anne attended a Baptist church where she felt welcome but continued to see herself as Catholic, “I would describe my Catholicism right now as, I never stopped believing, I just stopped feeling welcome. I’m very Marian, into the doctrine, but at some point I just stopped feeling welcome in the church” (lesbian woman, 33). She still sought a welcoming Catholic church.

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Will had been asked to leave his evangelical church more than once, yet kept returning: “It’s where I felt loved, where I felt community. It’s where I connected” (gay man, 30). At the time of our interview, Will was attending a Baptist church. He found more liberal Christian churches uncomfortable be- cause he could not quite ascertain their theological beliefs. Similarly, Quincy found the beliefs of more affirming churches lacking the “intellectual and theological engagement” he sought (gay man, 38). Having left his conser- vative Christian church after coming out as gay, he returned despite the homonegative teachings. He felt shut out. For Quincy, church service is key to his spiritual life, “being the conduit of the holy spirit,” and the churches with which he connects theologically do not readily offer leadership to gay men.

ADOPTING A NEW PATH OR TRADITION

Only six participants had moved from one faith tradition to another, which they experienced as more open to as LGBTQ people. Three women had be- come Buddhists as adults, having been raised Catholic or evangelical Chris- tian. Rosa found a “home” in Buddhism in her early fifties, when she was coming out as lesbian: “One of the basics of Buddhism is that we are perfect the way we are. They teach you how to accept yourself unconditionally. . .. The lesbian is one part of who you are” (lesbian woman, 58). Another par- ticipant came out to herself almost immediately after taking Buddhist vows, which included the intention to live truthfully (bisexual woman, 56).

Two participants had adopted paganism, which Cathy (queer woman, 33) described as aligned with her commitment to living her truth.

A big tenant of paganism is to be responsible for one’s own actions, which I highly, highly believe in . . . I like the symbolism in paganism. And it seems more free to interpretation for me. There’s also a bit more carnal pleasure available in it, which I am very much in support of. Because I feel like I’m here for a joyful life and life is hard. And I have a lot of sadness, so I need to balance that with joy.

Sam (gay man, 48) had gradually adopted paganism after rejecting the Catholic church. He and his first long-term partner explored Wiccan and pagan rituals as a way to mark the passing of seasons and cycles. They crafted personal rituals and marked the passing of loved ones with pagan rituals and blessings. At the time of the interview, Sam was connected with a small group of gay men who identified as pagan and occasionally did rituals together.

Bernie had also left the Catholic church as a teen. In his thirties and forties he developed a strong connection with Aboriginal spiritual practices, identifying as Two Spirit: “It’s like a gender identity. It’s not what you present

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outside. You balance your male and female, perfectly, the two spirits within me, male and female.” Following the “Red Road,” an Aboriginal spiritual and life path, and guided by elders, he did daily smudging rituals and regular sweats, “It cleanses you, spiritually, physically, mentally” (Two Spirit, 51).

CREATING AN INDIVIDUAL RELATIONSHIP TO SPIRITUALITY

Only three of the 35 participants had entirely abandoned anything religious or spiritual. Sarah, said of all organized religions, “I don’t really have an interest in that, and haven’t for a long time” (lesbian woman, 52). Yet she found sacred music, especially choral music, spiritually moving, even attend- ing church occasionally to hear a good choir. The other 32 participants had crafted some form of relationship to spirituality, often an individualized set of beliefs and practices. As Paulina said, “I take part of everything I read and have kind of made up my own thing” (queer woman, 22). Cameron, too, had borrowed from a number of traditions, saying, “I didn’t want to fol- low somebody else’s prepackaged notion of what was going on. I’ve picked and chosen a stew of a lot of good stuff from all over the place” (bisexual woman, 38).

Some people meditated, reflected, or wrote, did yoga or tarot or listened to music, some sang. For some, private time was key, for others ritual was key; for a few the spiritual infused everyday activities, and for some the key was gathering and focusing energy alongside other people. Aron and Ross, a 23-year-old queer transperson and a 65-year-old gay man, respectively, found activism for social change spiritual, grounded in hope and faith.

The most consistently mentioned source of spiritual connection for par- ticipants was nature. Sylvie, for example, spoke evocatively about nature evoking transcendence:

Spirituality to me is . . . a part of what builds your foundation. . .. It is something inside of you, that you conjure up yourself. Some sort of power, strength, calmness, confidence, security, sense of “Nothing is going to happen to me. I’m going to be all right.” . . . For me, it’s nature. I go to the beach and I love being around the water. I love looking at beautiful scenery. I love smelling the grass. I love smelling the air. It gives me a sense of. . .there’s just so much more, you know, there has to be, because the beauty and the power of nature is just so intense. (lesbian woman, 48)

Dale found spending time in wilderness, close to natural elements, helped him cut through mundane distractions, “Letting go of everything . . . and remembering what’s really important” (gay man, 35). As Peter said, “I think I’m as close to God as anywhere on earth just sitting on a rock and hearing the water” (gay man, 59). Saul noted a very particular spiritual connection to nature, where he never experienced transgender prejudice, “The plants and

Religion, Spirituality, and LGBTQ Identity 109

animals [never] judge me, gender me. I can go there and connect and not have to worry” (queer/bisexual transman, 24).

Connecting fully with LGBTQ identity, sexuality, and/or community was also experienced as spiritual for some people. Several participants spoke of living “authentically.” Doris (lesbian woman, 64) experienced coming out as lesbian as an expression of heart and soul, a connection to the Divine:

When there’s something that resonates, and resonates deeply . . . it’s like an instant text message from the Divine that there’s something here that is of the holy. There’s a deep knowing within me, that I trust, which I didn’t trust before.... The part of my being that was dormant, or repressed, for forty years, that part of my being was stirred. And is it entwined with what I understand as my soul? I think it is.

For Doris, living spiritually meant, “To continue becoming who we are cre- ated to be . . . to be fully who we are” (lesbian woman, 64).

A few participants extended their notion of the spiritual to include sex- uality itself. Cameron, for example, experienced sex as utterly spiritual. She was totally present, connecting with all of her senses to the Divine in her partner of 24 years. They used particular sexual practices to heighten sensory connections, trust, and intimacy, requiring them to be totally in the body, yet transcend the body. She described sex as, “Souls entwining, mystical . . . for me, sexuality and spirituality are all just one thing” (bisexual woman, 38). Sam used similar language. A deep spiritual bond with his first long- term partner helped him overcome Catholic sexual repression, learning to experience sex as Divine:

I saw the expression of sex, or making love between us, as a spiritual practice in itself. And that’s something that I did not ever have an under- standing of within the Catholic Christian tradition that I was raised in. Sex was essentially viewed as a necessary evil. And I was quite happy (laugh) to let go of that idea, and instead view erotic play with my partner as a way of touching the Divine.... It’s a concept that fit very well with a more pagan framework as well. To see sexuality as Divine, to see sexuality as spiritual. Not as something dirty, to be ashamed of, to be hidden.

The Place of Spirituality in LGBTQ Communities

There was general agreement among most participants that spirituality ben- efits individuals and communities that face adversity. The overwhelming perception, however, was that spirituality is not really welcome in LGBTQ communities. Some argued that organized religion is rejected in LGBTQ communities, but spirituality is welcomed, especially earth-based or New Age spiritualities. Most participants said both religion and spirituality were soundly rejected in the LGBTQ communities they knew. Rick spoke of

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“church phobia . . . an irrational rabid response” (gay man, 48). Cathy com- mented, “There’s a lot of mistrust. It hasn’t been a place where queers have been allowed or felt safe” (queer woman, 33). Dierdre suggested there is too much “stigma and fear of being judged” for most people to risk talking about spirituality (lesbian woman, 27).

Those who identified as spiritual often felt marginalized within LGBTQ spaces, and this intensified for those who identified with specific faith tra- ditions. Many of the interviews revealed a sense of loneliness, isolation, exclusion, marginalization, and even ostracism. As a pagan, Sam said, “I still feel like an outsider, for the spiritual path that I’ve come to” (gay man, 48). As a Christian, Doris remarked, “All of the women with whom I’m friends, the circle that I’m inside of, none of them are connected to religious com- munity in any way shape or form. All of them have had bad experiences” (lesbian woman, 64).

LGBTQ communities may be replicating the kind of exclusions so many previously faced within faith communities, shutting out or silencing those who express themselves as spiritual, especially if that spiritual focus is Chris- tian. As Jennifer joked, “They say don’t tell your Christian friends you’re queer and don’t tell your queer friends you’re a Christian (laugh). Because people see those two worlds as separate” (lesbian woman, 35). Lee-Anne drew a parallel between first being closeted as bisexual, then being closeted as a Catholic:

Sometimes it just feels like you have to be one or the other. . .. Especially when I was a little younger, sometimes it was like, “Maybe I should keep this quiet, because this isn’t really talked about.” You know? But, not realizing how much of a disservice it was doing to myself, because it was going from suppressing my sexuality to suppressing my spirituality. (lesbian woman, 33)

Those who were clergy felt uniformly isolated, even ostracized. One partic- ipant wanted a relationship but found it nearly impossible to meet people who were not scared off by the “clergy” label: “I know I come with this big yellow warning label ‘Clergy’. (laugh) You know? I might as well be radioac- tive.” Another noted that the marginalization within LGBTQ communities echoed an ongoing marginalization within the faith tradition, even in rela- tively affirming churches, “I’m aware of the assumptions that are being made by friends. . .. So, there’s that sense of oddness that I feel. . .. But also, I’ve always been sort of on the margin of the church.” This sense of estrangement from community was echoed by another clergy member:

I think within myself I’m all right. It’s finding my place in the commu- nity, in both contexts. Finding a place for myself as a queer within the

Religion, Spirituality, and LGBTQ Identity 111

Christian community, and a place for myself as Christian within the queer community. There is room for both. But I haven’t found it yet.

Several people argued that LGBTQ communities need to better support their members in being fully themselves as spiritual beings, to strengthen the individuals as well as the community.

DISCUSSION: IMPLICATIONS FOR COUNSELING

The pain experienced by many LGBTQ people in connection with organized religions is clear, here and in other studies. What is notable is that despite a cultural shift to a more secular society (Clark & Schellenberg, 2006), for those involved with Christian traditions the harm is not lessening. Even very young participants in this study experienced homonegative and sex-negative messages, shame, guilt, and anxiety about eternity in hell. Even some very young Christians suffered low self-esteem, depression, and self-loathing, of- ten accompanied by addictions, self-harming and suicidal ideation.

As found previously (Murr, 2013; Rodriguez, 2009; Subhi & Geelan, 2012), not everyone experienced internal conflicts between LGBTQ identi- ties and religious or spiritual beliefs. The Jewish participants, the one Athe- ist, and one Christian transwoman, did not. The same was true for more nominal Christians, and those whose religiosity was mainly connected to family—whereas they experienced little spiritual conflict, they did face fam- ily conflict. Others seemed inured to identity conflict because they knew theology in depth; they faced struggles with “churches,” but the theology they knew did not preclude LGBTQ Christianity.

About two-thirds of the Christians, however, and almost all of those raised “intensely Christian” experienced deep conflict between religious and LGBTQ identities, centered on homonegative and sex-negative messages, shame and guilt, and fears about sin and hell. As documented elsewhere (Barnes & Meyer, 2012; Bowers et al., 2010), people internalized homopho- bia and tried to disavow their sexuality. They often resorted to some form of separation from their own bodies. One of the ironies—given prevalent stereotypes of LGBTQ people as sexually promiscuous—is that a substan- tial number delayed any sexual involvement until well into early adulthood, while they grappled with same-gender sexual attraction. Obviously body shame and avoidance of sexual activity are important areas for counseling.

Also not surprising, people who left faith traditions (even if they did so gradually rather than being pushed out) frequently experienced profound losses loss of faith, community, friends, and family. For counselors, it may be important to convey to clients that such losses may change over time. This may be part of renewing hope, a component of the GRACE model for counseling (Bozard & Sanders, 2011). Sarah, for example, left her family

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and close-knit Christian community fairly easily, staying connected by dis- tance. Thirty years later, as her parents aged, she found herself resenting the physical distance, yet having to navigate their perception that she would burn in hell. Clare happily left the Catholic church, resulting in a “far more articulated and self-aware construct of spirituality” (cf. Murr, 2013). As her children reached adolescence, she struggled anew with the loss of a faith tradition that provided clear moral guidance. Others, such as Marie and Beth, experienced profound loss of family connections, stretching over 15 years, but they did reconnect. It may be helpful to young LGBTQ clients to know that even deep family rifts over religion may eventually heal.

It can be difficult for LGBTQ people of any age to find out from oth- ers about ways to resolve spirituality and LGBTQ identity. Rodriguez (2009) commented on the antireligious stance prevalent in LGBTQ communities. It was clear from our participants that spirituality is as marginalized in LGBTQ communities as sexual/gender variance is in faith communities. Experiences of exclusion and isolation were intense and pervasive. Super and Jacobson (2011) noted that abuse and rejection from religions leave many LGBTQ people extremely angry, seeing religion as solely destructive. This crushes the individual’s spirituality, but may also foster a community environment where animosity toward religion and spirituality predominates. Counselors should be aware that clients may experience a second form of “closeting” in LGBTQ circles, wherein they feel compelled to hide, suppress, or silence their spiritual selves. Thoughtful counselors who help clients explore spir- ituality may open up possibilities for individuals to be fully themselves, as spiritual LGBTQ people (Buser, Goodrich, Luke, & Buser, 2011; Kocet et al., 2011). As Murr (2013) suggested, counselors “can provide a safe place for individuals to explore a spirituality that reduces feelings of shame, guilt, and hopelessness, and renews a sense of wholeness” (p. 370).

Integrating Identities

Despite condemnation from faith traditions and intolerance within LGBTQ communities, many study participants continued some form of spiritual seek- ing. For many, there was a sense of longing, yearning. Notably, people were seeking a range of different things: a sense of community and belonging centered on faith or spirituality; internal acceptance of self as good, moral, and worthy; moral guidance; full acceptance by the specific faith tradition of one’s upbringing, or one theologically proximal to it; an LGBTQ community that welcomes aspects of spirituality; integration of conflicting aspects of self; connection, intensity and transcendence, sometimes through ritual. Clarity about what an individual seeks would be important to effective counseling (Buser et al., 2011). This reinforces the emphasis Bozard and Sanders (2011) placed on identifying client goals in relation to religion and spirituality.

Religion, Spirituality, and LGBTQ Identity 113

Most of the study participants crafted their own individual relationship to spirituality, something common today (Buxant, Saroglou, & Tesser, 2010). Se- lecting elements from a range of spiritual paths to create a novel package was often immensely satisfying. Counselors could play a role in helping clients explore other paths to find spiritual elements that resonate for them, as sug- gested by both Kocet and colleagues (2011) and Bozard and Sanders (2011).

In this study, nine participants remained in the faith tradition of their upbringing, six adopted new spiritual paths. Clear distinctions were impor- tant. First, the teachings of a religion are distinct from their incorporation within the institution and doctrine of a church. Notably, those who knew the most Christian theology seemed least internally conflicted. Although it may be counter-intuitive, there may be times when encouraging LGBTQ clients to learn more about their faith tradition is actually helpful, to discern where church doctrine narrows a more ambiguous or accepting theology (Brennan- Ing et al., 2013; Dahl & Galliher, 2009; Garcı́a et al., 2008; Schnoor, 2006; Siraj, 2012; Westerfield, 2012).

Secondly, spirituality is distinct from religion. A few participants had from childhood experienced spiritual lives far beyond what they experi- enced in church. They had little conflict when coming out to themselves as LGBTQ. For others, separating spirituality from religion was a key step in coming to terms with LGBTQ selves (see Barrow & Kuvalanka, 2011; Garcı́a et al., 2008; Kocet et al., 2011; Porter, Ronneberg, & Witten, 2013). Collectively or individually, ritualized or as free-form as watching the ocean, people found ways to transcend the mundane. A personal connection to the sacred or transcendent through spirituality removes the power and author- ity of (condemning) religious institutions and figureheads (Rodriguez, 2009). Notably, in one study of transgender spirituality, the instruments routinely used to measure religiosity failed, because so many respondents had crafted individualized spirituality (Kidd & Witten, 2008).

Given the potential pain attached to spirituality and religion for LGBTQ people, as well as the collective pain of oppression, losses, violence, and death, counseling that encourages spiritual engagement may be beneficial. Helping clients distinguish religion, church and spirituality may help. Focus- ing on values rather than beliefs may help. Cogenerating a range of ways to engage may prove valuable—such as Aron and Ross engaging in so- cial activism as spiritual work, Isaac joining synagogue committees to effect change, or Deborah “queering” Jewish rituals with her friends. This fits well with counseling approaches previously advocated (Bozard & Sanders, 2011). Kocet and colleagues (2011) noted that within LGBTQ communities there already exist elements of the spiritual—use of symbols reflecting both loss and hope, use of ritual to celebrate and express joy, use of stories or parables to create community and growth. Symbols and rituals, they noted, are used in faith traditions for healing and to create sacred space; in LGBTQ com- munities symbols and rituals such as the red AIDS ribbon or rainbow flag, and rituals such as Pride marches, AIDS vigils—even interpersonal rituals

114 B. L. Beagan and B. Hattie

such as telling coming-out stories—evoke the sacred and enhance healing. Recognizing this may help some clients.

Clearly further research is needed in this area. We have documented a considerable spiritual yearning among our LGBTQ participants; it would be helpful to gain greater clarity on the range of things spiritual seekers are seek- ing. We and others have noted that deeper knowledge of theology appears to protect against harms from Christian teachings. It would be valuable to know whether those who have studied theology differ in some self-protective way, or if in fact encouraging clients to learn more about their religions can be helpful. The finding that many participants delayed sexual activity is new—it would be valuable to explore more fully any connections between religion, spirituality and delaying sexual engagement. Such understanding could be helpful for clients struggling with feeling isolated because of sexual inactivity. Lastly, the analysis here necessarily glosses over issues of race and ethnicity, as well as social class, all of which intersect profoundly with religion, spiri- tuality, and identity. The study was inevitably affected (in recruitment and in analyses) by the fact that both researchers were White Canadians. Although the number of non-White, non-European-heritage participants was higher than the proportion in the local region, there were still too few from any racialized or ethnic group to discern distinct patterns in the analyses. Future research focusing on intersections of religion and spirituality with race and ethnicity in the integration of LGBTQ identity would be valuable.

CONCLUSION

It is clear that religions have caused and continue to cause immense pain and suffering in LGBTQ lives. The losses have been, and continue to be, enor- mous. Yet many people continue to long for something, yearn for something. Participants spoke of a void, an emptiness, a search for greater meaning. Even those who had found spiritual solace, most often through individual- ized spiritual beliefs and practices, often felt a need to hide that in LGBTQ circles. There is clearly a deep and pervasive tension concerning spirituality in LGBTQ communities. Just as LGBTQ selves were often unwelcome in religious communities, so spiritual selves are often unwelcome in LGBTQ communities. Counselors have a key role to play in facilitating integration of spirituality and sexuality/gender variance, not only for individuals but for LGBTQ communities.

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

We would like to thank the study participants for sharing their experiences with us.

Religion, Spirituality, and LGBTQ Identity 115

FUNDING

We thank Dalhousie University’s Faculty of Health Professions for the Re- search Development Grant that made this study possible.

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