Check out Raphael’s testimony (not his real name) of confronting the possibility of singleness, wrestling with romance and belonging as a gay celibate Christian, and learning to trust Christ as his first love.
A simple question changed my life during a lunch conversation with a pastor while I was an undergraduate student in Boston. Having a strong faith in a mostly faithless environment, moments like those felt like breaths of fresh air for me. Pastor B. was one of the few people during college who made faith feel steady, safe, and honest in the middle of a chaotic season of school, music, ministry, and early adulthood. He was kind of like the cool older brother who always seemed grounded and wise without trying too hard.
Confronting the Possibility of Singleness
One afternoon over lunch, after talking about school, church, future plans, and life in general, he asked what I hoped my life would look like after graduation. Near the end of my long list of goals and dreams, I confidently said, “Of course, I want to get married and have children someday.” With a warm smile, and without even looking up as he scraped his plate, he calmly asked, “Is the idea of marriage a definite reality for you, or is it a hope-filled fantasy?”
Instantly, my eyes filled with tears and my lips began trembling involuntarily. Deep down, I already knew the answer. For me, marriage felt less like a promise and more like a fantasy.
To this day, I think about that encounter often. His question was gentle and genuinely curious, but it exposed something I had spent years never fully addressing. Same-sex attraction, same-sex temptation, being gay–whatever language you want to use for it–had been part of my story from a very young age. Accepting the possibility of singleness, though affirming it in faith, was still deeply painful, especially in a culture where romance and marriage are treated as life’s default destination. That conversation forced me to ask whether marriage was something God had truly promised me or simply a beautiful story I had absorbed and hoped would someday become true. Yet even in that grief, I slowly began realizing that Christian hope offers a kind of intimacy and companionship deeper than the scripts I had spent my whole life romanticizing.
Caught Between Christian and Artistic Worlds
Music has shaped my life since childhood, but my faith in Christ has shaped it even more. Same-sex attraction was another reality I had to learn how to carry. I didn’t think much about it until after my parents divorced, when some people subtly planted the idea that without a strong father figure I would probably become gay. Later, because I was musical, uninterested in sports, and had a softer speaking voice, classmates and acquaintances often asked if I was gay. By college, that question followed me almost everywhere.
My journey with same-sex attraction has never been completely hidden. I’ve always tended to be an open book, and growing up I was honest with leaders, family, and close friends about my struggle. In some ways, I think people were more comfortable with me because they knew I still wanted to follow Christ’s teaching about sex and relationships. Still, openness did not always lead to belonging. Some pastors excluded me from leading worship, and apart from a few faithful friends, I often felt disconnected from other men. In college, navigating friendship, affection, and expression became complicated. Sometimes I fit right in, but other times I felt “too much” or “obviously gay,” and people seemed unsure what to do with me. Through all of it, I never found peace with pursuing same-sex romantic love or sexual expression within the context of my faith. I wanted to be honest without making my sexuality the center of every conversation. I wanted to be faithful without disappearing.
As a musician, I often found myself caught between worlds. In secular artistic spaces, my faith could feel strange or limiting; in some Christian spaces, my same-sex attraction made people unsure what to do with me. During college, while studying at elite music conservatories and leading campus Bible studies, I constantly felt pulled between competing expectations. In some circles I was seen as suppressing myself; in others, as not repenting enough. That tension has followed me into adulthood and has often left me feeling misunderstood both by the broader culture and by parts of the Church itself.
The Kiss That Left Me Empty
That tension wasn’t only theoretical. At times, it became deeply personal, especially when romance was no longer just an idea I was wrestling with, but a possibility standing right in front of me.
The one romantic experience I had was kissing a guy during a concert series near a lake. After dinner and a few drinks, he drove us through a beautiful neighborhood while dreamy Cole Porter songs played softly through the speakers. At one point, completely caught up in how beautiful the moon looked over the water, I dramatically asked him to pull over so we could go watch it. The air was freezing against my face, and standing there beneath the full moon, I admitted that I had never kissed anyone before. Moments later, we kissed.
Part of me felt exhilarated. The moment itself felt cinematic, like one of those sweeping romantic scenes I had always loved in movies and music. But almost immediately, another feeling settled in beside the excitement: emptiness. The embrace felt warm, but underneath it all was a void I couldn’t ignore. For all the longing, fantasy, curiosity, and anticipation surrounding the moment, I still felt profoundly unsatisfied.
When he suggested we go further physically, I declined. I told him I didn’t want to pursue that life for myself. Before driving away that night, he told me I should “go out into the real world,” have more fun, and stop believing in a God who would keep me from experiencing gay sex. As painful and confusing as that moment was, it clarified something important for me. What I was truly searching for was not merely romance or sexual experience, but intimacy, belonging, peace, and ultimately Christ Himself.
Learning to Trust Christ with My Longing
Recently, I’ve also walked through an unexpected and painful season of church hurt unrelated to my same-sex attraction. In the middle of that, therapy and close community have helped me begin naming and healing wounds I carried for years. More and more, I’m realizing that what I truly long for is not romance, but authentic, intimate friendship and meaningful community, especially with other believers.
In all of this, I’m deeply grateful for the Lord’s faithfulness, conviction, kindness, and protection over my life. The temptations are still present, but so is He. I don’t have all the answers, but I trust that He does. Though this path can be painful, I no longer see celibacy as repression or the denial of joy, but as a form of sacrificial love and faithful discipleship. I genuinely believe the deeper joy I long for is ultimately found in Christ Himself.
Through prayer and many difficult conversations with Jesus, I’m continuing to discover that covenant with Him lived faithfully in singleness can be deeply intimate, perhaps even more intimate than I once imagined any human bond could be! Jesus Himself was unmarried and celibate, revealing that intimacy is not limited to romance or sexual expression. As a musician, I often think about the way great composers write with intention. Part of honoring their work is trusting their vision enough not to rewrite it. In the same way, I’m learning to trust the wisdom and goodness of the Composer of my own life, even when the song includes restraint and waiting.
So today, I continue walking this road with honesty, hope, and dependence on the Holy Spirit. I don’t have all the answers, but I’ve found Christ faithful through every season of this journey. My life may not look the way I once imagined, but I trust that the Lord is good. In my deepest yearning, in tears, in temptation, and even in my crazy mood swings, Jesus remains my first love. I am made for the Lord by the Lord Himself, and the Lord is for me. I’m still learning what faithful singleness looks like, still abiding with His Spirit in this sanctification journey, and still awaiting my first Love’s return. But I no longer believe I walk this road alone.
