IN THE GEN-Z romance XO, Kitty, Netflix platformed an uncommonly tender father-daughter exchange. “I have feelings for my friend Yuri, who’s a girl,” says Kitty, an American attending high school in Seoul, Korea. Speaking to her father across continents and generations, she’s visibly nervous to come out. He’s nervous too, but only because his daughter called him in the middle of the night. “Oh, thank God,” he exhales. Confused, she asks, “Thank God I’m bi? Or pan? Or fluid?” He smiles. “Whatever pan or fluid is, thank God you’re safe and healthy.”
I realize it’s doubtful the father is literally engaging the divine here — I don’t even know if he’s Christian — but I’ll take what I can get. Depictions of religious parents embracing their children’s queerness are rare. Christian coming-out stories are usually serious dramas, not binge-worthy rom-coms.
In 2018, for instance, two (excellent) movies about conversion therapy premiered: Boy Erased and The Miseducation of Cameron Post. The latter kicks off with a monologue from a youth pastor: “You are at an age where you are especially vulnerable to evil,” he says to a room full of teens, including the titular Cameron. Presumably, the pastor is referring to sexual sin, namely any sex that doesn’t involve a married man and woman. “What feels like fun is actually the enemy. And that enemy is closing a noose around your neck.” The camera cuts to Cameron sneaking around with her female friend Coley — “the enemy,” allegedly. When Cam gets caught kissing Coley, her adoptive parents drive her to a conversion camp called “God’s Promise.”
Soon, it becomes clear that homophobia is the real enemy. The bigotry itself is choking Christianity, forcing affirming people out of the pews and nudging queer Christians toward self-harm. “How is programming people to hate themselves not emotional abuse?” says Cam.
We now know that “ex-gay” ministries and other attempts to change someone’s gender identity or sexual orientation are ineffective and harmful. But according to the Trevor Project, more than 1,320 conversion therapy practitioners still operate in the U.S.
Too often for queer Christians, coming out is a horror story. But not always. Netflix’s Sex Education, which is as thoughtful as it is raunchy, gives us Eric Effiong (played vibrantly by Ncuti Gatwa), my favorite fictional queer, Christian character. Eric, who comes from a devout Nigerian-Ghanaian Christian family, is out at school and closeted at church. But in the series finale, he decides to live an integrated life. Moments before he is supposed to be baptized, Eric addresses the congregation:
“I’m in a position where I have to either choose to hide my [sexuality] and live in pain, or be honest and lose my community. ... I love myself too much to not tell my truth. So, if you love me as I am, I will be baptized, but if you don’t then I must leave.”
The camera pans around the chapel. His mom stands up, thank God: “I love you as you are, my son,” she says.
Ultimately, Sex Education is unclear about how the rest of the congregation responds, an ambiguity that’s fitting, suspenseful, and maybe even a bit hopeful. Who else will stand up?
Jenna Barnett is the culture editor at Sojourners and the producer of the award-winning podcast Lead Us Not.
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