What caught me is your title. Almost 40 years ago ( it will be 40 in '29) I was planning my ordination in the UCC and meeting with the Conference Minister who happened to be a friend. I'd been mostly out..heck I'm UCC and we'd been ordaining queers since '72..at seminary and this person knew it. However, because of my acceptance of a rural parish contract his quiet advice was for me to "go back into the closet and lock the door" NOT because I was gay but because I was a single woman and when women hold power -:or are deffered to as power brokers in a church, they see any--ANY single woman as a threat to their families.
And I did that until 9/11 blew those doors off completely
It’s incredible how deeply this story resonates—even across different identities. The way your Conference Minister tried to frame it as protection rather than suppression... the way power gets policed when it shows up in the “wrong” body... the way the Church can fear presence more than sin.
Your words remind me that the closet doesn’t just hold sexual identity—it holds silence, fear, imposed humility, and anything else the world has deemed “too threatening” for a pulpit. And it’s so often women and queer folks who are asked to carry that burden.
What you said about 9/11—that it blew the doors off—that gave me chills. Sometimes it takes rupture to reclaim what’s real. Sometimes disaster calls us back to truth.
I’m honored that my title stirred something for you. And I’m grateful for the sacred ground you’ve walked to get here.
Yes, yes, yes. A thousand times yes! This is powerfully and beautifully written. You are you. All the bits and pieces were stitched together with love, creating a masterpiece that is James. You are seen and loved, my friend. (And maybe missed a little, too 😉).
Your words feel like being wrapped in a quilt someone made by hand just for me. Every stitch, every scrap, holding history and love and memory. That’s what I hope to be: a life stitched together with intention, not perfection.
And yes—Micah 6:8. Always. It’s the verse that keeps tugging at me when I need to come back to what matters: justice, kindness, humility… and the courage to live all three without apology.
I have enjoyed and benefited from your posts for a while now, but this one hit me hard. I will never understand why some people are threatened by queer folk. I’m blessed; I’ve never had a problem with being gay. I can only think of one time anyone commented sarcastically on my gayness. Of course I have lived the last 55 years in and around Seattle which certainly helps.
Bless you for taking such a strong stand for our value as children of God. We are all, on our infinite variety, made in the image of God.
Thank you so much for this. I’m grateful for your voice—and for the grace and groundedness it brings.
You’re right: living in a place like Seattle helps. But your heart posture—that’s what really makes the difference. Not just accepting queerness, but blessing it. Naming the sacredness in our variety. That matters more than you know.
And honestly? I’m glad you haven’t had to carry the same weight so many of us have. That’s what we want for all queer folks: not just survival, but ease. Joy. Belonging without question.
Your presence here, your willingness to speak up, to affirm our place in the image of God—it’s a blessing. And a reminder that liberation is collective. Thank you for walking with us.
Thank you Rev James! I’m deeply touched. I hadn’t expected a reply, certainly nothing so personal and deeply felt. Your passion for all people, especially our LBGTQ+ brothers and sisters is inspiring and holy. Bless you!
You make me think.... which is a good thing. It struck me as I was reading this that perhaps discomfort comes from a place of envy... yeah... Sounds weird. But I envy the fullness of you. How much do those of us who put up walls just not understand the incredibleness of our own selves. How much do we resist the glitter, the fabulousness that we could all find within ourselves because we're afraid of it? Because being silly is just not done. Because joy needs to be tamped down. And tears need to be wiped away so others don't feel bad. I preached on the Acts passage and I sang to my congregation - the song from South Pacific - You've Got to Be Carefully Taught. When God demands inclusivity and love for all, it's upon us to undo what we've been taught from birth and take on the task God has set before us.
No head-soaking necessary—this was a joy to read. Truly.
What you’ve named here—the envy of fullness, the way we’ve been taught to silence joy, to shrink our sparkle, to apologize for our tears—is exactly what so many of us carry. And it takes real courage to say it out loud.
Your reflection reminds me that queerness isn’t just about identity—it’s about liberation. It’s about refusing to compartmentalize love or tone down joy or “be appropriate” when what the world needs is wholeness and glitter and weeping that doesn’t apologize for itself.
“You’ve Got to Be Carefully Taught” is such a perfect choice—because yes, we are taught to suppress, to exclude, to perform. And the Gospel? It’s the untaming of all that.
I’m so grateful that you’re thinking, questioning, singing, and showing up with such open-hearted honesty. That’s the real work. That’s how the Church becomes more human, and more holy.
So beautifully written, James. Thank you for your faithfulness, for your honesty, for your endurance in the face of discrimination. Blessings and strength to you.
Your words mean a great deal—especially that phrase: “faithfulness in the face of discrimination.” That’s what I strive for, even on the days when it feels heavy.
Your blessing and your strength meet me right where I need them today. I’m grateful for your presence, your encouragement, and the gentleness with which you see others.
Sometimes the most powerful thing we can do for each other is just say it plainly:
“I love you for being you.”
That kind of love—without qualifiers, without edits—is what keeps me going. It’s what gives me courage to stay whole in a world that keeps trying to trim people down.
I’m so grateful for your heart, and for the way you’ve spoken it here.
Thank you, James for being yourself and not containing your sparkle. You are created fully in the image of God and it has taken me my 45 years of life to fully embrace who God has made me be too. I think that it makes others uncomfortable when it cracks the foundational things they were taught and see God through a very different lens. Continue being you and reframing their lens.
Ah, privilege at its “finest”. May they run with this growth opportunity for understanding, love and compassion. They don’t know how good they have it with your preaching! So happy to know you, in these few moments when our time at the church has intersected. You’re a sage role model, and I appreciate you beyond measure.
“Privilege at its finest” made me laugh and nod at the same time. You get it—and your ability to name it with both clarity and compassion is something I really admire. I’m so grateful that our paths have intersected, even briefly, and I already feel lucky to be serving alongside you.
Your words—about growth, about gratitude, about being a role model—landed right in the softest part of me. I’m honored. Truly.
Thank you for seeing me. And for showing up so fully as yourself, too. I have a feeling we’re going to make some holy noise together.
Maybe this person was trying to tell you that, “We get it; you’re gay. We do not need to keep being reminded of that.” This person was probably not trying to come across as negative as it was received. What if it was the other way around, where a pastor or teacher mentions that they are heterosexual in their public speaking? Personally, what anyone does in the bedroom is their business, and should be kept as such.
When I talk about being gay, I’m not talking about “what I do in the bedroom”—I’m talking about who I am. My orientation is not just about sex. It’s about how I love, how I grieve, how I build a life, how I understand myself in relation to others and to God. That’s no different than when a straight person references their spouse, their kids, or their dating history—it’s woven into the fabric of how they show up in the world.
What I’m sharing in my preaching or writing isn’t a repeated announcement of my identity—it’s lived experience. It’s the lens through which I move through the world. Just like someone who speaks from their perspective as a widow, a parent, a veteran, or a person in recovery. These aren’t “topics”—they’re identities. And they shape the way we connect, teach, and bear witness.
Telling someone “we get it, stop talking about it” is a way of saying, “Be less of who you are so I can be more comfortable.” That may not be the intention, but it is the impact.
And I think we can do better than that. Especially in the Church, where everyone deserves to be known and heard in the fullness of who they are.
What caught me is your title. Almost 40 years ago ( it will be 40 in '29) I was planning my ordination in the UCC and meeting with the Conference Minister who happened to be a friend. I'd been mostly out..heck I'm UCC and we'd been ordaining queers since '72..at seminary and this person knew it. However, because of my acceptance of a rural parish contract his quiet advice was for me to "go back into the closet and lock the door" NOT because I was gay but because I was a single woman and when women hold power -:or are deffered to as power brokers in a church, they see any--ANY single woman as a threat to their families.
And I did that until 9/11 blew those doors off completely
Thank you so much for sharing this.
It’s incredible how deeply this story resonates—even across different identities. The way your Conference Minister tried to frame it as protection rather than suppression... the way power gets policed when it shows up in the “wrong” body... the way the Church can fear presence more than sin.
Your words remind me that the closet doesn’t just hold sexual identity—it holds silence, fear, imposed humility, and anything else the world has deemed “too threatening” for a pulpit. And it’s so often women and queer folks who are asked to carry that burden.
What you said about 9/11—that it blew the doors off—that gave me chills. Sometimes it takes rupture to reclaim what’s real. Sometimes disaster calls us back to truth.
I’m honored that my title stirred something for you. And I’m grateful for the sacred ground you’ve walked to get here.
Thank you. Truly.
Yes, yes, yes. A thousand times yes! This is powerfully and beautifully written. You are you. All the bits and pieces were stitched together with love, creating a masterpiece that is James. You are seen and loved, my friend. (And maybe missed a little, too 😉).
PS...I'm glad you included Micah 6:8. ❤️
This means more than I can say—thank you.
Your words feel like being wrapped in a quilt someone made by hand just for me. Every stitch, every scrap, holding history and love and memory. That’s what I hope to be: a life stitched together with intention, not perfection.
And yes—Micah 6:8. Always. It’s the verse that keeps tugging at me when I need to come back to what matters: justice, kindness, humility… and the courage to live all three without apology.
I miss you, too. Deeply.
I have enjoyed and benefited from your posts for a while now, but this one hit me hard. I will never understand why some people are threatened by queer folk. I’m blessed; I’ve never had a problem with being gay. I can only think of one time anyone commented sarcastically on my gayness. Of course I have lived the last 55 years in and around Seattle which certainly helps.
Bless you for taking such a strong stand for our value as children of God. We are all, on our infinite variety, made in the image of God.
Thank you so much for this. I’m grateful for your voice—and for the grace and groundedness it brings.
You’re right: living in a place like Seattle helps. But your heart posture—that’s what really makes the difference. Not just accepting queerness, but blessing it. Naming the sacredness in our variety. That matters more than you know.
And honestly? I’m glad you haven’t had to carry the same weight so many of us have. That’s what we want for all queer folks: not just survival, but ease. Joy. Belonging without question.
Your presence here, your willingness to speak up, to affirm our place in the image of God—it’s a blessing. And a reminder that liberation is collective. Thank you for walking with us.
Thank you Rev James! I’m deeply touched. I hadn’t expected a reply, certainly nothing so personal and deeply felt. Your passion for all people, especially our LBGTQ+ brothers and sisters is inspiring and holy. Bless you!
I for one celebrate your "gay thing." Do. Not. Shrink.
This made me grin so hard—thank you.
There’s something so holy about being told, flat-out, “Do. Not. Shrink.” It’s a benediction and a battle cry all in one.
I promise I won’t. Not now. Not ever.
And I’m so glad you’re here to celebrate with me.
You make me think.... which is a good thing. It struck me as I was reading this that perhaps discomfort comes from a place of envy... yeah... Sounds weird. But I envy the fullness of you. How much do those of us who put up walls just not understand the incredibleness of our own selves. How much do we resist the glitter, the fabulousness that we could all find within ourselves because we're afraid of it? Because being silly is just not done. Because joy needs to be tamped down. And tears need to be wiped away so others don't feel bad. I preached on the Acts passage and I sang to my congregation - the song from South Pacific - You've Got to Be Carefully Taught. When God demands inclusivity and love for all, it's upon us to undo what we've been taught from birth and take on the task God has set before us.
Feel free to tell me to go soak my head!
No head-soaking necessary—this was a joy to read. Truly.
What you’ve named here—the envy of fullness, the way we’ve been taught to silence joy, to shrink our sparkle, to apologize for our tears—is exactly what so many of us carry. And it takes real courage to say it out loud.
Your reflection reminds me that queerness isn’t just about identity—it’s about liberation. It’s about refusing to compartmentalize love or tone down joy or “be appropriate” when what the world needs is wholeness and glitter and weeping that doesn’t apologize for itself.
“You’ve Got to Be Carefully Taught” is such a perfect choice—because yes, we are taught to suppress, to exclude, to perform. And the Gospel? It’s the untaming of all that.
I’m so grateful that you’re thinking, questioning, singing, and showing up with such open-hearted honesty. That’s the real work. That’s how the Church becomes more human, and more holy.
Thank you. Truly.
So beautifully written, James. Thank you for your faithfulness, for your honesty, for your endurance in the face of discrimination. Blessings and strength to you.
Love, Cathy
Thank you so much, Cathy!
Your words mean a great deal—especially that phrase: “faithfulness in the face of discrimination.” That’s what I strive for, even on the days when it feels heavy.
Your blessing and your strength meet me right where I need them today. I’m grateful for your presence, your encouragement, and the gentleness with which you see others.
I am so sorry for what others think. It isn't fair for others to force their ideas onto others. I love you James Monroe Potts for being you.
Thank you so much!
Sometimes the most powerful thing we can do for each other is just say it plainly:
“I love you for being you.”
That kind of love—without qualifiers, without edits—is what keeps me going. It’s what gives me courage to stay whole in a world that keeps trying to trim people down.
I’m so grateful for your heart, and for the way you’ve spoken it here.
With love right back,
James
Thank you, James for being yourself and not containing your sparkle. You are created fully in the image of God and it has taken me my 45 years of life to fully embrace who God has made me be too. I think that it makes others uncomfortable when it cracks the foundational things they were taught and see God through a very different lens. Continue being you and reframing their lens.
Ah, privilege at its “finest”. May they run with this growth opportunity for understanding, love and compassion. They don’t know how good they have it with your preaching! So happy to know you, in these few moments when our time at the church has intersected. You’re a sage role model, and I appreciate you beyond measure.
This means so much more than I can say.
“Privilege at its finest” made me laugh and nod at the same time. You get it—and your ability to name it with both clarity and compassion is something I really admire. I’m so grateful that our paths have intersected, even briefly, and I already feel lucky to be serving alongside you.
Your words—about growth, about gratitude, about being a role model—landed right in the softest part of me. I’m honored. Truly.
Thank you for seeing me. And for showing up so fully as yourself, too. I have a feeling we’re going to make some holy noise together.
With love and deep appreciation. ❤️
Maybe this person was trying to tell you that, “We get it; you’re gay. We do not need to keep being reminded of that.” This person was probably not trying to come across as negative as it was received. What if it was the other way around, where a pastor or teacher mentions that they are heterosexual in their public speaking? Personally, what anyone does in the bedroom is their business, and should be kept as such.
When I talk about being gay, I’m not talking about “what I do in the bedroom”—I’m talking about who I am. My orientation is not just about sex. It’s about how I love, how I grieve, how I build a life, how I understand myself in relation to others and to God. That’s no different than when a straight person references their spouse, their kids, or their dating history—it’s woven into the fabric of how they show up in the world.
What I’m sharing in my preaching or writing isn’t a repeated announcement of my identity—it’s lived experience. It’s the lens through which I move through the world. Just like someone who speaks from their perspective as a widow, a parent, a veteran, or a person in recovery. These aren’t “topics”—they’re identities. And they shape the way we connect, teach, and bear witness.
Telling someone “we get it, stop talking about it” is a way of saying, “Be less of who you are so I can be more comfortable.” That may not be the intention, but it is the impact.
And I think we can do better than that. Especially in the Church, where everyone deserves to be known and heard in the fullness of who they are.