The Freedom of Being Overlooked and Rejected

Chris Damian

Today’s post is from guest contributor Chris Damian, Chris Damian, an attorney and writer. He holds a Juris Doctor and a master’s degree in Catholic studies from the University of St. Thomas and a bachelor’s degree in philosophy from the University of Notre Dame. His work has appeared in Commonweal, Church Life Journal, Logos and other publications. He also writes at chrisdamian.substack.com. 

I have been told at times, “You can’t be gay and Catholic.” Or that I can’t “be Catholic” and say or do or believe various things. Such positions betray a lack of knowledge when it comes to Catholic baptismal theology. 

The Catechism teaches, “Baptism constitutes the foundation of communion among all Christians” (1271). It leaves an “indelible spiritual mark” that “no sin can erase” (1272).  The Catechism also notes that, in spite of our various differences, “all who have been justified by faith in Baptism are members of Christ’s body, and have a right to be called Christian.” So to claim that a baptized person “cannot be Catholic and do this or say that” is to depart from foundational theology. Even excommunicated Catholics are still considered Catholic. 

A basic knowledge of sacramental theology can be a source of comfort for those of us who have been told we cannot be LGBTQ+ and Catholic, but, in some ways, it can also be a source of discomfort. We might want to argue that Catholics who behave in hateful ways or spread harmful perspectives are “not really Catholic.” But our theology, if we take it seriously, doesn’t permit this move for us either. We have to sit with the fact that these people are fellow Catholics. We have to face the fact that we are all part of one body. To cut them off from the body of the Church would involve some kind of injury to ourselves. 

The challenge is to find space for the whole body, to deepen communion without waving away difference. In doing so, I believe Catholics can respond not only to our struggles within the Church but also to the partisanship, divisions, and isolation across the broader community. Can a fuller manifestation of the Catholic theology of baptism provide a method of healing for our broader world? 

I was originally invited to write this essay to expand my closing remarks in a discussion of the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops brief in the Supreme Court’s conversion therapy case Chiles v. Salazar. I shared concerns about misrepresentations of Catholic teaching in the brief and the ways in which this harms LGBTQ+ and other people. I ended that discussion with:

“Catholic leaders’ bad arguments can also be a source of freedom. Their lack of care and credibility only emboldens LGBTQ+ Catholics to decide for ourselves how to best live and love. This may not be the freedom that the USCCB wants. But in a church where grace is a mystery, it’s the freedom they have to give.” 

In composing those sentences, I had in the back of my mind a conversation with an “orthodox” Catholic friend many years ago. I had shared with them my openness to adopting children. They told me, “It’s not what I would want for you. But I hope I’ll have a role in that child’s life.” I kept a straight face as I received what I thought was an outlandish statement. What responsible father would want to prioritize time for their child with someone who thought he should not be the child’s father? 

But, oddly, the conversation led to a deep sense of freedom. I had struggled with my friend’s views on homosexuality prior to that conversation. The conversation facilitated an internal conviction that my friend knew far less than they thought and that their reasoning was not to be relied on in making sense of or decisions about my life as a gay man. From then on, I was able to hear their views as their views. I realized that their views weren’t really about me. They were about them. Those views were for them to work through, if they wanted to do that. I felt greater freedom in our relationship, and my prior felt need to be fully seen and understood by them diminished significantly. 

Looking back, I can now see that friend’s comments as a gift. They helped me to see what was mine to hold and what was not. They helped me recognize where I was relating to that friend out of charity, out of my own selflessness in listening to their views and letting them process, as opposed to relating to them as a friend where the relationship is characterized by equality and mutuality. That clarity enabled me to listen and engage them with a charity free of defensiveness. In this way, harmful words and actions can at times be a gift, a grace, in that they shed light that can enable freedom. The more obvious the harm, the brighter the beam of light. God can really make all things new. 

The funny thing about all of this, is that the argument cuts both ways. Surely many disagree with my social, political, theological, and philosophical views. They, too, can argue, “The more Chris goes down this wild line of thinking, the more I can see him as so obviously wrong and the less I should need to feel personally impacted by what he is saying.” 

If you are in that place, I suppose I would invite you to take your own sense of clarity and use it to have a greater sense of freedom and charity in engaging with me as well. Grace is a mystery. And I don’t have to understand how it operates in your life for it to be real. 

—Chris Damian, December 5, 2025