Clayton Carmon
In October, Pastor Julie preached the sermon series Faith, Hope, and Love: These Three. Conrad Johnson, Clayton Carmon, and Pastor Eric shared their testimonies on faith, hope, and love, respectively. In recent weeks, we have reprinted these testimonies for your reading and reflection.
On October 20, Clayton Carmon shared what Faith means to him. You can read his words below, and by continuing onto the website.
“I must admit that speaking about hope intimidates me.”
I must admit that speaking about hope intimidates me. Hope is a thing that we all feel or interact with almost daily. It’s a word we throw around without thought, it’s a sentiment we share with others in times of trouble and triumph. I know for me at least; I allow myself hope at the start of every college football season that this might be the year my Aggies win the championship. Alas, that remains just a hope.
When I was growing up, I knew at quite an early age what hope was. Raised in a Southern Baptist church, I knew that my hope was Jesus, that the promises of God fulfilled in the sacrifice and subsequent resurrection of his son was hope incarnate, hope for me and hope for the world, and as such, it was all that I needed. With that knowledge and the faith of a child, I accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior when I was 8 years old and was baptized shortly after. For several years, that hope was enough; I had my faith, and I had my hope, and I knew with conviction what the Truth was.
Challenges in life are inevitable and they can shake the very foundations of our beliefs. For me, the first major challenge came in the realization that I was gay. I knew I was different from an incredibly young age, but it wasn’t until around middle school that I realized exactly how I was different. At the same time, I began to understand that no matter how hard I prayed, how hard I begged, or how hard I hoped, that nothing would ever change me. The hope that I had, the faith that I held, and the Truth that I knew, were all at once in doubt.
You see, the church in which I was raised had clear beliefs where homosexuality was concerned, and, by extension, so did I. With this realization, I was instantly the worst kind of sinner, an abomination to myself, to my parents, and to my God. I had lost my hope, for I knew that on one hand that I was gay, and nothing could change it, and I knew on the other hand that I was destined to burn for all eternity for this sin. What a catch-22.
I’d like to say that I managed to navigate the troubled waters in which I found myself as a young teenager with finesse and aplomb, but that would be laughably false. Without the anchor of my faith and my hope, I spiraled quite drastically for many years. My relationships were strained, I walked away from church, I turned my back on God, and I began to follow a path of self-destruction that nearly cost me my life.
It took me until my early 20s, a stint in rehab, and some extensive self-reflection to begin to rebuild the foundations of my life. At this point, I had flunked out of college and was trying to figure out what my next steps should be. I knew I wanted to go back to school, specifically I knew I wanted to be readmitted to Texas A&M (Gig’em). In short, I began to hope again. It was a small hope, a worldly hope, maybe even a selfish and self-reliant hope, but for the first time in many years I had genuine hope for the future, my future.
That bit of hope for something grew into a broader and more deep hope and, in turn, it guided my steps forward. I spent time working for a nonprofit in Haiti and while there began to find my way back to my faith and to God and, in turn, found a love for the field of Public Health. When I returned to the states and finally went back to school, I knew what I wanted to do. I spent a year and a half in community college bringing up my grades and in 2016 at 27 years old, applied for readmission to A&M. I was readmitted in 2017 and completed my bachelor’s degree two years later, and a master’s degree two years after that.
I tell you this not to list my accomplishments, but to demonstrate the difference that hope made in my life. Hope helped to guide my feet down a path of rediscovery and led me to a place of reconciliation. It led me here fully embracing myself as a gay man and a Christian. It helped me see all that I could pursue and accomplish.
Now, my journey of faith has been long and winding, as is true for most of us, and it is a journey I’m still on. But it is a journey marked by the ebb and flow of hope in my life. I can’t stand here and say that maintaining hope is easy because it isn’t. All it takes is one look at the world around me, at the pain, the suffering, and the despair to begin to lose my hope.
In those moments when I feel like things are hopeless: this election cycle, politics, war, homelessness, or the manifold ills that trouble the world, I think about this church. I think about a hug from Pastor Julie. I think about the friendships I’ve built and continue to build here. I think about the genuine acts of compassion and love that come from this congregation. I think about this city, and country, and world and remember the many good and decent people trying to make a difference. I think about my family and friends. I think about my life. I view all of these as the feet of love: hope. I see these as pieces of love in action providing little beacons of hope to us all.
