By TIM BARTO

Thirty-six years ago I attended a young adult Bible study group at my former church in San Jose, Calif. Arriving 15 minutes late was Doug (a pseudonym used to protect the innocent as much as cover for my terrible memory for names).

Doug was a good 10 to 15 years older than the rest of us, but we didn’t mind, as he was a bit different and it was unspoken, yet apparent to the rest of us that he needed some socialization, even if it was with a bunch of twenty-somethings whose primary goal of young adult Bible study was to meet a Bible-believing member of the opposite sex. 

On this particular evening in particular, Doug was not only late — a particularly heinous sin in a gathering of staid Lutherans — but he was visibly upset.

Usually, Doug just stared at his surroundings through Coke bottle-thick glasses with a look somewhere between “Where’s the nearest exit?” and “Who’s hiding the coffee and Danish?” But now he was visibly angry, enough that the rest of us were scanning the room for the nearest exit.

“You okay, Doug?” asked our group leader, who also happened to be a rather young assistant pastor and a heckuva centerfielder on our softball team that finished runners-up in the church league that year. (Truth is we should’ve won the championship, but being Lutheran and unencumbered by restrictions on alcohol consumption, still went out after the game and had a few beers with our second place trophies.) 

“Not really,” replied Doug, which was, in actuality, quite an expansive use of vocabulary for him.

“Oh, you just returned from that meeting, huh?” asked the centerfielder. 

Doug turned. “Yes!” he said rather emphatically. We didn’t know what the meeting was that the pastor referred to, but this gathering was already more intriguing than any such previous. But Doug didn’t expand upon his one word answer, so we waited anxiously for him to spill the tea.

“What meeting?” someone finally asked. I admit to being that someone. There were no single, eligible, Bible-believing Bettys there that night and the lesson plan was, to be blunt, uninteresting. Getting Doug to talk about why he was angry, let alone just talk, was far more interesting.

Doug looked at the centerfielder/pastor with a questioning look. “Yeah, it’s okay, Doug. Would you like to let the group know where you were?”

“If it’s okay with you all,” Doug asked the circle of suddenly interested attendees.

“Absolutely. Sure. Tell us, Doug.” The encouragements poured in as we shifted to the edge of our chairs, and I became aware that I wasn’t the only one disappointed with the lesson plan or the lack of potential marriage material.

“Okay, then,” Doug said, following it up with a long pause that almost caused me to fall forward onto the carpet. “I was at a synod meeting where they were discussing the three homosexuals who were being allowed to enter seminary.” This statement was followed by an even longer silence. 

“Pardon?” someone asked, breaking the silence of incredulity that hung over the room. Doug again looked quizzically at the pastor of the golden glove and quick bat.

“If you feel comfortable, Doug. Go ahead,” said the cleric.

“Okay, well, I was asked to attend the meeting because I used to be gay.”

I swear you coulda’ heard a crumb of Danish drop on the carpet. “I lived a homosexual lifestyle from my teens until my yearly 30s,” Doug confessed, “until I was saved.” 

I’m pretty sure no one even blinked because the sound of shutting eyelids would have been audible. Doug proceeded to tell us that he not only lived his early adult life as a gay man, but he was entrenched in the movement. 

“Movement? There’s a gay movement?” Yep, and our very own Douglas, whose persona was increasing in stature by the second, was part of it. He’d been living in San Francisco, which was about an hour north of our location, during the 1970s and early 1980s.

“And I was one of the leaders,” Doug answered.

“The gay movement has leaders?” This question appeared to offend the newly-knighted Sir Douglas, but then he looked around the room, not searching for exit signs or pastries this time, but realizing he had us Silicon Valley yuppies-to-be in unchartered waters. 

Feeling confident now, His Dougness went on to describe how we were going to see big changes in the next 10 to 30 years. Homosexual rights groups were, at that time, protesting to not get beat up while tied to fence posts, but there was a bigger agenda. They would seek admission to the clergy and freedom from employment discrimination. Then they would fight for permission to get married and adopt children. There were timelines and strategies involved. 

I have to believe ol’ Dougie was telling the truth. Everything he said was going to happen has indeed happened, and his timeline was pretty spot on; if anything, it was somewhat pessimistic.

The gay rights movement that Doug was a part of, and then separated himself from, seems tame in today’s world. While in college in the 1980s, there were GALA groups on campus, with GALA standing for “Gay and Lesbian Alliance.”

Now we have half the Roman alphabet committed to a combination of sexual proclivities; a string so long that even its supporters have said “Enough is enough” and inserted a plus sign after so many letters, i.e., LGBTQI+. 

I don’t know if all the other groups in that string of letters have leadership committees like the homosexual movement had, but it would not be surprising. There is certainly an agenda, and a well-organized and funded one at that.

The movement to prop up non-traditional sexual lifestyles — and degrade traditional lifestyles — is fervent. Their supporters are passionate and bold, and they have obviously seen from the gay rights movement how social mores and even religious beliefs can be broken.

Tim Barto left California for Alaska 31 years ago. He is vice president of Alaska Family Council.