My Brother John

‘Annette’s take on homosexuality began with her brother John and will end with me. She bears well the impact of a broken life unravelling and one becoming whole. And she knows better than anyone how both experiences impact parents, spouses, and children. No-one sees and says it better. Trust me; I have no bias.’

Twelve years older than me, my brother John was among the smartest people I have ever known. He had more cultural influence on me than anyone. By eight years old, I loved The Three Stooges, knew Salvador Dali was the greatest Surrealist painter, and that the Stones surpassed the Beatles by far. Perhaps John’s greatest gift was making me a lifelong LA Dodgers fan, though I grew up going to games at Candlestick watching SF Giant greats like the “two Willies,” Mays and McCovey.

At the same time, John’s flaws impacted our family, particularly my parents, in ways that were confusing, hurtful, and at times intolerable. I knew from an early age that John had a hard time fitting in. In the mid-60’s, however, things seem to click for him when he moved to the Castro neighborhood in San Francisco. We as a family rarely acknowledged my brother’s homosexual lifestyle; knowing but not speaking about it impacted me as much as anything.

I spent the remainder of his too short life loving and hating him. How could someone who was so kind, smart, and generous be so angry and hurtful to my parents? John was also very undisciplined, so my parents often had to “rescue him.” Many times I’d wake up in the morning and John had simply moved back in again: another relationship gone bad, leaving him nowhere to go but home.

My parents were devoted, loving Christians. They had to walk the very hard line of loving and accepting my brother but not his moral decisions. They weren’t perfect in this, but they did it as well as they could. They modeled for me that my brother was more than his poor choices.

When I was thirteen, we got a call in the middle of the night. Drunk, John left the bar and was flattened by a hit-and-run motorcyclist. Both of his legs were severely crushed. He spent almost a year in and out of surgeries and rehab. Most of the time he was confined to a bed in our backroom. His “friends” floated away and we were left to care for him. It was terrible witnessing his pain and his inability to do anything for himself.

It was wonderful too. We spent hours watching movies (classics only!), reading books, and discussing articles in the New Yorker. Looking back on that time I see the Lord’s hand. He taught me how to love the sinner fully and gratefully while still hating what was killing him.

The year before John died, he again was in great need. He had no real community so my sister and her family, plus Andy and ours, had to step up and assume care. At this point he was bitter, stubborn, and begrudgingly reliant on us to oversee his life.

My heart was broken over how his life was ending. This smart, kind man had little to show for himself. But greater than the sadness was the love I had for him. God gave me a picture of how John’s choices had truly cut and injured our family; more than that, I saw the Lord pour mercy and grace into the empty places of our hearts.

God kissed Andy and I when we found a cross hanging in his closet after his death. Though frustrated by many things, his childhood faith had never left him.

I loved John, not because I’m noble but because he was worth loving. Perhaps he took more than what he gave to me, but what he imparted was invaluable.

We are super excited to make Queered Out available to everyone for free starting this July.  Thirteen amazing witnesses enliven eight videos that make clear: Jesus and friends set seekers free from homosexuality and free for full and fruitful lives. Enough about rainbow liberties. Jesus alone unlocks the captive heart.

Stay tuned for Queered Out. And please let others know. He is the way out!

Every day during Pride Month, we will be lifting up parents and any LGBTQ+-identified children. Please email Abbey at afoard@desertstream.org to be included in our daily prayer.