They keep telling us God is angry. They keep telling us we don’t belong. They keep telling us heaven has rules—and somehow, we already broke them just by existing. So I will ask the question the way many young LGBT people carry it in fear, in silence, in prayer, “Is God mad at me?”
Because being gay is not simple. It is not a slogan, not a trend, not a rebellion. It is something you live with every day in a world that has already decided you are wrong. Every corridor feels like judgment. Every step feels watched. You walk into a room already bracing yourself for eyes that look at you like you’re dirty, as if your presence alone is something to be ashamed of. You don’t even have to speak. The moment they hear your voice—too soft, too feminine—laughter follows. They mimic your tone, exaggerate it, turn your identity into a joke for everyone else to enjoy.
And when you pass by men, they don’t call you by your name. They call you “150.” A number. A price. A word built on the cruel belief that gay people are always available, always desperate, always ready to get on their knees when a man offers money. It is a stigma that paints every gay person as a prostitute, as morally loose, as less than human. That is how they name us: 150, bakla, salot sa lipunan. And then they wonder why we flinch when we hear God’s name spoken with authority.
I knew I was different long before I knew the word gay. While other boys were praised for being loud and tough, I learned early that softness was something to be punished. I stayed inside, not because I was weak, but because the world outside had rules I could never win. Before I could speak my truth, the world labeled me—and then religion claimed authority over my soul.
Scripture stopped being refuge and became evidence. Verses were sharpened into weapons. I was told that loving differently meant offending God Himself, that my honesty was rebellion, that my existence was disobedience.
If I were given even a moment to stand before Christ, I would pour out everything I’ve buried—every doubt, every regret, every quiet ache I’ve tried to outrun. I wouldn’t ask for gifts, miracles or something. I would only ask Him one thing, over and over, until my voice splintered into nothing: “Will You be mad at me when I say I'm gay?”
What hurt the most was this: the people who wounded me the deepest were the ones who said they were doing it for God. Faith felt like a courtroom where I was always guilty and never heard.
Yet here is what many refuse to acknowledge. The Catholic Church, in its official teaching, does not exile LGBT people. The Catechism of the Catholic Church clearly states that persons with homosexual orientation must be accepted with respect, compassion, and sensitivity, and that every form of unjust discrimination must be avoided. That is not an opinion. That is doctrine.
Even Pope Francis broke the language of condemnation when he asked, “Who am I to judge?” He has repeatedly affirmed that LGBTQ+ people are children of God—not mistakes, not outsiders, not disposable souls. And this truth is not confined to Catholicism. Christian pastors from other traditions have spoken with courage that LGBT people are not excluded from the Church. Evangelical theologian Tony Campolo has affirmed that gay Christians belong in the body of Christ, while author and pastor Brian McLaren has challenged churches to confront the real harm caused by exclusion and reminded believers that faith without love is hollow.
So when people insist that God rejects LGBT people, we must ask whether that is truly God speaking—or fear disguised as holiness. Because a God who is “love” cannot demand self-hatred. A Christ who welcomed the outcast would never justify humiliation. And a faith that turns human beings into numbers—150—has lost its soul.
When I ask, “Is God mad at me?” I am no longer begging for mercy. I am demanding the truth. Because maybe God is not angry at LGBT people at all. Maybe He is grieving the way His name has been used to shame, silence, and wound His own children. And perhaps the real question is not about God’s anger, but about why so many people are comfortable calling cruelty as faith—and expecting us to survive it quietly.
Written by John Benedict Banday (Veritas), Insight PH
John Benedict Banday (Veritas), Insight PH is a dedicated campus journalist and contributor. Their insightful writing sparks meaningful conversations and keeps the community informed.
