I recently had a debate with a Christian. A respectful, intelligent, questioning Christian, who, luckily, didn’t seem to just take biblical text at its most obvious face value and had given her beliefs a good deal of thought. She did, however, believe that homosexuality was a sin. Not a major sin. Not a ‘you must be immediately stoned and then thrown to the salty brimstone’ sin. But in her eyes, an imperfect circumstance in a world full of many varying shades of sin (and, to be fair to her, probably full of varying degrees of goodness, charity, honesty etc.).

We weren’t in agreement and although it was a calm and reasoned interaction, I must admit that afterwards I felt slightly angry – not at her, but at myself, because I had forgotten to mention one of my most compelling arguments against her belief, which is not empirical or easily-proven, but it is true and most importantly of all, it is built upon pure human experience. And, like me, it’s hopelessly sentimental. So gather together a copious amount of spare tissues and read. Or, alternatively, buckle yourself into your beliefs and powder your eyes in cynicism. C’est à vous.

Gay sex cannot be a sin because gay sex is an expression of love. The feeling of complete closeness to a partner is not exclusive to heterosexual couples. The feeling of warmth as someone lies against your chest and lets you stroke their hair is not confined to heterosexuals. Nor is the feeling of nervousness and excitement when you know you are going to see a person again, after a long period of separation, or, maybe after only a few hours, when you will then indulge in that stereotypical couple’s bliss: cuddling, eating humus from the jar and listening to David Attenborough’s orgasmic tones explaining the beauty of Africa. Or the feeling of satisfaction when you spend all day traipsing around the supermarket trying to find wasabi or party hats or Tesco pet insurance, bickering intermittently along the way due to sheer frustration, and then realize that somehow this seemingly trivial experience is proof that you are building something together, co-operating and sharing moments that will never be repeated. Or the feeling when illness, deadlines or general crankiness bring you close to screaming and a loved-one comes to calm you down, to provide you with some sort of food-based comfort and to speak softly no matter how many irrational or bitchy things your flu-infected mind feels tempted to say. Or the feeling when you are so in love that you think you have gone mad and somehow, despite your better logic, you become connected to a greater sense of meaning and becoming: the feeling that with this person you are not just becoming a better you, but also a better cell in the system, a better dot in the universe, a better sheep in a flock, a better mushroom in a mushroom field, a better Cambridge student in the academic sea, or, whatever analogy fits best to your psyche. You feel so elevated, so connected, and so true. You capture that feeling, you press it against yourself and preserve it to memory, knowing that even if you are confronted with people every day who disagree with your ‘lifestyle choice’, that it was never a trivial choice, but an overwhelming acknowledgement that you are doing the right thing and an affirmation of being human. This is my definition of ‘holy´: being yourself, being in love, being happy and creating meaning. Gay love is, in my eyes, sacred, not a sin.

Now, if you think I am basing my beliefs purely on emotion, no matter how ecstatic it may be, you are wrong. There are countless reasons why we should not only tolerate gay love, but embrace it and treat it with the same dignity and respect that we treat heterosexual expressions of love. There is ever-increasing evidence (both scientific and testimonial) that people do not actively choose to become part of a sexual minority, which automatically increases the prevalence of hatred and discrimination against their person. This is not some pernicious plot to annoy people who care about others’ bedroom habits or to convert your children to the temple of Elton John. Even if your upbringing or religious text makes you view gay love with disapproval, I believe it is important to take a ´live and let live´ approach: give me my rights, and I will let you have yours. After all, are you endangered by my love? No. Is it contagious? Clearly not, although a willingness to come out and live a happier and more accepting life is contagious.  Is it consensual? Oh course, we love it. We could do it all day. It’s great fun! And love – whether the sexual act or simply the implications of truly being in love (i.e. writing love letters, buying Ikea plastic roses or filling out tax returns together) – is an excellent, endorphin-packed way to keep healthy and busy.

But, in order to be fully respected and accepted in society, we need the same rights as everyone else: no special exceptions and no differences in terminology. And so, in this vein, I whole-heartedly welcomed the recent approval by Westminster of Equal Marriage. Civil partnerships and adoption laws gave us certain practical rights: to hold our loved one’s hand on a hospital bed or to raise a family with all same determination and love as heterosexuals do. But our partnerships were still not equal in name ('marriage' -- and the respect, rightly or wrongly deserved, which that word conjures up in most British people's minds) or law. Moreover, any religious organizations, which accepted homosexuality as love, not sin, were banned from recognizing this through marriage. Now this is different. Now we have greater freedom. Now we have moved closer to a goal of acceptance, and, with every step closer to equality, people recognize that our love is in no way less dignified or real than anyone else's.

And now, in this new context or hope and progression, I, as a gay man, can look back with even more joy and satisfaction at the best decision I ever made in my life: the day, back in year 10, when I decided not to take my own life. When, having being bullied for being gay, ‘outed’ to the whole school and having lost some friends, I embraced that I was not a sinful or dirty person who deserved to die, but someone who could participate in love like everyone else. I hope that one day in the future there will be no more contemptuous attitudes, no more teen suicides and no more treatment of love as sin. An idealistic view, but something to work towards, at least.

It is time to acknowledge that the value of truth does not lie in how convenient it is to your beliefs. My love is just as beautiful, intense, committed and vibrant as yours. 

  Maybe it is time for acceptance.