Faith has always been the foundation, the solid ground beneath the feet of any follower of Christ. It carries believers through seasons of certainty and doubt, joy and sorrow, belonging and searching. As a pastor, my calling has been to guide others on their own journeys of faith.
For years, I walked in the role of a leader within the church, fulfilling my call to ministry with a heart devoted to service. I have written countless sermons, walked alongside my community in times of crisis, and sought to embody the love of Christ in all that I do. But leadership is not merely about offering guidance to others—it is also about being willing to journey into the unknown, to embrace change, and to stand in the truth of who we are, even when it feels risky.
My journey of identity has been one of unfolding grace. For much of my life, I built a world conforming to societal expectations, living within definitions that did not fully capture the depth of my being. But the Spirit moves in ways we do not always anticipate, and over time, I began to listen more deeply to the quiet yet persistent truth I had buried deep within me. As I embraced my gender identity, I realized that authenticity and faith were not opposing forces but rather two threads of the same divine.
Stepping into my true self is not without fear. The church, while a place of love and community, can also be a space of scrutiny and resistance. Would I still be regarded as a faithful leader? Would I still have a seat at the table? These were not merely abstract questions; they echoed the weight of real concerns many in the LGBTQ+ community face within faith spaces. However, I understood that living truthfully was the only way forward. To lead with integrity, I had to trust that the God who called me into ministry also called me to be my authentic self.
Faith and identity are not separate; they are intertwined, shaping and refining one another. Through this journey, my ministry has deepened in unexpected ways. I now grasp the power of grace more profoundly. I perceive the resilience of the human spirit in a new light. I recognize that courage is not the absence of fear but the choice to move forward in love despite it.
Leadership, at its core, involves bearing witness—to God’s love, to justice, to truth. I have realized that my role is not only to preach about transformation but to embody it. I aim to demonstrate that faith is not about rigid conformity, but about trusting in the expansive, boundless love of God.
To be Ava is to be whole, to lead with faith, and to walk with courage into the future, trusting that grace is always in motion.
After harsh criticisms, I ask myself, “Is it selfish of me to transition now as a husband, a father, and a pastor?”
That’s such a heavy question, and I ache with a deep love and responsibility for those around me—my spouse, my children, and my congregations. I don’t believe it is possible to be selfish when all you do is be who you are. Living authentically can be one of the most selfless things anyone can do because it allows them to love more fully, to lead with integrity, and to be present in a way that is deeply honest.
That doesn’t mean it isn’t difficult. Transitions, especially in the context of family and faith leadership, carry weight. People may struggle to understand. But love—real love—is not based on who we were expected to be. It’s based on who we indeed are.
As a husband and father, I realize my family will have their own journey in this process, and I acknowledge their feelings while also holding space for my own truth. Being present for them while honoring myself isn’t selfish—it’s an act of courage and love. As a pastor, my congregation sees me as an example of faith in action. What more remarkable testimony to the power of faith than stepping forward in trust, believing that God created me beautifully and wonderfully, as I am meant to be?
I am not abandoning my loved ones or my calling. I am showing them what it means to live with courage. It’s not selfish to seek wholeness. It’s necessary. And I, too, am worthy of that.
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