What would Nathan do? The mysterious death of rural gay activist Nathan Christoffersen has had an unexpected effect: bridging the gap between gay and antigay. Could Nathan's life and death offer gay activists a path to reaching religious fundamentalists? Part 2 of a special Advocate investigation.(RELIGION)

Publication: The Advocate (The national gay & lesbian newsmagazine)

Publication Date: 28-MAR-06

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COPYRIGHT 2006 Liberation Publications, Inc.

AT DAWN ON DECEMBER 16, 28-year-old gay activist Nathan Christoffersen died mysteriously on the stoop of his parents' house in rural Madera, Calif. In Nathan's obituary, his family requested donations to an "ex-gay" group; at his funeral, a parade of speakers talked about Nathan's "struggles" and "conflicts" but never mentioned that he was gay.

Molly McKay, one of Nathan's several gay and lesbian friends who attended the funeral, complained, "It felt like people were mourning a life that had been led the wrong way." Nathan's fundamentalist Christian dad, Al, offered a different perspective. "Look," he told The Advocate, "I don't have a problem with gay people. I believe in my heart that God loves everybody." He added, "I'm sorry that people were upset by the funeral. Nobody knows the pain that we feel. We wanted to honor our son for whom we knew him to be."

Al Christoffersen is now exploring new ways to honor his son's life--in all respects. He's talking about helping young gay people overcome stigma. He's hoping to meet with Nathan's gay friends. Al has become part of what some gay religious advocates call "the movable middle": Christians who are somewhere along the bridge to full acceptance.

Nathan Christoffersen grew up immersed in his family's Christian fundamentalism. His rural California community differed from small towns in the South or Midwest chiefly in its particular crops and the accent of its population; the bedrock of faith was no different. Christoffersen was born in Fresno, a city of about half a million people and the metropolitan center of California's San Joaquin Valley, the state's agricultural heart. But he grew up in Madera, a farming community of around 50,000 people 20 miles north of Fresno where thick early-morning fog blankets seemingly endless stretches of almond orchards and dairy farms. Pockets of new and old housing developments carve out space along streets with names like Avenue 12 and Road 39. Neighborhoods have no curbs or sidewalks, and long rows of tall power poles parse the landscape.

An intelligent and inquisitive boy who began speaking early and developed a love for animals--including a snake that once escaped its cage and terrified his mother, Barbara--Nathan had trouble fitting in at a young age. "People would call him a fag in the second grade," his father, Al Christoffersen, recalls. "He would come home in tears. There was nothing athletic about him at all. He was an artist."

Nathan taught himself to play the guitar when he was 10 years old and the keyboard at 12. By age 14 he was the worship leader in the church where his father served as pastor. "He was very mature for his age," Al says. "Everybody respected him." As a teenager Nathan...

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