Jon Singletary Created a Home for Me at Baylor

For as long as I can remember, I have felt a mystical pull toward Jesus, which eventually led me to seminary. In 2008, I began a dual degree program at Truett Seminary and the Baylor University School of Social Work (now the Diana R. Garland School of Social Work).

In seminary, I found a place to wrestle honestly with questions, think critically, and build a theological foundation without being told what to believe. Multiple perspectives, freedom, and respect empowered us to live out our callings.

Because the School of Social Work did not yet have its own building, I spent most of my time at Truett. There, I took seminary classes as well as most of my social work courses. I formed close friendships and established mentoring relationships.

I even worked at Truett as a student recruiter. It was my home away from home.

After graduating in 2012, I moved to the Austin area to co-found Peace of Christ Church, where I pastored for more than a decade. The same Christ-pull that had led me to seminary guided me into all kinds of beautiful encounters, grounding me in faith even as I grew and evolved.

Throughout all of this, I felt a comforting rootedness at Truett. It was a familial kind of support that accompanied me beyond graduation.

Until it didn’t.

Exclusion

Like many of my peers, when I became a pastor affirming the full humanity and imago dei of my LGBTQIA kin, the support I’d once known shifted—quietly, and then unmistakably.

It will always be ironic (and more than a little painful) that the very thing Truett encouraged and equipped us to do—to wrestle, think critically, and follow Jesus the best way we knew how—became the very reason I and so many others were ultimately left without its support. I was grateful for my church community, yet I also felt adrift, homeless, as the place that had once shaped me no longer claimed me.

It was Jon Singletary who reminded me that I still had a home. I had a place—a community I could return to at the Garland School of Social Work (GSSW).

Though my strongest ties had always been to Truett as a student, Jon welcomed me fully into the GSSW as a Master of Social Work alumnus. He encouraged me, both as a pastor and a social worker, by inviting me into spaces where I could belong, such as the Board of Advocates, where, for six years, I found reconnection and purpose.

When my book was released, Jon celebrated with me, hosting signings at the school and the Baylor library. And despite our church being a full hour and a half away, he brought his gifts to my community as well—leading Enneagram workshops for the congregation, guiding our staff through team-building exercises, guest preaching, and even attending the ordinations of fellow alumni.

None of it was convenient. None of it was required. Yet again and again, Jon chose to show up with his time, energy, and genuine care.

This is who Jon is. The ripple effect of this kind of care and presence has profoundly shaped the culture of the Garland School of Social Work.

In social work, we talk about the importance of both macro and micro perspectives. The macro view—the broader picture of systemic injustice and institutional disappointment—is essential, and right now, much of the conversation about Baylor lives here. I share in these frustrations deeply.

At the same time, I have always been one to notice and tend to the micro: the human-scale moments of connection, care, and community. The GSSW’s loss of Jon as dean is not just a loss for Baylor (and it very much is). It is the students, colleagues, and communities who live in the sacred spaces Jon creates who will lose the most.

Embrace

Jon is incredibly gifted as both a macro and micro thinker and leader. However, it was in those micro-oriented moments that a sense of belonging and home were formed.

This kind of home will always be needed, whether we think Baylor is worthy of our support or not. As long as there are humans at Baylor, there will be young people awakening to their full, authentic selves. They will arrive following some pull, just as I once did. They will inevitably grow and expand.

Some will realize they are gay. Others will wrestle more deeply with what it means to navigate Baylor as people of color, as women, or as first-generation students. Many will awaken to some other sacred truth about who they are.

As they do the hard work of becoming, where will they find support? Where will they experience belonging? Who will greet them with open arms?

For so many of us, the School of Social Work has been that safe haven—that place where questions and becoming are not just tolerated but honored. This is a legacy worth preserving.

Baylor may pull the strings that result in the restructuring of school leadership, but the impact of who Jon Singletary is and how he leads has already been created. It is still exponentially touching this world, moving us all closer to heaven on earth now. That influence could have grown even further had his leadership continued.

At a place like Baylor, moving the needle forward is never easy. Jon has my deepest respect and admiration for the ways he has made it more open, more generous, and above all, safer for those who needed it most. He did all of this while also cultivating space for important learning and research that benefited future practitioners and faith communities.

It is evident that the pull compelling Jon is both strong and steady. I don’t doubt that whatever the future holds for him, we will all be better because of it. At the core of all of this, though, grief remains—and it must.

It grieves me that some assume affirming the full humanity of our LGBTQIA kin somehow places us outside the bounds of faith. For me, it has always been the opposite: the pull of Christ’s love keeps widening the circle, keeps making room for belonging, keeps calling us home to our fullest selves and our healthiest communities.

Thank you, Jon, for letting your time as dean—and your life—bear witness to the love of Christ. Thank you for creating a home where so many of us could belong and for building a legacy of welcome that will continue to shape lives long after this moment has passed.