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by: Rev. Derek A. Terry

The death of Jason Collins hit me harder than I expected. Maybe it is because I am a big Black gay man who played basketball. Maybe it is because I know what it feels like to navigate spaces where people assume they already know who you are before you even speak. Maybe it is because, for so many of us, Jason represented possibility.

For younger LGBTQ+ folks today, especially in sports, it might be hard to fully grasp just how groundbreaking Jason Collins was.

In 2013, when Jason came out publicly, he became the first openly gay NBA player and the first openly gay athlete actively playing in one of the four major men’s professional sports leagues in the United States. That might sound like a statistic, but it was so much bigger than that. It was cultural. It was spiritual. It was deeply human.

Sports, especially men’s sports, have long been places where masculinity gets narrowly defined. As a Black man who grew up around basketball, I know those expectations well. Strength is celebrated, but vulnerability often is not. Difference is tolerated only if it stays quiet. You can belong, but only if certain parts of yourself stay hidden.

Jason challenged all of that.

He stepped into the light in a world that had not made room for him. He did not come out after retirement, when the risks might have felt smaller. He came out while still actively playing, knowing full well the criticism, jokes, assumptions, and scrutiny that would follow. That kind of courage matters.

And for Black LGBTQ+ people, especially Black queer men, visibility matters in a different way.

We know what it means to live at intersections. To be too Black in some spaces and too gay in others. To constantly negotiate belonging. To wonder whether we will be accepted if people know all of who we are. Seeing someone like Jason, a tall, strong, athletic Black man, living openly and unapologetically, mattered more than many people understood.

He expanded the imagination of what was possible.

As Acting Executive Director of the Open and Affirming Coalition, I think often about what affirmation really means. It is not simply tolerance. It is not merely saying “you are welcome here.” True affirmation creates the conditions for people to live fully, openly, honestly, and safely as themselves.

Jason Collins helped make that world possible.

Because of his courage, countless athletes today are able to imagine lives that do not require secrecy. Young LGBTQ+ kids, especially young queer athletes, can now look at professional sports and see people who remind them of themselves.

Representation alone does not solve injustice. But representation can save lives. Representation can plant hope.

And hope matters.

Jason once said that the years after coming out were the best of his life because he finally got to live as his true self. There is something sacred in that truth. There is freedom in no longer hiding. There is power in authenticity.

We mourn Jason Collins not simply because he was the first, but because of the example he gave us. Courage. Integrity. Humanity. The willingness to step forward when no roadmap existed.

May he rest in power.

And may we honor his legacy by continuing to build a world where no one has to choose between belonging and being fully themselves.