Old-school evangelical leaders once knew the value of “care” over “cure.” “You know, Mike, I used to be gay,” I said. Mike stopped moving his paintbrush as the words fell clumsily from my mouth. He was painting the St. Louis apartment I called home in the summer of 1997 as I began working toward my PhD in historical theology. He’d asked me about my schooling, and we got to talking about faith. Mike had explained to me how he felt he could never go to church because he was gay. “I know they say that’s not supposed to happen,” I…