Odd Man Out

It’s a good day to be an alumnus of Abilene Christian University, as today marks the release...

Tue, 21 Feb 2012 09:33:01 -0500

It’s a good day to be an alumnus of Abilene Christian University, as today marks the release of Voiceless, an unofficial (read: unaffiliated with the university) online magazine chronicling the experiences of anonymous LGBT students at ACU. The ‘zine falls in line with a number of diverse publications that have popped up in recent years at conservative Christian universities, all aiming in different subversive ways to acknowledge the existence of and provide support for LGBT individuals associated with particular institutions that aren’t wholeheartedly affirming. (You can find a list of these publications here, and I especially recommend OneWheaton.)

Here’s my take on these ‘zines: I think open, honest, face-to-face dialogue in real time is the most productive way to build bridges between groups who don’t get along. I think non-anonymous stories and consistent relationships are more effective and persuasive for changing hearts than are anonymous articles. But we live in a time in which it is not possible or safe for every LGBT individual to be completely vulnerable and honest about his or her story, and we live in a time in which not everyone is ready to listen to those stories with love and hospitality. (This is the “not yet” I wrote about yesterday.) For this reason, I think ‘zines like Voiceless are powerful, meaningful, and effective. They give a voice to those who have had no outlet; they provide a safe, non-threatening opportunity for people to listen to perspectives that may be very different from their own; and ultimately, I believe they pave the way for those face-to-face, real time conversations that are most beneficial.

Although the ‘zine’s creators approached me with the possibility of submitting an article, I declined the invitation because this blog has already given me all the opportunity I need to find and express my voice. Nevertheless, I support the efforts of Voiceless and encourage you to take the time to read it in its entirety. The stories are honest, moving, and remarkably candid, and they represent a good variety of perspectives. I’ll post further reflections soon, but in the meantime, read the ‘zine, talk about the ‘zine, and tell everyone you know about the ‘zine.

Stuck in the Middle

Mon, 20 Feb 2012 09:19:21 -0500

I was once turned down for a ministry position because of my sexuality. There was no incompatibility of beliefs or any other conflict; the hiring committee simply informed me in no uncertain terms they could not hire someone with a homosexual orientation for the position. I was devastated, and it was the first time anyone had overtly denied me anything substantial due to conditions I could not control. The rejection hung like a weight in my stomach, and I felt dejected and defeated. I asked a friend if I was overreacting; had I lived such a privileged life as an affluent, English-speaking, white male that I was simply incapable of digesting what felt like discrimination? His response stuck with me: “I don’t think we’re ever supposed to get used to injustice.”

I often wonder what it would have been like to be a gay Christian in the 1950s. I don’t even need to go back that far: What would it have been like to be a gay Christian in the 1980s or ’90s, when words like “abomination” that were still in vogue were the only breaks in the church’s silence about sexuality? It’s overwhelming to consider how far our society (even outside of the church) has progressed in understanding people with different expressions of sexuality, and I am constantly grateful I don’t live “back then.” Unfortunately, although the situation in many churches today is worlds better than what I would have experienced twenty years ago, I believe we still have a long way to go before most sexual minorities will feel safe and comfortable openly working out their faith and sexuality in an average church.

This means I and other people like me are stuck in the middle: I can see clearly how far we have come, but I am painfully aware of how far we still have to go. It’s a tough place to be. If we didn’t have some sense things were going to get better, we could surrender to despair; and if we weren’t intimately familiar with the pain that surrounds us, we could surrender to hope. But we’re stuck in the middle, which means we must take seriously the suffering of our LGBT neighbors along with our hope for what is to come and our expectations for how things should be. There are days in which, over the course of an hour, I experience the absolute best of what is to come (like a long, meaningful conversation with someone who listens to and empathizes with my story) and the absolute worst of where we have been (like a thoughtless comment that trivializes my experience and identity), and the juxtaposition is maddening. This is the awkwardness of growing pains, when our movement in a positive direction inevitably results in some bruises and scratches. One couple showers their lesbian daughter with love and support; the next couple cuts theirs off from the family. One student shrugs off his roommate’s coming out as no big deal; the next student mocks and attacks his gay roommate. One hiring committee welcomes me with open arms; the next tells me they cannot hire someone with a homosexual orientation. We’re stuck in the middle between a world in which people abuse and reject sexual minorities and a world in which people understand and love sexual minorities.

Ever-present for people who are stuck in the middle is the question of whether to desensitize ourselves to the pain of injustice for the sake of preserving our emotional health, to toughen ourselves up into cynics, as it were, so that the dissonance between what we actually see and what we should see doesn’t exhaust us. I’m loath to do so because such desensitization involves permanently losing something (I don’t quite know what to call it: innocence? tenderness?) I’m not ready to give up. For example: When “Jack,” who’s gay, tells me “Phil” cut off his relationship with him as a result of Jack’s coming out, I want to tell Jack, “Forget Phil! His thinking is stuck in the past and doesn’t matter. Don’t give another minute to worrying about what he says, because he’s ignorant!” I want to be desensitized; I want to ignore the pain of what has happened and dismiss Phil as yet another remnant of homophobia and heteronormativity, looking forward to a future in which people like Phil will be more understanding. But I don’t say that, and I know it wouldn’t work anyway, because Phil’s actions do hurt. They hurt because he’s a person, and because he should know better, and because his actions demonstrate that the world is not where it should be. We have to feel the pain of Phil’s actions, because we have to take seriously the injustice we’re up against. It’s possible things would be easier if we didn’t know something better were possible—if we didn’t regularly witness examples of how things ought to be—but we have seen, and we’re no longer satisfied with the falsehood that says it’s inevitable for things to stay the way they are.

Along with that question, also ever-present is the temptation to give in to our impatience for change, to become frustrated with certain individuals’ apathy towards a problem that seems so incredibly critical and central to us. I recently heard an interview (warning: very, very profanity-laden) in which Todd Glass, a comedian, came out and spoke frankly about being a gay man, and as the conversation moved to homophobia, he offered the following exhortation to those who are thoughtlessly homophobic:

“You’re wrong. Time will tell you’re wrong. I always say: If you’re homophobic and you’re out there, you’d better be positive you’re right, because isn’t it gonna blow if all these kids are killing themselves, and later, how convenient, in twenty years, you get to write a book—and God bless you, if you do it—to say how wrong you were? They’re dead. So, why don’t you have a soul searching moment now? Go into your house, shut the door, and be [completely] positive you’re making kids feel like crap for no good […] reason.”

Though I lack Glass’s boldness, I’ve often suffered the same impatience with people who say they “just haven’t gotten around” to thinking through LGBT issues or that “the time isn’t right.” What will it take, I want to ask, for you to recognize how serious and urgent the situation is for your LGBT brothers and sisters? And what sort of pain is your ignorance causing in the meantime? (Nevertheless, I’m well aware there are other issues equally or more important to which I haven’t given proper attention, and I must repent for those injustices to which I have remained blissfully ignorant.)

In any case, this cognitive dissonance between what is and what should be is nothing unique to me; in fact, it’s the same unresolved posture in which all Christians balance as we acknowledge the reality of God’s work in the world but wait for him to finish the job. Bible types call this the “already and not yet”—as in, God has already redeemed the world through Jesus, but God has not yet redeemed the world because we are still waiting for his glorious conclusion to the story of the universe. We already know how the story is going to end, but we are stuck in the middle because that ending has not yet come. I think this tension is what Romans 8:18-24 describes:

“I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. For the creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have?”

The birth metaphor captures well the tension between the already and not yet: Neither the intense pain of the pregnancy nor the earnest gladness of welcoming a new life (that which is already, in the pregnancy, but not yet, until the birth) completely silences the other. The gladness is real and present and will last well beyond the pain; but until the child comes and the labor pains cease, the pain is also real and present. Only the pregnant mother can completely appreciate that tension.

This is why people who are stuck in the middle are so incredibly important: We’ve felt the intense agony of injustice enough to keep us from the naive optimism of those who are blind to the problem, but we’ve glimpsed enough of the beauty of the outcome of this world to keep us from the cynical despair of those who see no future. At the same time as we legitimately feel the pain of the world, we can confidently declare it will not last forever. Someone must declare this, lest we all grow accustomed to a reality in which we accept injustice as inevitable.

I say all this with confidence because I believe justice is near the heart of God. This is one of those rare matters in which scripture speaks with a unanimous, persistent, clear voice (if only the same could be said for sexuality!): God will not suffer injustice for long. Ours is a God who “loves justice” and “works righteousness and justice for all the oppressed” (Psalm 11:7, 103:6). We should consider it “unthinkable that God would do wrong, that the Almighty would pervert justice” (Job 34:12). And this is the crucial part: We must continually look forward to the coming fullness of God’s reign, when “with righteousness he will judge the needy, with justice he will give decisions for the poor of the earth” (Isaiah 11:4). Injustice is not part of God’s design for the world, so we must not get used to it. If you receive power and privilege from a system that silences and oppresses others, don’t get too comfortable in that precarious position of dominance. If you are a victim of a system that silences and oppresses you, please, please believe me when I say this is not how things are supposed to be and is not how things will be forever. The outcome of our story is justice.

"Abomination"

Fri, 10 Feb 2012 11:12:00 -0500

I learned a new Hebrew word this week, and it left me feeling sick to my stomach.

As I worked my way through my vocabulary assignment, I committed each word to memory: “Rechev” means “chariot.” “Lashon” means “language.” Continuing down the list, I arrived at “toevah,” the word my textbook translates as “abomination, abhorrence, or offensive thing.” It was like a sucker punch.

With the potential connotations of the word in mind, my curiosity overwhelmed me, and I fumbled through my Hebrew Bible to find a well-worn verse. Sitting right where I left it in Leviticus 18:22 was the infamous phrase: “Do not have sexual relations with a man as one does with a woman; that is toevah.” The NIV and NLT translate “detestable,” the CEV is particularly blunt with “disgusting,” and the KJV and NRSV rely on the well-worn “abomination.” My anxiety was confirmed: I had just learned that infamous Hebrew word for “abomination.”

It’s tough to explain to a straight person just how saturated with meaning is that term for someone from the LGBT community, how inseparably it is tied to painful images and memories. “Abomination” doesn’t make me sick because of what it says about God, the Bible, or the Levitical code for sexual ethics. “Abomination” makes me sick because it has grown into a catchphrase for the church-at-large’s lamentable homophobia, a shameful relic of certain Christians’ recent history of mistreating the LGBT community.

Never mind that the word toevah actually appears in the Old Testament over a hundred times, referring to everything from sacrificing an imperfect animal (Deuteronomy 17:1) to dealing dishonestly (Deuteronomy 25:16) to lying or haughtiness (Proverbs 6:17) to stirring up conflict (Proverbs 6:19) to pride (Proverbs 16:5) to—and this may be the most shocking use—the ritual elements of Israel’s worship, insofar as the people’s lifestyles do not reflect their religious allegiance (Isaiah 1:13). In most of its uses, the word refers to the worship of idols and foreign gods (Deuteronomy 27:15). In any case, many Christians in the last few decades somehow grew accustomed enough to lying and pride that, on a public level, the word “abomination” became uniquely reserved for homosexuality. I have a hunch about how this happened. The concept of homosexuality fell into a no-man’s land; it was familiar enough that we could not avoid talking about it in church, but it was alien enough that we handled it with the sort of flippant carelessness we only use when we’re an “us” talking about a “them”; it was abhorrent enough to merit scorn but not so abhorrent as to be unmentionable. Thus the label stuck: “Abomination.”

If I’m being honest, I’ve never actually heard anyone seriously refer to homosexuality as an “abomination” in person; I’ve only encountered the word when it was dressed in tones of sarcasm, mocking those who would use it to describe LGBT sexuality. But I seem to be unique in this regard, since I’ve heard countless stories of LGBT Christians whom that specific word haunted for years and years. And though I’m tempted to brush those stories aside as little more than lazy cliches based on anti-Christian stereotypes, I’ve seen enough proof to know we haven’t quite retired the term from our collective vocabulary. Even if we’re no longer employing those five syllables, the homophobic mentality behind the word endures in many places.

This was the homophobia I internalized from a very early age, so that when I began to find myself unexpectedly attracted to my male peers, the implications for my fledgling spiritual life (which my family and my church had cultivated from infancy) were catastrophic. I knew enough of the Bible to know that “neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation” could separate me from God’s love (Romans 8:38-9), but somehow this could. Against my will, I was growing into what seemed to be the only thing God’s love couldn’t reach: a man attracted to men. So I coped with this cognitive dissonance of a God who simultaneously loved and despised me by praying ardently for change, feverishly attempting to earn God’s love elsewhere, and doggedly denying to myself what I was feeling. At my worst, I subconsciously divided myself into two people: There was the version of me who loved God and was loved by him, and there was the version who wanted to love God and wanted to be loved by him but was prevented from both of those things by my sexuality—the version who was toevah.

I suspect this disunity of self is the case with many people who experience nontraditional sexuality. Nevertheless, one can only juggle two identities for so long before the exertion becomes exhausting, and one identity inevitably takes over. In my case, God’s grace flooded me in a way that irrevocably eradicated the “abomination” so that only the “beloved child of God” remained. I can remember the precise moment; I knew fully that God loved me willingly and unconditionally, exactly as I was, and I knew he would love me the next moment, and the next moment, and the next. This epiphany did nothing to answer questions about how I was to live or what I could or should expect with regards to my sexuality, but I could affirm for the first time in my life “what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!” (I John 3:1)

Unfortunately, my case is not everyone’s case, and there are many for whom the “abomination” triumphs so that commitment to faith and honesty about sexuality become irreconcilable. If God cannot love the whole person, so it goes, then either the person must deny a significant piece of his or her experience, or God’s love is inadequate. But we who have received God’s love know this is not the case; we know that his love is adequate and that it knows no bounds. We know we have a place as God’s beloved children, happily obedient and submissive to him because we trust his unfailing love.

This is why so much is riding on the way we talk about homosexuality; because before we get into hermeneutics and theologies about sexual ethics (and we rightly ought to get into those), there are people inside and outside of your church right now who are struggling mightily with the most essential question for human identity: Does God love me or not? This is a question we must answer without hesitation; indeed, this is the good news we bring to the world.

Because there may be many things in the world that are toevah to God, but I am not one of those things.

It’s finally time for me to announce something exciting that’s been in the works for a...

Tue, 31 Jan 2012 15:38:00 -0500

It’s finally time for me to announce something exciting that’s been in the works for a few months: I will be spending my summer in Chicago working as an intern with The Marin Foundation.

I’ve long admired the work of The Marin Foundation, and I’ve begun emulating their approach on this blog and within my corner of the world, but I genuinely never thought I would have the opportunity to partner with them directly. I feel delighted and anxious for summer to arrive. There is no limit to what I can learn from a group I consider to be the trailblazers of building bridges between the church and the LGBT community in our world.

The organization is still putting together summer assignments for the other interns and me, so I’m hesitant to say too much about what I may be doing. One of the possibilities would involve doing some research with children and youth who are wrestling with issues of sexuality and identity (especially those who are homeless—statistics about LGBT youth and homelessness are shocking) to determine their specific needs. I may also work with parents of LGBT children, learning what sort of support and resources would be helpful for families. I’ll likely participate in many of The Marin Foundation’s other ongoing projects, such as their Living in the Tension gatherings as well as the sort of unglamorous work that keeps NGOs running. It goes without saying that I will record my summer adventures on this blog, as I imagine there will be no shortage of material for reflection. I cannot wait to see how my meager gifts will find expression with The Marin Foundation.

Nevertheless—and you probably suspected I was headed here—I need your help. My unashamed confidence in requesting your partnership comes from a combination of my genuine conviction about the immeasurable worth of The Marin Foundation and my impression of the hearts of the sort of people who frequent this blog. I simply cannot overstate how grateful I am for the work of The Marin Foundation—this is surely an example of Buechner’s belief: “The place God calls you to is where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” And the comments I have received regarding this blog have shown me there is a growing population of people on every side of the issues who want to navigate the interaction between faith and sexuality with grace, nuance, and faithfulness. For these reasons, I have three requests:

First, will those of you who pray consider supporting me with prayer? I’m not listing this first to soften the blow of my next paragraph, which will ask for money; I’m listing this first because arranging my financial situation for the summer is much, much less important than eagerly requesting God’s prevenient intervention for everything that will occur this summer. Pray specifically that God would prepare me and the other interns for the summer, that he would arrange the sort of meetings and conversations that need to happen in Chicago, and that he would open the hearts of people to attend to the needs of LGBT youth. I’m blessed to have a close friend working with me this summer and a few other possible connections, but I’m still aware I’ll be immersing myself in an otherwise foreign place.

Second, will you consider helping me financially? The Marin Foundation is a 501(c)(3) non-profit organization, and my internship thus involves no monetary compensation. If you do have the means and feel so inclined/moved/called (and I provide each of those words not to diminish any of them to but simply to make room for different perceptions), I would be happy to share more specific information with you through email about my budget for the summer. Essentially, I need to cover the costs of travel to/from Chicago and my living expenses for about three months, which, though certainly not prohibitive, are beyond my current means as a full-time student. Every single dollar really will help. If you see value in this opportunity and have any amount of money to share, would you consider giving of your finances on my behalf or connecting me with those who could?

If you do choose to donate, the process is remarkably simple, and your donation will be tax-deductible. All you need to do is head over to The Marin Foundation’s donation page, fill out the form for a one-time donation, and make sure to select “I’d like to make this donation on behalf of” and enter “Brent Bailey.”

[EDIT: Evidently there’s some confusion about how to make sure a donation will go towards my expenses this summer. As long as you mark “In behalf of” and enter my name on that online form, your donation will find its way to me.]

Third, will you consider joining in on this work? My primary desire for this internship is that it would equip me (and, by association, those around me) to be more effective for the same kind of work in places that are not Chicago. I genuinely believe the work of The Marin Foundation is radically important and intrinsically tied to the reign of God’s kingdom, but I do not believe The Marin Foundation is doing anything we cannot replicate elsewhere. We build bridges when we listen to each other, when we repent of hatred and fear, and when we allow the love of Christ to motivate our actions. If you like what The Marin Foundation is doing, would you consider emulating their approach within your own circle of influence? And could we share with each other the wisdom we acquire? Perhaps you will have better stories of what you’ve seen than I will after I return from Chicago.

Contemplating this internship makes me feel immensely grateful and blessed, so I will take this opportunity to express my appreciation for everyone who has provided support and encouragement along my journey of being Christian and gay. In many ways, accepting this internship simultaneously felt like the culmination of one story and the initiation of another, but both of these stories are, of course, mere footnotes in the grand narrative God is composing through history. “In eternity this world will be Troy, I believe, and all that has passed here will be the epic of the universe, the ballad they sing in the streets,” writes Marilynne Robinson in Gilead, and I want to find my place in that tale.

Homophobia & Hamartaphobia, part 3

Wed, 25 Jan 2012 09:55:56 -0500

(Part 3 of 3. See part 1 and part 2.)

For part three, I simply want to synthesize a few articles worth your time and then close with a personal anecdote.

When actor Johnny Galecki recently made an appearance on The View, the hosts asked him about rumors that have circulated about his sexuality. His answer was a breath of fresh air (the discussion starts right about 4:00 into the video): “I’ve never really addressed those rumors because I always figured, why defend yourself against something that’s not offensive?”

When homophobia does not factor into a relationship, it opens the door for genuine empathy, understanding, and love. The empathy, in fact, is a radical empathy that willingly takes on the shame and suffering experienced by the other. This is a relatively new concept to me, but it resonates deeply with my experience.

Andrew Marin, talking about labels and his decision to live and work in Chicago’s gay district as a straight man, shares this story:

“Just last week I was walking to get my hair cut a man stuck his head out of the window of his truck and called me a Faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaag. Then he sped off to continue his day like that was a normal thing to do.

“Those occurrences are far more common then any of us living in Boystown would like to admit. Yet my daily decision to stay in Boystown on this journey of love has shown me moments like that are worth every minute of the Kingdom I boldly claim to be a part of — because I can’t love someone who has been ignorantly labeled unless I take that label on myself.”

The kind of empathy he’s describing is a profound demonstration of faithfulness, and it connects with Richard Beck’s recent reflections on the death of Matthew Shepard, lynchings, and the cross:

“Until we see Jesus standing with the cursed we will never understand the central symbol of our faith nor what it means to be a Christian.

“Saul falls on his face on the road to Damascus. He looks into the blinding light and asks, ‘Who are you Lord? And the reply comes: ‘I am the one you are persecuting.’

“Jesus hangs on the crosses of the world, from the trees and from the fences.”

I’ve often heard it said Christians are not meant to explain the suffering of the world or justify it; rather, our role is to suffer with people, to dwell with them “outside the camp” as a means of personifying Christ’s presence among them (Hebrews 13:13). Derek Webb relates this well in an interview:

“When you see people who are marginalized or under the judgement of the religious structures in a culture, the model that Jesus gives us is to stand with those people and if necessary, even absorb the judgement with them. That’s what He did, ultimately absorbing all the judgement for them but at the very least be willing to have His reputation ruined in order to stand on the side of His friends and His family.”

When someone receives this kind of love, it has the potential to be absolutely transformational and life-changing. I know this from experience.

Last year on Spirit Day, when people wear purple to support LGBT youth and protest bullying, a straight friend and I went to lunch. Walking from the car to the restaurant, we noticed we had inadvertently chosen near-identical purple long-sleeve shirts to wear in support of the cause. You may know that the town in which I live (and in which we were eating lunch) is small and staunchly conservative, and we both became immediately aware of the potential speculation our appearance could inspire. “Oh, great,” my friend said, rolling his eyes and layering on the sarcasm thick enough to insure I didn’t misunderstand his meaning, “We look like a couple of queers.”

Usually, I think my generation’s affinity for mocking inappropriate mentalities (racism, misogyny, homophobia, etc.) by espousing them ironically is dangerous and harmful, and if you know my friend, you know he never makes these kinds of jokes. But on a day that had already been emotional and exhausting for me—a day when everyone, it seemed, was talking about LGBT issues—the message of his sarcasm was loud and clear: He was not afraid of what people thought, he was not ashamed of our relationship, and he cared enough about me to take on my labels. He was not taking sexuality lightly, and he was not ignoring the significance of reputation; rather, he was empathizing with my experience, sharing my burden, and effectively undermining the power of any homophobic comment someone could have made.

Willfully taking on the labels of others to understand their shame and pain demonstrates faithfulness and love that are essential components of community. This is the kind of community where mutual affection and trust leads naturally to the confrontation of sin in the lives of the other members of the community—where, because we build no artificial walls on the basis of homophobia or any other fear, we have the privilege and the responsibility to carry each other’s burdens and keep each other from sin.

This is the kind of community in which, through my interactions with others, I never have to doubt that God loves me and bestows his grace upon me freely.

Homophobia & Hamartaphobia, part 2

Tue, 24 Jan 2012 10:19:38 -0500

(Part 2 of 3. See part 1 and part 3.)

I see three strong distinctions between hamartaphobia, the Christian aversion to sin, and homophobia, an aversion to LGBT people. My desire is that Christians who do not affirm same-sex relationships would reflect on their own behavior to discern whether they are exemplifying Christ’s love through their actions in this area.

First, hamartaphobia is consistent while homophobia puts undue weight on particular issues. I’ve harped on about the ways many Christians prioritize homosexuality above other kinds of sin, and I’ll keep harping on it because I fear it demonstrates how profoundly our culture subtly shapes us and our approach to faith.

There are three main passages in the New Testament that seem interested in some kind of same-sex issues, and each of these passages discusses homosexuality in the same breath as other issues that are much more readily accepted in our culture. So, I Corinthians 6 discusses “the greedy,” “drunkards,” and “slanderers.” I Timothy 1 mentions “liars.” (Each of these passages, of course, also lists the more general “sexual immorality.”) And Romans 1, the most substantial passage discussing same-sex issues, provides a whole litany of vices: “greed,” “envy,” “strife,” “deceit,” “malice”; it describes “gossips” and those who are “arrogant and boastful”; and it even mentions those who “disobey their parents.”

I believe inconsistency is the main reason many condemnations of same-sex relationships ring false and appear bigoted to those outside of the church. When Christians claim same-sex relationships are a sin like any other sin but then react to them differently from how they react to every other sin (see anecdote from part 1), the discord is jarring. The churchgoer who would forbid a gay couple from attending his/her congregation while half-heartedly admitting, “I should really work on my gossip/greed/envy problem eventually” demonstrates glaring incongruity.

I suspect the hamartaphobe would be as concerned with his/her own sin as with the sins of others, and each of the issues listed above would be equally bothersome because each of them involves attitudes and behaviors that do not reflect God’s nature. Greed, for example, would be as troublesome as sexual immorality (and, consequently, all forms of sexual immorality would be equally troublesome).

The great news here is that God freely bestows grace on all who sin. One of the most humbling verses in the Bible—”For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God”—is actually nestled within one of the most uplifting passages of the Bible—”There is no difference between Jew and Gentile,” and, “All are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus” (Romans 3:22-4). Genuine hamartaphobia tends to foster humility, since one can no longer elevate oneself by exaggerating the immorality of others. The result is a community in which everyone has an equal claim because no one really has any claim, and forgiveness flows as freely as admonition.

Second, hamartaphobia occurs within the context of enduring relationship while homophobia prevents relationship. The difference here is the end goal: homophobia seeks to condemn, but hamartaphobia seeks to redeem.

Galatians 6:2 tells us to “carry each other’s burdens,” and there may be no more concise definition of community in all of scripture. I used to think the ideal faith community was a place where each person had fixed his/her baggage enough to be able to engage the other people selflessly and compassionately, but I’ve come to believe the ideal faith community is one in which each participant genuinely trusts and relies upon the others enough for them all to work on their baggage together. The processes of confessing, forgiving, mentoring, discipling, encouraging, witnessing, rebuking, and loving each require more than one individual, and they’re all essential spiritual disciplines meant to form us into the kind of people we’re meant to be. This means our journeys of recognizing and overcoming sin contribute to our relationships with one another and, ultimately, our ability to love. Community is crucial for formation.

Hamartaphobia, then, opens doors for continued relationship. When one believer confronts sin in the life of another believer, that conversation should only be the tip of an iceberg of faithfulness, trust, dependence, and support, with the understanding that the confront-er has every intention of listening to and journeying with the confront-ee. Anyone who has been on the receiving end of one of these conversations (when handled correctly) knows it results in a wide variety of emotions—humility and some surprise, perhaps, but eventually gratitude and appreciation, since the confront-er’s willingness to speak boldly and plainly demonstrates love, respect, and concern. The point of confrontation is to take on the other person’s burden.

Homophobia, on the other hand, is a means of closing down relationship. It breeds self-righteousness by pointing out the perceived flaws of another; it enforces shame and guilt, which bear no resemblance to the kind of grief that leads to repentance; and it requires none of the Christian virtues of humility, patience, or kindness. Homophobia aims to cut off and to distance the other, emphasizing differences in order to divide rather than searching for similarities in order to connect. It rarely leads the individual towards greater health and holiness (whatever form those may take), since it heaps on paralyzing pain. Homophobia is punishment, not discipline.

Third, hamartaphobia is an outpouring of love while homophobia is an outburst of fear. In my opinion, this is sharpest distinction between the two and the central crisis. I’ve come to believe that all of our interactions with each other find their motivations either in love or fear, and I don’t see much overlap between the two.

When fear motivates my actions, I’m necessarily more concerned about myself than the other person. I’m worried about how things will turn out for me, what other people will think of me, what this person’s actions say about who I am, whether or not the relationship is beneficial for me. When love motivates my actions, though, I’m concerned for the other person: how to help her, how to protect her, how to support and empower her, how to redeem her crisis. I don’t mind what the relationship is costing me because I’ve taken on her burdens through empathy and feel her pain as my own. I have the right to say something because I have demonstrated love to her consistently.

If I intentionally withhold love from another person for any reason (as many people explicitly do, upon discovering the sexuality of a friend or family member), I flagrantly disobey Jesus’ command to love my neighbor, which he identifies as second only to the command to love God (Matthew 22:37-40). Or, as one blogger so perfectly put it, “If you cannot love others, there is a problem between you and God, not them and God.” Let’s make no mistake about it: When we’re talking about homophobia as I’ve defined it, we’re talking about sin. We’re talking about sin that seems to be diametrically opposed to the ministry and teachings of Jesus, insofar as he advocated love and relationship.

Maybe I’m dreaming, but I look forward to the day when we all of us will be more (or at least as) concerned about homophobia—as far as it means the inability to love—than we are about homosexuality, when words like “faggot” will be more shocking and offensive to us than expressions of same-sex affection are. To be sure, this is the case in many places. But it many other settings, Christians seem to be trailing behind a culture that finds homophobia unacceptable. In our efforts to attain holiness, we’ve often been guilty of diminishing certain individuals down to our stereotypes, fears, and expectations of them.

Sound off in the comments: How else do you see a distinction between homophobia & hamartaphobia? Is it possible to differentiate the two as I’ve done here, or is that just the unfortunate “Love the sinner, hate the sin” dichotomy that never seems to play out with regards to LGBT issues?

Homophobia & Hamartaphobia, part 1

Mon, 23 Jan 2012 16:42:00 -0500

(Part 1 of 3. See part 2 and part 3.)

Once when I was eating dinner with a group of peers, a friend and I were talking about the nature of our relationship (she being unaware of my sexuality). As she tried to describe our interactions, she eventually employed a common pop culture archetype: “You’re like my gay best friend!” (She used this as a compliment, suggesting that she felt safe around me and that our friendship was free of tension or drama.)

It was as if someone had pressed the “Mute” button on the various conversations around our table—the silence was that sudden. Some of the awkwardness came from those few at the table who were privy to the ironic accuracy of her assessment, but most were simply stunned. Finally, one of the men at the table turned the volume back up to explain their shock: “‘Gay’ is, like, the last thing any guy wants to be called.” There were nods of agreement, and gradually she apologized and clarified her statement. One of the nodding heads belonged to me, since it was a time in my life when I agreed being gay was the least desirable condition for any follower of Jesus.

I’m starting a series of posts to combat what I see as a profoundly deceptive and pernicious mentality in many Christian circles: that homophobia is a natural, suitable expression of sin-aversion, specifically when homosexuality is considered a sin. It goes something like this: “I believe homosexuality is sinful, which explains my hostility toward homosexuals. God’s design for humanity did not include same-sex relationships or even same-sex attractions, so my disgust with homosexuals is a natural result of the way their sexuality rebels against God’s design. Expressing my disdain for homosexuals is my way of protesting a sinful lifestyle and calling the people around me to live up to God’s standards.”

Let me start with some wordplay. I’m going to rely on two words: homophobia and hamartaphobia. When I say “homophobia,” I’m referring to an aversion to LGBT people that may or may not be related to one’s moral commitments; when I say “hamartaphobia,” I’m referring to the Christian aversion to sin, insofar as sin means any attitude or behavior contrary to God’s design for the world. My main thesis is that hamartaphobia is a healthy, essential position for followers of Jesus, whereas homophobia is toxic and contrary to the gospel.

[EDIT (1/26/12): Based on some comments, I want to clarify my terms a little more. “Hamartaphobia” is actually a legitimate, diagnosable anxiety disorder, essentially defined as an irrational fear of making a mistake or committing a sin—this exists in the secular realm as well, even for people with no religious commitments. Within Christianity, there is a kind of unhealthy hamartaphobia that results from a poor understanding of grace and forgiveness. In these posts, though, I’m simply using the word “hamartaphobia” to refer to that healthy desire of a faithful Christian to avoid sin, and I choose the word because it’s a nice contrast for “homophobia.”]

(I recognize I’m in danger of falling into the “Love the sinner, hate the sin” dichotomy that has become very unpopular, but stick with me.)

Homophobia comes in a wide variety of forms: conscious feelings of disgust or distaste towards LGBT people, unwillingness or inability to talk about LGBT issues, a constant need to assert one’s heterosexuality (I’ve seen this more with males, such as the “no homo” meme), irrational fears about an LGBT individual’s intentions, desires, or general trustworthiness, a tendency to speak in stereotypes or broad generalities, discomfort in close relationships with LGBT individuals (especially those of the same sex), and yes, even outright verbal and physical abuse. Here’s what doesn’t necessarily constitute homophobia in my book: believing same-sex relationships are not part of God’s design for humanity, walking with your Christian brothers and sisters and calling them to a particular sexual ethic, and genuine ignorance to the experiences of LGBT people based on a lack of exposure.

Hamartaphobia, on the other hand, comes from a place of submission to God’s will, a genuine desire to understand God’s structure for our lives and a willful obedience to that design. The scriptures are rife with examples of appropriate distaste for sin. We are called to “Have nothing to do with the fruitless deeds of darkness, but rather expose them.” (Ephesians 5:11); we sing, “Blessed is the one who does not walk in step with the wicked or stand in the way that sinners take or sit in the company of mockers” (Psalm 1:1); and we are instructed to “Submit [ourselves], then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from [us]” (James 4:7). And this hamartaphobia naturally extends into our relationships with other believers—as we live in community with one another, our mutual love requires us to hold each other accountable to the standards to which we have committed ourselves: We are to “correct, rebuke, and encourage—with great patience and careful instruction” (II Timothy 4:2), appreciate the benefits of discipline and instruction (Proverbs 15:32), and in very specific situations, to avoid association with those who claim to be believers but live in flagrant sin (I Corinthians 5).

The problem is when one confuses homophobia and hamartaphobia, when one’s belief that same-sex relationships are sinful (hamartaphobia) leads to any of the negative expressions listed above, like fear or silence or violence (homophobia)—or to the unstated assumption at that dinner table that being gay is the absolute worst way to be. This is the catastrophe I want to help us avoid through the next few posts.

Martin Luther King, Jr. Day

Mon, 16 Jan 2012 17:03:16 -0500

Every year on Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, I read King’s “Letter from a Birmingham Jail,” which I cannot recommend enough to anyone passionate about issues of justice and equality. As you may imagine, the letter has resonated with me much more deeply over the last few years, especially as I’ve become aware of the subtle and not-so-subtle forms of oppression that exist in regards to the LGBT community.

I can distinctly remember the first time I recognized the word “minority” as an accurate descriptor of me. It happened the first time I came out to someone who was an ethnic minority, and as we talked back and forth, I suddenly realized there was a word to describe my experience—the experience of not fitting quite right, of inadvertently messing up the status quo by my very existence because my perspective and needs and expectations were different from what was common, of always punishing myself and apologizing to others for seeing things differently. The word was “minority,” and though I think the prevalent race-sexuality metaphor is too simplistic, I do understand what it means to be an outsider.

There was a time when I thought the desperate cries of minorities (of all kinds) were little more than so much noise, manufactured discontent learned from years of life on the supposed margins. I can pass as a member of the majority, and I’ve often been callous to the prophetic cries of minorities in my midst because I don’t personally feel the sting of what they’ve experienced: I’ve never been called a racial slur; I’ve never had my abilities or competence questioned because of my gender; I’ve never had trouble entering a building or participating in a worship service because of a physical disability; and I’ve never faced the despairing frustration of an economy with no place for me. I often surrendered to the illusion that the world in which I live is perfectly fair, inclusive, and just.

And then I stopped fitting like I was supposed to fit, and then I understood what King meant in his letter: “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” When I oppress my brother or sister, it may not be readily apparent to me how I’m hurting myself, especially when that oppression contributes to (or at least sustains) a lifestyle I enjoy and take comfort in. But the poison of injustice is a toxin that spoils the reality of common human experience, much as a little yeast spoils the whole batch of dough (Galatians 5:9). It doesn’t matter whether I am the direct victim of injustice because injustice hurts us all.

Through my participation in the body of Christ, I have discovered something more meaningful, significant, and fulfilling than what I’ve found anywhere else. I love the church, and I want the church to represent the fullness of Christ’s body. Nevertheless, that’s only possible when we have eradicated all remnants of injustice and oppression. I’m often tempted to believe things are exactly as they’re meant to be, since I’m often comfortable as as an almost-member of the majority; but to succumb to that temptation would be to continue silencing the voices of my brothers and sisters who bear the burden of what the church is getting wrong, whose pain gives clear vision to see how far we are from what the church could be.

This is why I write this blog and why I just won’t shut up about the oppression of our LGBT sisters and brothers. Yes, it hurts personally to be the victim of such oppression, and yes, I feel a particular tenderness for LGBT people like me, but I want to live into something that is even closer to the fullness of Christ than what I’ve gotten thus far. As we all aim for that end—because surely what we’ve tasted of Christ’s love makes us yearn for more—the people who are oppressed possess an invaluable voice that continues to siphon away any of that lingering poison of injustice. Their pain is our pain, and their hope is our hope. This is why, like King, I can’t wait any longer to make things right:

“We know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed. Frankly, I have yet to engage in a direct action campaign that was ‘well timed’ in the view of those who have not suffered unduly from the disease of segregation. For years now I have heard the word ‘Wait!’ It rings in the ear of every Negro with piercing familiarity. This ‘Wait’ has almost always meant ‘Never.’ We must come to see, with one of our distinguished jurists, that justice too long delayed is justice denied.’”

Terminology

Tue, 10 Jan 2012 17:19:22 -0500

Many Christians who have little experience interacting with LGBT people display hesitancy when they talk about LGBT people, and one of the main difficulties they face is choosing what terminology to use. I completely understand this hesitancy, because an inconsistent jargon has developed among LGBT Christians in regards to what sort of language is most appropriate, most accurate, and most faithful to God’s calling on our lives.

This matters. This matters because language shapes reality. New language expands our minds to understand new concepts and to provide nuance for our perspectives. Here’s an example: When my niece was first learning to speak, she would call any four-legged animal a “dog.” She didn’t know the words for “horse” or “mouse” or “tiger” or “bear” yet, so she used the word “dog.” But it wasn’t just that she didn’t know the names of different kinds of animals; it was that she perceived all four-legged animals identically. Because she didn’t have language to describe different kinds of animals, they were all the same to her: They were all “dog.” Now that her vocabulary has drastically increased, she can classify animals into all different categories using the correct words for them. Her ability to perceive the difference between a dog and a horse was directly tied to her possession of different words to describe them.

Language also shapes reality in regards to one’s experience of sexuality. From where I stand, there is a world of difference between the statements, “I’m gay,” and “I struggle with same-sex attraction.” But it gets much more subtle than that. There’s a difference between saying, “I experience same-sex attraction,” and “I struggle with same-sex attraction.” There’s a difference between saying, “I am a homosexual,” and, “I have a homosexual orientation.” There’s a difference between saying, “I am gay,” and, “I identify as gay.”

Many people perceive all of the above statements identically—they all sound like “dog.” In my experience, though, the vast majority of Christians who have wrestled with reconciling some kind of nontraditional sexual attraction with faith have traveled a journey of semantics, which actually represents a much more profound journey of trying to understand how one’s sexual attractions and one’s identity are related. Most of the LGBT Christians I know choose very specific words to describe themselves (though most demonstrate flexibility in order to communicate with different audiences) and have identified certain words they consider unacceptable. In all honesty, this makes it extraordinarily difficult to write a blog like this one, since I’m trying to use inclusive and non-offensive language while writing concisely. Even in this paragraph, I hate to use the phrase “LGBT Christians” because I want to honor those people I know who experience same-sex attraction but intentionally reject the language of “Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender” based on their own perception of identity. For them, using those words to describe themselves is as inaccurate as calling a rabbit a “dog.” Nevertheless, others reject the language of “struggling with same-sex attraction” with the same veracity.

(You’ll notice, by the way, I haven’t said anything about behavior or sexual ethics. How descriptive language and behavior are related is a different conversation, but suffice it to say that I don’t personally believe any of the examples of language I’ve used above imply anything about behavior. In my opinion, neither “struggle with same-sex attraction” nor “gay” nor anything in between tells me anything about how an individual lives. But I digress, and I know my opinion here is debatable.)

Language has been important enough in my journey that one could almost trace the development of my self-perception simply by tracing the language I have used to describe myself throughout the years. One of the most patient campus ministers in the world once sat through an hour-long conversation with me as I talked through different labels and which I wanted to use for myself, and she may not have realized at the time how absolutely crucial the discussion was (or how grateful I am for her willingness to indulge me). Even if the actual circumstances of my experience were not changing (i.e., sexual attraction to males), my perception and interpretation of that experience was changing dramatically.

A discussion of the meanings of these various words and phrases is beyond my ability here, so I’ll close with two suggestions. First, if you have the time and resources and interest, do some research to discover the meanings behind different terms. This is particularly difficult for Christians, since we simultaneously need to juggle the language that is considered appropriate in our culture (like you’ll find in this somewhat political guide) with language that is consistent with a distinctly Christian perspective on sexuality; and depending on your beliefs, those two worlds may or may not overlap, and the language appropriate for people who share your beliefs may be different from the language appropriate for people who believe otherwise. If you’re willing to explore the fascinating jargon, you’ll be able to choose the words you use purposefully and speak without hesitancy.

But if you don’t have the time or resources or interest—and believe me, I understand that we can’t all be experts on everything—then I believe the most responsible action is to pay close attention to the ways LGBT (or same-sex attracted, or homosexual) people in your life talk about themselves and to use the same language they use. Grant them the charity of assuming they’ve given more thought to the implications of language than you have, unless you have done your research and have legitimate reasons to use different terminology, as some have and do. Captivating conversations—and deeper understanding—can begin with the simple question, “I’ve noticed you describe yourself with the word _____. Is there a reason?”

Above all, recognize the immense power of language to shape reality, and make sure the words you use are shaping the kind of reality in which you desire to dwell.

The Rich Young Ruler

Mon, 02 Jan 2012 11:07:52 -0500

What if the rich young ruler really is about money?

You may be familiar with the story of the rich young ruler, which appears in Matthew (19:16-30), Mark (10:17-31), and Luke (18:18-30). I have participated in three large churches throughout my life and attended a private Christian university, and the near-unanimous message I received from other Christians was that the story of the rich young ruler is not about money, not really. I have typically heard some variation of one of these two interpretations, or a combination of the two:

1) “The story is about commitment and sacrifice for the sake of following Jesus. Notice how Jesus ends the story by talking about how we should be willing to leave our families, if that’s what’s required, because our highest allegiance should be to him. Jesus tells the rich young man to sell his possessions because he knows that’s the one idol the man isn’t willing to give up for the sake of becoming a disciple, and ultimately, the story ends sadly because it shows us that sometimes Jesus lets us choose our idols instead of choosing to follow him. We all have different idols—for some, it’s money, but for others, it’s sex or addictions or ambition. Regardless of what our idols are, we have to be willing to surrender them if we want to follow Jesus.”

2) “The story is about grace and our inability to earn what God gives us. The man comes to Jesus hoping to earn God’s favor through his obedience to the law, but Jesus tells him to do the one thing he knows the man cannot do in order to demonstrate that the man cannot possibly live perfectly and earn God’s grace. Ultimately, the story ends sadly because it shows us we have to come to Jesus on his terms; if we try to earn God’s favor rather than accept it as an undeserved gift, freely bestowed, we cannot follow Jesus.”

To be completely honest, I think these are both pretty solid interpretations of the story. I doubt that the requirements Jesus places on the rich young ruler are universal, simply because we don’t see any similar requirements throughout the rest of the Bible.

What’s interesting about both of these interpretations, though, is that they brazenly ignore a direct, red-letter quote from Jesus. Matthew’s version records it thus: “If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me” (19:21). Even if we can dodge that statement by claiming it’s specifically aimed at the man in the story, we have a much harder time dodging the statement that follows, which seems more blanketing: “Truly I tell you, it is hard for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of heaven. Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God” (19:23-4).

I’ve often heard this story—and specifically, the first interpretation—used in discussions about homosexuality. Essentially, the message (even if it is delivered gently or indirectly) is: “Just like Jesus told the rich young ruler he could not follow him unless he gave up his idol of money, you cannot follow Jesus [or join our church, or join our small group, or work at this Christian institution, or be my friend] unless you are willing to surrender the idol of your same-sex relationship/identity/behavior.”

What bothers me is that never, ever in my entire life of growing up in the United States (literally one of the richest societies in the history of the world) and participating in three middle-class churches (which each included many wealthy members) and attending a private Christian university (with a hefty price tag), never, ever, not ever have I heard anyone apply this passage to a rich person. I honestly cannot think of any time in my life when a congregation or Christian institution rejected someone because s/he loved money too much. And I’m not talking about embezzlement or any dishonest use of money; I’m talking about the simple adoration of wealth and possessions.

This is not an attack on the wealthy, and I know a person’s financial status does not determine the state of his/her heart. It just staggers me to think that while I have seen people apply this specific passage to the issue of sexuality, I have never once seen someone use it in its most original, specific, clearly defined application: the idolatry of money. And I cannot believe that every rich Christian’s heart (including my own) is purer than the heart of the man in this story. Surely someone (probably many someones) alive today needs to hear the same words the rich young ruler heard in regards to his or her finances.

I can anticipate one criticism for where I’m headed here, and it goes like this: “Yes, okay, we probably don’t give money the attention it deserves in our North American churches today. But that doesn’t mean we should just start accepting all kinds of behavior. The fact that we’re soft on money doesn’t mean we should be soft on sexuality, too.” My problem here is that, once again, we’re giving much more weight to homosexuality than to anything else considered sinful—we’re essentially saying that we don’t mind getting other things wrong as long as we get sexuality right, even if those “other things” are issues that receive much more attention throughout the gospels and the scriptures, or if the New Testament even describes those “other things” as “the root of all evil” (I Timothy 6:10). If we’re going to prioritize sex above all other issues of morality, we had sure better have a strong scriptural reason to do so.

Because if the rich young ruler really is about money, then a lot of us are in deep trouble.

I waited a few days to compose this post because I didn’t want to write from unfiltered...

Wed, 28 Dec 2011 10:59:31 -0500

I waited a few days to compose this post because I didn’t want to write from unfiltered emotion. Nevertheless, ever since I read about a private Christian school in Tennessee that essentially banned any discussion of homosexuality among its students and faculty, I have felt shocked and indignant. Here’s the text of the school’s new policy:

“Homosexuality is forbidden in scripture (Romans 1:27, Leviticus 18:22). A staff member or student who promotes, engages in, or identifies himself/herself with such activity through any word or action shall be in violation of this policy. Should the administration determine a violation of this policy, the person involved will be subject to disciplinary action with the possibility of permanent dismissal. Any applicant who is not in compliance with this policy will not be admitted.”

The school in question is Rossville Christian Academy, which serves about 300 K-12 students and whose mission is, according to its website, “to challenge a diverse student body through high academic standards, seeking to instill and inspire Christian virtues in a safe and nurturing environment.” I only know as much about this situation as I could gather from internet news stories, so perhaps I should take it with a grain of salt, but the very idea of the policy struck a nerve with me.

Policies like these are not how the church is to go about training children up in the way they should go (Proverbs 22:6). Nor are they how the church is to help children avoid conforming to the patterns of this world (Romans 12:2). Policies like these are how those with authority convince people like me that we’re freakish, unlovable, and alone. They’re how people like me learn that the church is no place for us to talk about our experiences of sexuality and that there’s no room for us in God’s family unless we can privately eliminate our desires. They treat homosexuality differently from all other behaviors considered sinful, which is entirely inconsistent with the scriptural picture of holiness and immorality. They’re worse than overt homophobia, in my opinion, because they try to pretend homosexuality does not exist and thereby dismiss and silence the experiences of countless individuals. Lest we try to point too big a finger at Rossville, let’s not ignore the countless other churches, Christian institutions, and even social circles in which the exact same policy is the unwritten, de facto law.

The worst part of the story is that the policy is evidently reacting to one particular student, and I can’t imagine how the policy is affecting him/her and his/her fledgling identity formation. I’m certainly not naive enough to believe this rule will actually prevent kids from talking about the issues, but its very existence sends a clear message about what the school believes (and what it wants its children to believe). I know it’s difficult to talk about sexuality, and I know we want to raise our children with particular values, and I know many of us simply haven’t had enough time to give the homosexuality issue the attention it deserves. But a policy that uniquely outlaws discussions of homosexuality—in any institution—is misguided, inconsistent, and deeply toxic.

Ever since I stumbled across Audrey Assad’s song “Winter Snow,” I haven’t...

Fri, 23 Dec 2011 16:40:56 -0500

Ever since I stumbled across Audrey Assad’s song “Winter Snow,” I haven’t stopped thinking about it and what it says about God’s gentleness. Here’s how it starts:

“You could’ve come like a mighty storm with all the strength of a hurricane; you could’ve come like a forest fire with the power of heaven in your flame. But you came like a winter snow, quiet, soft, and slow, falling through the sky in the night to the earth below.”

Depending on whom you ask, Christmas falls anywhere on a spectrum between “the most wonderful time of the year” and “the darkest time of the year.” I’m not saying anything new when I identify how the experience of being an LGBT individual in our current climate often involves pain and brokenness in relationships with family, with friends, and with God—and for many, the Christmas season tends to exacerbate that pain.

So for those approaching Christmas with anxiety, grief, or trepidation, I offer this encouragement: God became man, and from that very moment, things were and are and will be different. It means we won’t be stuck, enslaved, or broken forever, and even if things are bad now, we get to experience momentary glimpses of the wonderful things that are coming when God brings creation to its glorious conclusion. If you feel lonely, know that you are not alone; if you feel anonymous, know that there are people who legitimately care about you and want what’s best for you; and if you feel hopeless, receive the birth of Jesus as God’s bold and incredibly gentle proclamation that things are different now.

For those approaching Christmas with joy and eager anticipation, lean into that joy, and receive the hope Jesus’ birth offers. In a real, tangible way, allow yourself to become the means by which God brings about his kingdom: Look for those who feel lonely, anonymous, and hopeless, and show them through hospitality and genuine affection that things are different now. Tell them they are not alone; show them you care about them; and extend the hope which you have received.

Merry Christmas.

What the Bible Says

Mon, 19 Dec 2011 14:44:53 -0500

From Peter Enns’ Inspiration and Incarnation: Evangelicals and the Problem of the Old Testament, a Christmas-themed anecdote:

“In one of my classes I was challenging students to think of examples of where we have assumed that something is in the Bible when in fact it is not. One student answered, ‘Some people think that the names of the three wise men are found in the New Testament, but the fact of the matter is, we don’t even know what the names of the three wise men were.’ This was a very interesting comment. True, some people assume that the names Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar are found in the Gospels, although they are not. But neither are three wise men! The Gospels do not specify the number.” (122)

Within many of the circles in which I run, scripture is understood to be the highest source of authority when it comes to theological reflection. If we’re going to give scripture that much weight (as opposed to other sources of theological reflection like reason, experience, or the historical tradition of the church), it’s absolutely essential that we take seriously how we’re using the scriptures to ensure we’re using them consistently and as they are meant to be used.

I have a hunch that many of our arguments about scripture aren’t really about what the scriptures say but about how we believe the scriptures should function in the lives of individuals and faith communities. Quite often, I’ve seen theological debates in which each person involved calls into question the other person’s fidelity to scripture. (“If you would just read what the Bible says…” or, “If you weren’t so disobedient to what God says in this verse…”) But the problem isn’t that either side is ignoring or devaluing the scriptures; on the contrary, his/her respect for the scriptures is what makes the other person’s position intolerable.

So, for example, if someone tends to interpret the scriptures more literally, she might be tempted to accuse someone disagreeing with her (perhaps with some accuracy) of abusing the scriptures by ignoring what they seem to say plainly. Or, if someone tends to draw scripture interpretations from a historical-critical approach to interpretation, she might be tempted to accuse someone disagreeing with her (again, perhaps with some accuracy) of abusing the scriptures by ignoring the vast distance between the cultural setting in which the scriptures were composed and our present setting. In either case, though, the individual has a very high respect for scripture; the difference is simply how she believes we can read the scriptures most responsibly.

I don’t want to make any declarations here about the best way to interpret scripture. I want to request something much simpler: Let’s be careful when we use the language of “The Bible says…” when what we actually mean is, “My interpretation of the Bible says…” Very often in the debates about homosexuality, people begin referencing the Bible, as they well should. The problem is that their references aren’t always accurate.

For example, I’ve often heard some variation of the statement, “The Bible defines marriage as a commitment between one man and one woman,” but the Bible does no such thing. The Bible is simply not interested in defining marriage because the Bible is not a dictionary. Instead, the Bible is full of examples of marriages, teachings about marriage, and theological discourse about marriage. But you won’t find a definition of marriage within the Bible because Webster did not write the Bible.

Don’t get me wrong: I think we can and should use the Bible to determine what kind of committed relationships are holy and pleasing to God, but I want us to watch our language when we talk about what the Bible does and does not say. I cannot legitimately say, “The Bible defines marriage as…” But I can legitimately say, “I believe the scriptures provide a framework for understanding God’s intention for marriage as…” or “I believe the scriptures lay out a consistent theological foundation for allowing marriage to include…” or even “My interpretation of the scriptures causes me to define marriage as…”

When we can bring our conversations to that level, I think we’ll get a lot more done—and I think we’ll waste a lot less time arguing whether we do or don’t know the names of the three wise men.

I’ve been going back and forth over the last few days about whether to post this video, but...

Thu, 01 Dec 2011 17:31:08 -0500

I’ve been going back and forth over the last few days about whether to post this video, but after seeing how it affected a friend of mine last night, I think it’s pretty valuable:

“It’s Time.”

I think talking about issues is much easier than talking about people. When we talk about issues, we can stay in the theoretical, and it’s much easier to think of things in absolute terms. When we talk about people, suddenly we’re talking about your roommate or your sister or your coworker, and the conversation gets much more complicated.

This happens all the time in the homosexuality debates. I would certainly never say that the theoretical realm is bad, and I think it has a lot to say to our behaviors and beliefs. But I’ve noticed that theoretical conversations tend to be much more insensitive and abrasive than conversations about and involving people, and I think one of the reasons many Christian conversations about homosexuality become insensitive and abrasive is that many Christians simply don’t know any LGBT people.

I think one of the reasons this video is so moving (and, in my opinion, so compelling) is because it is not about issues. It’s about people—two people, in fact.

Your Church Needs Gay People

Mon, 28 Nov 2011 13:17:30 -0500

The idea for this post came from a comment I received a while ago asking about the unique gifts LGBT people have to offer their communities. That got me thinking about what LGBT people have to offer to their churches, and I came to realize just how much they do have to offer.

It’s not my job to determine how exactly LGBT people are going to fit into your church, whether you will fully affirm same-sex relationships or support celibacy as a lifestyle or leave it to the individuals to decide or do something different. That decision is the responsibility (I would say “urgent responsibility”) of your church and its processes of theological reflection.

What I can do, though, is try to convince you that your church benefits or would benefit from the participation of openly LGBT members who are committed to the beliefs and teachings your church holds. I say “openly” here because your church likely already includes LGBT members, regardless of whether they feel safe expressing their sexuality. Whether your church is small or mega, progressive or traditional, expanding or sustaining, I believe the presence of openly LGBT members is an invaluable asset.

1. LGBT youth need role models

I’ve written before on this blog about how the pain of struggling with sexuality is magnified in a church culture that makes no room for honest discussion. I have actively participated in three large churches thus far in my life, and each of those churches lacked any sort of role model or authority who was willing to speak from experience about life as a sexual minority. The result was that I had to decide between finding a role model for my sexuality outside of the church (like Kurt from Glee, although even he wasn’t around when I was a teenager), effectively ignoring my faith, or a role model for my faith within the church, effectively ignoring my sexuality. LGBT teens shouldn’t have to make that decision.

Fortunately, we’re blessed to live in a time in which there are strong role models across the spectrum for gay Christians at a public level. If an LGBT teen believes God blesses same-sex relationships, s/he can find great wisdom from someone like Justin Lee. If an LGBT teen believes God calls LGBT people to celibacy, s/he too can find great wisdom from someone like Wesley Hill and his book Washed and Waiting.

Nevertheless—and at the risk of diminishing the important work those men are doing, which is absolutely the last thing I want to do—I think the majority of us would agree that the most influential role models in our lives are the ones we can talk to and touch, the ones who are present in our lives and, if you grew up Christian, are part of our churches. What would it mean for an LGBT teen struggling with confusion about sexuality and faith, difficulty in family relationships, and bullying at school to be able to talk openly with an older mentor who understands the feelings because of similar experiences? What if that mentor could set an example of a new kind of homosexuality, one in which homosexuality becomes a unique avenue through which the individual could glorify God?

“Follow my example, as I follow the example of Christ,” Paul tells the church in Corinth (I Corinthians 11:1), and he similarly sets up a system in Crete in which the older members of the congregation are supposed to teach the younger members how to live (Titus 2:1-8). Our culture constantly inundates us with messages about how we ought to live and what we ought to value and how we ought to define ourselves, and the community of God is the place where we are trained how not to “conform any longer to the pattern of this world” (Romans 12:2). Whether your church teaches LGBT youth how to live a holy life of singleness or how to honor God through same-sex relationships, those teens should have to look no further than the church in which they participate—certainly not to the media—in order to find strong examples of how to interpret and express sexuality in light of the faith they profess.

2. God’s nontraditional family needs every relative

Somewhere along the way, American Christianity collectively decided that its job was to teach people how to raise perfect nuclear families that exist in relative independence. The scriptures are certainly rife with wisdom about how people should run their households, and we simply cannot overestimate the profoundly positive impact of a strong, close, loving, God-fearing family on the children who will grow up within it. God cares about whether you fill your family role to the best of your ability (parent, child, spouse, etc.).

Nevertheless, if one looks to Jesus for advice on how to establish and maintain a healthy household, s/he may go away empty-handed and even frustrated with shocking commands like, “If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother, his wife and children, his brothers and sisters—yes, even his own life—he cannot be my disciple,” (Luke 14:26) and enigmatic statements like, “Whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother” (Matthew 12:50). What becomes apparent in Jesus’ ministry is that he might be much more concerned with the kingdom he is establishing than with the makeup of the families who will live within it.

Let’s be clear—Jesus understands the deep significance of family relationships. He just has a big imagination about what forms those relationships may take: “No one who has left home or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields for me and the gospel will fail to receive a hundred times as much in this present age (homes, brothers, sisters, mothers, children and fields—and with them, persecutions) and in the age to come, eternal life” (Mark 10:29-30). When I read this, I think of single mothers who find within the church strong men who invest in the lives of the children to provide them with positive male attention; I think of elderly people who, though they live miles away from their own grandchildren, find within the church children who can receive their wisdom and compassion. I think of adoption and remarried widowers, of foster care and friends as loyal as siblings.

Unfortunately, many churches’ idolatry of nuclear families leaves little room for nontraditional lifestyles, and those families whose stories follow a different trajectory because of their circumstances often have trouble finding a place. Regardless of how they fit into your church, LGBT people will help flesh out the broad extended family God is trying to develop in your community, giving healing and love where before was brokenness and pain. If your church does not condone same-sex relationships, then your celibate LGBT members will play the role of surrogate parents, siblings, and friends along with the other single members of the congregation (and help to legitimize celibacy as a lifestyle within the church). If your church affirms same-sex relationships, your LGBT members will find deep camaraderie with other couples for whom childbearing presents a unique challenge, and they will empathize closely with other people who face the challenges of living as minorities.

Regardless of the life decisions an LGBT person makes, his/her life simply will not follow the narrative that has stood as the ideal in our culture; God’s family has a place (was especially designed, even) for this and every other kind of nontraditional family unit, and your church should make room as well in order to experience and extend the joy of belonging.

3. The body of Christ needs all of its parts

When one member of the body of Christ is oppressed, the entire body of Christ suffers as a result. Paul writes in I Corinthians 12:7, “To each one the manifestation of the Spirit is given for the common good,” and he goes on to provide a metaphor involving the human body that suggests every single person’s contribution to the work and worship of the body of Christ is essential (that is, non-negotiable) to that body.

I’ve often heard people lament the church’s treatment of LGBT people in terms of what that mistreatment does to the victims; but I rarely hear people lament what that exclusion has meant for the body of Christ, since an essential part of our body is being prevented from participating. That means the LGBT people are not the only ones suffering; the body is suffering as well, since those individuals are not able to contribute their unique Spirit gifts for the “common good.”

In addition to those LGBT people who may have been expressly prevented from joining particular churches, I’m especially thinking here of those Christians who are unable to come out and be honest about their sexuality with the churches in which they participate. To make a long story short, I have experienced a radical shift in my ability to minister and function within the body of Christ as I have allowed my sexuality to become involved in my ministry, and I cannot imagine trying to go back and minister from the closet. I recognize that coming out is not an option for many people now, but I wonder how much more effectively and meaningfully our LGBT members could function in the life of the community if they did not have to dedicate significant resources of energy and time to maintaining some sort of façade within the community.

As with any component of a person’s identity, be it gender, race, family background, socioeconomic status, career, political party, nationality, or even football team, it is spiritually disastrous to allow one’s sexuality to become the core of one’s identity—that place is reserved for Christ (Galatians 2:20). And I recognize the wide variety of ways people interpret sexuality and incorporate it into their self-definitions (just listen to the very specific language people intentionally use when they describe their experience of sexuality). Nevertheless, diversity seems to be a central tenet of the kingdom God is establishing: At the same time as we affirm. “There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female” (Galatians 3:28), we see how Jesus has “purchased men for God from every tribe and language and people and nation” (Revelation 5:9). The end result is that somehow people who are different cooperate as eyes, ears, hands, and feet to create a cooperative body that is much greater than the sum of its heterogeneous parts, and we ought not to silence that diversity (I Corinthians 12:12-31). I’m loath to rely on generalizations, but I do believe LGBT people possess unique and significant gifts that are essential to the life of any particular community of faith.

How has your church welcomed LGBT members into your community? Is any of the stuff I describe above happening right now?

On Tuesday, I wrote about the Marin Foundation, an incredible organization building bridges between...

Fri, 18 Nov 2011 16:24:21 -0500

On Tuesday, I wrote about the Marin Foundation, an incredible organization building bridges between religious and LGBT communities. I mentioned founder Andrew Marin’s book, Love Is an Orientation, which I highly recommend (and plan to write more about in the future).

In a couple of weeks, the Marin Foundation will be releasing a DVD curriculum based off Love Is an Orientation, and though I have not yet seen it, I expect it will be an invaluable resource for ministers, small group leaders, professors, Christians, and anyone else who wants to learn more about developing meaningful relationships with LGBT people. You can watch a short promo video for the curriculum to learn more.

I should probably explain: Although this post sounds like an advertisement, I’m writing completely from my own passion for the Foundation and what they’re doing. Love Is an Orientation is absolutely one of the best books I’ve found about the difficult matter of how relationships can endure differences in worldview in belief in regards to faith and sexuality, and I think the DVD curriculum will be extremely helpful.

So, for those of you who have heard me say we need to talk more about LGBT issues in church and have asked me how to start those conversations, here is my advice: Buy this DVD, and buy a copy for your minister (Merry Christmas!), and go through the six-week study with your small group at church. From what I’ve seen, people are itching to talk about homosexuality within the context of a trusted faith community. This DVD series will open many doors for discussion.

The Marin Foundation

Tue, 15 Nov 2011 16:30:52 -0500

If you are interested in the conversation between faith and sexuality—and your visiting this blog seems to indicate you are—you need to be aware of the Marin Foundation. I will do my best to avoid gushing, but I’m not making any promises.

The Marin Foundation is a nonprofit based in Chicago that exists to “build bridges between the LGBT community and the Church through scientific research, biblical and social education, and diverse community gatherings.” They achieve their goal through five primary “pillars”: biblical and social education classes, national scientific research, Living in the Tension community gatherings, communication and dissemination, and consulting.

That’s the legal jargon. What you need to know is this: The Marin Foundation is a powerful force for reconciliation and communication around the world, building bridges that go both ways between religious and LGBT communities. If you have ever become frustrated with all talk and no action in regards to the righting of wrongs and the healing of wounds between Christians and sexual minorities, look no further, as these folks are doing big things. And people are noticing—the BBC, for example, recently ran a big story and radio segment about the work of the Foundation, concluding that their approach to relationships “may just offer a hopeful model for the future.”

I first discovered the Marin Foundation through a book written by its founder, Andrew Marin: Love Is an Orientation: Elevating the Conversation with the Gay Community. When Marin was in college, his three closest friends came out to him in rapid succession, which forced him to reconsider his assumptions about homosexuality and Christianity. He decided to surround himself with gay culture, seeking to understand LGBT people and their perspectives on life and faith. Eventually, that enculturation led to deep friendships and even Bible studies, and Marin ended up creating his Foundation to mobilize the work of building bridges. Since then, Marin published his book and has spoken across the country (even at government events), and the Foundation has done significant research, organized countless gatherings, and opened doors for powerful and life-changing relationships among individuals.

There are many different approaches to handling the intersection of faith and sexuality on an individual level, and those approaches become much more complex when they’re attached to an institution. Nevertheless, the Marin Foundation is a pioneer when it comes to bridge building, and there is a lot I love about the way they go about their work:

1. A disinterest with the “Big 5” questions.

I’ve listened to numerous interviews with Marin, and the interviewers always (without fail) try to draw out Marin’s beliefs about homosexuality and scripture. Marin always evades the five questions he calls the “Big 5” (referring to such questions as the nature/nurture debate and the eternal destination of LGBT people), though, and he does so in an attempt to imitate Christ:

“Rather than answering close-ended questions, The Marin Foundation seeks to elevate the conversation and continual fruitful dialogue, as tense as that may be. This is a model taken from Jesus throughout the Gospels. Of the 25 times Jesus was asked close-ended questions, only three times did he respond with a yes or no. These three times were only after he was arrested and admitting he was the Messiah. Prior to this, Jesus never answered close-ended questions with a yes or a no. Instead, he elevated the conversation.

“Our goal by not answering the ‘Big 5’ with a simple yes or no is not to dodge the subject or avoid the issue. We long to engage it. We seek to elevate the conversation, we seek to continue dialogue, and we seek to understand one’s point of view even if it is diametrically opposed to our own. We want to be educated, not dismissed, and we do not want to dismiss others in the process. We want to elongate the conversation, thus changing the conversation.”

That’s an important distinction—avoiding the questions altogether would be lazy and irresponsible. But I think Marin is right to stay away, at least for now, from the questions that have been most divisive in order to develop relationships and open genuine conversation, and it’s an approach I’ve tried to emulate on this blog.

2. A willingness to hear each side on its own terms.

Too often, the debates between religious and LGBT communities boils down to stereotypes and sound bites, neither of which leads to constructive conversation or any sort of healing. The Marin Foundation seems committed to letting different kinds of people speak on their own terms, listening closely to what others have to say and giving alternative perspectives their due weight. Their commitment to diversity is evident from the demographics of their staff:

“On staff we have a gay man, a lesbian, a progressive straight Christian male, a conservative straight Christian male and a straight female. This is the reason why The Marin Foundation does not take a stance on any issues corporately; as we are a group of individuals that comprise many different shades of faith, sexuality and politics in our culture today. If The Marin Foundation staff is not able to build bridges amongst ourselves on daily basis surrounding divisive issues even we disagree with each other on, how can we suggest any other entity should then, either. And our volunteers spread even further—to bisexual activists, transgender individuals, black, white, Asian, intersex individuals, celibate gays and lesbians, old and young, ex-gays, rich and poor. The Marin Foundation is trying as best as we can to live what we understand God’s kingdom to be on earth as it is in heaven.”

3. An effective means of communicating love and repentance.

The Marin Foundation stays busy throughout the year, but one of their most well-known endeavors is their “I’m Sorry” campaign at Chicago’s annual Pride Parade. Wearing shirts that say, “I’m Sorry” and holding signs with such messages as, “I’m sorry for how the church has hurt you,” and, “I used to be a Bible-banging homophobe—sorry,” the group assembles volunteers to make a visible statement of apology and repentance to a community Christians have wounded. In 2010, their efforts led to a particularly moving image of a parade participant hugging members of the Foundation across a road barrier. In his description of that day, Foundation staff member Nathan Albert concludes:

“What I saw and experienced at Pride 2010 was the beginning of reconciliation. It was in the shocked faces of gay men and women who did not ever think Christians would apologize to them.

“What I saw and experienced at Pride 2010 was the personification of reconciliation. It was in the hugs and kisses I received, in the “thank you’s” and waves, in the smiles and kisses blown.

“I hugged a man in his underwear. I hugged him tightly. And I am proud.”

In all honesty, when people ask me what kind of ministry career I hope to pursue, I am finding it increasingly difficult to say anything other than, “I want to be doing the kind of thing the Marin Foundation is doing.” Marin’s book and the work of the Foundation have both played a major role in inspiring and motivating this blog. In my opinion, the grace, compassion, and love they demonstrate with Christians and with LGBT communities is nothing less than the Kingdom of God at work in our midst.

If you want to learn more about the Marin Foundation (and, in my humble opinion, you should), you can head to their website, their Facebook page, their Twitter feed, or Andrew Marin’s blog.

A Case Study: Premarital Sex and "Glee"

Wed, 09 Nov 2011 11:45:10 -0500

[WARNING: Spoilers from the most recent episode of Glee follow.]

On last night’s Glee, two of the show’s high school couples had sex for the first time. One of the couples was a boy and a girl. The other couple was a boy and a boy.

This isn’t a post about Glee, and that paragraph is all you need to know about the show in order to keep up with the questions I’m going to ask here. I think last night’s episode of Glee provided a great case study for how we think about sex, sexual immorality, and heteronormativity in the church.

In my experience, many Christians who consider same-sex relationships sinful are guilty of handling homosexuality (and for that matter, homosexuals) differently from how they treat all other sins, reacting to LGBT issues more strongly than they do to other perceived variations from God’s design for humanity. My fear is that they do so thoughtlessly, condemning LGBT people more than they do others due to ignorance, prejudice, or fear about sexual minorities rather than deep-seated, nuanced beliefs about sexuality and the nature of God.

The problem, of course, is that Christians can’t afford to be thoughtless, especially when being thoughtless results in the oppression or exclusion of an entire genre of people. So, I think it’s time for Christians—and by Christians, I mean Christians in general, but I also mean any Christians who may read this post—to give thought to the question of homosexuality, if they haven’t, and I’d like our approach to the issue to be educated by theological reflection instead of ignorance, prejudice, or fear.

Take last night’s Glee, for example, where two unmarried couples had sex. If you believe same-sex relationships are sinful, I would be willing to bet you also believe sex outside of marriage is sinful. And if that’s the case, my question for you—and I mean it as a genuine question, since I imagine responses to this question will cover a wide spectrum, with the extremes on each end dumbfounded that I’m even asking—is whether the sex between Kurt and Blaine (the two boys) was any more sinful than the sex between Rachel and Finn.

It’s worth defining my terminology here, since “sinful” is a word that has received quite a beating in public discourse. When I say “sinful,” I don’t have in mind a vindictive God who is waiting for us to screw up so he can screw up our lives in return. Rather, I have in mind a God who composed the universe with particular rhythms and a certain key signature, so that certain attitudes and behaviors fit into that plan for the world and others don’t. As much as we’d sometimes like the freedom of doing whatever we feel like doing, that kind of “freedom” would be about as enjoyable as the trumpet player breaking out the solo from “Louie, Louie” while the rest of the orchestra is halfway through Beethoven’s Fifth.

In other words, I’m concerned with the sin question because I think sin matters, and I have a sneaking suspicion that sexuality is particularly close to our most central essence as humans who reflect the nature of God (see, for example, I Corinthians 6:12-20). I think it’s particularly important for us to get this thing right; not because God’s grace isn’t big enough for our mistakes, but because we should want to live in the way God wants us to live.

But the relative significance of sexuality is beside the point here, since what we’re comparing is two different kinds of sex. Again, I will ask: If same-sex relationships are sinful, is sex between two unmarried males any worse, in God’s eyes, than sex between an unmarried male and female? Are there degrees of sinfulness (i.e., Rachel and Finn are one degree sinful since they’re unmarried, whereas Kurt and Blaine are two degrees sinful since they’re unmarried and gay), or is behavior simply classified as “sinful” or “not sinful”?

This post is not headed towards an answer. This post is headed towards an exhortation: Let’s aim for consistency between our beliefs and practices. If you are going to say same-sex relationships are foreign to God’s plan for humanity, give serious thought to whether they are any more foreign to God’s plan than premarital sex, adultery, abusive relationships, using sex for personal gain (even with your spouse), or—let’s not forget this one—lust in any context. If they are more sinful, let’s make sure we have a strong, sophisticated theological grounding for that claim. If they are not, let’s actually make the change and stop punishing LGBT people more severely than anyone else. Again: We can’t afford to be thoughtless.

In the meantime, let’s concern ourselves with striving for sexual purity in our own lives.

At the risk of this blog turning into nothing more than a mirror for Dr. Richard Beck’s...

Thu, 27 Oct 2011 12:16:00 -0400

At the risk of this blog turning into nothing more than a mirror for Dr. Richard Beck’s Experimental Theology (which, in my opinion, would still be a good use of the space), I think his recent post on ecclesiology is particularly compelling. Beck asks the question, “Why is Killing Okay But Not Sexuality?“ Referencing the wide variety of views that exist among Christians regarding killing (which range from total pacifism to, as was the practice in a few churches I’ve attended, applauding war veterans on the major patriotic holidays), Beck asks:

“If we are okay with diversity on the issue of killing—overriding an explicit command at the heart of Jesus’s Kingdom vision on a topic of enormous moral consequence—why won’t we allow for a diversity of views within the Christian communion in regard to Paul’s vice lists?”

Many times, people wonder, “Yes, I am willing to befriend someone in a same-sex relationship in spite of my beliefs about the sinfulness of homosexuality. But at what point do I confront (what I perceive as) that person’s sin?” In this post, Beck seems to be offering a counter question: At what point does the pacifist tell his/her soldier friend that his/her career is sinful? To that question I would add many other questions: When do I point my rich friend to Matthew 19:24, or when do I alert my lustful friend to Matthew 5:27-30, or when do I confront my inauthentic friend with Matthew 5:37?

Notice that the question here is not whether same-sex relationships are right or wrong, and Beck is certainly not suggesting people should believe one way over the other. Neither is he suggesting that choosing a side is wrong or that holding people accountable is wrong. Rather, the issue is handling sin consistently—why are we so much more concerned about sexuality than anything else we might perceive as sinful, and is it the right thing for us to be so concerned about?

If nothing else, the article is worth a read to catch Beck’s phrase “hermeneutical chutzpah.”

There is no shortage of material online about faith and sexuality, so I do my best to filter in...

Tue, 25 Oct 2011 13:45:00 -0400

There is no shortage of material online about faith and sexuality, so I do my best to filter in order to bring attention to articles that are either especially helpful or unknown outside of my particular circle. Jay Michaelson recently wrote an article called “The Religious Duty to Come Out” over at Religion Dispatches, and he has a very unique perspective worth your time. I’m struggling to avoid quoting the entire article, but here are some highlights:

“What some folks don’t understand about ‘the closet’ is that it’s not just a set of walls around sexual behavior. It’s a net of lies that affects absolutely everything in one’s life…How can you build authentic relationships with anyone—friends, family—under such conditions? And if you’re religious, how can you be honest with yourself and your God if you maintain so many lies, so many walls running right through the center of your soul?”

“When I was in the closet…I lied all the time, to everyone….Somehow, I believed that all this lying was in the service of God. From where I sit now, the very proposition is preposterous: this notion that to be faithful to God requires deceit, falsehood, and deception.”

“I’ve already remarked at how tragic and offensive it is to hear homosexuality called a ‘lifestyle,’ as if it’s like living in the country, or enjoying golf or tennis. But the closet, in my experience, is a death-style—a slow, painful draining-out and drying-up of all that makes life worthwhile—even for those of us fortunate enough to live in places where gay-bashing and state-sanctioned violence are comparatively rare.”

For those of you in the closet, I recommend not reading the article as an imperative to come out; the sad truth is that for some people—at least for now—coming out is not a legitimate option. But from this side of the closet door, I can confirm that things feel much better out in the open.

For those of you who are not or have never been in the closet, let’s keep making this a world where people can be safe coming out.