Odd Man Out

I go back and forth on whether I think we ought to discuss the most offensive examples of Christian...

Thu, 31 May 2012 12:33:00 -0400

I go back and forth on whether I think we ought to discuss the most offensive examples of Christian homophobia, the ones that catch all the headlines and tarnish (obliterate?) the reputations of countless other Christians who are much more understanding, moderate, and reserved. On the one hand, I don’t want to add any fuel to the flames, and I’d prefer to just sweep these extreme episodes under the rug. On the other hand, sometimes a story about a homophobic pastor or an ignorant parent draws attention to the presence of remnant homophobia in our own neighborhoods, and those stories can become a launching point for beneficial conversations—they’re almost like caricatures of what we want to avoid.

For this month’s post on the Voiceless blog, “When Homophobia Goes Viral,” I chose to comment on the recent string of stories that have come out of North Carolina involving pastors Charles Worley, Sean Harris, Tim Rabon, and Ron Baity. (I expect the list has grown since I wrote the post.) When I say, “Comment,” what I really mean is ask a bunch of questions to invite you into my confusion and ambivalence. How should Christians (and, maybe more specifically, gay Christians) respond to stories like those from North Carolina? Stop by Voiceless to read and let me know what you think.

"Queer is Community"

Wed, 30 May 2012 10:43:00 -0400

[This post is part of a series reflecting on my summer internship with The Marin Foundation.]

If you’ve done much reading about sexual minorities, you’ll know there are many different acronyms floating around: LGBT, LGBTQ, LGBTA, LGBTQI, etc. I’ve chosen to use “LGBT” on this blog for a few reasons, including my relative ignorance to the experiences and needs of people who identify as queer (“Q,” though the “Q” sometimes refers to “Questioning”).

I was thus grateful to have the opportunity on my second night in Chicago to attend “Queer is Community,” a gathering in Boystown (Chicago’s predominantly gay district) intended “to open a dialogue around racism, transphobia, homophobia, biphobia, sexism, ableism, violence and any other limitations to community-building and to inspire positive change” in the area. One of the event’s creators explained how it was essentially organized in response to the “When in Boystown” Tumblr, a collection of inside jokes within the Boystown community that some have perceived as being hateful and bigoted towards certain minority groups.

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The event—which included an open mic session, a series of performances, and a panel discussion—was also an opportunity for individuals from Chicago’s queer community to meet, organize, and dream about creating change. One of my biggest questions going into the event was how the community would define the term “queer,” since I’ve heard people use the word inconsistently on a non-academic level. The elusive meaning of the term was one of the themes of the evening, as many attendees asked questions similar to mine (“What does the word mean to each of us?”) and offered their own definitions. Generally speaking, the sense I gathered from this particular community of people was that they used “queer” to refer to any experience of sexuality and gender that does not fit into established, traditional norms for sexuality and gender. Many of the performers identified as transgender, and a few did not identify as either male or female—for them, “queer” was a more accurate term (even in its ambiguity) for their identity.

The juxtaposition of this event with my first night wandering through Boystown was powerful. Before the event started, we walked up and down Halstead and ate dinner, and I slowly realized I felt less like a demographic minority than I’ve probably ever felt in my adult life. The vast majority of individuals I saw were white, gay (as much as you can assume from outward appearance), middle-class, 20-40s men, and the “gay” qualifier is the piece that made the evening feel so different from what I typically experience. I don’t mean to say I felt more at home or more connected in Boystown than I do in Abilene or anywhere else—and I’m not ignoring the way my faith commitments may have made me a different kind of minority (certainly not an oppressed minority)—but on paper, this was a community consisting almost entirely of people from my specific demographic. I often face incorrect assumptions that I’m attracted to women, but this was a place where (as far as I could tell) people’s assumptions about my sexual orientation were correct.

As I was digesting this newfound (albeit fleeting) privilege, then, I was hearing stories from people who don’t experience that kind of privilege, people who rarely fit easily into our broader culture but often don’t even fit into gay culture because their experiences of gender and sexuality are relatively uncommon. Although the evening focused on queer identity, many of the performers addressed other minority experiences: people of color, differently-abled people, etc. The event itself was intentionally designed to make room for any and all who would attend, with features ranging from gender-neutral bathrooms to ASL interpreters. One performer raised the question: “What is ‘normal’? Why is that ‘normal’?”

I have a suspicion that the kind of man God is trying to form me into is someone who goes out of his way to attend to the needs of others, even (maybe especially) when the “others” are people whose experiences I don’t completely understand yet. I’ve received an obscene amount of privilege—even as a sexual minority—and I feel certain God is very, very interested in whether I use that privilege to make myself comfortable and satisfied or surrender it to seek justice for and advocate on behalf of my sisters, brothers, and other siblings who do not enjoy the same kind of privilege. I’m certainly going to need that kind of formation if I want to dwell in God’s kingdom, a kingdom where the ones God considers blessed are the ones who are meek, mournful, and poor in spirit.

Today, I am grateful for opportunities to learn from people who are different from me and for the boldness of people who speak out against oppression and hatred.

An announcement: This summer, the nature of Odd Man Out will change a bit in light of my internship...

Fri, 25 May 2012 14:16:59 -0400

An announcement:

This summer, the nature of Odd Man Out will change a bit in light of my internship with The Marin Foundation. Since I started writing in September, I’ve used this space mostly for a combination of (a) short essays on particular topics and questions and (b) reflections on my experiences as a gay Christian. For the next few months, though, I want to use this blog to update friends, family, and anyone else about my experiences in Chicago. Due to the nature of my internship, these updates will absolutely fit the theme of my blog, which is “about being Christian and gay,” but I want to warn you to expect something a little different here for the time being. In general, I imagine the writing will be a little more personal/vulnerable and a little less polished than what I typically aim to publish.

Throughout the summer, I’ll be doing some writing elsewhere online, and I’ll make sure to direct readers to those other sites. I’ll continue to contribute to the Voiceless blog monthly, and I may have some opportunities to write over at The Marin Foundation’s blog as well. I encourage you to check out both of those sites, since their approaches are similar to the approach I take here.

So, if you’re interested in hearing about work being done to build bridges between the LGBT community and the Church and how I fit into that, make sure to follow along here throughout the summer!

Changing Beliefs

Thu, 17 May 2012 09:52:03 -0400

One of the things I adore about my mother is the way she adamantly refuses to let Santa die. Now that we have a third generation of children in my family, it makes sense to perpetuate stories about a jolly, round man who brings presents through our chimney, but there was a long period before the grandkids were born in which my brothers (and father) and I would affectionately roll our eyes at Mom’s factoring the timing of Santa’s visit into our holiday planning every year.

I don’t remember when I started to doubt Santa’s existence, but I do remember when I received confirmation of my suspicions. I was in the garage, sometime around a November, and I approached my dad at his workbench with my skeptical question: “Dad, Santa isn’t real, is he?” As I think parents should in this situation, my father leveled with me in gentle forthrightness: “No, son, he’s not.” The revelation wasn’t particularly distressing for me, and I didn’t experience any of the disorientation some people describe feeling upon discovering their parents have essentially been lying to them. My paradigm shifted a bit, but otherwise the news was merely substantiation of what I already suspected.

We live in a peculiar time when it comes to the intersection of faith and sexuality, insofar as there are people on all sides of the debate who argue vehemently for their positions and receive no lack of support. This is a peculiar time because there really wasn’t much question about whether God blessed same-sex relationships fifty years ago (“Of course not!”) and, depending on whom you ask, it’s possible there may not be much question about whether God blesses same-sex relationships fifty years in the future (“Of course!”). As I’ve mentioned before, we’ve entered an era when many people of faith grow up uncritically assuming same-sex relationships are no different from opposite-sex relationships, as far as God’s expectations and promises are concerned, and that means the conversation has completely changed.

As usual, I don’t want to use this blog to pick a side and argue it. There are already excellent places to do that online, and I actually think those conversations tend to go best in person. Instead, I want to invite you into a little hypothetical thought experiment: What would cause you to change your beliefs about same-sex relationships? If you believe God blesses same-sex relationships in the same way he blesses opposite-sex relationships, what would it take to make you believe those relationships are inherently sinful? If you believe same-sex relationships are inherently sinful, what would it take to make you believe God blesses those relationships?

Truth be told, I’m much more curious about this question than I am about your beliefs on same-sex relationships. From what I can tell, many people on each side of the debate seem to expect, hope, and even pray for people on the other side to change their beliefs in order to live more in accordance with God’s will for the world, but those same people often express absolutely no expectation that the other side could eventually persuade them. In other words, they’re expecting other people to demonstrate humility in their beliefs without offering that humility themselves. So, you often have non-affirming Christians who invite LGBT individuals and same-sex couples into their churches, either with the requirement that they abandon that identity/relationship before entering the church or the expectation that, as the person or couple comes into a relationship with God, God will reveal the sinfulness of that identity/relationship to them and they will repent accordingly. On the other extreme, you have affirming Christians (LGBT or not) who are fully convinced about God’s blessing for same-sex relationships and unwilling to hear or even share a table with people who believe differently, simply waiting for everyone else to “come around” to their side. On both sides, there are people who adamantly say there’s absolutely nothing that could convince them to change their minds to the other side, even going so far to say changing their minds would represent a betrayal of God and God’s revelation to us.

The problem I perceive here is an idolatry of belief. I genuinely think there’s a strong biblical precedence for believing what you believe fervently (head) and passionately (heart), but I get uncomfortable when I hear someone on either side say nothing could change his/her beliefs on a particular issue, since that seems to demonstrate more allegiance to a belief than to the God upon whom those beliefs are (ostensibly) based. (I should point out here I’m discussing marginal beliefs, by which I mean beliefs that were not part of my faith confession. When I became a Christian, I confessed, “Jesus is Lord,” and with that confession I committed to begin submitting my life to the reign of God’s kingdom as God revealed it to me in a community of faith. Because the question of same-sex relationships was not part of my faith confession, I consider it a marginal issue, which means it is an area in which I need to submit my life to God’s reign as God reveals it to me in the context of that community of faith.) I can’t imagine you haven’t experienced at least one significant change in perception in your life (Exhibit A: Santa), and there are plenty of examples of the Christian movement making major shifts over the course of history.

The best example of this kind of humility I can find in scripture is Peter’s humility about the inclusion of Gentiles into God’s church. To make a long story short, Peter moved from perceiving non-Jews as outsiders to perceiving them as insiders, which is a hugely significant turning point in the history of the church and in the story of God’s work among humanity. I’d argue (and I don’t think I’d have to work very hard) that the question of Gentile inclusion in the church is much more pivotal than the question of the ethics of same-sex relationships. In any case, it’s difficult to tell at what point Peter’s heart and mind changed so that he welcomed and celebrated Gentiles. There are certainly a few notable moments in the story: Peter has a vivid, distinct vision of God calling unclean things “clean” (Acts 10:9-16); he witnesses the outpouring of God’s Spirit on a group of unbaptized Gentile believers (10:24-48); and after telling the story to the apostles in Jerusalem, the community decides together, “God has granted even the Gentiles repentance unto life” (11:1-18). The story of the church’s shift to Gentile inclusion really stretches from Genesis to Revelation, but the story of Peter’s changing beliefs only occupies two chapters.

This is a story in which Peter’s humility towards a particular belief resulted in that belief changing such that Peter was more able to live in accordance with God’s will. I don’t know whether Peter expected that belief to change or whether he wanted it to change, but I do know he submitted himself to God enough for his beliefs to change when God revealed a new direction; and I, as a Gentile, am (eternally) grateful on a personal level for Peter’s openness to the movement of God’s Spirit. I’ll thus return to my original question: What would cause you to change your beliefs about same-sex relationships—if changing your beliefs ultimately made you more able to live in accordance with God’s will?

Some whose beliefs have changed say they came to understand the scriptures differently from how they had originally understood them; for them, their change in beliefs was based on a desire to obey the scriptures, and that desire forced them to alter their beliefs to reflect a new understanding of scripture. For others, the change resulted from an experience of God’s Spirit, witnessing the presence or lack of presence of the Spirit in a believer participating in a same-sex relationship. Others changed their beliefs based on a more direct experience of God’s revelation, saying they somehow sensed God communicating a particular position to them in a time of prayer or worship. In each of these situations, the person’s desire to submit to God required him/her to perceive of same-sex relationships differently in order to live in faithful submission to God’s will. (And, of course, each of these raises more questions: How do you appropriately interpret the scriptures? How do you recognize the presence of God’s Spirit in another person? How do you discern God’s communication to you?)

As I pitched this question to different friends, one reminded me that many of us can’t really predict what will make our beliefs change; often, we experience great surprise at the way our gut feelings and biases have shifted over time (maybe without our noticing). This friend found it helpful to think about another area in which his beliefs had changed dramatically in the past and to try and discern what caused the transformation in that situation, especially if the belief was one he once held dear, and you may find the same exercise helpful.

So, I would love to hear your perspective in the comments: If you are someone who has confessed Jesus as Lord (and that’s an essential qualifier for all of these questions), what would cause your beliefs about same-sex relationships to change? If you’re married to a same-sex partner, what would it take for you to perceive that relationship as sinful and cut it off? If you’ve disowned a member of your family because s/he came out as gay, what would it take for you to believe God wanted you restore that relationship? If you’re in the process of undergoing gender reassignment surgery, what would it take for you to believe God was calling you to keep your physical body in its current state? If you experience same-sex attraction and are pursuing ex-gay therapy or have committed to a life of celibacy, what would it take for you to believe God was calling you into a romantic relationship with someone of the same sex?

Or, if your beliefs on same-sex relationships have already changed in either direction, what brought about that change, and what could cause you to change back?

Or, if absolutely nothing would cause your beliefs to change, how do you think about and describe Peter’s change in the Acts story?

Tread Lightly

Mon, 14 May 2012 12:55:47 -0400

The best movies are movies with high stakes. I learned this from the hosts of Filmspotting, a film review podcast. The best movies—the ones that pull you in and stay with you—are the ones where the stuff that happens actually matters, where you have a reason to care about the story playing out on the screen in front of you. This doesn’t mean the conflict needs to escalate to Avengers-level melodrama with the fate of the planet at risk in order to count; intimate family dramas can matter just as much as intergalactic battles (and, of course, intergalactic battles can feel completely inconsequential and limp). When a film has high stakes, it has the potential to leave you completely emotionally exhausted.

Over the last few years, conversations about LGBT issues have become increasingly visible in the public sphere, and the conversations came to a bit of a climax last week. I’m talking, of course, about Tuesday’s landslide victory for North Carolina’s Amendment One, which added a same-sex marriage ban to the state’s constitution, and Wednesday’s announcement from President Obama that he supports the right of same-sex couples to marry. I don’t really have anything to add to the online conversations about the meaning of both of those momentous events; writers have spilled enough digital ink to occupy you with plenty of online reading on all sides of the issue. What I want to contribute is my own experience of last week, which left me completely emotionally exhausted.

More than I’ve ever seen, social media was absolutely bursting at the seams with opinions and discussions about LGBT issues on Tuesday and Wednesday (and Thursday and Friday and Saturday…). Everyone, it seemed, had something to say, whether the something was a vote of confidence in Amendment One or a declaration of support for the president’s statement. I saw countless Facebook statuses and tweets about homosexuality from people who had, as far as I’d known, otherwise been mum on LGBT issues thus far—former classmates, friends, ministry partners.

Increased attention to LGBT issues is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, I’ve often lamented the culture of silence that tends to surround LGBT issues in Christian institutions, and it’s a breath of fresh air to see more people pay attention to a discussion I see as crucial. When I was trying to determine to whom I could safely come out, I often wished my friends and family would say something about homosexuality just so I’d have a hint about where they stood. If nothing else, it’s nice to see people lay their cards on the table. On the other hand, though, the mainstreaming of LGBT issues almost necessarily means the discourse is going to become more shallow and careless. As people outside of that niche that cares and thinks deeply add their voices to the conversation, it becomes much more likely I’ll encounter unexamined, hasty, and irrational proclamations, that the cards people lay on the table will be unflatteringly flimsy. This wouldn’t be a problem if everyone participating the conversation were indifferent, but it’s impossible for me not to take the things you say—even the things you say thoughtlessly—personally, because the stakes for me couldn’t feel any higher.

When you log on to make a quick comment about how you support Amendment One because gay people are rebelling against God’s will, you might be able to log off and turn your attention to other matters; but my head is left spinning, because what exactly do you mean, and why are you making that opinion publicly known, and what if you’re right? Are you saying I’m living in sin because I’m innately attracted to men? Do you think I’m rebelling against God’s will for my life if I pursue a relationship with a man? Do you mean I should try to change my orientation or even that it’s already too late for me to receive God’s love? And, most importantly, are you willing to walk through those questions with me? As much as I’d love to dismiss your comment as rash and superficial, it’s so incredibly important to me to get this right that I can’t completely ignore your perspective.

Or, when you log on to voice how you support Obama’s statement because love requires us to call same-sex relationships holy and meaningful, you may also be able to log off and focus on something else; but my head is, once again, left spinning: What exactly do you mean, and why are you making that opinion publicly known, and what if you’re right? Are you saying it would be futile for me to try and remain single because God isn’t placing such a heavy burden on me—that, in fact, he may be calling me into a same-sex relationship for the sake of my spiritual formation? Do you think I’ve become a self-righteous legalist if I call something sinful that God has made holy? Do you mean my faith is too small and narrow if I don’t open myself to that kind of relationship or recognize its value in the lives of others? As above, are you willing to walk through those questions with me? Once again, I want to shrug your remarks off as simplistic and lazy, but the stakes are so very high for me that I can’t entirely banish your perspective from my mind.

Here’s my request for anyone who is committed to loving LGBT individuals with the love Christ demonstrates towards us, regardless of whether you think “love” means calling us out of the sin of same-sex relationships or celebrating them as beautiful and blessed: Please take seriously the weight of these discussions for our lives. When Christians talk about Amendment One, it’s not really about what laws they’ll enforce in North Carolina; it’s about whether God, in all his profoundly gracious and merciful love for me, might be calling me to wake up alone every morning for the rest of my life. When Christians talk about Obama’s view on same-sex relationships, it’s not really about any politician’s voting record; it’s about whether my affection for another man, regardless of his Christlike qualities that attract me to him, fundamentally falls short of God’s design for human sexuality and places me in perpetual conflict with the God whose approval matters more to me than anything else. When Christians talk about LGBT issues, they’re talking about LGBT individuals.

By all means, please don’t keep silent about LGBT issues. But before you tell me I can’t marry a man, wait a beat to feel the weight of that call—one that could potentially involve prolonged loneliness and searing pain—with me. And before you tell me I ought to marry a man, wait a beat to feel the weight of that call—one that puts me into conflict with millennia of Christian belief and would potentially ruin relationships with many non-affirming people in my life—with me. If you’re unwilling to bear the weight of those calls, even for a moment, think seriously about whether the love of Christ is motivating your words before you click “Post.”

If it wasn’t official enough, buying my plane ticket today sealed the deal: I leave for...

Thu, 03 May 2012 17:19:44 -0400

If it wasn’t official enough, buying my plane ticket today sealed the deal: I leave for Chicago in less than a month.

When I originally announced my internship with The Marin Foundation, I made three requests. My first request was for prayer support from those who pray, and I still eagerly petition you to consider praying regularly for me and for what God will be doing this summer. In fact, if you are willing to commit to that kind of support, please tell me—knowing you are praying would be a great source of peace and encouragement for me. I look forward to this summer with joyful anticipation but also apprehension, since I’m entering a new environment with plenty of unknowns. Prayer support is essential, so send me an email (there’s a link near the top of this blog) if you’ll be praying.

My second request was for financial support, and I am thrilled to report my internship is fully funded. I am completely overwhelmed with gratitude and so humbled. As I’ve told many people: God is faithful, and his people are generous. As I’ve also told many people: I’m well aware this internship is about much more than just me and what I’m going to do, and it’s been wonderful to partner with people who are passionate about building bridges and expressing the love of Christ to all of his people. Thank you.

If you’re still interested in donating money, I would point you in two directions. First, consider supporting my friend, Michael Van Huis, who is also working with The Marin Foundation and needs a bit more than me for the summer. Second, consider supporting the ongoing work of The Marin Foundation, whose crucial work will continue long after I’m back in Texas.

My third request was for all of us to emulate the work of reconciliation The Marin Foundation supports, and that certainly wasn’t a goal I intended for us all to accomplish this spring. Nevertheless, I hope you will pay close attention to what they’re (we’re?) doing, especially if you doubt there’s anything productive or helpful that can happen between the Christian community and the LGBT community, or if you need help talking to your Christian friend or to your gay friend. There are wonderful, wonderful things happening in the world.

Needless to say, I will keep you thoroughly posted throughout my summer in Chicago. I’m not sure yet exactly how I’ll manage the blog throughout the internship—whether I’ll do something like a weekly update, post a bunch of micro updates, use more pictures and video, etc.—but do keep checking in, as I expect I’ll have a lot to say.

In a recent conversation with a friend, I was trying to explain the myriad questions that seem to...

Wed, 25 Apr 2012 09:42:49 -0400

In a recent conversation with a friend, I was trying to explain the myriad questions that seem to plague Christians who realize they’re gay, and I found myself describing it thus: “When you find yourself attracted to people of the same gender, no one hands you an instruction manual to tell you how you’re supposed to see yourself, how you’re supposed to describe yourself, or what you’re supposed to believe. I think straight people often act like same-sex attractions come packed with all kinds of history, knowledge, biases, and agendas, but that’s not the case at all; we have to figure out who we are and what we believe just like everyone else.”

That statement was the inspiration for my new post over at the Voiceless blog, called “Instruction Manual.” Head over there to see what I have to say, and be sure to leave comments.

Day of Silence

Mon, 16 Apr 2012 10:13:28 -0400

[We’re approaching two important dates for people interested in faith and sexuality. The first is April 19, the Day of Dialogue, and the second is April 20, the Day of Silence. I think both are excellent opportunities, and I want to say a little about why each day is so important to me.

First, a little history: The Day of Silence is a nationwide protest against anti-LGBT bullying in schools that began in 1996. Now sponsored by GLSEN, the event encourages people to take a daylong oath of silence in solidarity with LGBT people whose voices have been silenced by harassment or oppression. The Day of Dialogue, on the other hand, started in 2005 under the name “Day of Truth” and was largely a response from conservative Christian groups to what they perceived as the dangers of the Day of Silence, namely, that it advocated on behalf of students identifying as LGBT. This event has evolved, and its current purpose is “encouraging honest and respectful conversation among students about God’s design for sexuality.”]

Whenever someone gives me the chance to recount my experiences as a gay Christian, there is exactly one piece of my story that makes me cry every time I tell it.

After the first time I came out to a friend, he helped arrange a lunch for me with a guy he knew who was much farther along the journey of understanding and interpreting his own attraction to other men. I remember feeling apprehensive as I approached the table to sit down with him, but my fears quickly dissipated when we realized how much we had in common. I hung on every word as he explained his perspective, and I cherished the empathetic understanding shining from his face as I found my own voice and told stories I had never verbalized. Maybe for the first time, I was able to laugh about pieces of my experience of sexuality, and I remember feeling a bit irreverent as we joked about something that had always felt so heavy to me.

As I drove away after we finished our meal, the warmth of tears rushing down my face surprised me. (The next line of this story is the part that invariably brings the same tears back to my eyes whenever I revisit it.) I struggled to name the epiphany slowly rising to the surface of my mind until I had a sudden moment of clear insight: “Oh,” I thought to myself, “So this is what it feels like to have a relationship with another person.”

I doubt my storytelling abilities adequately convey what a profoundly earth-shaking revelation I experienced at this moment. It was absolutely pivotal in my life. I’m not using hyperbole when I say it was like a blind man receiving his sight, a poignant and bittersweet mixture of rejoicing the fulfillment of a deep need in my soul while suddenly grieving the lack of something I didn’t know I had been missing. Was this kind of connection what everyone else was talking about when they described friendship? Did this kind of trust and understanding come naturally to everyone else? How had I ever survived or thought I would be able to keep surviving without actually being known by another person? The kind of relationship I had found with the first person to whom I came out and with this man who shared lunch with me—the kind of relationship I would continue to find as I opened up to others in my life—was addictive in the holiest sense of the word.

Before I started coming out, I had many dear relationships with family and friends and friends who may as well have been family, but every single relationship in my life was distorted by my obsessive need to keep secrets and cover my tracks, by closets full of topics I could never discuss and questions I could never answer, by the pervasive fear that they would abandon me if they actually knew me. Of course, you don’t have to know I’m gay to know me. You certainly don’t have to know I’m gay to be a true friend. My sexuality is only one element of a huge collection of memories and motivations and meanings that constitute my identity. But the constant fear of being exposed—even when it was totally unlikely!—meant I was never completely at ease, even in the presence of people who truly loved me unconditionally.

About a week before I graduated from college, a deep melancholy swept in and hung like a pall over all of my end-of-the-year celebrations. I was reflecting on my time at the university and the sort of legacy I would be leaving, however small, and I could not avoid the question that haunted me: “Do any of these people really know me at all?” By this time, I had opened up to some of my friends about my orientation, but the opportunity hadn’t presented itself for me to share with others who deserved to know. Outside of those friendships, I was aware most of the people I encountered in college wouldn’t remember me and couldn’t care less about to whom I felt attracted, and I knew most of them only shallowly at best. Nevertheless, there remained a sharp poignancy in my acknowledging how much of my experience in college (and thus the legacy I was leaving) consisted of self-consciously keeping up appearances and obsessively trying to manage others’ perceptions of me.

The longer I spend thinking and talking and writing about faith and sexuality, the harder I find it to say anything with absolute certainty, but I feel entirely confident when I say: This is not how we were meant to live. “Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ,” Paul writes in Galatians, and I think we’d do well to consider the vast implications of this simple command in the context of the order God has sewn into the foundations of our existence (6:2). Living in the closet not only made me lonely and fearful; it made me extraordinarily self-absorbed, so consumed with maintaining my image that I had no energy left to attend to the needs of others. I could not carry their burdens because I was not allowing them to carry mine, and the weight was too heavy. This isolated, self-imposed martyrdom is not the kind of life God intends for any of us, and we err when we we allow shame to construct walls of defense against the genuine relationships God designed for our proper functioning. Coming out is not about forcing my sexual orientation or any agenda on you; it’s about inviting you into the reality of the way I experience the world in light of the commitment you’ve made to walk through life with me. Claiming those genuine relationships God gives us requires such self-disclosure regardless of how comfortable either of us feels in that conversation.

I mark the launching of this blog as the day in my life when I fully and conclusively came out, and I can’t say my life has changed dramatically in any outwardly visible way since that day. From where I’m standing, though, the world feels like a completely different place. Although I don’t feel any pressure or desire to assert my sexual orientation to other people, I no longer occupy any of my attention with hiding it, and the freedom that confidence grants me in my relationships is breathtaking. The attitude that says, “I’m not particularly concerned with whether you know I’m gay,” is worlds apart from the attitude that says, “I need to make sure you don’t know I’m gay.” Nevertheless, I’d be lying if I said I always feel completely at home outside of the closet; I lived in silence for so long and grew so comfortable there that I occasionally wish I could return to secrecy. This is not because the closet is a good or healthy place to be. This is because the chains of slavery cut deeply, leaving permanent scars on the psyche of the freedman so that a bit of him may always believe he belongs in captivity. I believe in complete resurrection, but I also believe there are some wounds we receive that never completely heal in this life. Becoming convinced I am worth knowing as I am and that God loves me as I am has been a long, difficult journey thus far, one that the compassion and love I’ve received has nurtured.

This, my dear friends, is why I plan to participate in the Day of Silence and invite you to consider doing the same: because I know what it is to be silent. Although I have not been the victim of extensive anti-LGBT bullying, which is the main focus of the Day of Silence’s protest, I want to do whatever I can to make our classrooms, our sanctuaries, and our living rooms places where people will feel safe to be honest about sexuality. If participating in a nationwide protest will help accomplish that goal, then I will gladly put tape over my mouth for a day. My desire is not that people would feel pressured to come out, to squeeze themselves into identities that don’t fit, or to tattoo themselves with permanent cultural labels for the sake of feeling like they belong. My desire is that people would be able to travel the journey of sexuality and faith—a journey with innumerable paths and outcomes—with the support of other people who will listen to them and learn from them and challenge them, since I no longer believe it’s possible to walk that journey alone.

So, allow me to say this now, since I won’t be able to speak it on April 20: I do not know where I would be if God had not put people in my life who responded with love and compassion when I took the risk of vulnerability, and I did not know how alone I had been until I was no longer alone. I don’t believe a wilderness of loneliness has to be an inevitable chapter in the LGBT narrative, and I don’t want the silence of an oppressive society to force others to suffer that isolation I escaped. I want you to know me because I want us to know each other, and I need you to love me because we need to love each other.

Day of Dialogue

Fri, 13 Apr 2012 11:29:00 -0400

Although the history of the Day of Dialogue (including its placement on the calendar) leaves a bad taste in my mouth—it essentially began as an active rebuttal to something I see as beneficial and meaningful—I love the idea that Christians are encouraging their children to talk with their peers about sexuality, a topic that has so long been taboo in Christian circles. Nevertheless, my frustration with the Day of Dialogue is that, although “dialog” has become a popular buzzword among Christian circles, I’m afraid we rarely achieve and may not even actually desire the kind of interactions I would deem “dialog.” Wendy Gritter, the executive director of New Direction ministries, sums it up perfectly on her blog as she describes the website for the Day of Dialogue:

As I looked through these articles, there was a very consistent tone. The articles were friendly, positive, and encouraging. They also presented a very consistent paradigm – one that can be described as an ex-gay paradigm. Such a paradigm not only views same-sex sexual activity as sinful, but it also discourages an individual from identifying as LGBT. The personal stories in the articles were consistently of those who felt same-sex attraction, some of whom had been involved in same-sex relationships or sexual activity, who turned away from anything associated with homosexuality to focus on a primary identity in Christ. The articles also had a strong tone of differentiation in gender.

When you consider the predominance of one paradigm and the conversation starters that point towards a particular discussion, one has to wonder why it is called the Day of Dialogue. It seems to me it might be much more honest to simply call it the Day of Defense of Traditional Marriage, Ex-Gay Response to Homosexuality and Traditional Gender Roles.

What struck me about the website was that I didn’t really see any guidance for high school students to understand what dialogue really is. I didn’t see any acknowledgement that they would encounter people with different views. I didn’t see any help for students to engage in conversation in a way that was open, humble and able to navigate difference and disagreement. I didn’t see any direction on listening skills. I didn’t see any acknowledgment that students may encounter a gay Christian.

As Gritter identifies, “Day of Dialog” is a misnomer if the movement isn’t preparing students to take seriously the alternative viewpoints they will inevitably encounter; “Day of Truth,” though it certainly sounds uglier, probably more accurately (and, yes, cynically) represents the authoritarian attitude of a day in which only one specific viewpoint receives legitimate consideration. I think the editor of Voiceless, “Stewart Headlam,” paints a helpful picture of dialog when he contrasts it with debate:

In a debate, the purpose is to win the argument by any means necessary. In a dialogue, all voices are given equal respect, because even if you are “right,” other voices might notice something you’ve missed, see things from a different angle, or provide constructive criticism of the way you justify certain wrong or unwise actions on account of your true beliefs.

Under this definition of “dialog,” I’m a bit surprised some conservative Christian groups would want to expose students to that process of sharpening in the context of their school hallways. In my experience, this kind of dialog is exceedingly rare, and it requires a strange blend of critical confidence and open-minded humility towards one’s beliefs from everyone involved. This kind of dialog is also extraordinarily difficult, and I see two reasons why dialog is so hard for us.

First, productive and meaningful dialog requires the parties involved to express their beliefs clearly, and that requires clear understanding of our beliefs. As I’ve expressed before, many of the positions I hold on particular issues are uncritical and underdeveloped simply because I have no reason to examine them. Either the people around me all hold the same position, or I never encounter situations requiring me to take a strong stance on the issue, or enough of the evidence seems to point a certain way that I don’t spend any time thinking deeply about [insert particular issue]. I don’t see this as necessarily bad; part of living in community with other people (and especially faith community) is submitting to the norms and expectations of that community insofar as you don’t have reason to take serious issue with them. There’s simply not time for all of us to search our souls on every question under the sun, and sometimes we have to trust the work of people who have come before us. Nevertheless, it’s difficult for me to explain exactly what I believe and why I believe it in those situations because I haven’t given any serious thought to those particular issues. When a crisis does arise, I find myself scrambling to explain why something makes me uncomfortable, why something offends me, or why I feel enormously guilty about something I just did.

Dialog requires me to put my beliefs into a crucible where others can ask questions and take issue and draw attention to inconsistencies, and that means uncritical and underdeveloped beliefs won’t fly. In fact, if I’m not interested in doing the work of deepening my beliefs, I may avoid genuine dialog at all costs by either turning dialog into debate (where I desperately fight off what feels like attacks on something I hold dear) or avoiding conversations all together (by isolating myself or surrounding myself with like-minded thinkers). If I am interested in doing the work of deepening my beliefs, though, I might find dialog is an excellent way to achieve that goal—I’ll willingly put my beliefs into that crucible because I want to remove their flaws and imperfections.

Second, productive and meaningful dialog requires high stakes, and I don’t know if we’re ready or willing to take that risk. Gritter defines “the simple but important adage of entering dialogue ~ ‘This is what I believe ….. but I could be wrong….. tell me about what you believe.’” The key phrase there is the second: “I could be wrong.” Dialog is completely futile when there’s nothing at stake for anyone involved, when everyone is so married to his or her own position (in spite of its flaws and imperfections) that only the other person’s position needs to change. Actually, it may be worse than futile—it often becomes divisive or even explosive. The realm of doubt and ambiguity can be unsettling and uncomfortable—especially for people who have long dwelt with an assumption of absolute truth—but it is the only atmosphere in which dialog can flourish.

This kind of intentional surrender in conversation is only possible when there’s mutual trust from all parties involved in the dialog, a sense of charity where every individual is going to try his or her hardest to understand the nuances of everyone else’s beliefs and acknowledge them as they are. If everyone in the dialog cannot commit to that cooperation, the conversation becomes unsafe for those people who are willing to submit themselves to the dialog’s scrutiny. When this trust does exist, it makes space for every voice in the room, and people feel free to express their genuine convictions without any of the pretense of false humility or inauthentic listening. Dialog in which no one feels any particular conviction or interest in moving towards a conclusion may become little more than so much posturing, a mere exchange of ideas meant only to titillate and thrill.

Here’s what I hope: I hope the Day of Dialogue will be a rousing success. I hope it will provide a catalyst for people on all sides of the issues to say, “Hey, I have some pretty strong convictions about sexuality, but they could certainly use some good polishing. I really want to get this thing right, and I recognize you also really want to get this thing right, so why don’t we engage in dialog to help us both grow?” While I’m speaking about my ideal situation, let me push a step further: “I can tell you and I have drastically different beliefs on this topic, so dialog between us would be especially helpful for each of us.” I think a day encouraging productive, meaningful conversation—so long as what we’re encouraging is actual dialog—could be a powerful remedy for a culture plagued with sound bites and stereotypes. I know my beliefs could use a good polish.

If we’re not ready or willing to do that, though—if we can’t express our beliefs clearly or won’t take the risk of high stakes, and I’m not necessarily trying to say we should—it’s time for us to surrender our use of the word “dialog” and the interplay in implies.

[EDIT (4/16/12): You should also check out Kevin Harris’s thoughts on the Day of Dialogue from last year, as Harris takes issue with the way the Day of Dialogue shifts attention away from something that should be a serious concern of Christian communities: bullying. Harris also points readers to the Golden Rule Pledge, an alternate approach for Christians who are uncomfortable with the Day of Silence.]

I recently discovered a band called The Brilliance, and they’ve immediately climbed to the top...

Fri, 06 Apr 2012 09:55:00 -0400

I recently discovered a band called The Brilliance, and they’ve immediately climbed to the top of my “Most Played” count due to their gorgeous instrumentation and rich theology. I’ve connected with their Lent album throughout the season this year, and one song in particular, “Does Your Heart Break?” won’t leave my mind. (I can’t find a streaming version of the song online, but it’s well worth your dollar in iTunes.) The lyrics include:

When the walls fell and the hungry child cried out for help, did you hear the sound? Did your heart break? Does your heart break now?

Easter is such a strange day in the Christian calendar; it’s when Jesus simultaneously shows us that he really, really gets our pain but then completely subverts and rejects the reign of suffering and death in our world. Even as he shares perfect empathy by taking our grief as his own, he boldly declares the end of sorrows and demonstrates his mastery over death.

Easter is also the day, I think, when our theological arguments feel a little half-hearted; because even as we understand the significance of right belief as we submit ourselves to the will of God, we recognize in the death and resurrection of Christ that trying to justify ourselves through rigid obedience to any code (or convincing ourselves our code is perfectly accurate) is antithetical to the gracious gift God grants us.

And Easter is the day when all of our laments find their answer; for as we cry out to God in suffering and wonder whether he hears or listens or cares, we see Jesus hanging on the cross and watch as he carries the weight of the world’s suffering. He feels the pain; his heart does break. Easter is the day we recognize how our suffering draws us near to the heart of God, who suffers with us: “The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18).

So, for my brothers and sisters who are suffering today: You are not alone. You are not alone on this earth, of course, try as we might to deny our pain to ourselves and each other; but neither are you alone in feeling the grief of a world that didn’t go like it was supposed to, where things have gone bad, because we have a priest who is able “to empathize with our weaknesses” (Hebrews 4:14-6). When your heart breaks, he feels it, and—speaking with the authority required to make such claims—he promises it won’t be that way forever.

Happy Easter.

Conclusion to Myths

Fri, 30 Mar 2012 09:57:14 -0400

Introduction to Myths

Myth #1: The Bible

Myth #2: The Labels

Myth #3: The People

If I were to summarize this entire series in one word (which, due to the length of these posts, you may prefer), it would be: Listen. Listen to other people. Listen to people who see the world very differently from how you see the world. Listen to people who come from a different generation, a different city, or a different denomination. Listen to people whose positions confuse you, disappoint you, or infuriate you. Do not listen for the purpose of disproving or disagreeing; listen for the purpose of understanding and connecting.

Conversations about sexuality and faith often become difficult, passionate, and even harmful, but I don’t think the problem is how much we love each other (we love each other a lot) or how much weight we’re giving the issues (we’re giving them a lot of weight). What I’ve argued in this series is that the problem is simply broken communication: We’re no longer speaking the same language, but we’re still trying to talk to each other as if we are. Fortunately, this problem is much easier to solve than convincing people to love each other more or convincing them to give more weight to the issues, and I think our first step in communicating well is learning to listen.

In the introduction to the series, I described some of my frustrations learning language in another country. To be sure, there were countless occasions when the culture and language barriers seemed to make accurate communication impossible, but there were also moments of genuine, meaningful understanding—moments when the humanity inside of me connected powerfully to the humanity inside of another individual with a resonance that made the vast differences in life experience and worldview between us seem infinitesimal. In those moments, the richness of that harmony diminished the irritation of our difficulties in communication, and it reminded us why it was worth working so hard to talk to one another.

Our world has changed profoundly within the past fifty years, and the changes are nowhere more evident than they are in the way we perceive and express sexuality. Fortunately, though, we have no reason to fear, because our God, who is unchanging, is big enough to work and move and matter in a world that has changed.

Myth #3: The People

Wed, 28 Mar 2012 10:14:32 -0400

[Part of a series. The introduction is essential, so start there.]

For the third myth, I’m going to focus on two broad, historically polarized groups: the non-Christian LGBT community and non-affirming Christians. Obviously, many people fall somewhere in between these two groups, helping to bridge the chasm, but others plant themselves firmly in one camp or the other. I want to be as gentle as possible, and I don’t want to paint an inaccurately dire portrait of our situation, but of the myths I’ve discussed, this may be the most prevalent and insidious among non-affirming Christians: The LGBT community needs to repent of the way it has behaved in the last few decades in order to restore relationships with the Christian community.

The attitude I’m confronting completely ignores the way Christians have repeatedly mistreated their LGBT brothers and sisters, instead attributing the absence of LGBT members in our churches to what it calls their arrogance, their stubbornness, or their misplaced devotion to a sexual identity. “We’d welcome LGBT members into our churches,” it says, “But it’s obvious they wouldn’t be willing to live up to the moral standards to which we would call them. They’re worshiping the false god of sexuality, and until they’re willing to repent of that idolatry, they’re never going to listen to the good news we’re trying to bring to them.” This attitude is problematic for a number of reasons, but I’m most interested in the way it shifts the blame by ignoring the significant pain Christians have caused and continue to cause to LGBT individuals. I’m coming to believe that pain may be the primary reason many LGBT people want nothing to do with Christians. (I trust we are all aware many LGBT people want nothing to do with Christians.)

I hope I’ve made it clear on this blog that the pain I’m talking about is not the belief that same-sex relationships don’t belong in God’s Kingdom, although many outside the church designate any non-affirming position as inherently harmful and ill-conceived. The pain I’m talking about is the way Christians have refused to listen to the experiences of LGBT individuals, choosing instead to dictate specific life instructions and stipulations based on incomplete information, stereotypes, and prejudices. It’s the way we have, in our uncertain dallying over the question of same-sex ethics and our endless politicizing, been the last to stand up against anti-gay bullying, even when it shows up within our own youth groups. It’s the way we’ve forced silence on LGBT people and allowed ourselves to submit to the delusion of their non-existence. It’s our fear, our hateful language, and our ignorance. These actions, I suspect, may be the best explanation for the wide chasm between the LGBT community and the church.

Fortunately, the sense I get from the Christians around me is that we want the situation to change: We want the chasm to close, and we want to reconcile relationships that seem irreconcilable. Such progress requires us to rewire our perceptions of the LGBT community and of our interactions with it. Here, then, are three movements I believe need to occur in order to combat the myth that says Christians aren’t responsible for the state of our relationships with our LGBT neighbors as well as my perceptions of how positive change happens.

First, Christians need to acknowledge, repent from, and visibly apologize for any homophobia of which we are guilty. Andrew Marin, in Love is an Orientation (29-30,33):

“In a traditional interpretation of Scripture, gay sexual behavior is defined as sin, and because of that many Christians have taken that sin and, in their mind, rightfully ostracized an entire group of people. Think about what that means to a gay or lesbian person who is trying to discover, or rediscover, church. Even if they were to attend a service or involve themselves in a small group or church activities, they would still be separate, and could never be considered equal unless they became like everyone else—a sinner who doesn’t sin with same-sex attraction. Where is the hope in that expectation, when many GLBT people are not being met where they are? …Christians must be the first to apologize, and admit that we have wronged people who are gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender. A bridge cannot be built from just one side of a divide, but the traditional paradigm asks the GLBT community to somehow find their way to the Christian side of the divide before any meaningful contact is made.”

In any conflict, whether it’s between two people or two nations, I tend to believe at least some blame belongs to both parties involved; if the relationship between a Christian and lesbian friend is broken, I’d suspect both had some fault. Nevertheless, when it comes to conflict between a Christian and any individual who is not a believer, the burden of reconciliation belongs to the Christian. It is therefore the duty of Christians to mend broken relationships with individuals from the unbelieving LGBT community and not the other way around. “All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation: that God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting people’s sins against them. And he has committed to us the message of reconciliation. We are therefore Christ’s ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us. We implore you on Christ’s behalf: Be reconciled to God” (II Corinthians 5:18-20). Since God is about the work of reconciling the world to himself, we as his people are about the work of reconciling with other people. In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus sets up a scenario: “If you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother or sister has something against you,” and he most certainly does not finish with, “Wait for your brother or sister to come around and make nice, and in the meantime, continue your ceremonial worship.” No, Jesus suggests that our business of taking the active role in reconciliation is more important than our religious rituals: “Leave your gift there in front of the altar. First go and be reconciled to them; then come and offer your gift” (Matthew 5:23-4). Jesus seems to tie this posture—of humbly repenting of harms done, making the first move in mending fences, and occupying ourselves with the ongoing work of reconciliation—to the lifestyle he demonstrates.

Recently I was working a shift at a desk on campus, and a woman stopped to speak with me. I recognized her from school, and though we hadn’t known each other well, our lives had frequently overlapped in our time at ACU. “Hey, I’ve been reading your blog,” she said, and my heartbeat accelerated as I waited to hear her evaluation, “And I just wanted to let you know I’m really sorry for what you’ve been through. I’m sorry for how people have hurt you. I don’t know everything you’ve experienced, but I know there’s a lot of ignorance out there, so I’m sorry.” Stunned, I stammered out a “thank you” for what she said, and she went on her way.

This woman never hurt me personally, and I have no clue where she stands on LGBT issues; as far as I know, she could be incredibly affirming and supportive. And I’ve been fortunate to avoid the more overt and crude forms of homophobia, only feeling through empathy the suffering of my LGBT brothers and sisters whom Christians have abused. She didn’t need to apologize to me, and I didn’t need to receive an apology from her. Nevertheless, it was a profoundly moving conversation for me, and I’m convinced it contained a kind of powerful, eternally significant Kingdom of God victory we tend to overlook in our preference for spectacle and thrill. The church as an institution cannot apologize for harm done; people who constitute the church can, and those conversations carry transformative power for all parties involved. Most powerful, of course, are conversations in which those people who have done specific harm can apologize to their victims for that harm, but I don’t think we should ever overlook the immeasurable value of taking personal responsibility for the historical sins of an institution to which someone belongs. I don’t think it’s ever too late to apologize, and I don’t think we can every apologize too much.

(I’ve referenced The Marin Foundation’s “I’m Sorry” campaign before, but it’s worth mentioning again.)

Second, non-affirming Christians need to think deeply about the behavioral standards to which they are going to call their LGBT brothers and sisters. Let me be completely honest about one of my own prejudices: I’m concerned many non-affirming Christians don’t take seriously just how high a calling they place on LGBT individuals when they unequivocally prescribe celibacy for all who desire a relationship with someone of the same sex. (I’m temporarily excluding from this discussion those same-sex attracted Christians who enter relationships with people of the opposite sex, since many same-sex attracted Christians do not consider that kind of relationship a possibility for themselves.) If they believe same-sex relationships are not part of God’s design for human behavior, then they rightly ought to call LGBT individuals to celibacy; but I hope they feel the weight of that call, which is enormously heavy for most people.

If you are or intend to be involved in a committed heterosexual relationship, try visualizing the following scenario: Imagine yourself with your significant other, neither of you particularly interested in religion. Perhaps you met in college, dated a few years, and married each other. Maybe you even have kids, and maybe your journey to becoming parents was difficult. Now, imagine your family becomes enamored with the idea of Jesus—his unconditional, sacrificial love, his extension of grace and mercy, his lifestyle of community and trust and belonging. Unfortunately, in order for you to become part of your local church and pursue a relationship with Jesus in the presence of other Christians, you have to give up your relationship with your significant other. You don’t just have to give it up—you have to call it sinful, to place it in that chapter of your testimony where you describe all of the other ways you lived immorally before you came to know Jesus. Both you and your partner are going to have to reframe the way you think of yourselves, each other, and the expectations you had for you long lives together.

LGBT individuals who approach non-affirming churches often meet expectations this severe before they make it through the door—if, in fact, they even go through the door. To be sure, LGBT individuals aren’t the only people who face significant life changes; indeed, there are many heterosexual couples who, upon confessing Jesus as Lord, have to make major adjustments in the nature of their relationships, often ending them. When we trivialize committed same-sex relationships down to nothing more than lust or passion, though, we completely ignore the souls of the individuals involved, and we ignore the profound challenge those individuals face in abandoning (or at least fundamentally altering) those relationships. Let’s make one thing clear: If God calls LGBT people out of same-sex relationships, then I have no doubt he would provide us with all of the family and intimacy we need in holy ways as we submitted to his will. In fact, if same-sex relationships are sinful, then asking people to give anything less would be a disservice and a cheapening of the difficult, radical call of Jesus. But as far as I can tell, a large majority of heterosexual Christians are never going to face a call this daunting, and it rings false to pretend you can relate. Again, Marin, who is heterosexual (33):

“Until we come to the realization that we don’t understand the GLBT community, nothing substantial can occur. My experience has proven that right from the gate Christians can’t relate. Unless you have been sexually attracted to someone of the same sex you can never fully grasp, as a heterosexual Christian, what that means. So don’t pretend like you know, because that is the quickest way to lose credibility in a GLBT person’s mind.”

Some celibate LGBT Christians I know are absolute spiritual giants. Because they believe obedience to God requires them to abstain from same-sex relationships, and because they do not feel comfortable in opposite-sex relationships, they have completely surrendered their relationships and their futures to God’s control and power. That posture of surrender extends into all areas of life so that the depth and the richness of the relationship they experience with God finds few equals among those whose walks with God have not required so much. This does not mean, however, their lives are easy or painless; on the contrary, they often suffer immense pain and loneliness as a result of the calling they feel God has placed upon them. Such a walk necessitates the strong support of an intentional faith community, people who will go out of their way to make sure others feel at home and have a place to belong and receive what God has promised them.

If this is the calling you believe the gospel requires you to place on LGBT people, do not take it lightly; recognize it for the immense, difficult calling it is, and ask yourself honestly how you would respond to such a calling.

Finally, Christians need to go out of their way to make room for their LGBT brothers and sisters. I’ve focused most of this post on unbelieving LGBT people, but I want to spend a little time on those LGBT people who are active in their churches. The most prevalent mannerism I’ve witnessed among LGBT people who have healthy relationships with local churches is, without a doubt, eye-rolling. (Permit me to be a bit facetious in service of a serious point.) The general consensus seems to be that being gay in church almost necessarily involves, for the time being, frequent feelings of exasperation with one’s heterosexual brothers and sisters, as if being gay means running a gauntlet ranging from endearing foibles to exhausting offenses. (I hope my Christian LGBT readers don’t mind me speaking up on their behalf.) For better or for worse, we consciously or unconsciously expect people to make ignorant comments and to act in regrettable ways. We put up with these missteps for the same reason you put up with our missteps: because living in community with each other requires us to extend grace frequently, to “love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins” (I Peter 4:8). We make as many mistakes as you do; we, too, make ignorant comments, and we, too, act in regrettable ways. Such humility makes it easy for us all to extend grace to one another.

This works for people who have committed to life in community, but this dynamic falls apart when it involves outsiders to the faith. I distinctly remember the discomfort of sitting in a Bible class at a particular church when the teacher, unaware of my sexual orientation and assuming all present were heterosexual, made disparaging comments about the LGBT community. The teacher’s unknowing comments made me feel unwelcome enough that I temporarily considered leaving the room, but my existing relationship with this congregation convinced me the harm was unintentional and kept me in my seat. I’ve often wondered what would have happened in the room had an unbelieving gay man been sitting next to me. How would he have received the teacher’s comments? Would there be any reason at all for him to remain in the class? An LGBT person who is not a Christian—forgiving and gracious as s/he may be—has no reason to put up with ignorant comments and regrettable actions, especially when those comments and actions appear to be microcosms of the church’s historical homophobia and proof that nothing has changed. Perhaps nothing has changed in your church, and if that’s the case, I hope you’ll rethink your conviction that God is calling you to exclude countless individuals from your community life. My guess, though, is that a lot has changed among the attitudes and sensitivities of the people in your church so that you’re eager to build bridges and extend the gospel to all people; and if this is the case, it will take more than eagerness to make your church a place (or to make yourself a person) that is safe for people from all walks of life, including sexual minorities.

What would a church look like who made it a priority to avoid doing harm to LGBT people in its midst? I think it would start with the hospitality of learning to speak appropriately. We can no longer legitimately claim ignorance to what is considered appropriate language in our culture, and, as I’ve said before, I can see no reason for us to avoid using politically correct language unless we have specific, definable problems with certain terminology. In the year 2012, I think laziness (or maybe an unwillingness to engage our surrounding culture) is the only explanation for using outdated, offensive language, and I believe it is an act of love to familiarize ourselves with appropriate terminology. (You might find these resources helpful: the APA’s “Avoiding Heterosexual Bias in Language” and GLAAD’s “An Ally’s Guide to Terminology.”) Vocabulary is only the beginning, though, and our use of that vocabulary must demonstrate love and compassion, not fear and condescension. Another important step is fostering an intolerance for homophobia. I’d love to be part of a church that was as concerned with one boy calling another boy “faggot” as it was with one boy holding the hand of another, as such an attitude would reflect an understanding that an atmosphere of homophobia is not an atmosphere in which meaningful and holy community can be formed, regardless of whether there are LGBT people in the room. Finally, churches can avoid harming LGBT people by giving adequate attention to our theology of sexuality; gone are the days (I mean this, so read closely) when Christians can point to Leviticus or Romans as trump card in the homosexuality conversation. If your church is going to call LGBT people to that extraordinarily high standard I described above, it had better have a terribly good reason for doing so, and it had better not rely on an shallow, lazy, and ultimately unconvincing interpretation of the Bible. Otherwise, that yoke will feel unreasonably heavy, and LGBT individuals will continue in a status of second-class Christians whose legitimate human concerns don’t merit the church’s attention. Remember: The goal is not to make a church that is superficially fashionable or theologically haphazard. The goal is to make a place that is safe for all kinds of people to walk together in pursuit of God’s calling on our lives, where something as simple as the words we use demonstrates an atmosphere of hospitality and humility.

My genuine conviction is that Christians are looking through damnably rose-colored glasses if they attribute the discord between the church and the LGBT community solely to the LGBT community’s actions. In the same way, we are denying the very ministry God has entrusted to us if we expect that community to make the biggest moves in reconciliation. Restoring relationships with LGBT people will require us to repent and break bad habits to which we’ve grown accustomed, to take seriously the challenges to the church’s traditional sexual ethics, and to humble ourselves to the posture of listeners and learners who admit we don’t know everything.

I interrupt this series to direct you over to the Voiceless blog, where I’ve contributed more...

Tue, 27 Mar 2012 10:51:19 -0400

I interrupt this series to direct you over to the Voiceless blog, where I’ve contributed more content this week. Those of you who prefer my more introspective, reflective posts should particularly enjoy what you find there. As is often the case, I eagerly anticipate your comments, because the questions I’ve raised in that post are genuine questions with which I’m constantly wrestling.

This week, in a post called “(Dis)honesty,” I give thought to the pesky ethical dilemmas that plague closeted LGBT Christians in non-affirming environments. For example: What should the closeted gay sophomore say to the older woman at church who asks why he hasn’t found a girlfriend? I’m curious whether other kinds of “closeted” Christians—whether your closet contains a failing marriage, clinical depression, doubts and questions about your faith, enduring grief, or any other uncomfortable topic of conversation—will resonate with the difficult situations I address.

I’ll resume my series on myths tomorrow, but in the meantime, join the conversation over at Voiceless.

Myth #2: The Labels

Fri, 23 Mar 2012 09:00:00 -0400

[Part of a series. The introduction is essential, so start there.]

Unlike the first myth I confronted, I don’t think this second myth has much at all to do with conflicting theology; instead, I think this myth involves the evolution of terminology and perspectives on sexuality: There’s no such thing as a “gay Christian.” (Needless to say, I’m going to write from the assumption that anyone making such a statement is non-affirming.)

Again: My purpose in this series is not to argue for the legitimacy of one position over another. Instead, I want to challenge particular assumptions that are inaccurate based on my perception of our culture. In order to confront the assumption that there are no gay Christians, we have to get technical and figure out precisely why some hear the phrase “gay Christian” as oxymoron.

Some people have trouble with the concept of a “gay Christian” like this: “There is no such thing as a ‘gay Christian’ because someone cannot simultaneously claim to follow Christ and also engage in sexual relationships with people of the same gender, which are sinful. To do so represents a failure to obey Ephesians 5:8-20, which instructs us to ‘have nothing to do with the fruitless deeds of darkness.’ Although we confess we are all sinners, the proper response to someone who consciously lives in such flagrant sin is disfellowshipping in love, as we read in I Corinthians 5.” In this case, the issue on the table is as simple as our use of language: What does “gay” mean?

In January, something happened that was, in my estimation, earth-shattering in the subculture of LGBT Christians: During the Gay Christian Network’s annual conference, a panel discussion took place involving Justin Lee (the openly gay director of GCN who affirms same-sex relationships), Alan Chambers (the president of Exodus International [the non-affirming “global outreach to churches, individuals and families offering a biblical message about same-sex attraction”] who experiences same-sex attraction but is married with children to a woman), and three former leaders of ex-gay ministries. The panel discussion was essentially an opportunity for those opposed to ex-gay ministry to ask Chambers questions and to express their concerns with the approach he represents. (Watch the entire fascinating two-and-a-half hour discussion here, or download the audio in two parts here and here. You can also read responses from Lee, Chambers, and another participant on the panel, Wendy Gritter). One of the major complaints Lee and other panelists raised against Exodus was its inaccurate use of language, which they suggested led to inaccurate expectations from those who come to Exodus for help. To be more specific, panelists took issue with ambiguous phrases like, “For over 30 years, Exodus has been a refuge for people looking for help in their journey out of homosexuality” that appear in different places in Exodus literature. Eventually, the conversation turned to different interpretations of the word “gay” and what that terminology represents, with Justin saying the following (it comes about 1:17:15 in the video):

“In most of the world, certainly in most of America, and certainly for folks in my generation and younger, we’ve grown up in a world where ‘gay’ means one thing, and that is: a person who is attracted to the same sex. It doesn’t mean a person having sex with people of the same sex, necessarily; it doesn’t mean a person who marches in pride parades; it doesn’t mean a person who has a particular political or social identity. It means a person who’s attracted to the same sex.”

I don’t really know what phrase best describes the other person Lee describes here—someone having sex with people of the same sex, or marching in pride parades, or who takes on a particular political or social identity. Some Christians call these people “actively gay” or “practicing homosexuals,” but both of those phrases seem way too loaded to me. I think Justin is correct when he says common modern usage of the term “gay” refers to nothing more than sexual orientation, and it’s certainly how I use the word on this blog. There is, unfortunately, a toxic, unstated bifurcation that exists in the minds of many Christians who suggest people are either (a) heterosexually oriented or (b) engaging in sexual relationships with people of the same sex. Such a polarized view is a nasty remnant of outdated stereotypes, ignorance, and (regrettably) the silence of many closeted LGBT Christians who hold themselves to strict sexual ethics.

Once we’ve cleared up what people mean by the term “gay,” the real question here is whether you should call someone who actively engages in behavior you perceive as sinful a “Christian.” If you believe same-sex relationships are sinful, are you willing to share the “Christian” label with someone in a committed same-sex relationship who is also following Christ? This is an entirely different question, one that isn’t unique to homosexuality, so I don’t want to spend much time on it; all I will contribute is the gentle reminder that we absolutely must handle sin consistently. If homosexuality is a deal breaker for you, then I genuinely hope for the sake of consistency there are many different kinds of sin that are deal breakers for you. In my experience, just about every person has a different explanation for whom they consider “in” and “out” of the faith, but I would argue we need to be very careful and specific when we decide to exclude anyone from “insider” status.

Others who do not associate the term “gay” with behavior still have trouble with the concept of a “gay Christian” in this way: “There are certainly Christians who experience same-sex attraction, and they are no different from anyone else who is tempted to sin. Nevertheless, there is no such thing as a ‘gay Christian,’ because any person who identifies as ‘gay’ has embraced a particular temptation as part of his or her identity or sense of self. To do so represents a failure to obey I Corinthians 6:9-11 and Paul’s encouraging promise of new identity: ‘That is what some of you were.’ We should avoid all sinful labels and identify ourselves as nothing but children of God.” In this case, the issue on the table is a bit more complicated than language; this perspective involves our understanding of sexuality and sexual identity.

Behind the evolving use of the word “gay” I described above is, from what I can tell, a major shift in our culture’s understanding of homosexuality. There was a time in our nation’s history early in the gay rights movement when “gay” most accurately referred to a particular subculture that consisted largely in stereotypes and extreme expressions of sexuality (Lee’s other person). The majority of visible gay people in the country fit into a specific mold of behavior, dress, geography, etc. so that identifying as “gay” carried immense social baggage. Since that time, though, the visible face of gay people in the country has changed dramatically. Gradually, public opinion separated sexual orientation from any particular expression of that sexual orientation so that being “gay” no longer meant dressing, speaking, or even voting a certain way; it simply referred to a person’s sexual attractions.

Gay characters on television give us wonderful examples of this broadened perspective. There certainly are and have been characters who fit traditional cultural stereotypes of gay people, like Jack from Will and Grace. But there are also plenty of gay characters who fit few cultural stereotypes, like Max from Happy Endings, who is probably more traditionally masculine than the show’s two other (straight) male leads. Glee features characters across the spectrum of cultural stereotypes; whereas Kurt embodies the traditional gay subculture, others like Karofsky and Santana demonstrate few or none of the characteristics typically associated with gay men and women. If we’re not there yet, it would appear that we as a culture are headed in a direction of talking about sexual orientation in the same terms we use for gender and race, i.e., that it is merely a characteristic and implies nothing about a person’s behavior. The phrase “gay lifestyle” has become extremely unpopular, since most people involved in same-sex relationships consider the genders of the partners to be the only distinguishing factor in what is otherwise an ordinary relationship.

Essential in this movement was a changing psychological understanding of homosexuality as it lost the stigma of pathology among all of the major secular psychological associations. Until the 1970s, homosexuality was listed as a diagnosable disorder—a disease to be treated, if you will—in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, the American Psychological Association’s standard guide for recognizing and diagnosing psychopathology. Since that time, though, homosexuality has gained a place as a legitimate, healthy, normal mode of sexual orientation within the field of mental heath, and secular psychological associations generally oppose efforts to change orientation as potentially harmful.

Obviously, the transition in our culture’s perception of sexuality has not been nearly as clean-cut as I described, and the wide range of modern interpretations of sexuality is nowhere more visible than it is within Christianity. I am close to same-sex attracted Christians who choose not to identify as “gay” because, as the hypothetical statement above argues, to do so would represent to them embracing a particular temptation into one’s identity. These people may be very honest about what they experience; even Chambers confesses he still regularly experiences attraction to men in addition to his attraction to his wife. Regardless of whether they expect their sexual orientations to change, they see identifying as “gay” as becoming too comfortable with what they perceive as a symptom of broken humanity.

I am also close to same-sex attracted Christians who, though they are non-affirming of same-sex relationships, are comfortable with the “gay” label because it most concisely describes their experience: they are enduringly attracted to people of the same gender. These people have trouble separating sexual attraction from identity because their sexual attractions so deeply affect their experiences that denying that part of their experiences would feel disingenuous and incomplete. They speak about sexual orientation in the same way as they speak about gender and race, and the “gay” label is used with the same kind of moral neutrality as any other label Christians take on, whether allegiance to a political party or a university or a football team or any other community—they’re all words that describe people but do not take the place of that central Christ identity. Although many of these people do not anticipate change in their sexual orientation (likely due to the extreme rarity of complete orientation change), many remain open to the idea that God could still potentially change them, but that does not change their use of the “gay” label for the time being. For them, the phrase “gay Christian” is no different from the phrase “black Christian” or “French Christian”; these are all simple descriptive terms used tangentially to our central Christ identity. [EDIT (4/17/12): The last sentence of this paragraph was poorly worded and misleading, so I have removed it.]

In any case, we live in a time in which identifying as “gay” is perceived less as a conscious motion towards a certain group (as in, “I choose to identify with this label”) and more as an acknowledgement of one’s experience (as in, “I am enduringly attracted to my own gender”). I am certain that a non-affirming person could use scripture to form a reasonable case arguing against same-sex relationships; I am less certain that a non-affirming person could use scripture to form a reasonable case arguing against identifying as gay, simply because I am aware how historically unique the concept of identifying as gay is to our particular culture and time. Many who use a “gay” label feel rejecting such a label would mean trying to interact with God while playing a false role—that is, ignoring or downplaying that part of experience would lead to a shallow and mostly meaningless relationship with God, like if a heterosexual person tried to pretend s/he did not experience consistent attraction to the opposite sex, or if any believer tried to pretend s/he was not hungry at dinnertime or thirsty after exercising or sleepy late at night. We cannot come as we are to worship God, so the argument goes, if we are pretending to be something we are not. Speaking about sexual orientation in these terms is a major shift.

I think the dissonance I’m describing about perceptions of sexuality helps explain why there are such dramatically different responses to the practice of reparative therapy, that kind of therapy intended to change sexual orientation. For those who perceive same-sex attractions as sinful temptations that are symptoms of an individual’s brokenness, the possibility of a change in orientation represents a spiritually formative transformation that brings one’s life into closer alignment with God’s will. For this group, reparative therapy is one of the means by which God carries out his powerful work of making his people holy and righteous. For those who affirm same-sex relationships, though, reparative therapy is profoundly harmful, as it seeks to change an immutable characteristic that is intrinsically tied to a person’s identity. For this group, reparative therapy would be like sending someone to therapy to change his or her race; in addition to being ineffective and unnecessary, it would potentially do great harm to the individual and prevent him or her from living with an integrated sense of self.

I think this dissonance also helps explain arguments over the concept of “choosing to be gay.” I’ll be completely honest: I have really struggled to understand how someone can genuinely believe sexual orientation is a matter of choice. The only way I’ve been able to understand this perspective (and I welcome other explanations) is to conclude they’re using “gay” in the sense of that subculture I described above. If what they mean is, “You consciously choose to identify yourself with a particular social community and engage in certain behaviors,” I suppose they’re right, although I don’t think that social community really exists with any cohesion anymore. If what they mean is, “You consciously choose to incorporate your sexual attractions as part of your identity,” that raises questions about integrity and self-awareness, in which case I think you could argue there is or is not a conscious choice involved. If what they mean, though, is “You consciously choose to whom you are sexually attracted,” I honestly don’t have anything to say that hasn’t already been said to try and persuade them to understand things differently. If anyone is going to keep arguing people “choose to be gay,” it is time to be completely specific about what the phrase means, because most people (like myself) initially hear the third interpretation and dismiss the statement.

Here’s my point: I don’t think we should take for granted any longer that someone who chooses to identify as gay is actively rebelling against God’s call or that s/he has allowed sexuality to replace a central Christ identity. Regardless of whether you think this is a healthy move, our culture seems to be headed in a direction of understanding sexual orientation as a characteristic unrelated to a person’s conscious behavioral choices, which means many people believe they can only interact with God in a meaningful, authentic way if they are honest with themselves about their experience of sexuality (in the terms with which our cultural context defines sexuality). Although these people may be open to different perspectives on sexual ethics, they may consider sexual orientation itself as an unchanging attribute that is merely one of the myriad lenses through which they experience God. Churches who do not affirm same-sex relationships need to know exactly what they offer to and expect from their LGBT members, and they need to take seriously all of the scientific and social evidence about what is likely before they make proclamations about what an ideal outcome is for an LGBT individual.

My genuine conviction is that labels have changed to reflect changing perceptions on how nontraditional sexual orientation relates to experience and identity. Regardless of one’s beliefs about sexuality, we need to be conscious of the implications of different words and concepts within different groups of people, and we need realistic and meaningful expectations for the LGBT people in our churches.

Myth #1: The Bible

Wed, 21 Mar 2012 09:33:00 -0400

[Part of a series. The introduction is essential, so start there.]

The first prevalent myth I want to confront involves scripture interpretation, and it goes something like this: Everyone who is genuinely faithful and obedient to the Bible recognizes its straightforward condemnation of homosexuality.

We all take a number of different beliefs for granted. Let me give you a few examples.

I feel pretty certain adultery is a sin, but I can’t really take credit for that conviction. I’m aware of verses in the Old and New Testaments that condemn marital unfaithfulness, though I can’t tell you exactly where they are. I could probably write a little theological statement about why adultery doesn’t fit into my understanding of God and his purposes for marriage, but I haven’t really had reason to think through that specific issue yet. I’m mostly confident the church has consistently condemned adultery throughout history, though I don’t know I could cite a single historical document to support that claim off the top of my head. No, my certainty about the sinfulness of adultery mostly comes from the values that surrounded me as I grew up as a churchgoing Christian. Everyone around me condemned adultery, and any reflecting I did on the topic seemed to confirm that stance. I take it for granted that I’m getting the question of adultery right, and I’m mostly relying upon the influence of people around me.

In the same way, I feel pretty certain the passage about head coverings in 1 Corinthians 11:2-16 doesn’t apply in a modern context, but I can’t really take credit for that one, either. I know of similar practices in the Old and New Testaments that also no longer apply in a modern context, but I haven’t developed a consistent paradigm for deciding which practices should and shouldn’t be normative for my faith. I’m vaguely aware the passage is about ancient cultural norms involving submission and propriety that don’t match modern norms, but I don’t remember where I heard that explanation. I’m mostly confident modern Christians are in general agreement about our interpretation of this passage, but then again, I haven’t talked to most modern Christians. Once again, my certainty about head coverings mostly comes from the values that surrounded me as I grew up as a churchgoing Christian. Unlike adultery, though, this is a case in which my uncritical understanding of an issue contradicts a literal reading of scripture. I take it for granted that I’m getting the question of head coverings right, and I’m mostly relying upon the influence of people around me.

There are some issues for which I’ve had to be much more critical. (I’ll refrain from any specificity so as to avoid sidetracking the conversation on irrelevant controversies.) Usually, it happened like this: Gradually, what I had always believed about something came into conflict with what I was experiencing or how I was coming to understand scripture. Eventually, this dissonance came to a crisis point, and I realized I had to either reassess my beliefs or reassess what was causing me to doubt those beliefs. This led to a process of questioning in which I spent time in prayer, sought a variety of perspectives, and dug deeply into scripture in order to achieve integrity between my beliefs and my reality. In some cases, this led to convictions that are not consistent with values that surrounded me as I grew up. In other cases, this led to a confirmation of my established values along with the added bonus of stronger confidence in those established values.

For most of the history of the church, Christians have taken for granted that the scriptures (and thus the church) condemn same-sex relationships. From what I can tell, most Christians over the last two thousand years accepted without question that same-sex relationships were not permissible, and most Christians who engaged in critical study arrived at the same conclusion. Nevertheless, mostly within the last century, this has changed dramatically, and this is the main point I want to make: We must no longer assume a critical or uncritical reading of the scriptures inevitably leads to a condemnation of homosexuality.

I have a hunch this movement has occurred for a few reasons. First, our culture’s attitude towards homosexuality has shifted dramatically in the last fifty years, which inevitably affects our reading of the scriptures. If I’ve learned anything in my time in seminary, it’s that we’re fooling ourselves if we genuinely think our surrounding culture does not profoundly influence our interpretation of the Bible. For example: I know very few Christians in the U.S. today who think of the New Testament as a pro-slavery document; indeed, most of the Christians I know take for granted that owning slaves is antithetical to the lifestyle to which the scriptures call us. Nevertheless, if I were writing this post in the early 1800s, many Christians in the U.S. would take for granted that the scriptures endorse slavery, relying upon passages like Ephesians 6:5-9 to justify a society built on slave labor. The interpretation didn’t change because of any breakthroughs in Greek translation or text criticism; I’d guess the interpretation changed because our society changed, so our exegesis changed to keep up. There are countless other examples of ways in which particular passages receive different interpretations in different historical eras (Remember my head covering example?) or in different modern cultural settings. This does not mean we ought to actively alter our understandings of scripture in order to make the Bible relevant or cool or hip for our culture; it means our worldviews so dramatically affect our interpretations of everything we experience that we can’t help but read the Bible from our current situation.

Second, many modern scholars have concluded the Bible does not condemn same-sex relationships, and biblical scholarship has become increasingly accessible to the non-scholar population. I’ve not read enough to know when or where this shift in scholarship on theology and sexuality started, but in terms relative to the history of Christianity, it’s been fairly recent. This scholarship is not limited to dusty library shelves in ivory seminary towers; it’s easy to find books and articles written by reputable, intelligent scholars (i.e., not crackpots) who lay out thorough and well-reasoned arguments affirming same-sex relationships in understandable language. This scholarship has made its way into the hands of many non-theologians, meaning the personal convictions of many Christians are changing much faster than are the official doctrines of the denominations in which they participate. From what I can tell, Christians are much less inclined to expect their clergy to determine their beliefs for them than they used to be, and I would guess many churches that officially denounce same-sex relationships include individual members who personally affirm them. On the other hand, many denominations have begun ordaining openly gay men and women as ministers, and people growing up in those churches will not be able to remember a time when the church did not ordain openly gay clergy.

The result of these two movements is a situation in which many people who are deeply committed to the scriptures do not find within them a straightforward condemnation of homosexuality. At first, the affirming interpretation belonged mostly to those who engaged in pain-staking study and reflection; but now there are many who assume an affirming stance uncritically, much as I have for adultery and head coverings. There is a temptation among those who take a traditional position on homosexuality to accuse those taking the affirming position of being uncommitted to the scriptures, theologically lazy, or victims of cultural tides. To be sure, this is an accurate assessment of some people who affirm same-sex relationships; but if we’re being honest, it’s also an accurate assessment of some people who condemn same-sex relationships. Historically speaking, taking the traditional stance has more support—that’s why we label it the “traditional” stance—but that certainly doesn’t mean those people who take the traditional stance are more committed to the scriptures, more honest in their reading of the Bible, or any more submitted to the counter-cultural way of life to which God calls us than are people who take an affirming stance. The mere fact that a traditional stance on same-sex relationships falls in line with where most Christians throughout history have stood does not mean any particular individual who takes that stance is free from biases, fear, prejudices, hatred, or any other kind of other baggage that has no place in faithful scripture interpretation.

Remember: My goal here is not to argue for the legitimacy of one position over another. (As I’ve mentioned before, I intentionally avoid that conversation on this blog.) My goal is to try and identify why we must no longer take for granted that a critical or uncritical reading of the scriptures inevitably leads to a condemnation of homosexuality. There are some issues for which the near-universal acceptance of a certain position gives us legitimate reason to question the intelligence/faithfulness/spiritual health of any individual who takes a different stance (for example: adultery), but I do not believe we can speak about the issue of same-sex relationships in those terms. Many of the conversations I hear do just that—as soon as an individual or institution comes out with an affirmative stance, some traditionalists call their very legitimacy into question based solely on the sexuality question. To be sure, this happens in both directions, and many people taking the affirmative stance call into question the very legitimacy of traditionalists based solely on the question of sexuality.

My genuine conviction is that the jury—and the “jury” here refers to the entirety of modern Christian thought, covering the spectrum from erudite scholars to illiterate saints—is out on the question of same-sex relationships, and I don’t think we can speak any longer as if we all see things the same way.

Introduction to Myths

Mon, 19 Mar 2012 09:36:00 -0400

Writing this blog has opened the door for many fascinating conversations with friends and strangers alike. (I’m grateful for this and encourage you to keep engaging me and others in dialog—it helps us all grow.) It’s always humbling but so helpful when I request comments and then receive them, especially comments that are well thought out and force me to reassess my positions on different issues.

As I’ve spoken with various people and listened in on what other people are saying about faith and sexuality, I’ve become more aware of how often people (myself included) don’t communicate well because they’re unaware of how very different their perspectives are from those of the people on the other side of the table. I don’t think I really understood how dramatic the problem is until I spent a summer working abroad in a country where English is not spoken. As I did my best to learn the trade language, I frequently grew frustrated when there weren’t direct translations for certain words; I often had to rely on whatever terms and phrases were closest to the meaning I was trying to communicate, but even then, I was aware I wasn’t really communicating the message I wanted to send. Furthermore, it may have been nearly impossible for me to communicate some of the meanings I hoped to express—the culture simply didn’t have the same worldview as me, so in spite of my best efforts, there were going to be slippages in comprehension between the nationals and me. This is okay (albeit frustrating) when you realize you aren’t communicating perfectly and can make concessions for the gaps in meaning. This is downright dangerous when you don’t realize you aren’t communicating perfectly, when you incorrectly assume the other person knows exactly what you mean and uses words in the same ways you do and has experienced everything you have experienced.

In my opinion, one of the primary reasons conversations about faith and homosexuality often go so badly is that we’re not speaking the same language, not at all. I’d go so far as to say many of our disagreements are more about faulty communication than they are about conflicting values or beliefs. Here’s a simple example: When I say the word “gay,” what does that word mean to you? Does it describe someone who experiences same-sex attraction? Does it describe someone who is sexually active or seeking a committed relationship with someone of the same sex? Does it describe someone who simply demonstrates characteristics and mannerisms of the opposite gender? I genuinely believe we’d get ten different answers if we asked ten Christians to define the word “gay,” and that means conversations between Christians about “gay” people may be less than precise.

I’m beginning a series of posts in which I’m going to identify and challenge common myths I’ve encountered about the situation in which we live in relation to faith and sexuality. In order for this series to be effective, though, I need to be clear on what I’m trying to do. I’m not trying to choose a particular side on any of these issues or argue why one side is healthier than another. I’m not trying to suggest anyone is closed-minded or unintelligent for seeing the world in a particular way. I’m not trying to portray myself as having heard everything there is to say about LGBT issues, not even close.

Here’s what I am trying to do: I want to draw attention to the vast worlds of difference that exist between people who are genuinely and faithfully engaging the question of homosexuality and how it fits with Christianity. Even within the readership of this blog, there are people who were born in a time when all of the major secular psychological associations considered homosexuality a mental disorder; there are also people who were born in a time when all of the major secular psychological associations consider homosexuality a healthy, legitimate expression of sexuality. There are some who live in states in which same-sex couples can legally marry into relationships equal in status to heterosexual marriages; there are also readers (and a writer) who live in states in which same-sex couples receive absolutely no legal status or recognition. There are those who remember a world before AIDS, and there are those who cannot imagine a world without it. There are people who may have never spoken to an openly gay individual at all, and there are people who have never experienced sexual attraction to a member of the opposite sex. There are some actively seeking a change in sexual orientation, and there are some who believe such efforts are futile. There are liberals and conservatives. There are those who grew up watching Leave it to Beaver, and there are those who grew up watching Will and Grace.

In other words: I want to help people understand how other people see things. Throughout this series, I’m going to try and avoid painting the situation as a generation clash. It’s much more complicated than that: Although differences in understanding are common between different generations, camps in the sexuality conversations don’t organize in neat generational (or geographic, or denominational, or any other) lines. As we always ought to strive to do, I’m going to do my best to give the benefit of the doubt to people with different perspectives. Whenever we take a position on any divisive issue, there are innumerable factors playing into our decisions, and some of these factors are less noble than others (like biases or prejudices or stereotypes). For the sake of this series, I’m going to assume the best of people on all different sides of the issue, and I invite you to do the same. I hope we’ll all extend to each other the charity of believing, in spite of our differences of opinion, we are all on the same team and are all genuinely trying to get this right. I think that’s the first step in learning to speak the same language.

Pride

Fri, 09 Mar 2012 09:40:42 -0500

What is the appropriate place for gay pride in the life of a gay Christian?

The question has been on my mind a lot since I started this blog, but I’ve been thinking more about it recently after reading this week’s post on the Voiceless blog about pride. The author argues, “No one should ever feel invisible,” and he sees pride as a way of ending a culture of imposed silence for LGBT people.

Dave Chappelle, a black comedian, is known for suggesting it’s harder to be black than it is to be gay because “you can hide [that] you’re gay, but you can’t hide that you’re black.” Although I’m not interested in arguing which minorities have it the worst, I believe the invisible nature of sexual orientation is a major reason why being LGBT in our culture and time is so very complicated and confusing. As far as I can tell, most of the people in my life don’t know I’m gay. I no longer make any effort to hide my orientation, and I certainly don’t lie about it anymore; but neither do I display it beyond wearing “No H8” shirts and attending monthly PFLAG meetings. Because I don’t demonstrate many of the traditional stereotypical mannerisms of gay men, I assume most others assume I’m a heterosexual, and I don’t go out of my way to correct their faulty assumptions. I’ve never been one to challenge the status quo, and I’m bashful enough to be uncomfortable with the idea that my honesty and openness about my orientation sometimes makes other people uncomfortable, that something as simple as my willingness to admit, “Oh, yes, I am gay,” has the potential to send people around me into minor crises of faith and worldview. But I’m becoming more uncomfortable with a world that forces people to be dishonest and mute, a world in which the limited understanding of some contributes to the oppression of others, and this discomfort is forcing me to reexamine my approach (or lack thereof) to gay pride.

Whenever I hear a closeted LGBT person lament the culture of silence that exists, I feel a strange mix of sadness and aggravation. I feel sad because I fully understand some people cannot come out of the closet; it would cost too much, it would be too unsafe, or it would require more emotional energy than s/he is prepared to expend. This is the unfortunate but real situation facing many LGBT people. At the same time, I feel aggravated because I believe our culture of silence only changes when LGBT people break it with their voices. It’s a disastrous cycle: People don’t speak up because it’s not safe, and it’s not safe because people don’t speak up. The cycle endures until someone stops playing her part. As a firm believer in Gandhi’s “Be the change you want to see in the world,” and standing in the conviction that positive change comes when people can be honest about their sexuality, I write this blog and speak freely about my orientation. Nevertheless, I still wonder whether I’m doing enough to live into the kind of world I envision. As an openly gay student at a Christian university, I enjoy a strange kind of freedom and boldness my closeted LGBT classmates lack. I can speak when others have to be silent, and I can offer a kind of light that others have to hide under a bowl. For that reason, I struggle to discern how zealously or whether at all I should make known to the people around me the fact that I am a homosexual.

Welcome to my angst:

On the one hand, I look forward to the day when my sexuality will be the least interesting thing about me. I don’t want to define myself by my sexuality, and I don’t want to be defined by my sexuality. There was a long time in my closeted years when I basically organized a timeline for every relationship in my life in order to determine at what point it was necessary, appropriate, and beneficial for me to come out to the other person. Now that I make no effort to hide my orientation, though, I no longer need to write those timelines in new relationships; either I assume the other person already knows I’m gay, or I allow the topic to come up naturally over the course of our friendship. Pragmatically speaking, most of the people in my life simply don’t need to know I’m gay. It’s not going to affect the way my dentist works on my teeth; it’s not going to change the recipe the chef uses to prepare my omelet; it’s certainly not doing to change the $3.50 price tag on a gallon of gasoline. Although I’m not ashamed of my sexuality, it’s certainly a personal topic, and a large majority of the conversations I have in the day need not involve that part of my life. In the world I’m envisioning, people won’t really need to assert their sexuality because it won’t carry much public consequence; I want to live into that inconspicuous honesty now by being quietly unashamed in my orientation.

On the other hand, I see the culture of silence that is the status quo at many Christian institutions (churches, schools, etc.) as profoundly toxic. For many LGBT individuals in Christian settings, the most difficult part of the journey is oppressive silence. This is a culture I am interested in changing; and though I have seen immense value and benefit from various awareness campaigns, I stand by my assertion that face-to-face interaction with a human being is the most effective means of bringing about the kind of change I believe is necessary. When we talk about online It Gets Better videos, anonymous ‘zines like Voiceless, or even blogs written by gay Christians—each of which has an essential role!—it’s easy to keep talking in terms of “issues” and keep the discussion at arm’s length; but when I find out the person sitting next to me in class is gay, or the girl who lives two doors down, or my professor’s T.A., it’s much more difficult to maintain the delusion that there are no sexual minorities in my corner of the world. At that point, the “issue” becomes a person and becomes much more urgent.

In this regard, I can start to see the value in pride—because it’s not as much about telling you I’m gay as it is about telling you someone is gay, someone in your world who has a face and hands and toes like yours, who’s stressed about midterms and spilled mustard on his shirt and maybe feels a little insecure sometimes. I’m pretty sure every LGBT person can remember the moment s/he realized there were other people (or even one other person) like her/him, because it’s a pivotal and life-changing moment of realizing you belong and have a place and even exist at all. A major milestone in my journey of coming to terms with my own orientation was listening to the testimony of a woman who experienced same-sex attraction. I think meeting an LGBT person is usually momentous for straight people, too, and I’ve had a few of my friends tell me they never gave any thought to LGBT issues until my coming out made those issues urgently relevant. There are students at my university who genuinely believe they are completely alone as sexual minorities on campus; I say this with confidence because I mostly believed it until my sophomore year. Do I commit injustice if I deny them the comfort and reassurance of knowing they aren’t alone and do have a place, especially if I enjoy the freedom of being openly gay? There are also straight students at my university (in my program, in fact) who genuinely believe sexual minorities do not exist here and who speak as if this were the case. Do I contribute to oppression if I do not advocate on behalf of the reality of my own experience and the experiences of others like me?

I genuinely desire your feedback as I sort through matters of pride and advocacy, so let’s make the question simple: Ought I to wear a rainbow bracelet? Does doing so bring about the kind of world in which sexual minorities are free to speak plainly about their experiences but feel no particular obligation to do so? Does it communicate authenticity and integrity as well as God’s active, gracious, present love? Do I have an obligation to wear a rainbow bracelet, or do I have an obligation not to, or am I obligated at all? Where does gay pride fit into the life of a gay Christian?

The church gets a lot of flack for being a fairly homophobic...

Thu, 08 Mar 2012 14:47:48 -0500

The church gets a lot of flack for being a fairly homophobic environment, and I’d be the first to say we’ve probably earned that reputation. Christianity, though, is not the only institution characterized by homophobia, and from what I’ve heard, it may be more intimidating for an LGBT person to walk onto a baseball field, a basketball court, or a hockey rink than it is to walk into a church.

As far as I know, none of the six largest male sports leagues in the U.S. (NBA, MLB, NFL, NHL, MLS, and PGA) have any openly gay participants, which completely shocks me. (Openly gay athletes are sparse throughout the rest of the world but not completely absent.) Although some U.S. teams have come out in support of the It Gets Better project, and although athletes typically receive severe fines when they let homophobic slurs fly, the athletic world has been slow (at least publicly) to make room for the safety of its LGBT athletes.

It’s wonderful, then, to see a new effort like You Can Play, which is aimed at combating homophobia in sports. Here’s their mission:

“You Can Play is dedicated to ensuring equality, respect and safety for all athletes, without regard to sexual orientation.

“You Can Play works to guarantee that athletes are given a fair opportunity to compete, judged by other athletes and fans alike, only by what they contribute to the sport or their team’s success.

“You Can Play seeks to challenge the culture of locker rooms and spectator areas by focusing only on an athlete’s skills, work ethic and competitive spirit.”

What I like most about this effort (as well as the video they’ve created) is how they aim to make sexual orientation a non-item when it comes to the opportunities available for athletes. It very well should be a non-item; I think we’re all moving in a positive direction towards a future in which we’ll see sexual orientation as unrelated to one’s morality, one’s potential, and, yes, one’s athletic ability.

Check out You Can Play, and learn how to make your locker room safe for your LGBT teammates.

Last week, I mentioned the release of Voiceless, an online ‘zine chronicling the experiences...

Wed, 29 Feb 2012 09:32:51 -0500

Last week, I mentioned the release of Voiceless, an online ‘zine chronicling the experiences of LGBT students at ACU. The Voiceless project is actually much more ambitious, though, aiming to form an ongoing community (online and otherwise) where people can have meaningful, beneficial conversations about matters of faith and sexuality. Part of this effort includes a weekly blog where the ‘zine’s editor has already been working hard to engage different commenters. Although I did not contribute to the ‘zine itself, I’ll be one of the people regularly posting on the Voiceless blog, and I encourage you to visit and join in on the discussion.

In fact, I especially encourage you to visit this week to read my first post for the blog, “Sinful Romance.” I was commissioned to explore the tricky territory that exists for those LGBT individuals who do not affirm same-sex relationships, essentially asking at what point a same-sex relationship becomes sinful or how we ought to determine that line. (Before I raise any suspicions about anyone, let me assure the reader that the imaginary student in the post is entirely fictional.) This question is hugely important for many people, and I think it raises many other big questions about holy sexuality. Head over to Voiceless, and add your voice to this important conversation.

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.