Author’s Note: I have another blog, well, two others if you also include my cake decorating blog, but the one that matters is the other one that I haven’t publicized to almost anyone who knows me face to to face. It’s a long story why that’s the way it is. If you ask, I may tell you. I may decline. Don’t take it personally. But that’s also currently beside the point.
The point is that I published this post on the other blog back at the beginning of October. It made me feel better to have said what was on my heart, but after reading I'm Christian, unless you're gay and the follow-up post on Single Dad Laughing, I realized that I still had not done what I needed to do. This needs to be said as publicly as I can, no matter what responses may come, no matter what opinion other people might expect or want me to express, and perhaps most importantly because I once was a youth pastor in a small town baptist church, and I wish I’d known then what I know now.
This is what I believe.
Hatred and fear are never the truth.
In the end, Love does win, because Grace is all that matters.
Karen
~~~~~~~~~~
Churches Need Rainbows!
"But, they say I can't be that."
"They say I can't be both a Christian and a gay man."
"There's nowhere that I fit. I'm too conservative for the liberals and too liberal for the conservatives."
"I almost decided to end everything."
"If I'm going to be alone, I might as well be really alone."
"My mother said I deserved to die of AIDS."
Those were just some of the words I heard as I sat with a dear friend during my vacation. It took us a long time to get to those words. They were hard words for him to speak. There was such pain behind them, such fear that once again he would be condemned for being who he is.
I knew when we reconnected a few weeks before my trip that something was wrong. That's why I made a detour in a rather packed schedule, driving an hour and a half each way so that we could spend time face to face.
As I listened and heard my friend's pain, I wanted to cry. I wanted to hold him close and tell him that somehow it was going to be alright. I wanted to tell him that he wasn't alone, that the whole church wasn't that judgmental and stupid. I was angry too. I wanted to lash out at the people who had hurt my friend this much. I wanted to be able to take away all of the hurt and self-doubt and self-hatred that others had dumped on his head and heart. No matter how much I might wish it, I can't make the words and actions that have caused such pain go away. The damage has already been done. My friend bears the scars of hatred, fear and prejudice. And I know he's not the only one.
I did what I could, though it didn't seem enough. I listened. I told him he wasn't alone; I was there and I knew another dear friend of ours felt the same way. I told him that while some pastors and churches would condemn him, they were wrong and I knew that not every one felt that way; I'd talked to a pastor just like that earlier in the week. I reminded him that the world needs him. That there's a reason why he's here and that I adore the person he is. I told him that "they" are wrong … even when "they" was his mother. I sat with him. I laughed with him. I was silent with him. In every way, I knew how I reminded him of his inherent value, just because he is who he is. I tried to make sure he knew how special he was and how much the people who love him need him in our lives. But one afternoon is so short a time in contrast to a lifetime of being judged simply for being honest about who he loves.
On the drive home, I cried. For his pain. I raged. About a church that could be so hateful to any of God's creation. I felt impotent. What could I possibly do? I can't change the behaviour of the whole "Christian" community. But I can stand up for what I believe in. I can choose to set an example.
I used to think it was okay for each church and each pastor to decide for themselves how they should handle issues like homosexuality and gay marriage. I remember being proud of myself for standing up and saying just that at a denominational meeting. I'd listened to a group of people spew hatred under the mask of drawing a line in the theological sand. We were baptists and generally baptists don't even have statements of faith. So why did we need to make a statement about homosexuality and marriage? The majority of what I heard and saw during those meetings angered and saddened me. Theology should be based on an understanding of who God is, not on our fear and prejudice. So I stood and told them that God was big enough for us to hold different views and still fellowship together.
But I realized something on the drive back to my hotel in the quiet of the evening. That was still the wrong attitude. It's not enough to leave issues like this up to an individual's or community's conscience. We get it wrong far too often. The damage we cause can't be undone and it's inexcusable.
I'm not a theological expert. I did go to seminary and studied theology, but I'll admit that was never a favourite part of my studies. I liked the practical part. I'm not going to try to argue theology or the exegesis of Scripture with anyone. I do know that I've been very willing to declare culturally irrelevant the prohibitions seeming to deny leadership roles to women in the church. You have to if you want to be a female youth pastor. I used to tell people who wanted to argue the point that all I knew was that I had to be faithful to my understanding of God's calling on my life. I was a woman and, back then, I knew that God had called me to full-time ministry. The theology wasn't important. The theology of whether you think homosexuality is wrong or right is equally unimportant. The only thing that matters is the character of God.
The theology doesn’t mean squat to me. But watching my friend, seeing the hurt and self-loathing and betrayal in his eyes as he talked about how people who call themselves Christians have treated him and made him feel, that made me ashamed to call myself a Christian.
Here's what I know. If you believe in a loving God who is willing to die in order to redeem all of creation. If you believe in a God who loves even those society finds most unlovable. If you believe in a God who is defined by his love and his grace. If you believe in a God who can call an adulterer and murderer a man after his own heart. If you believe in a God who gets himself into trouble with the religious people for hanging out with all the people they despise. Even if you most believe in a God who is holy and just. You cannot treat any person or group of people in such a way that they are made to feel like they have no worth and that God couldn't possibly accept them as they are. It is abhorrent and contrary to the very character of God that we have treated any part of his creation with such hatred, fear and disrespect.
I cannot believe that is what God intended for any of his creation. When we treat any person as being less worthy, less human, less … just less than … because of who they are at the most fundamental level of being human, we are denying the fact that they are created and loved by the creator of the universe. We are, in fact, saying that God screwed up by allowing them to exist. That is wrong on so many levels. I want no part of that kind of church. That’s not the God I believe in. That’s not how people called by his name should act.
There are a bunch of reasons why I don't attend church at this point in my life. I expect that at some point, I may find myself choosing to worship in community again. Where or when that will be is entirely unknown, but I do know that if and when I choose to find a church to call home, it will be a church that is both welcoming and affirming of all people no matter what might appear to divide us. That is what best reflects the character of the God I choose to believe.
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