Wednesday, May 09, 2012
Thursday, April 26, 2012
The local gay Christian Bible study
When I mention to my straight friends that I attend a gay Christian Bible study, I sometimes get the feeling that they think I went to someone's house where half the guys were fornicating in the upstairs bedrooms while the other half sat around shirtless, leering at one another. Doesn't matter that I said "Christian" or even "Bible study." The only word some people hear is "gay," and that will often send their minds off in a certain misguided direction.
It's possible that I've presumed too much on what people know about gay Christians. So first off, yes, gay Christians do exist. And also, being Christians, they are interested in studying the Bible. Why do they have "gay Christian" Bible studies? you might ask. Because most evangelical churches don't welcome gay people--at least the ones that they know about--so if gay Christians want to be part of a Bible study quite often they have to form their own. It's admirable when you think about it. If you were told you were no longer welcome at your church, would you be so committed to studying the Bible that you'd go out of your way to form your own group to do so?
What's it like going to a gay Christian Bible study? Well, it's usually at someone's home or apartment. You need to get there early because sometimes the place is packed and you will be forced to sit on the floor. At one study I attended I walked in late, having fought through traffic in the rain. I found myself crowding into a small living room with about fifteen other people, and someone was nice enough to offer his chair to me. Copies of song lyrics were distributed, and we started off with a praise and worship time. I noticed a couple of open laptops on the coffee table. People who couldn't make the drive were Skyping in.
They were studying through the Gospel of John verse by verse. We took turns reading out loud from chapter 6, and the leader guided the discussion by asking questions. One of the verses seemed to support a Calvinist view of election and there was lively debate over that. We noticed that different Bible translations put the verse in slightly different lights. Which translation do you have? the leader asked someone. ESV, came the answer. Any others? People called out KJV, NIV, NAS. What about The Message? Anyone here use The Message? There was a friendly sort of tension in the room. Everyone knew who it was that didn't approve of dynamic equivalence Bible translations. If you guys are okay with it, I'll go ahead and read what it says in The Message, the leader said, taking one last cautious look around. Apparently, the coast was clear for a brief lapse into liberalism.
We wrapped up our time by sharing requests and praying together as a group. The fellowship time was a bit cramped, trying to make it through the crowd to the kitchen for soda and store-bought cookies. Then someone broke out a birthday cake and we all sang in honor of the recipient, who was obviously surprised. Aren't you glad you came tonight? people called to him. We were afraid you weren't going to be here.
People hung around until close to 10 pm. The Bible study leader gave me a lift to my car since I was parked two blocks away. He was in the Army Reserves, grew up Southern Baptist, and had recently returned from his second deployment to Iraq. He mentioned that some of his Christian friends had been unfriending him on Facebook for being gay. All I could think was that if my son grew up to be like this guy, I'd be very proud.
So that is what a gay Christian Bible study is like. A bunch of Christians, who are gay, get together to study the Bible. They ask questions, debate a little, and try to keep the peace between the traditionalists and progressives within the group. But in the end, they support and care for one another. In other words, it's not a whole lot different from any other Bible study. Just like, I suppose, being a gay Christian isn't a whole lot different from being any other Christian.
It's possible that I've presumed too much on what people know about gay Christians. So first off, yes, gay Christians do exist. And also, being Christians, they are interested in studying the Bible. Why do they have "gay Christian" Bible studies? you might ask. Because most evangelical churches don't welcome gay people--at least the ones that they know about--so if gay Christians want to be part of a Bible study quite often they have to form their own. It's admirable when you think about it. If you were told you were no longer welcome at your church, would you be so committed to studying the Bible that you'd go out of your way to form your own group to do so?
What's it like going to a gay Christian Bible study? Well, it's usually at someone's home or apartment. You need to get there early because sometimes the place is packed and you will be forced to sit on the floor. At one study I attended I walked in late, having fought through traffic in the rain. I found myself crowding into a small living room with about fifteen other people, and someone was nice enough to offer his chair to me. Copies of song lyrics were distributed, and we started off with a praise and worship time. I noticed a couple of open laptops on the coffee table. People who couldn't make the drive were Skyping in.
They were studying through the Gospel of John verse by verse. We took turns reading out loud from chapter 6, and the leader guided the discussion by asking questions. One of the verses seemed to support a Calvinist view of election and there was lively debate over that. We noticed that different Bible translations put the verse in slightly different lights. Which translation do you have? the leader asked someone. ESV, came the answer. Any others? People called out KJV, NIV, NAS. What about The Message? Anyone here use The Message? There was a friendly sort of tension in the room. Everyone knew who it was that didn't approve of dynamic equivalence Bible translations. If you guys are okay with it, I'll go ahead and read what it says in The Message, the leader said, taking one last cautious look around. Apparently, the coast was clear for a brief lapse into liberalism.
We wrapped up our time by sharing requests and praying together as a group. The fellowship time was a bit cramped, trying to make it through the crowd to the kitchen for soda and store-bought cookies. Then someone broke out a birthday cake and we all sang in honor of the recipient, who was obviously surprised. Aren't you glad you came tonight? people called to him. We were afraid you weren't going to be here.
People hung around until close to 10 pm. The Bible study leader gave me a lift to my car since I was parked two blocks away. He was in the Army Reserves, grew up Southern Baptist, and had recently returned from his second deployment to Iraq. He mentioned that some of his Christian friends had been unfriending him on Facebook for being gay. All I could think was that if my son grew up to be like this guy, I'd be very proud.
So that is what a gay Christian Bible study is like. A bunch of Christians, who are gay, get together to study the Bible. They ask questions, debate a little, and try to keep the peace between the traditionalists and progressives within the group. But in the end, they support and care for one another. In other words, it's not a whole lot different from any other Bible study. Just like, I suppose, being a gay Christian isn't a whole lot different from being any other Christian.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Poem of the day
Suspended
I had grasped God's garment in the void
But my hand slipped
On the rich silk of it.
The 'everlasting arms' my sister loved to remember
Must have upheld my leaden weight
From falling, even so,
For though I claw at empty air and feel
Nothing, no embrace,
I have not plummeted.
--Denise Levertov
I had grasped God's garment in the void
But my hand slipped
On the rich silk of it.
The 'everlasting arms' my sister loved to remember
Must have upheld my leaden weight
From falling, even so,
For though I claw at empty air and feel
Nothing, no embrace,
I have not plummeted.
--Denise Levertov
Monday, April 02, 2012
Monday, March 12, 2012
A fence around the cross
The only way I know how to be a Christian without getting caught up in some of the disturbing trends of evangelicalism today is by not listening to Christian radio or watching Christian television, not becoming too avid a follower of any one Christian blog, and being careful about any book I read from an evangelical publisher. It's sad to say, but I find it's hard enough to hear the voice of God in the Scriptures and discern the leading of his Holy Spirit without also receiving a lot of noise and interference from these other outside sources.
Having been on that fast for so long, maybe I was unprepared to hear what I did when I tuned into Dr. Albert Mohler's spiel about the recent Rush Limbaugh controversy. After claiming that Limbaugh has made some points that many people can support and agree with, Mohler admonishes Christians to "think very carefully" about this matter, especially regarding the words we use. "Words represent character," he says, and "we are judged not only by our arguments, but by the very words and phrases . . . we deploy in making those arguments."
Seriously? Why should Christians have to "think very carefully" about Mr. Limbaugh's rant at all? So that we can pick nicer, more godly words by which to villainize Sandra Fluke? And after we've lovingly condemned her for her presumably immoral sexual lifestyle--which we really know nothing about--we can now feel much better about making the argument that people like her deserve not a dime of our hard-earned taxpayer money. Amen.
The marriage of Christian morality and right-wing politics has been all about defining the Us vs. Them dividing line. Politics already demands that you side with one social issue over against another, which puts you in some tension with your fellow citizens who are on the opposing side. Add religious conviction to it and you've boosted your political argument to the level of divine absolutes--why you should absolutely disagree with and even self-righteously condemn those who are on the liberal, God-hating opposing side.
Which means that the greatest damage done by this unholy union between religion and politics is to the gospel itself. The gospel calls all sinners to come to Jesus for forgiveness and hope. But in the minds of many Christians that unconsciously translates into, "Jesus calls all of us who have been raised in godly, Christian, Republican homes to realize that we, too, are sinners in need of forgiveness." In today's conservative political environment, few realize that it also means Jesus calls the college student who is sleeping around, the woman who has had ten abortions, and the gay rights activist who spews bitterness against the church, to come to him for salvation.
Well, now that I've put it that way, no Christian who reads what I just wrote would deny that this is true. Of course we want sinners to come to Jesus--even those sinners! But our appetite for politics reveals the truth of how thoroughly we have abandoned the gospel. Because if you tolerate a preacher using your church's pulpit to condemn Roe v. Wade, for example, how can you expect the woman sitting in the pew, who is weighed down with guilt about her recent abortion, to hear Christ calling her to a heavenly hope? That preacher can go on to talk about the forgiveness and grace of Christ until the sun goes down, but because he brought politics to the pulpit all that woman will ever hear is that everyone, except those who have had abortions, may be forgiven.
And don't even get me started on preachers who use the pulpit to rail against gay rights.
But back to abortion, it recently occurred to me that in all the years I've spent talking to the many, many Christian women who have opened up and confided their secrets to me, not one person has ever confided to me that they have had an abortion. No one. As much as I would like to believe that I've simply never known anyone who has had that in her past, I know it can't be true. Given our intense political vitriol against all things Planned Parenthood, why would a Christian woman in the church ever confide such a thing, or even more frightening, dare to believe that she could be forgiven for it? If that's the case, how much more thoroughly are we driving away non-Christian women who have had abortions from ever setting foot in our sanctuaries?
It makes you wonder about the many other groups we are driving away from Calvary's cross by our all-consuming investment in worldly things that will soon pass away. My guess is that these groups might possibly be defined as the modern-day equivalent to the lepers, tax-collectors, harlots, adulterers and Samaritans of Jesus' day. Whose lifestyles, we are reminded, shouldn't be supported by our tax dollars. And if we won't give them our money, then why should they believe we would give them our love?
Having been on that fast for so long, maybe I was unprepared to hear what I did when I tuned into Dr. Albert Mohler's spiel about the recent Rush Limbaugh controversy. After claiming that Limbaugh has made some points that many people can support and agree with, Mohler admonishes Christians to "think very carefully" about this matter, especially regarding the words we use. "Words represent character," he says, and "we are judged not only by our arguments, but by the very words and phrases . . . we deploy in making those arguments."
Seriously? Why should Christians have to "think very carefully" about Mr. Limbaugh's rant at all? So that we can pick nicer, more godly words by which to villainize Sandra Fluke? And after we've lovingly condemned her for her presumably immoral sexual lifestyle--which we really know nothing about--we can now feel much better about making the argument that people like her deserve not a dime of our hard-earned taxpayer money. Amen.
The marriage of Christian morality and right-wing politics has been all about defining the Us vs. Them dividing line. Politics already demands that you side with one social issue over against another, which puts you in some tension with your fellow citizens who are on the opposing side. Add religious conviction to it and you've boosted your political argument to the level of divine absolutes--why you should absolutely disagree with and even self-righteously condemn those who are on the liberal, God-hating opposing side.
Which means that the greatest damage done by this unholy union between religion and politics is to the gospel itself. The gospel calls all sinners to come to Jesus for forgiveness and hope. But in the minds of many Christians that unconsciously translates into, "Jesus calls all of us who have been raised in godly, Christian, Republican homes to realize that we, too, are sinners in need of forgiveness." In today's conservative political environment, few realize that it also means Jesus calls the college student who is sleeping around, the woman who has had ten abortions, and the gay rights activist who spews bitterness against the church, to come to him for salvation.
Well, now that I've put it that way, no Christian who reads what I just wrote would deny that this is true. Of course we want sinners to come to Jesus--even those sinners! But our appetite for politics reveals the truth of how thoroughly we have abandoned the gospel. Because if you tolerate a preacher using your church's pulpit to condemn Roe v. Wade, for example, how can you expect the woman sitting in the pew, who is weighed down with guilt about her recent abortion, to hear Christ calling her to a heavenly hope? That preacher can go on to talk about the forgiveness and grace of Christ until the sun goes down, but because he brought politics to the pulpit all that woman will ever hear is that everyone, except those who have had abortions, may be forgiven.
And don't even get me started on preachers who use the pulpit to rail against gay rights.
But back to abortion, it recently occurred to me that in all the years I've spent talking to the many, many Christian women who have opened up and confided their secrets to me, not one person has ever confided to me that they have had an abortion. No one. As much as I would like to believe that I've simply never known anyone who has had that in her past, I know it can't be true. Given our intense political vitriol against all things Planned Parenthood, why would a Christian woman in the church ever confide such a thing, or even more frightening, dare to believe that she could be forgiven for it? If that's the case, how much more thoroughly are we driving away non-Christian women who have had abortions from ever setting foot in our sanctuaries?
It makes you wonder about the many other groups we are driving away from Calvary's cross by our all-consuming investment in worldly things that will soon pass away. My guess is that these groups might possibly be defined as the modern-day equivalent to the lepers, tax-collectors, harlots, adulterers and Samaritans of Jesus' day. Whose lifestyles, we are reminded, shouldn't be supported by our tax dollars. And if we won't give them our money, then why should they believe we would give them our love?
Thursday, February 16, 2012
17 new followers!
I'd better post this before things get out of hand. Thank you to the BIGGEST group of followers that has joined this blog yet. Welcome aboard, everyone!
Toblerone
Perplicatus
Justin Johns
Matthew Oliver
Lincoln
Dan L. Lewis
Steph Garee
musicalguy
Sam Lufi
James Armstrong
Stymes, Mattster, Shaggy, etc...
Cassie
brian
Takeshi Takahashi
Kristine Allphin
Kelly Anderson
mtn
Toblerone
Perplicatus
Justin Johns
Matthew Oliver
Lincoln
Dan L. Lewis
Steph Garee
musicalguy
Sam Lufi
James Armstrong
Stymes, Mattster, Shaggy, etc...
Cassie
brian
Takeshi Takahashi
Kristine Allphin
Kelly Anderson
mtn
Monday, February 06, 2012
"99.9% of them have not experienced a change in their orientation" -- Alan Chambers
Oh, and in case you missed all the hoopla, as an unofficial side event at the GCN Conference Alan Chambers was interviewed by Justin Lee as a part of a panel discussion on ex-gay ministries. Chambers is the president of Exodus International, the largest ex-gay organization in the United States. The video of the discussion is long (I was there to hear most of it in person), but the most significant statement Chambers made that evening was this:
The majority of people that I have met--and I would say "the majority" meaning 99.9% of them--have not experienced a change in their orientation, or have gotten to a place where they could say they could never be tempted, or are not tempted in some way, or experience some level of same sex attraction.
Quoth the President of the Largest Ex-gay Ministry in America. If you're worried I ripped it out of context, go to 1:09:44-1:10:09 and hear it for yourself. Then go tell your friends.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
What I've been looking for
When I was in college I went on a short-term missions trip to Japan, where I taught English for six weeks at a small village church in Hanakawa. The congregation at Hanakawa was small, barely thirty people on an average Sunday, because Japanese Christians are a persecuted bunch. They don't pay homage to their dead ancestors at the Buddhist temple, nor do they offer prayers at the Shinto shrines imploring the spirits for good health or success. Their families are ashamed to own them. Wives risk the wrath of their husbands for going to church; children risk being disowned by parents. But when they come together for worship at church, that little group of thirty could sing. They worshipped with full hearts every Sunday out of joy and sorrow and gratitude. Twenty-five years later I can still hear the sound of their voices, accompanied by the whine of that cheap church organ, singing "Jesus Paid It All" in Japanese.
Three weekends ago gay Christians arrived from all over the country, and even other parts of the world for the Gay Christian Network (GCN) Conference to worship, learn, fellowship and break bread. And when they sang, the outpouring of their hearts carried me back to those days on the missions field. These were Christians rejected by their families and friends, whose very existence is considered a shame to society--and in this case, their churches. They were gathering to take a brief, collective breath of heavenly air before having to return to the grind of an oppressive existence. Even those who had churches to go back to said that they couldn't worship there with nearly the same freedom as they found at the safe haven of the conference. "Soon as we get back home, we'll start counting pennies to save up for next year's GCN Conference," someone told me.
I have to admit I've spent a lot of years hankering after the spiritual giants of the Christian world. I wanted to witness true faith, which I associated with passion and zeal. Maybe I wanted some of that faith to rub off on me. I would hang out with missionaries, thinking these people who gave up a comfortable life in the States to preach Christ in a foreign country had to be the real deal. I looked up to my brilliant seminary profs, feeling that anyone who spent a lifetime studying the Bible or theology must have a deep love for Christ. I've tried to grab hold of that genuine Christianity for myself. I've joined movements, studied and read, evangelized and prayed, and sold myself out for Christ numerous times. Many disappointments later I learned that outward spiritual impressiveness isn't always what it's cracked up to be, and I can't rely on other people's faith to carry my own.
And just as I'm learning to let go of all that, I come to the GCN Conference and realize that it's here where I least expected it, that authenticity I've been looking for. There was such a spirit of unguardedness among everyone that conversation and fellowship flowed easily. The name of Jesus was precious in the mouths of those who spoke of him. I could talk about suffering and sin and get quiet, understanding nods in return.
But it wasn't flashy or outwardly attractive; the faith of these people was born out of pain and doubt, of wandering and loneliness. It was almost as if the secret to faith was having a messy life, not a together one. Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted, some wise person in the Bible once said. Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.
Three weekends ago gay Christians arrived from all over the country, and even other parts of the world for the Gay Christian Network (GCN) Conference to worship, learn, fellowship and break bread. And when they sang, the outpouring of their hearts carried me back to those days on the missions field. These were Christians rejected by their families and friends, whose very existence is considered a shame to society--and in this case, their churches. They were gathering to take a brief, collective breath of heavenly air before having to return to the grind of an oppressive existence. Even those who had churches to go back to said that they couldn't worship there with nearly the same freedom as they found at the safe haven of the conference. "Soon as we get back home, we'll start counting pennies to save up for next year's GCN Conference," someone told me.
I have to admit I've spent a lot of years hankering after the spiritual giants of the Christian world. I wanted to witness true faith, which I associated with passion and zeal. Maybe I wanted some of that faith to rub off on me. I would hang out with missionaries, thinking these people who gave up a comfortable life in the States to preach Christ in a foreign country had to be the real deal. I looked up to my brilliant seminary profs, feeling that anyone who spent a lifetime studying the Bible or theology must have a deep love for Christ. I've tried to grab hold of that genuine Christianity for myself. I've joined movements, studied and read, evangelized and prayed, and sold myself out for Christ numerous times. Many disappointments later I learned that outward spiritual impressiveness isn't always what it's cracked up to be, and I can't rely on other people's faith to carry my own.
And just as I'm learning to let go of all that, I come to the GCN Conference and realize that it's here where I least expected it, that authenticity I've been looking for. There was such a spirit of unguardedness among everyone that conversation and fellowship flowed easily. The name of Jesus was precious in the mouths of those who spoke of him. I could talk about suffering and sin and get quiet, understanding nods in return.
But it wasn't flashy or outwardly attractive; the faith of these people was born out of pain and doubt, of wandering and loneliness. It was almost as if the secret to faith was having a messy life, not a together one. Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted, some wise person in the Bible once said. Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
This Sunday
In case anyone's interested, I'm going to be speaking this Sunday at the 10 a.m. service of Open Door Ministries in Long Beach. The church website provides directions to the William F. Prisk Elementary School where they meet. If you already went to the GCN Conference then you're not missing anything. I'll be telling pretty much the same story as I did on January 7. Not a sermon, but a testimony. Thanks to Pastor Dan Burchett for inviting me.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Welcome, GCN visitors!
I'm still enjoying the afterglow of the Gay Christian Network (GCN) Conference this past weekend. The best part was meeting many of you in person. I can see why people count pennies all year so they can afford the plane fare to this annual event. The fellowship in Christ across denominational lines, because of the suffering everyone has experienced in being marginalized by the institutional church, is incredibly moving.
I know some of you are visiting this blog for the first time because you heard me speak on Saturday. Welcome! No doubt I'll have more to say about the GCN Conference as I let my thoughts percolate over the next few weeks. But in the meantime, for those of you who had further questions about my talk, here are some links that will take you into greater depth:
* A more complete story about my gay neighbors: "Gregg and Joel"
* Walter Olson's article on theonomy: "An Invitation to a Stoning"
* The article that started the controversy: "A Conservative Christian Case for Civil Same-Sex Marriage"
* Chronology of the OPC controversy
* A brief article on sovereign (or more specifically, irresistible) grace.
I know some of you are visiting this blog for the first time because you heard me speak on Saturday. Welcome! No doubt I'll have more to say about the GCN Conference as I let my thoughts percolate over the next few weeks. But in the meantime, for those of you who had further questions about my talk, here are some links that will take you into greater depth:
* A more complete story about my gay neighbors: "Gregg and Joel"
* Walter Olson's article on theonomy: "An Invitation to a Stoning"
* The article that started the controversy: "A Conservative Christian Case for Civil Same-Sex Marriage"
* Chronology of the OPC controversy
* A brief article on sovereign (or more specifically, irresistible) grace.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Done!
Aaandd I'm done writing my talk for the upcoming GCN Conference. I can't believe I managed it with all the holiday chaos going on. Merry Christmas, everyone, and hope to see many of you in Orlando in 2012.
Thursday, December 08, 2011
One hundred!
Oh yeah! Thanks for helping us to hit the 100 mark on the followers list.
John Alsdorf
Jordan Haynes
William Lenz
David
Allen
D.J.
katybraden
The Fried Doctor
Julia Paterson
I'm grateful to all of you, both the official and unofficial followers of this blog, for teaching me, encouraging me and supporting me through this journey.
John Alsdorf
Jordan Haynes
William Lenz
David
Allen
D.J.
katybraden
The Fried Doctor
Julia Paterson
I'm grateful to all of you, both the official and unofficial followers of this blog, for teaching me, encouraging me and supporting me through this journey.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
A dose of reality
Wow. This captures why I think civil rights in society and freedom of conscience in the church must be respected when it comes to this issue. Every Christian with conservative views on homosexuality has to allow him- or herself to be tempered by the reality of what gay relationships are all about.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Side B, with qualifications
I get labels. I understand them, I embrace them. Sometimes people just want to cut to the chase and know what you're all about. Who are you? Where do you stand? What's your deal? I'm straight. I'm an evangelical. I'm Reformed. I'm a homeschooler. Only later on you'll find out that I'm a straight person with a lot of gay friends. I'm an evangelical who is uncomfortable with evangelical culture. I'm a Reformed Christian that most Reformed Christians reject. And I'm a homeschooler with two kids in public school.
Ah, nuances. How they upset one's neatly labelled world.
I'm also "Side B." What does that mean? Well, within the realm of those who call themselves gay Christians there are generally two camps, labelled Side A and Side B. Side A gay Christians believe that God blesses same-sex marriages. Side B gay Christians believe that God calls them to lifelong celibacy.
These terms can be stretched a bit. For instance because I'm involved in the dialogue between the two groups, people often ask me which Side I hold to. Since I'm straight they are not asking about what choice I'm making for my own life, but are inquiring about my theological view. Which do I think is biblical?
Biblical. When I hear people use that term, I know I'm heading for trouble. Since I'm straight the only way I can deal with the Side A/Side B question is to imagine what it would be like if I were gay. What choice would I make? What would I understand the Bible to be telling me? Notice that this is an extremely theoretical question, having to do with me living a life that I've never actually lived, and asking myself what I would do in a situation that I've never actually dealt with. What do I think would be biblical for my own personal life that isn't actually my personal life but only exists in theory?
Yet I do try to give an answer because I don't want to chicken out, get defensive, or press my hands together in a steeple and start philosophizing about how life is full of complex questions. I feel that people deserve an honest response. I look at the Bible, I look at myself, I talk to lots of gays and lesbians and try to imagine myself in their situation. I know I hold to the traditional creation-fall-redemption-consummation view of the Bible. And I know that I'm the type of person that tends to make the hard, conservative choices for myself in my own personal life, whether in the area of marriage, women's roles, or parenting--even though I don't ask other people to make the same choices for themselves. In other words, I know that I fit the profile of someone who would choose gay celibacy.
I think if I were lesbian probably the most difficult situation for me to face would be if I met someone who was also lesbian and Christian, we got along splendidly, we were completely spiritually compatible, there was potential for happiness and spiritual health and excitement about a future for myself and for her--and yet I have this theological hang-up that gay relationships aren't biblical. I imagine I would be sorely tempted to shelve the theological conviction and move forward with the wedding bells. I might even plead with God for leniency on this point; yes, it isn't ideal but look at the spiritual good that has come out of it, that will come out of it, if we got married. And since there are a lot of good Side A arguments out there, it's possible that I might be able to put my conscience shakily to rest about it.
The point is, even when I try to picture my non-existent, best-case-scenario married life with a lesbian partner, I imagine that I would have a far greater struggle of conscience trying to live as Side A than Side B. That's why when people ask me point-blank, cut-and-dried, to put a label on myself, I spit out: "Side B."
This has caused me some problems. I have discovered that labeling myself Side B conveys the idea that I think Side A gay Christians aren't really saved, that all gay Christians should be celibate otherwise they're living in sin, and that my agenda should be to befriend Side A people for the purpose of converting them to Side B. And I have to wonder, what ever happened to respecting the consciences of others? I believe I can manage that as a Side B person. And nothing about what I believe concerning my imaginary choice as an imaginary gay person in an imaginary scenario blinds me from the reality of seeing true Christian faith in the many, many Side A gay Christians I meet all the time.
From what I've experienced I don't think the Side A/Side B divide is nearly as great as the divide between those who do and do not recognize that there are some cases where taking a "biblical" side is more about a personal choice than a cosmic mandate. I side with those who believe in strict moral convictions for themselves but much leniency and charity for others. I wish there were a label for that group.
Ah, nuances. How they upset one's neatly labelled world.
I'm also "Side B." What does that mean? Well, within the realm of those who call themselves gay Christians there are generally two camps, labelled Side A and Side B. Side A gay Christians believe that God blesses same-sex marriages. Side B gay Christians believe that God calls them to lifelong celibacy.
These terms can be stretched a bit. For instance because I'm involved in the dialogue between the two groups, people often ask me which Side I hold to. Since I'm straight they are not asking about what choice I'm making for my own life, but are inquiring about my theological view. Which do I think is biblical?
Biblical. When I hear people use that term, I know I'm heading for trouble. Since I'm straight the only way I can deal with the Side A/Side B question is to imagine what it would be like if I were gay. What choice would I make? What would I understand the Bible to be telling me? Notice that this is an extremely theoretical question, having to do with me living a life that I've never actually lived, and asking myself what I would do in a situation that I've never actually dealt with. What do I think would be biblical for my own personal life that isn't actually my personal life but only exists in theory?
Yet I do try to give an answer because I don't want to chicken out, get defensive, or press my hands together in a steeple and start philosophizing about how life is full of complex questions. I feel that people deserve an honest response. I look at the Bible, I look at myself, I talk to lots of gays and lesbians and try to imagine myself in their situation. I know I hold to the traditional creation-fall-redemption-consummation view of the Bible. And I know that I'm the type of person that tends to make the hard, conservative choices for myself in my own personal life, whether in the area of marriage, women's roles, or parenting--even though I don't ask other people to make the same choices for themselves. In other words, I know that I fit the profile of someone who would choose gay celibacy.
I think if I were lesbian probably the most difficult situation for me to face would be if I met someone who was also lesbian and Christian, we got along splendidly, we were completely spiritually compatible, there was potential for happiness and spiritual health and excitement about a future for myself and for her--and yet I have this theological hang-up that gay relationships aren't biblical. I imagine I would be sorely tempted to shelve the theological conviction and move forward with the wedding bells. I might even plead with God for leniency on this point; yes, it isn't ideal but look at the spiritual good that has come out of it, that will come out of it, if we got married. And since there are a lot of good Side A arguments out there, it's possible that I might be able to put my conscience shakily to rest about it.
The point is, even when I try to picture my non-existent, best-case-scenario married life with a lesbian partner, I imagine that I would have a far greater struggle of conscience trying to live as Side A than Side B. That's why when people ask me point-blank, cut-and-dried, to put a label on myself, I spit out: "Side B."
This has caused me some problems. I have discovered that labeling myself Side B conveys the idea that I think Side A gay Christians aren't really saved, that all gay Christians should be celibate otherwise they're living in sin, and that my agenda should be to befriend Side A people for the purpose of converting them to Side B. And I have to wonder, what ever happened to respecting the consciences of others? I believe I can manage that as a Side B person. And nothing about what I believe concerning my imaginary choice as an imaginary gay person in an imaginary scenario blinds me from the reality of seeing true Christian faith in the many, many Side A gay Christians I meet all the time.
From what I've experienced I don't think the Side A/Side B divide is nearly as great as the divide between those who do and do not recognize that there are some cases where taking a "biblical" side is more about a personal choice than a cosmic mandate. I side with those who believe in strict moral convictions for themselves but much leniency and charity for others. I wish there were a label for that group.
Saturday, October 01, 2011
Book Review: "Out of a Far Country"
Christopher Yuan emailed me over the summer, asking if I would be willing to review the book he and his mother, Angela Yuan, co-authored called Out of a Far Country. Some months earlier I had seen a video clip of Christopher and Angela discussing the book, and then it happened that a staff member at my church stopped me one Sunday to ask if I had read it. So awareness of the book was already hovering at the edge of my consciousness.
I told Christopher that I'd be glad to review the book, but because of my son's surgery it would take some time before I could get going on it. After a couple more email exchanges it wasn't long before he had the publisher send me a copy of the book gratis. I guess I'm a novice in the business of book reviewing because I was fully expecting that if I promised an author I would review his book, I should be glad to go out and buy a copy of it myself, because a promise is a promise. And besides, I wouldn't want to be accused of giving a biased review because I got a free book out of it. So, wrapping up this statement of full disclosure, I just thought y'all should know that those are the circumstances under which I am writing this review, and you can decide for yourself whether I'm being biased or not.
Out of a Far Country is a story told by both mother and son about how they were once both spiritually lost and headed in separate directions. Christopher's coming out as gay is what caused Angela to embark on a spiritual journey that would lead her, and eventually Christopher, to return like prodigals back to their heavenly Father. Christopher and Angela tell their stories in alternating chapters, giving their differing perspectives on the same events, yet showing how God worked over a period of eight years to bring their once widely divergent paths to merge together into one by his grace.
It was a fast read, the story never dragged and contained plenty of fascinating elements. It wasn't until I was finished that I began to wonder whether this book was really about homosexuality at all. It could have been the story of any rebellious child, and of any mother's ache to see a son or daughter find peace with God and within themselves. So I read it a second time and confirmed that the strongest connection I made with the book was as a parent, not so much with the gay issue. It seemed to me Christopher's rebellion wasn't so much about being gay as it was about the feelings of rejection that led him into drug addiction and some of the darker aspects of '90's gay society. Yet the main drama centered around Angela's quest to find healing and hope in Christ, to resurrect her dying marriage, and to mend her broken relationship with her son while pointing him to the way of true inner peace.
I worried that the story would be about Angela's attempt to make her son ex-gay, but it wasn't about that. Even though she pursued that path at first, it became apparent as the story unfolded that she was slowly learning to surrender her son entirely to God and allow him to carry out his own plan, not hers, in her son's life. And even though Christopher's story of rebellion appears to play right into the hands of the evangelical stereotype of the "gay lifestyle," his post-conversion reflections about the need to live in "holy sexuality" as a follower of Christ who is still gay would definitely be off-message in many conservative Christian circles. He spends only about four and a half pages explaining how he came to the Side B position, coming off as neither dogmatic nor resentful, but rather as someone who fully and willingly embraces it.
I didn't care for the study guide questions at the end. I'd rather not have each chapter presented to me as an object lesson when it is really the broader strokes of the story that display the mysteries of how God works in our lives. How he raises life out of ashes and dust, how surrendering everything to him is the only way to true happiness, how hope is never truly dead when you seek the one who holds all things in his hands. I can't tell you if the message of Out of a Far Country is more for straights or gays, but its message is definitely Christian.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
"Honor Thy Children"
First off thanks, everyone, for your patience while I took some time off from blogging to care for my five-year-old son post-surgery. He is now out of his surgical casts and is learning to walk again just like a baby. The house is a mess, my health is slightly neglected, and I spent way too much money on take-out and frozen food these past two months, but other than that we're doing great.
Okay, enough about me. For those of you who live in the Greater Los Angeles Area, I want to let you know about a unique opportunity to hear Al and Jane Nakatani speak at the Japanese American National Museum on Saturday, September 24 from 9:00 AM to 12:00 PM. You can find more information at this Facebook page if you're interested. Or go to the JANM page and check out their Events Calendar.
In the book Honor Thy Children, Al and Jane Nakatani tell author Molly Fumia the story of how they lost all three of their children. Their first son, Glen, came out to them as a teenager in 1977 and they essentially disowned him. Glen later died of AIDS in 1990. Their second son, Greg, who was straight, was shot to death in an altercation in 1986. So when their third son, Guy, also came out as gay, Al and Jane were initially horrified, but they soon learned to embrace him unconditionally. Guy was diagnosed as HIV positive, and as he went around speaking at schools and businesses about homophobia and HIV, his father Al accompanied him. Guy died of AIDS complications in 1994 at age 26.
Since then the Nakatanis have traveled around the country speaking out about homophobia, bullying, teen suicide and the importance of loving your children unconditionally. While their message isn't necessarily religious, they are often invited to speak at churches. I understand that at the September 24 event they will be presenting a short film that chronicles their story. If I can resolve a scheduling conflict, I'm hoping to be there myself.
Okay, enough about me. For those of you who live in the Greater Los Angeles Area, I want to let you know about a unique opportunity to hear Al and Jane Nakatani speak at the Japanese American National Museum on Saturday, September 24 from 9:00 AM to 12:00 PM. You can find more information at this Facebook page if you're interested. Or go to the JANM page and check out their Events Calendar.
In the book Honor Thy Children, Al and Jane Nakatani tell author Molly Fumia the story of how they lost all three of their children. Their first son, Glen, came out to them as a teenager in 1977 and they essentially disowned him. Glen later died of AIDS in 1990. Their second son, Greg, who was straight, was shot to death in an altercation in 1986. So when their third son, Guy, also came out as gay, Al and Jane were initially horrified, but they soon learned to embrace him unconditionally. Guy was diagnosed as HIV positive, and as he went around speaking at schools and businesses about homophobia and HIV, his father Al accompanied him. Guy died of AIDS complications in 1994 at age 26.
Since then the Nakatanis have traveled around the country speaking out about homophobia, bullying, teen suicide and the importance of loving your children unconditionally. While their message isn't necessarily religious, they are often invited to speak at churches. I understand that at the September 24 event they will be presenting a short film that chronicles their story. If I can resolve a scheduling conflict, I'm hoping to be there myself.
Friday, July 29, 2011
GCN Conference 2012
So, if you haven't already heard, I've been blessed and honored with the opportunity to be a keynote speaker at the upcoming 2012 Gay Christian Network Conference. The conference will be in Orlando, Florida, and I understand that the super early bird registration deadline is this Sunday, where you pay only a $99 reg fee. It would be cool to meet some of you guys in person, so if you're at all inclined to spend January 5-8, 2012 in sunny, balmy, home-of-Disney-World Orlando, come on out and join us!
You'd think that this would be the perfect time for me to get busy writing and take advantage of some of the free advertising that GCN's conference publicity has given this blog. But it turns out I'll be doing no such thing. See, my five-year-old son just had major surgery on his feet, and while he recovers for the next five weeks in his casts and wheelchair, he needs me to do just about everything for him, including entertaining him by playing a lot of computer games. Hours and hours of Plants vs. Zombies and Bejeweled 3. So instead of imagining that I'm in front of my computer right now coming up with some brilliant thing to say at the upcoming GCN Conference, picture me fetching medication and the urine bottle in between sessions of bombing zombies and exploding hypercubes. If you don't know what I'm talking about, that's okay. I just thought I'd disabuse you of any glamorous notions about my life, in case you were tempted to have any.
You'd think that this would be the perfect time for me to get busy writing and take advantage of some of the free advertising that GCN's conference publicity has given this blog. But it turns out I'll be doing no such thing. See, my five-year-old son just had major surgery on his feet, and while he recovers for the next five weeks in his casts and wheelchair, he needs me to do just about everything for him, including entertaining him by playing a lot of computer games. Hours and hours of Plants vs. Zombies and Bejeweled 3. So instead of imagining that I'm in front of my computer right now coming up with some brilliant thing to say at the upcoming GCN Conference, picture me fetching medication and the urine bottle in between sessions of bombing zombies and exploding hypercubes. If you don't know what I'm talking about, that's okay. I just thought I'd disabuse you of any glamorous notions about my life, in case you were tempted to have any.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Nine more!
I let a few months slide innocently by and when I next check, nine new followers have joined this blog. You guys really encourage me. And thanks to everyone who has written in and commented on this blog over the years. You are my teachers and I have learned a great deal from you.
So let's welcome our newest followers:
Michael OB
Stefan
Caroline Croad
William Baldwin III
Cody Dickerson
brian dockery
Personal Secret
Dan Dorman
HEATHER
So let's welcome our newest followers:
Michael OB
Stefan
Caroline Croad
William Baldwin III
Cody Dickerson
brian dockery
Personal Secret
Dan Dorman
HEATHER
Wednesday, July 06, 2011
The call for stories continues
In a previous post I put out a call on behalf of Huffington Post blogger John Shore who is compiling a collection of stories by gay Christians for a book (whether an e-book or a traditionally published book remains to be seen) aimed at enlightening a general evangelical readership on what it means to be gay and Christian. I talked to Shore recently and learned that he needed only about a dozen more submissions before he'd have enough stories to move forward with this project. (But of course, ideally, it would nice if he had about five dozen more submissions, because the more the merrier.)
So once again, here are the details about the project in his own words:
Shore's full post is here, where you can also get updates on how the project is going. As far as I know, no deadline has been set yet. So if you have a story to tell, I hope you won't pass up this opportunity to tell it.
So once again, here are the details about the project in his own words:
I’m exhausted with the absurd notion that gays can’t be just as Christian as any pastor in any pulpit in any church in the country. And I have found that nothing can more trenchantly drive that point home than gay Christians simply telling their own stories.
And if gays can be Christian, then … well, then we’ve necessarily got ourselves a whole new dialogue about Christianity and homosexuality.
So let’s do it. Let’s make that dialogue happen. Let’s force the change. Let’s present what will be impossible to ignore.
If you’re an LGBT Christian who would like evangelical Christians to hear your story, here’s your chance. Write your story in the first person. Try to keep it under 2000 words. (But basically just use however many words you need; we can later adjust the length if necessary.) Don’t worry about grammar, spelling, or any of that sort of thing; I can edit it for you. (And I’ll certainly get your okay on all edits before publishing your testimony.) I don’t care how well “written” your story is; I just want your raw, true, and heartfelt words.
The stories in the collection will presented anonymously. Identity-wise, all I need from you is two initials, and whatever city you (want to say you) live in — same as in the bylines for What Non-Christians Want Christians to Hear.
Submit your story to me either via my “Contact Me” page, or by email to: john [AT] johnshore [DOT] com. Sending me your story implies granting me obligation-free permission to include it in the (as-yet-unnamed) collection. You won’t be compensated for your story; just knowing evangelicals will read it has to be motivation enough for you to write it. (I could no sooner track and deal with ongoing payments to fifty different people than I could win a Flamenco dancing contest.) I don’t yet know if I’ll publish this book as an e-book, or with a traditional book publisher.
If you believe in this project and would like to see it happen, please spread this post to wherever you know gay Christians gather online. The more stories I get in for it the better.
Shore's full post is here, where you can also get updates on how the project is going. As far as I know, no deadline has been set yet. So if you have a story to tell, I hope you won't pass up this opportunity to tell it.
Monday, July 04, 2011
Angry at God
I grew up in an angry household. My dad's family had a lot of tough things happen to them over past generations and Dad carried the anger of his own father inside of him. When my brothers and I were young, he would do plenty of shouting if he was unhappy with our behavior. Now I carry his anger around inside of me. It's like a flame that catches from one person to the next.
Anger is the easiest emotion for me to conjure up, more than sadness or fear or joy. It's also the easiest emotion for me to understand in other people and in God. But unlike God's holy wrath, human anger is often a distrustful mix of wounded pride and uncontrolled passion. I try to freeze my own anger down with cold hard reason, or channel its energy into doing good for others. Sometimes I have to accept that my anger is simply there, telling me that I'm not at peace with myself or with another person. It's presence is like a warning light indicating that there's something I need to confess or give up, or someone I need to confront or forgive. A lot of times there isn't much I can do but wait it out, just let the fire die out into a heap of embers.
Most people I know are afraid of anger, and they are also afraid of God, which is why you rarely hear anyone confess to being angry at God. If it does come up, people quickly backpedal. "No, I'm not angry with God. I wouldn't say that." But anger is a deep and complex emotion. You can be angry at someone and not want to be angry at them at the same time. You can be angry at someone you love and even feel both anger and love simultaneously. And just as we tend to hide from God, we hide from our own feelings about him too. Of all the relationships we have or will have in our lifetime, our relationship with God is by far the most dysfunctional.
The thing is, even if you don't want to admit being angry with God, you'd have to admit that in a lot of cases being angry with God makes more sense than being angry with people. Here's what I mean. If your family rejects you for being gay, for instance, you might be angry at them for awhile. Or you might turn your anger toward the church for teaching people to have negative attitudes against homosexuality. But then as the years pass by, and maybe you've gotten involved in activism or in trying to change people's minds, you start to see how people are already too weak-minded and ignorant and prejudiced to resist the simplistic things they are told. You start to realize that you yourself often fall prey to prejudice and the temptation to demonize others, and you wonder if it's just inevitable that gay and lesbian people would be misunderstood by a largely straight society. Then the Bible comes along and seems to reinforce these attitudes and misunderstandings in people. So if there's anyone it "makes sense" to be angry at, it's God. Isn't he the one who set up this whole impossible situation in the first place? Why did God allow you to be gay knowing it was going to be like this?
I wish I could say that I have the answers to those questions, but I don't. I only mention all this stuff because it's what I hear people saying. I've read a lot of emails and talked to a lot of gay Christians, and I hear people hinting at their anger toward God all the time. Of course it's easy to deny you're angry with God just because you don't feel a red hot rage, but anger can also take the form of cold resentment, the kind that avoids or gives the silent treatment, where you talk to God only when you have to, and even then you just mention the safe stuff that you think he wants to hear, hoping to mollify him and send him on his way.
The missionary Jim Elliot once wrote in his journal about growing in enough confidence to be able to laugh in the presence of God. I used to marvel at that. Laugh? Who would dare? Who feels such freedom? But for me it's always been about anger. Do I have the confidence to express my anger before him? At him? Being honest instead of feeding him lines like, "No, it's not you I'm angry at, it's the situation. And I'm not really angry, just hurt and disappointed." Coming clean seems too frightening. Am I really going to risk affronting the God who holds my life in his hands?
But somewhere along the way I crossed a forbidden threshold and found the freedom and confidence to express my anger at God, not for the purpose of telling him off but to lay it before him. It has helped to think of it this way: God already knows everything. He knows more about you than you know about yourself. He even knows what you're going to say before you say it, and what you're going to feel before you feel it. So if it happens that somewhere inside you are harboring a deep resentment against him, he already knows it and has already taken care of the sinful aspects of your anger in the death of his Son. So he's good.
The problem is entirely on your side when you do not own up to this anger. Your heavenly Father sees you coming before him day after day pretending that the anger doesn't exist when he knows very well that it does, because he sees your heart as plain as day. He knows that the reason you won't admit to being angry is that you're afraid of his rejection, and yet here he is loving and accepting you in Christ every day, patiently putting up with your resentment against him, which you deny that you have, and waiting for you to come around to the truth so that you can finally unload that awful burden off yourself. So given that this is the situation, which is the better course to take? To admit your anger before him, or not to?
Anger is the easiest emotion for me to conjure up, more than sadness or fear or joy. It's also the easiest emotion for me to understand in other people and in God. But unlike God's holy wrath, human anger is often a distrustful mix of wounded pride and uncontrolled passion. I try to freeze my own anger down with cold hard reason, or channel its energy into doing good for others. Sometimes I have to accept that my anger is simply there, telling me that I'm not at peace with myself or with another person. It's presence is like a warning light indicating that there's something I need to confess or give up, or someone I need to confront or forgive. A lot of times there isn't much I can do but wait it out, just let the fire die out into a heap of embers.
Most people I know are afraid of anger, and they are also afraid of God, which is why you rarely hear anyone confess to being angry at God. If it does come up, people quickly backpedal. "No, I'm not angry with God. I wouldn't say that." But anger is a deep and complex emotion. You can be angry at someone and not want to be angry at them at the same time. You can be angry at someone you love and even feel both anger and love simultaneously. And just as we tend to hide from God, we hide from our own feelings about him too. Of all the relationships we have or will have in our lifetime, our relationship with God is by far the most dysfunctional.
The thing is, even if you don't want to admit being angry with God, you'd have to admit that in a lot of cases being angry with God makes more sense than being angry with people. Here's what I mean. If your family rejects you for being gay, for instance, you might be angry at them for awhile. Or you might turn your anger toward the church for teaching people to have negative attitudes against homosexuality. But then as the years pass by, and maybe you've gotten involved in activism or in trying to change people's minds, you start to see how people are already too weak-minded and ignorant and prejudiced to resist the simplistic things they are told. You start to realize that you yourself often fall prey to prejudice and the temptation to demonize others, and you wonder if it's just inevitable that gay and lesbian people would be misunderstood by a largely straight society. Then the Bible comes along and seems to reinforce these attitudes and misunderstandings in people. So if there's anyone it "makes sense" to be angry at, it's God. Isn't he the one who set up this whole impossible situation in the first place? Why did God allow you to be gay knowing it was going to be like this?
I wish I could say that I have the answers to those questions, but I don't. I only mention all this stuff because it's what I hear people saying. I've read a lot of emails and talked to a lot of gay Christians, and I hear people hinting at their anger toward God all the time. Of course it's easy to deny you're angry with God just because you don't feel a red hot rage, but anger can also take the form of cold resentment, the kind that avoids or gives the silent treatment, where you talk to God only when you have to, and even then you just mention the safe stuff that you think he wants to hear, hoping to mollify him and send him on his way.
The missionary Jim Elliot once wrote in his journal about growing in enough confidence to be able to laugh in the presence of God. I used to marvel at that. Laugh? Who would dare? Who feels such freedom? But for me it's always been about anger. Do I have the confidence to express my anger before him? At him? Being honest instead of feeding him lines like, "No, it's not you I'm angry at, it's the situation. And I'm not really angry, just hurt and disappointed." Coming clean seems too frightening. Am I really going to risk affronting the God who holds my life in his hands?
But somewhere along the way I crossed a forbidden threshold and found the freedom and confidence to express my anger at God, not for the purpose of telling him off but to lay it before him. It has helped to think of it this way: God already knows everything. He knows more about you than you know about yourself. He even knows what you're going to say before you say it, and what you're going to feel before you feel it. So if it happens that somewhere inside you are harboring a deep resentment against him, he already knows it and has already taken care of the sinful aspects of your anger in the death of his Son. So he's good.
The problem is entirely on your side when you do not own up to this anger. Your heavenly Father sees you coming before him day after day pretending that the anger doesn't exist when he knows very well that it does, because he sees your heart as plain as day. He knows that the reason you won't admit to being angry is that you're afraid of his rejection, and yet here he is loving and accepting you in Christ every day, patiently putting up with your resentment against him, which you deny that you have, and waiting for you to come around to the truth so that you can finally unload that awful burden off yourself. So given that this is the situation, which is the better course to take? To admit your anger before him, or not to?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)