Crossroads: Where I Am Going

How I Got Here
Where I Am Now

This post has been more difficult to write than I would have guessed. And it’s because I really don’t know where I’m going. Yet.

Let me back up a little bit and tell you what I’ve done in the past year. I was privileged last fall to attend a talk presented by Jack Rogers, retired theology professor at San Francisco Theological Seminary and former moderator of the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church USA. He is the author of Jesus, the Bible, and Homosexuality: Explode the Myths, Heal the Church. He talked about the recent scholarly studies that examine the contextual meaning of the passages in the Bible that mention homosexuality—and how those studies changed his viewpoint. I highly recommend this book for those who need assurance that the Bible does not at all condemn same-sex relationships*.

The audience—consisting primarily and interestingly of men in their forties and women in their fifties and sixties—were gathered in tables of six for discussion. At my table were two gay men and four straight women. Our group leader was the son of a pastor; his partner of twenty years was the leader at another table. They have a nine-year-old daughter and appeared very much content with their circumstances and who they are. The other man at our table clearly was there for affirmation. He teared up several times as we talked about loving acceptance. What a crime that he had to find it among strangers. What a gift that he could find it among strangers. He grasped my hand as we were leaving and thanked me profusely for being there. My gosh. My heart aches for him and those like him who hurt so much.

This spring I learned from the Bilerico website that a seminar was being held locally about how to address the public about LGBT issues in a way that is noninflammatory. At that OUTSpoken seminar, I met a woman who said there was someone else I needed to meet. That friend is a member of a Presbyterian church in Columbus, IN, and she is taking her church through the process of becoming open and affirming. In addition to pointing me to dozens of resources, she told me about the Welcoming Church conference I recently attended in Ohio.

I am empowered by my experience in Ohio. I believe I can begin to help my church become intentionally welcoming to the LGBT community. It will be an incredibly slow process, given the starting place. That’s okay; bulldog perseverence is one quality that’s served me well over the years—to some people’s exasperation, but hey. I liken this process to turning an aircraft carrier: it takes a huge amount of energy to turn the rudder, and then the ship eventually, ever s-l-o-w-l-y, turns. But it does turn.

Within that conference I had an eye-opening experience. One of the activities in which we participated was a role-playing exercise. Each of us was given a description of the committee member we would portray to discuss whether “our church” should form a task force to create a statement of welcome. (Read that last sentence again. The discussion is about appointing another group to discuss it. Quite typical of my experience in church.)

My character was a closeted gay man who was afraid of being discovered and, as a result, being excluded from the church community where he was currently welcomed. He wanted the task force to be formed but was afraid of the conflict that might be engendered. Our “committee chair” opened the discussion. I found it excruciating to try to express my opinion as a gay man who wanted to remain closeted. Every word had to go through the filter of “Would this reveal who I am?” I had to vet each sentence before I spoke, and as a consequence said little as conversation sped past me. I had strong opinions but I couldn’t find a way to express them without revealing myself. It was emotionally exhausting.

As time drew to a close, each of us at the table disclosed our characters. Cries of “You’re gay?!” came from just about everyone. I had succeeded in staying in the closet but at great cost to myself and to the process of moving “our church” forward. What a revelation.

I don’t pretend for a minute that I understand what it is to be gay; I would never presume such a thing. But I think I had a tiny glimpse for a few minutes of what so many men and women go through every minute of their lives. Some never escape that prison while others feel free only when removed from the general population. Let me profoundly apologize here for any role I have ever had in that sentencing, however ignorant I might have been. It’s time for the end of ignorance.

(By the way: the discussion exercise illustrated beautifully how traditional methods in the church will doom this effort to failure: “discussion” devolved quickly into heated arguments; not one person changed his mind about his stance; and absolutely no consensus was met on how to proceed further. We went on to practice the method that works, a way for all to be heard without rancor—an incredibly valuable experience.)

At each of the three events I’ve attended in the past year, my initial reaction upon arrival was the same every time: Where is everybody? Why are so few attending? This is not right. But we’ve got to start somewhere.

When I tell my story it is clear that there are people I meet along the way who affect the direction I take. They’ve been there in every pivotal moment of my life, and I call them signposts. As I stand at a crossroads, trying to decide which road to take, signposts point the way. So here I stand. I think I have a path to follow for my church, even if I have to hack away at the undergrowth with a machete. But which way should I go for you? What would you have me say or do? Every single one of you who reads this blog and comments is a signpost to me. (And if you’re a lurker, I welcome your email.) So:

Which way should I go?


*For the same message using the same sources but less-formal language, read The Children Are Free: Reexamining the Biblical Evidence on Same-sex Relationships by Rev. Jeff Minor and John Tyler Connoley.

Postscript: David recommends Wrestling With God & Men: Homosexuality in the Jewish Tradition as an excellent book for Jews interested in learning more about faith and sexuality.

Crossroads: Where I Am Now

How I Got Here

In December 2005 I experienced a catharsis that I may someday be willing to write about here. Suffice it to say that in a stunning moment of self-awareness, I realized that fear had been running my life; and that if I didn’t do something about it, I will have wasted an opportunity to make things right—in my life and in my world.

In trying to figure out what was happening to me, I went online, where I was befriended by some sweet and caring gay men who gave me a swift kick in the seat and challenged me to change and grow.

I had been unhappy in my marriage for a long time. I made arrangements to see a counselor. We had seen counselors before, but this time was different: we were ready; he had us talking to each other instead of him, asking the right questions; and for the first time I was not hiding away from the hurt. I faced it with the question that has become my mantra for making difficult decisions:

“What would you do if you weren’t afraid?”

By moving past the fear—that still sometimes presents itself until I step through it—I have found purpose and energy. I have fallen in love again with my husband and he with me. (We celebrated our 30th anniversary this week, and honey, let me tell you we had a wonderful time. I mean, wonderful.) Our renewed commitment to each other has given us the strength to deal with the turmoil of our home life this past year.

At the same time, I needed change in my career as well. After having done the job I was hired to do—write a five-year curriculum for our church’s elementary Sunday School—I was restless. I was feeling a pull but I wasn’t sure the direction it should take. I was looking for the peace that comes with fulfilling one’s purpose. I’d realized that inner tranquility when I was plucked from the congregation for this job. I have come to know that of all the wonderful and exciting pleasures in this world, there is none greater or more lasting than doing what is right and good in service to others. I knew that an even greater joy of service waited for me again in some other form. I had to find it.

During all this, I was in conversation with my gay buds online. And with their friendship I was reminded again of the injustice engendered by the hatefulness spewed in public in the name of Christianity. Because most Christians are not publicity hounds, the feelings of the majority stay silent. But silence is exacting a high price in the gay community.

Eventually I understood that I am in a unique position to be a bridge between the Christian and gay communities, two groups who—while not mutually exclusive—believe they have reason to distrust each other. I can do this; moreover, I am being pulled inexorably, and it gives me great peace to act on it. Slowly, slowly, it has become part of my consciousness: it is my call.

In my conversations online, one of the guys included a link to a post on a blog. Sure, I’d heard of blogs, but I’d never read a personal one. This blog was written by some guy who called himself “Joe.My.God.” I looked it over, a little squinty-eyed in assessment, and found it smart, funny, moving, sexy, informative, and really really angry at Christians. If I am to be a bridge, then I need to know what I’m talking about. While I continued to read Joe’s posts, I investigated the links on the side column. Links led to more links. (Oh my—not that one.) I gravitated toward those which were open, literate, and moving.

So here I am today, running a Sunday School while aiming for so much more. I have made friends online; and while I recognize the imperfect perfection of the online persona, I believe I have begun genuine friendships that I hope to deepen.

Where will this take me? I’m not at all sure, but I will tell you what I hope for.

Next: Where I Am Going

Crossroads: How I Got Here

In his comment on Blue Ridge Blog, part two, Paul asked me a number of questions that got me thinking. I’m going to do my best to answer how I got here, where I am now, and where I’m going.

Late in 1995, my family learned that my older brother David (his real name) was HIV+. We learned at the same time that he was fighting lymphoma. We were reeling from this news when, in a matter of only a few weeks, David was hospitalized with dementia and released to a hospice care center.

Apparently he’d been diagnosed positive in 1984 and never said a word. For that matter, he’d never come out to us, his family, although it was hardly a secret. (It was the elephant in the room whenever we were together.) As I began regular visits to Atlanta every three weeks to see him at Haven House, I got to meet a number of his friends. I had long, honest talks with them as we processed our progressive grief. I learned that David was afraid of being abandoned by his family and so lived as though he’d already been rejected, making rare and brief tension-filled visits over the years. His friends confessed that David was especially afraid of me because I am a Christian. I had come to my faith late—age 30—and it joined me to the world for the first time. But that which had given me a sense of connection separated me from my brother.

I was determined that David know he was not alone. Many times in my visits, he did not recognize me. Other times he did, but conversation between us—strangers, really—did not flow easily. He wanted to pretend that he was going to go home soon, and that fiction prevented us from talking about the important things. But there came a moment when the door opened to really talk, and I stepped through. I told David that we’d known he was gay since high school. We knew and didn’t care who he loved; we loved him.

I wish you could have seen the change that happened literally before my eyes: David’s body went fluid as he relaxed and his smile reached his eyes. He became a man I had never seen before: loving, open, and content. We had three months—five more visits— together before he died in May 1996, a week before he would have turned 49.

I returned home from his funeral in a depression that took almost a year to lift. As was my way at the time, I responded to the pain by hiding inside myself. But my anger at the injustice that had cost me a relationship with my brother festered for a long time. It would be many years before I realized I could help to perhaps stop that schism from happening in other families.

Next: Where I Am Now