I Love Jesus and I Affirm LGBTQI

This post has been a long time coming. My social media interactions this week finally put the nail in the coffin of me being demure about my beliefs about homosexuality. Ever since I left the church of Christ (and conservative Christianity), I've come to place an incredibly high value on conversation. The more I've learned to listen, the better I've become at speaking. I've always loved talking, but in my need to be right, it was more of a talking at versus a listening to. And when I listened, I heard bullet points that I needed to negate in my response. I had conversations to teach rather than to learn. Many of us frame this as "outreach." Rather than seeking to validate the feelings and viewpoint of my "opponent", I tried to dismantle their beliefs in order to further validate myself. While that mentality is not exclusive to conservative faith, that is the environment in which I learned it. Because if someone can prove you wrong, then you are, plain and simple. And being wrong might mean you're bad. And if you're bad, God doesn't love you. That's why we constantly have to fight to be good. (I know, crazy).
As we all know, this debate style can get destructive very quickly, especially on social media. Many of my dear friends have encouraged me to stop hosting and moderating cultural conversations on Facebook, knowing that I get attacked, have false motives placed upon me, while trying desperately to avoid taking the bait. And let's face it: I've got health issues and small children to raise and when you can't sleep because you've got tears rolling down your face and thoughts racing through your wired mind, one wonders if conversation is indeed worth the trouble. 
I continue on because I've become who I am (of which I'm very proud) partly through such experiences. I've honed my values through hearing many perspectives on issues of importance to me. I've always loved diversity and I want it to remain. I believe in God as Creator. I see his artistry most clearly in the diversity of mankind. But we can't live alongside people who are different from us and get along and grow as a collective society if we can't see things from another perspective. Just for a moment, we must learn to suspend our background, biases, assumptions, yes - even our faith, to try to understand what the "other" might be thinking and feeling. What would it be like to occupy their headspace, all while assigning them the same level of dignity and humanity we give to ourselves?
What does this have to do with homosexuality? If I am going to form a theology based on what I believe about homosexuals and God, I must begin by listening to homosexuals. I want to know their stories, to have them teach me about what it means to be them. This is how we are shaped, by story. And I want to be shaped. I want to be open, to hear, to change, to learn. How can I develop a theology about someone I don't know, don't love, don't value personally in my life?
This, of course, is my adulthood speaking. I grew up being told what God said about homosexuality (that it was wrong, unnatural, and its offenders were going to hell). I was raised to listen to God first and only. That everything must be seen through the lens we assign him (you better believe we assign it through our biblical interpretation) and let the chips fall where they may, regardless of how we or anyone else feels about it. This worked for me. Until I got into relationships with people outside of conservative Christianity. Once I got to know some gay people, I went back to the drawing board. It's okay to start with scripture. But if that is all that informs our beliefs, humans all around us be damned (pun sadly intended) then we might be missing something really important. Something game-changing. Something people all around us are getting beaten for, losing their lives for, walking away from God for. 
If we believe that God is alive and working today, then we must admit that he is working in this generation, in this time, in our culture. Not that we assume all beliefs are therefore valid because of the time we're in, but is it possible that certain truths were veiled from humanity in a time where their implementation was not possible? What I mean is, if slavery was always wrong, but the Bible was written in a time where it was not socially possible (we had not evolved to the point to consider it) to abolish it, could it be that it addressed slavery to the level we could handle in the time the Bible was written? Meaning, rather than saying slavery was wrong (though we all agree upon that now and with solid Biblical support to that end), the Bible challenged slave owners to be kind and for slaves to serve with love. Many people used scripture to advocate that slavery was okay with God because he did not say to abolish it. And yet we look back now and call bullshit, right? I hope so. 
Is it possible that homosexuality was only seen within the context of child slavery and idol worship at the time the Bible was written? Can we all agree that men should not rape little boys? I believe we can. Can we say that unprotected orgies in the name of some false god and the taking advantage of little children is probably not good for society? Yup, I can see that being constituted as "homosexual offenders" type of behavior. Perhaps that means we, as Christians should stop supporting industries that enslave and sexually traffic children? That we should worship the one true God we believe in and not have orgies with children as part of our praise time? We must learn to make distinctions between sodomizing young children in idol worship and adults who are in a committed, loving relationship who want to make a family and live in peace. The fact that this even needs to be said is appalling to me. 
Is it possible that there was no concept of sexual orientation at the time the Bible was written? That we weren't ready (nor was science) to understand the nuances of gender, sex and orientation that we're aware of now? Does that mean that we've outgrown the Bible, that it's irrelevant, that we're "past" God? Or does it mean that we have permission to continue to read the Bible through a new lens, through this time, incorporating our experiences and relationships and the word of the people we're condemning before writing off an entire victimized people in the name of the God who made them exactly as they are? 
My relationships with gay people up til now are all with people raised in conservative Christian circles. How do you think they felt during puberty or later when they realized they were gay? Seriously. You, heterosexual, married, Christian, think about it. HOW DID THEY FEEL? Do you think they were scared? Do you think they wished they could un-gay themselves? Do you think they tried? Do you think they felt lonely? Do you think they felt like they had a huge secret, that if they could just hide this terrible abomination, they might get to keep their faith, their family, their future and their community? If they had a choice, what do you think they would have chosen? 
I don't believe being gay is a burden. I think we as a church made it a burden. Our society has made it a burden as well, though it's way ahead of the church on trying to make amends. Jesus saw people, not sins. He saw hearts. Where are our hearts? If you believe gay people are going to hell, are you upset about it? I really, really hope you are. I hope you're begging God every night to change his mind. God knows I used to.
Outside of how we interpret scripture, what do we know of the character of God? I think this is very important. If we know of God to be loving and patient, giving humanity every opportunity to turn to him and embrace the shocking love and communion he offers, why would he make people gay and then condemn them for it, with no hope of redemption? I think this is why we want so desperately for orientation to be a choice. Otherwise, God looks pretty bad, right? But if every time we ask a homosexual when they chose to be gay and they turn around and ask us when we chose to be heterosexual, we are in a bit of a conundrum.
Well, they can be celibate. Huh, okay. Let's all stand in solidarity then and say to God, while you made us beautiful, sexual and full of impulse to engage in the emotional and physical intimacy of sex (some might even say designed for it), we're all gonna boycott it. If one of us has to be celibate to please God, then I guess we all gotta be. How many of us would honestly sign up for that? Now, I know some gay Christians (no, that's not an oxymoron) feel convicted to be celibate. Go for it, peeps. Line up with the priests and nuns and be amazing individuals. Seriously. That actually IS a choice. But it's a choice made personally, not for you by people who never have to consider that as a valid option. 
Well then, let them have sex but don't let them have the dignity of calling it love, marriage or family. They will always be less than God's perfect design. You know what this reminds me of, the prodigal son's older brother. Man, I used to really identify with him (before I realized I was just a regular human, rather than someone very holy, deserving and self-sacrificing). Are we stingy with the love of God? When we've worked a whole day, do we begrudge the person worked 2 hours and receives the same pay? Do we withhold the dignity of marriage and rights because we want to keep some of it for ourselves? If you want things to be fair, time to turn to a different religion, folks. God will always be more merciful than we are. And this is the crux of it for me. If I can imagine that gay people are worthy, beautiful, human and deserving, I'm pretty sure God knew it all along and was just kindly waiting for me to catch up.
* For some suggested reading (this is by no means exhaustive. In fact, I read all these articles just in the last few days), please see the following:
- For insight into what it means to be a devout gay Christian, read this or you can borrow my copy if you're local.
- For thoughts on business, Christianity and politics, see this. 
- For thoughts on serving others while still maintaining a conservative faith, see this.
- For thoughts on the risk of not affirming gays as Christians, see this. 
- For an incredible documentary on how Christians reconcile the Bible with how to treat homosexuals and the damage poorly handling that has caused, see For the Bible Tells Me So on Netflix.
I can't tell you HOW MUCH INFORMATION is available on this subject that might be counter to a literal reading of these Scriptures but if your heart has ever felt uneasy in this theology, I encourage you to listen to that and read more and talk more and listen more. This is a worthy pursuit.

Sometimes I Really Miss the Box

I've always been an adventurous person. I've been on many wild trips around the world. If you haven't sat me down to tell you stories, you'll have to ask me someday about the time I got chased down by creepy men in Mexico because of my long blonde hair or the time I was mistaken for a prostitute on my 19th birthday in Paris. How about the time I thought I could go ice climbing in Interlaken, Switzerland and instead spent the afternoon on the back of a moped with a would-be Abercrombie model. Remember the 10 days I spent singing in a band on the streets of Russia when I was 14? Or the countless nights I've spent on a benches in foreign train stations and on the floor of British airports. I've got anecdotes about clubbing at gay clubs in London and the summers I've slept in tents for weeks at a time in Northern Ireland with unshowered teenaged boys. How about when I ate only gelato for an entire weekend in Venice without getting sick or when I almost flew through the window of a bus in Argentina? The list goes on and on. I absolutely love being out of my element, flying by the seat of my pants and just seeing what happens. This is greatly juxtaposed by my rule-following, religious perfectionism and care-taking. It's really hard to live inside a box (narrow theology) and outside of it (wandering sojourner). I've waffled between the two my whole life. 
Theologically, I'm very much living into that adventurous spirit and running far, far away from any boxes at all. But on days like today, when I'm still in my pajamas at noon, caring for a fussy toddler and trolling through my Facebook feed, sometimes that damn box nostalgia kicks in and I feel sad. 
I went to private school all through my childhood, culminating in a high school experience that was a real faith high. It's a time in my life filled with treasured memories, wonderful friends and a total certainty about Jesus. This world is a place where "Jesus" is everywhere, where struggle always has a purpose and where everything fits together. Everything is viewed through the lens of faith and nothing works outside of it. Sometimes I really wish that had been enough for me. I genuinely do. I see pictures of old friends children dancing excitedly on a stage with "Jesus" scrawled on the wall behind them. Dancing for Jesus looks so fun and safe. His name comes up in every conversation. He pertains to your day, your politics, your health, your relationships. (If this sounds like I'm mocking this life, I'm really not. I'm being genuine when I say I miss it and I in no way judge the faith or lives of these people.) I remember when I saw him everywhere. There was a certain comfort in having his name written on the back of every puzzle piece of my life. Somehow everything really did fit together.
I don't deny that Jesus could be in the childrens dancing. In fact, I wrote a piece not long ago that clearly stated my awe and reverent feelings witnessing the community experience of my daughters school performance. And I'm not saying God won't someday put the pieces of our lives together in a beautiful tapestry that suddenly makes sense. It would be pretty amazing if he did. I'm just no longer operating under that assumption. That's just not how I view the world; it's not how I frame my experiences or how I fit together the stories of people all around me. I'm not going to force my Jesus stake in the ground and declare a parcel of land for myself. I'm not in a place to authoritatively put his name on my choices, my views and my circumstances. I don't want to pull out Bible verses at the ready and speak with confidence about how everyone should be living their lives. I'm not sure what I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, so why would I put that on other people? 
Perhaps this is the difference between faith and hope. "Faith is the confidence that what we hope for will actually happen; it gives us assurance about things we cannot see." (NLT, Heb. 11:1). I hope God is here. I really, really do. I think he is. Am I confident that everything I hope for will come to pass? No. I'm not sure how we can truly be confident about that which we cannot fully know, see or experience in the present. But man, do I hope. Oh, I hope for so many things! And like any deeply-held hope, these things shape the way I see the world and how I live my life.
Above all, I hope that God is good. Man, I really hope that's true. That's the one that I base all my other hopes on. I hope that God made me human on purpose, that his love and my humanity are enough for Him, that I don't have to be ashamed of myself or pressure myself to be more than I am. I hope that the Jesus who loved the pariahs and called out the proud elite is still relevant. I hope that being a good neighbor, accepting and loving myself and living into my personal values brings good into a sometimes very shitty world. I hope working on my own emotional and spiritual baggage will benefit my precious daughters and the world by extension. I hope gay people were made by God as gay as the day is long, that he does not condemn that which he has made inherent and that they will be given the dignity, equality and justice they deserve as human beings. I hope that blacks and whites can come together as two sides of the same coin, having been made equal and beautiful humans. I hope that we learn to identify ourselves in our racial power struggle and fight for equality, even when that means admitting we're part of the problem. I hope everyone experiences the glory and the all-encompassing grace and love of God whether in this life or the next, that all that has been lost will be made whole, complete and perfect in the end. 
I may not live in total confidence and assurance, but living in hope has become enough for me. Don't be afraid to step out of the box if those walls start to close in on you. I really do believe that God is big enough and exists outside of all the lines we want to draw on his behalf. Perhaps there's hope for all of us after all.