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Oct. 14, 2007
Five years ago, shortly after I started my ministry here at the church, my husband, who is also a minister, interviewed with a congregation in his denomination. His interview with the search committee was bumpy to say the least. It was going fine until one of the members asked if he was “a liberal.” It went down hill from there with questions about whether or not he would let his preacher wife (i.e. me) speak from the pulpit and whether or not he would use the church to perform gay weddings. Brian came home weary, haggard and angry. Surprisingly, despite the interview, the church did invite him to come down to preach the next Sunday and stay for lunch afterwards. It was one of my Sundays out of the pulpit, so I joined him. He already knew he would not take the job, but he did agree to preach. Thinly veiled in a story he wrote about an endless bowl of tomato soup -- Brian preached a message of inclusive, universal love.
Unfortunately, the sermon, great as it was -- did not bring an instant conversion to the congregation. During the lunch a man, I would guess in his mid-40's, came up to me and started a conversation. It began with familiar pleasantries and introductions before turning to the issue of homosexuality. He asked me where I stood on the issue. I told him “I don't believe there is anything wrong with homosexuality, and I certainly do not think it is a sin.”
As I answered him, I could see his body physically tightening up, in defensiveness maybe, in anger or discomfort -- I am not sure, but I did not expect what came out his mouth next. I thought he would yell at me, tell me I was going to hell. Instead, he told me that his brother was gay. I relaxed thinking oh maybe an ally. But as I felt my heart opening, he immediately told me that he no longer had contact with his brother because he was gay. “I no longer have a brother,” he said, “He is dead to me.”
The chilling words, the biting tone of his voice contradicted his expression -- grief stricken eyes reflecting sadness and loss. Instead of judgement, I felt sorry for this man -- sorry that his church and his faith taught him that he had to choose between God and his brother. What a terrible choice to live with. His theology literally tore his family apart, leaving him and his brother isolated from one another.
I expect this man might not look at it the way I did. He would probably explain that his sadness is not about his religion, but the grief he feels that his brother will not change, that his brother has nothing to look forward to but hell. And yes, believing that about someone you love would make anyone sad.
Too many churches, too many religions -- most of them in fact, teach that homosexuality is a sin. But when I think of this man and his brother, when I hear Kelly's story and countless others -- the real sin is separation. Any theology that teaches us to separate ourselves from others -- that is the sin.
Last week, our guest speaker Gabriel Palmer-Fernandez arrived at the same conclusion. We must cultivate in this world a sense of universal morality, an understanding of universal connection among all people, regardless of difference if we are to move humanity beyond the tragedies of Matthew Shepard's murder, beyond hate crimes, beyond genocide, beyond families that reject one another on the basis of who one loves.
A few months ago a woman shared the grief she felt over the loss of her church. She missed the singing in the choir, her family that was there, the community she felt. But as the pastor preached the love of God, he also preached that homosexuality was a choice – “the wrong choice.” She had a choice alright -- it was not a choice of sexual orientation -- it was a choice to either be who she was, or to lie and hide her true self. Her choice was not to hide, not to deny -- but to be exactly who she was. She came here seeking comfort and solace, but the presence of our church alone was not, and could not, completely fill the hole created by being rejected by her family and community.
The statistics on hate crimes and depression among GLBT teens are ghastly. GLBT students are five times more likely to miss school because of feeling unsafe. And “GLBT teens are at a four times higher risk for suicide than their straight peers. 42% of homeless youth identify as lesbian, gay or bisexual. And 75% of people committing hate crimes are under 30 -- one in three are under 18.” [quoted from National Organization of Women. http://www.now.org/issues/lgbi/stats.html ( October 13, 2007 )]
What we teach our children, what we teach in our churches and in our homes about who is “one of us” matters. These statistics show us how damaging theologies of separation, hate and silence are to children, whether they are gay or straight. The lives these statistics represent cry out for a response.
For over 200 years our Universalist faith has proclaimed no one is outside of God's love -- no one is outside of the bonds of human community and unity. But when young people (and so far it has all been young people) come to my office to share their stories of coming out to their families, when I read these statistics, I know that this message has not been preached enough, it has not yet made the difference it needs to make in the world. For when these kids come out, they are getting cut-off, kicked-out and silenced.
In a world where this is a happening our becoming a Welcoming Congregation offers something truly needed -- a theology which teaches that difference need not mean divisiveness, that diversity is something to be celebrated and embraced, not something with which to divide, deny and judge others.
Becoming an officially welcoming congregation means getting our message of love and inclusion out of these walls and into peoples lives, into the life of our community. It means when an event is hosted by YSUnity, or the Pride Center , or some other organization in support of the GLBT community, we can be represented as a congregation. It means when we set up an outreach booth at YSU for students, we can advertise that we welcome GLBT people. It means we can hang a rainbow flag outside the church if we want and let everyone know that there are churches that stand out against hate. It means if the press asks me, or anyone calls the church and asks, I can state unequivocally that we believe homophobia is the sin, not homosexuality.
The truth is our work is not intended to change the minds of adults set in their faith. Our work is to make sure that people who have been excluded or silenced know there is a place where they are welcome. And that young people whose minds and choices and beliefs are still being formed realize that there is diversity in religious perspectives and that there are churches that don't see homosexuality as a sin. By proclaiming our own truth, we sew seeds of doubt in theologies of hate and division.
Friday marked the 9th anniversary of Matthew Shepard's death. Thursday, October 11th, the day before the anniversary was National Coming Out Day -- an internationally observed awareness day of what it means to “come out” as gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender.
The message conveyed in the tragic murder of Matthew Shepard was a message to the gay community that you are not safe. The reality is if you are gay there are many situations in which you can not be completely open about who you are. You may have hide your sexuality, keep secret the name of your partner, or even that you have one for fear of personal attack, job loss, discrimination, even losing your home. Standing up and coming out is frightening. It means risking a lot.
As a congregation, in our Welcoming Congregation workshops, we have begun to know this fear -- to feel it ourselves. We acknowledge there may be consequences to taking a public stand. In feeling this fear, we begin to understand at least in part the reality of oppression that some people live with everyday.
The message of “Coming Out” day is not to become victims of fear. Becoming a Welcoming Congregation is a way for our church to “come out” of the closet and not to keep our openness a secret. By doing so, we become a safe place for every person regardless of gender identity or sexual orientation to be who they are, to come as they are, to have a community of straight and gay people alike who know your family situation, who care about your spouse and partner, your children -- we become a place you don't have to hide. But beyond this, it is important that straight people stand up with and for equality, and equal protection for all people -- because straight people have a better position to speak out. We may face criticism and ridicule but there are laws to protect us and our jobs and our congregations. Gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people do not share equal protection under the law. In most states is it legal for them to be discriminated against. And without federal hate crimes legislation (which still must be signed by our President), harassment and intimidation can continue with out fear of punishment, because they may not be against the law.
Our voices -- the voice of a diverse congregation of gay and straight and bi and trans people together matters -- it is the strongest voice we have -- when we stand and speak together -- as one. Voting to become a welcoming congregation allows us to speak with one voice, proclaiming and demanding equality.
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