Testimony.

(I was recently asked to give a testimony to the LGBT faith group hosted by Urban Village Church here in Chicago. Here is the result.)

Waking up.

I came out of the blackout to discover that I was behind the wheel of my Buick, driving down a large, tree-lined boulevard I didn’t recognize. How had I gotten here? In what direction was I driving? Who was the person in the car with me?  How had I gotten so drunk?

I pulled over and told the stranger to get out of the car. When he didn’t seem to understand, I yelled at him and threatened to drag him out onto the shoulder of the road. Wisely, he got out.

I continued up the road and, finding a landmark, discovered that I was in a town 30 miles north of Dallas, which put me more than 50 miles from home. Upon arriving at my house an hour later, I checked the car, but discovered I had no glasses, no credit card, and no phone. I also discovered it was nearing dawn on the 25th of November. The last drink I remembered was on my birthday, November 22nd. Perhaps mercifully, the days in between are just...gone.  

On the way.

A few years earlier, my life looked completely different. In 2003 I graduated from Harding University, a Church of Christ school in Arkansas with a B.S. in Chemistry, and moved to Chicago to study at the University of Chicago Law School. I came to Chicago afraid I would be out of my intellectual depth, but I quickly discovered I thrived in the work hard/play hard environment. Which is to say, I knew how to work hard, and I desperately needed to play hard after 18 years in Texas and 4 years in Arkansas.

I did well enough in school to be asked to be a research assistant by a quirky but brilliant Contracts professor known for helping graduates secure tenure-track teaching jobs. And In my second year of law school, I was offered an internship with Skadden Arps, one of the largest and most profitable law firms in the world. Skadden, the best of the best, made its name by perfecting the art of the hostile takeover, so it isn’t exactly a warm and fuzzy place -- its main office in New York is affectionately referred to as the “Death Star.”  I split my time as an intern between the New York and London offices, and was offered a permanent job in London with a starting salary that was well on the other side of obscene. All I needed to do was graduate, and I was on my way. I didn’t ask the obvious question: on my way where?

Free from the constraints of Texas and Arkansas, I was definitely working, but I was also playing...hard. My drinking, which started in secret at my Christian college, accelerated during my first few years of law school, and particularly during my schmoozy, boozy summer internships with Skadden. But I deserved to have a little fun, right?

Issues are people, too.

My mom can sing. She doesn't have the best voice in the world, she hasn't been trained, and she won't win any Grammys, but she can sing. Years spent in Churches of Christ in the South combined with more than her fair share of hardships have given her a soulful, clear soprano voice that you just...believe. There are few things that say "home" more than to hear my mother sing as she peels potatoes or washes dishes.

I thought of my mom as I sang in church on my second Sunday back at Lakeview Church of Christ, the church that asked me to leave because I am gay. Somehow, standing among the congregation singing "Lily of the Valley" (acappella, of course) just felt right. It felt like home.

The sermon that Sunday was on community. The preacher talked about Lakeview, about what a loving, welcoming place it is, about the ways it reaches out and pulls people into its center. He was right about all of those things. Lakeview Church of Christ is a community of faith in the truest sense: people come together to be the church. They take care of each other, share limited resources, and reach out to the marginalized in the neighborhood around them.

The preacher went on to remind the congregation that we fail as a church when we begin to place doctrine above people. If we fail to honor the dignity of those around us, and think of them as labels and not individuals, we are not loving our neighbors as ourselves.  

It was, to put it mildly, surreal to hear this sermon preached in a church that asked me to leave because of what basically amounts to a doctrinal dispute. The sermon seemed to come from a good place: as Lakeview prepares to include women fully in its public worship, congregants on both sides of the "issue" need to be reminded that issues are one thing and people quite another. But I had to wonder: what about the gay folks in the congregation? Are they people too, or just another doctrinal issue?

So I was left again with the tension. All the way down to my marrow, worshiping at Lakeview felt like a return home. It was like lying on the couch listening while my mom sings quietly to herself. But Lakeview (and the Church of Christ) can no longer be home because I am still an issue, not an individual.

Mary's Song

Over the next few weeks, Lakeview Church of Christ will be deciding whether or not to include women fully in the life, worship, and leadership of the church.  I attended Lakeview yesterday (I couldn't stay away) for the first day of voting.

Two questions were being decided yesterday:

1. At Lakeview, do you think that women should be allowed to silently participate in
   the worship service by passing the communion and offering trays (no prayer)?
2. At Lakeview do you think that women should be allowed to serve in speaking
   (non-teaching) roles like announcements, scripture reading, and prayer?

Before I can say anything else, I have to talk about the way these questions are phrased.  Should women be allowed? Seriously? Not: "are women equal to men?", and not: "do you support full inclusion of women in the worship of the church?"

Come on.

On second thought, though, the questions are brutally honest.  Lakeview Church of Christ is not deciding on the worth or value or inherent ability of the women who are members. The Church is deciding what it will allow women to do in public, much like Harding does when it imposes a "no shorts before 2 PM" rule. The phrasing of the questions makes plain: women (like gays) are an issue to be debated.

As the debate around the questions continued, only men spoke.  About women. For women. For the interest of the church, and for "our children" (gag).  Finally, a young woman spoke up, during the part of the discussion about whether women should be allowed to pray in public.

This woman mentioned Miriam, Deborah, Hannah, and Mary.  And she asked the question: "If the prayers of these women can become Scripture, with authority over us today, why can't I pray in the assembly?"

Mary's words are appropriate for the conversation, I think.

My soul glorifies the Lord, *

my spirit rejoices in God, my Saviour.

He looks on his servant in her lowliness; *

henceforth all ages will call me blessed.

The Almighty works marvels for me. *

Holy his name!

His mercy is from age to age, *

on those who fear him.

He puts forth his arm in strength *

and scatters the proud-hearted.

He casts the mighty from their thrones *

and raises the lowly.

He fills the starving with good things, *

sends the rich away empty.

He protects Israel, his servant, *

remembering his mercy,

the mercy promised to our fathers, *

to Abraham and his sons for ever.

 

(Luke 1:46-55, Douay-Rheims Version)

Am I still C of C?

As some of you may know, I was asked to leave Lakeview Church of Christ in Chicago a few years ago. Though I often say I was kicked out, I guess that's not technically true: I was told that I could not serve in any public capacity and could not consider myself a member of Lakeview. I was still allowed to attend services, but any public contribution to the life of the church would be unwelcome.

This was unacceptable, so I started the process that eventually led me out of Churches of Christ and into The Episcopal Church (long story). Most of the time, I have no regrets: I found that I was unwelcome in the denomination of my birth, so I left and made a home elsewhere.

Lately, though, I've been experiencing doubts about the choices I made a few years ago. Was leaving the right thing to do? Should I have stayed and worked for change from within? Did I actually leave, or did I just step away for a while? Was TEC the right place to land? Have I given up too much of my heritage by stepping into a Catholic tradition? I dunno. Some of this may be navel gazing at its worst, and there is no obvious (or correct) answer to any of my questions.

A few months ago, I started to feel a longing for a more evangelical (for lack of a better word) expression of the faith. It started, I think when I was staring down the barrel of TEC's lengthy ordination process. As I considered whether I had a call to ordained ministry in The Episcopal Church, I found myself looking back to my roots. I have preached, I have taught classes, I have presided at the Lord's Table, and I have baptized. Do I really, then, belong in a church which limits my activities because I am not ordained? Do I need a $100,000 education to be able to serve in the way that I feel called?

This fed into broader concerns that I have about TEC. It is a wonderful place, and my current church took me in when I badly needed it. But I am not always sure that it is for me. Yes, I love the history, liturgy, music, deep theology, and welcoming approach to the LGBT community. And I don't know how I prayed before I discovered the Book of Common Prayer. But TEC is, in its way, rigid. Particularly in a church like mine (with a strong Anglo-Catholic bent), liturgy is the sacred cow. It is beautiful every week, but it is the same every week (with modifications for the season of the liturgical year).

So I took a step back, and began to consider where I belong. Again. Sigh. Am I still an evangelical?  Am I still Church of Christ?

HU Queer Press

"The religious have an unhealthy but completely understandable obsession with the more exciting sex lives of homosexuals."  -HU Queer Press

This post is definitely late in coming, but a couple of folks have asked for my thoughts on the HU Queer Press. So here's a couple of observations.

First, it should be no surprise that Harding's administration blocked the website as soon as they heard about it. Harding's administration wants many things, but the free exchange of ideas is certainly not one of them. I've said before - and I'm not alone - that Harding more closely resembles a church camp than a university, and this is the perfect example. That the administration is so afraid of conversation that it needs to block websites demonstrates how far Harding has drifted from its basic purpose. A university should be a place of academic study that welcomes free exchange of ideas. A Christian university should be a place of academic study within some sort of Christian framework. Harding's primary purpose isn't to save souls. It is to educate.

Second, if you haven't watched Dr. Burks's chapel address, you should. I give Dr. Burks credit for noting that bullying is unacceptable, regardless of your opinion of a person. That is something, I'd wager, that has never been said in chapel at Harding before, and it deserves respect. But I think the video is important for another reason: Dr. Burks basically lays out the way Churches of Christ and Harding view queer people:

1. Dr. Burks can't bring himself to say the name of the website, because apparently the word 'queer' is offensive to him. This represents a complete lack of understanding of what 'queer' means, which is understandable if you've only ever heard a word as a slur. If, on the other hand, you are familiar with Queer Nation, queer theory, queer studies, queer theology, or the last 20 years of LGBT history (or if you occasionally read a newspaper), you'd know that the word 'queer' has been reclaimed. It is a blanket term for those who don't fit in a traditional heterosexual framework. This includes gay folks, of course, but it also can include straight folks who don't adhere to established gender norms. And 'queer,' frankly, is just easier than LGBTQIA.
2. But even if he knew all this, Dr. Burks wouldn't talk about queer folks, because of his belief that queer isn't something that you are, it's something you do. Dr. Burks and Harding don't recognize gays as a type of person oriented differently than straight people. We are, instead, just regular old folks who engage in sinful behavior. This is a more subtle argument than is often given credit: by saying that gays are just sinners like everyone else, one can sound sympathetic and egalitarian while simultaneously condemning a whole class of people. One can say, for example, that gays aren't specifically targeted, because all sexual relations outside of marriage are condemned. Never mind that gays can't actually get married. Dr. Burks only discusses 'homosexual behavior' because that's all that exists in his world. There is only sexual behavior, not sexual orientation.
3. Dr. Burks also makes clear that it is what you believe that is important. This is an important CofC fallacy: you must believe the right thing or you are condemned. In the Church of Christ, for example, we believe in the Bible (what does that even mean?). Churches of Christ consistently conflate belief and faith, and consistently limit 'belief' to its narrowest possible definition. Mature faith is something deeper than the correct understanding of and belief in a set of doctrines. Mature faith is the steadfast assent of God as Lord, and a willingness to follow where God leads.  Belief in the Bible is less important than faithfulness to God.
4. Dr. Burks makes clear that what is acceptable to God is determined by the Bible, not by societal norms. Morality isn't up for democratic debate, it seems. Romans 1 and 1 Corinthians 6 make it clear that homosexual behavior is sinful, so no matter what society says, the Church must remain steadfast. I would argue, on the other hand, that it is the duty of the Church to read the Bible acknowledging that the men who wrote it were in fact...well...men. And nothing more. We have a duty to read the Bible in light of the full depth of human experience and history. Yes, scripture is God-breathed. But so are we.

Anyway, Dr. Burks's chapel announcement is interesting for what it reveals about Harding and about the traditional Church of Christ approach to queer folks, but I don't want to spend too much time talking about him (after all, Star Trek is about to come on).

I am astounded by the courage of the folks who published the HU Queer press, and I wish I'd had the balls to do something like this when I was in school. I've written before about my time at Harding: it wasn't terribly pleasant, and it was hella isolating. I was unsure of myself and my theology, and I was terrified of getting caught and outed. 

But these kids are so...positive. They are sure of themselves. They are funny, honest, and endearing. They aren't bitter or spiteful. And, because they know that they are loved by God, they are loving and gracious.  It's really impressive, and it's theologically sound. Furthermore, they give an accurate picture of the state of the gay at Harding: it is not a safe place. 

HU Queer Press: you rock.  Harding: get it together, for the (queer) love of God.

It gets better.

I can't stop thinking about the suicides that have been in the news recently.  Getting things out sometimes makes me feel better, so:

Like many gay folks, I spent some time in my youth thinking about killing myself.  I was never bullied, in the traditional sense: I was never beaten up or stuffed in a trash can, though I was called 'faggot' and 'gay' more than necessary in high school.  But things got really bad when I went to college.

At Harding University, when I was 18, 19, and 20, coming out seemed impossible.  I'd been taught all my life that people like me were going to hell, and Harding's professors, administration, and students helped keep that belief alive (I'll never forget the day my favorite college professor compared gays to dogs).  It was par for the course that being gay was not just a sin, but it was a form of mental illness.

I spent my freshman year trying to figure out how to be a better Christian, in hopes that all the 'homosexual' thoughts in my head would somehow go away.  In my sophomore year, though, I realized that my soul was losing the battle against my  mind and body.  I thought I was doomed, and I thought there was no way out.  I correctly predicted that I would lose my church, and I correctly predicted that I would lose my family.  I wasn't sure if I would keep my friends.

It was an awful year.  I felt completely trapped and alone.  A part of myself was completely cut off from both God and the world.  It was then that I began to fantasize about killing myself.  I thought about pulling into oncoming traffic, I thought about jumping off a building, and I thought many, many times about breaking my dorm room mirror and cutting my throat or wrists.  The last fantasy was most prevalent, since I couldn't stand the sight of myself.

Anticipation of things to come got me through that year:  I was slated to study abroad after my sophomore year, and the excitement and anticipation of seeing a larger world excited me and kept me sane.  I'm glad it did, because my time in Florence was the first time in my life I achieved some form of inner peace.   When one sits on a hill overlooking one of the most beautiful cities in the world, one gains a little perspective.  My problems didn't seem so big, mainly because my world got so much bigger.

And then things started to get better.  After returning from Europe, I began to go out and meet other gay people.  I came out to my friend Robyn, who let me cry and then told me she loved me.  I slowly (and ungracefully) began the process of coming out, and there was no going back.

The coming out process is a search for personal integrity.  I would not achieve that sense of wholeness until much later in life (when I got sober), and I occasionally feel like it can slip away if I don't pay attention and guard my spiritual life.

Some bad things happened after I came out, and life didn't always seem like it had improved.  But it slowly and surely did get better.

My point is this:  bullying comes in many forms.  It's the big jock beating up the skinny kid, sure.  But it's also in the use of the word 'gay' as a slur, it's also in the assumption that men should behave a certain way and women another, and it's in the university that teaches students to condemn behavior first and ask questions later.

Oh, and bullying happens one more place.  It is codified in Christian doctrine.  Teaching that gay people are sick, teaching that our relationships are invalid, and teaching that we cannot fully participate in the life of the Church is bullying, plan and simple.  An attempt to silence the weak, and to push us into conforming with straight folks' expectations is not Christianity, and it is no different than stuffing a skinny kid into a locker.

Gay kids:  God is love, and God loves you.  Any person who acts unlovingly toward you is acting on their own.  They do not speak for the Church.

Straight kids:  Play nice.  And repent.  And tell your churches to repent.  The kingdom of heaven is at hand, where there is neither male nor female.

It really does get better.

Love, not Fear.

I ran into a college acquaintance at a wedding a couple of weeks ago.  We now live in the same city, so he and I had coffee and caught up.  Since we are both gay graduates of Harding University, and were both born and raised in the Church of Christ, part of our conversation turned naturally to our shared experiences. And though we didn't know each other that well in college, we both ask a lot of questions (and both speak somewhat frankly), so the conversation got a little heavy for a little while.

Rehashing college life and the coming out process always leaves me feeling raw, and I can't seem to shake it this time.  For the first time in months (years?), I find my thoughts constantly turning back to Harding and the Church of Christ.  Honestly, it's a bit unsettling.

My friend's story is different from mine, but parallel.   He came out to his family less than a year ago, and his parents no longer speak to him.  His siblings have been hard on him.  All in all, it's been a very unpleasant experience, and it seems as though some truly awful things have been said to him.  He hasn't been to a Church of Christ in a very long time, and currently does not attend church at all (and who can blame him?).

This friend also caught me up on the story of another gay Harding graduate, who has been dating yet another gay Harding graduate for years.  It seems we are everywhere.  Both men in this relationship were raised in the Church of Christ--one by a somewhat famous preacher--and both were outed against their wishes and have been disowned or shunned.

It just keeps happening.  Families are torn apart by unyielding doctrine and arrogant Biblical literalism.  Parents think they can save their children by shunning them.  Ministers and elders doubt their ability to lead congregations because they have raised gay sons.  Fear of hell drives the conversation, not love of neighbor.

And so I say again:  A church that casts its sons and daughters out of fellowship in order to preserve purity is a church that has abandoned the gospel of Christ.  A church that teaches its members to act out of fear and not out of love is a church that does not grasp the generosity and radical hospitality of God.

This rejection sticks with us.  As I heard my friend describe the events of the last year, I felt pain for him, but I also remembered my own rejections.  I remembered the letters I received from family members, I remembered being excluded from fellowship, and I remembered that awful realization that I no longer had a church home.  And though I have dealt with the resentment in my life, the pain can still sneak up on me.

But what is the response of the gay person to be?  How are we to deal with fear-driven rejection?  Should we roll over?  Should we strike back?  Should we turn our back on the church?

To do so would mean listening to the gospel of fear, not the gospel of love.  God is love, and those who hear and understand the gospel respond to rejection with hospitality, and respond to division with peacemaking.  A positive, loving, confident understanding of true Christian religion has nothing to fear from fundamentalism, and can therefore look beyond divisive doctrine to make peace.  The realization that we are beloved children of God gives us the power to be forgiving and gracious.

We must still be firm:  exclusion of gays and lesbians from the public ministry of the church is sin.  Excluding a gay Christian from the fellowship is schism.  Excluding one's child from one's family is bigotry.  But I, as a Christian, do not have the luxury of acting out of fear, hate, or resentment.  The love of God compels me to love my neighbor.

I hurt for my friend, I hurt for the gay folks currently at Harding, and I hurt for my own family and myself.  But I am also confident that the love of God is sufficient and unfailing, so I have nothing to fear.