God and the Pro-Gay Christian(s)

“You’re a pro-sodomy false teacher.”

That was the title another pastor gave me in 1996. As I read the very public words he had written, fear sliced through me, and I worried whether I would survive the charge.

Was my time as a pastor ending?

It didn’t. I continued in the same congregation who knew and loved me, and that other pastor later apologized for the pain he had caused, and for making a judgment he realized had no basis.

Even still, the fear of it lingers.

And it was just five years ago that someone sent a letter to selected members of the congregation where I now pastor detailing the myriad reasons the authors were leaving. While they had some legitimate reasons in their long list, underlying them all was their belief that I was leading the congregation astray regarding issues surrounding the ordination of homosexuals.

As my mind struggled to comprehend the charges being leveled, I felt the familiar fear slice through me once more. And I wondered whether I would be able to survive as the pastor of this congregation I love.

But here’s the thing. While I feared for my livelihood in those two difficult times, I never feared for my life.

And that is the difference between being gay and pro-gay.

I am glad to be a pastor within a denomination that allows for marriage equality. But I have always been mindful that I serve within a congregation in which there are many who do not share my gladness. And that awareness sometimes paralyzes me, not because I am afraid of their condemnation, but because I have been their pastor long enough to love them, whether we agree or not. And I know how deeply they struggle with what faithfulness requires of them.

And then something like the carnage at Pulse in Orlando happens, and we all search for answers to questions we never wanted to ask.

One of those questions confronted me yesterday evening. It was from someone whose writing always moves me. She simply posed the question:

If you’re a religious leader and have not publicly affirmed the LGBTQ community–are you complicit in violence against them? Silence is LOUD.

I think the word that catches me is “publicly.”

Does it count for what I’ve written? Or the conversations our congregation’s session has had? Or the conversations over twenty-six years of ministry in which vulnerable sharing with congregation and community members have shaped my beliefs and theirs? Or does it only have to do with the one-sided conversations that some pastors choose to engage in from the pulpit?

Since its publication in 2014, I have often recommended Matthew Vines’ book, God and the Gay Christian: The Biblical Case in Support of Same-Sex Relationships, in my conversations with others, especially those who find it hard to be affirming. And I continue to be surprised at how few people are willing to even read his words.

Earlier today, Vines shared a brief essay called “What Christians Must Do in the Wake of Orlando.” While I encourage you to read the full text, these are his suggestions:

1. First, don’t take offense at LGBT anger, even when it’s directed at you. The church has not exactly been a place of welcome and safety for our community.
2. Second, please mourn with us, and please do not erase the fact that the shooter targeted people for death because they were lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender.
3. Lastly, please avoid qualifying your lament in any way.

The most surprising line in the whole essay, to me at least, is the first:

On Saturday, I attended my first same-sex wedding, hosted at a Christian church in the Bible Belt.

It wasn’t the church or location that surprised me. No, it was something else. I had assumed that the author of a book like the one he wrote would have been a frequent guest at same-sex weddings.

And I certainly never imagined that I would perform one as a pastor before he attended one as a guest.

On the last Saturday in May, I had the honor of standing with Jen and Betsy to bless their life together. And what I discovered in the midst of all that joy was a level of pain I was unprepared for.

So many in the gathered congregation came up to me to say thanks for the words I offered, and it was clear that their faith meant something to them, especially to the ones who had left the church because they felt unworthy, unwelcome, unloved. It seemed as if my words were the most surprising thing they had heard in years, reminding them of something they had hoped, but been made to doubt, was true, that they are loved and cherished by the God to whom they belong.

I honestly believe I did more for the church that day than in all my other weddings combined.

Whether we choose to believe it or not, there are many, many faithful people who have left the church in response to our words, to our attitudes, to our fears. And, while our actions may be driven by our attempt to be faithful, it doesn’t seem like that to them.

At the end of his essay, Vines tells us Christians the thing that is most needed in these days:

What we need to hear is this: God loves lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people unconditionally.

And he’s right.

But a second thing is like it.

We Christians could commit to loving that way as well.