A Conversation With A Gay Christian

This last Friday night afforded me the opportunity to hang out with my best friend and his co-workers at The Dubliner on Greenville. I had the pleasure of meeting some cool new people, including a married lesbian couple. I don’t get this opportunity very often so I wanted to not only get to know my friend’s co-workers, but also see what I could learn and put some of my recent thinking on this subject to the test.

I had a brief conversation with one of the girls in which I minced no words explaining that I needed a better understanding of the issue of homosexuality and marriage, particularly regarding its relationship to Christianity. I did not lay it on too thick since I don’t ever want to “use” anyone just to get information and, since we had just met, I didn’t want to be a tool. We saw eye-to-eye on several things and didn’t take the conversation very far. I made a friend and was happy with that (she also let me check out her new iPhone 5 since mine had not arrived yet.)

Later on that evening, I had a chance to talk for quite a while with her spouse. I could not have anticipated this kind of discussion in all my life. This girl was raised Christian and still wanted to follow Jesus with all her heart, soul, and mind. I admitted my ambivalence but made it clear that judgement is not my thing and that I would rather communicate love in areas that aren’t as clear as many of us think than to alienate anyone. What I did not expect was that she empathized with my ambivalence. She didn’t know what to think, either.

So there we were—two people trying to figure out how to best follow Jesus. Both of us more repentant in some areas than others. Both of us ruminating on the mercy of God extending to every Christian who is not now and never will be fully repentant (at least not enough to stop sinning.) I told her many things that night, but the last thing I said to her was, “Don’t give up.” I hope that even an atheist having a conversation with her, seeing how much she loves Jesus, would tell her the same thing. That a Christian, who isn’t sure about what Scripture teaches on the subject (which we discussed for a while—anyone who thinks it’s as clear as many say it is has not done their exegetical or historical homework, or stopped when enough evangelical writers confirmed what they already wanted to think) would tell her the same thing.

Why do we feel the need to “win” this battle? Why do we want to levy political help to force our point? It pains me to think that another believer (who, in all fairness, is highly likely to be much more faithful than I in so many other areas) would do anything less than communicate God’s mercy, love, and grace toward us all. How repentant does someone need to be before you judge them worthy of your reiteration of God’s love for them? Does the cross fail to be an example at that point? Jesus said, “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do” about the people who knowingly put him to death. Yet we assume that those who cannot imagine being anything other than gay somehow have a fuller knowledge and “know what they do” to the point where we’d rather win some apologetical battle than communicate the depth of the mercy and love of Christ as shown on the cross.

I can’t take that pill anymore. I’ve done my homework. I’ve weighed these issues carefully. I keep listening with the knowledge that I could very well be wrong. But until I have some face-to-face with God about the less-clear issues wherein He blesses my hermeneutic, I think I’ll go with what all Christians know is crystal clear: that Christ’s sacrifice is sufficient, and that it shows God’s love to every one of us who is not fully repentant, and that it’s our responsibility to God and to others to communicate that.

Christians and Homosexuality—Part II

Historically, Christians have lost in the public arena. That is how it all began, in fact, with the greatest loss, the death of Jesus of Nazareth. His policies were not forced or voted upon to be implemented. He did not rally like-minded people for His cause. He gave up, lost, humbled himself. He loved while still proclaiming his message.

What would it cost a Christian to love without pretense? We hear of our offenses against those whom we invited to this or that social function if only to “witness” to them. Our message is so great we belie its patience and humility through our forced “boiling down” of the message and trickery. What if we gave up this battle against homosexual unions? What would it really cost us?

We tire of “the left” preaching tolerance when it seems to have tolerance only with its like-minded constituents, which is agreement, not tolerance. Yet we pretend to accept everyone with our gospel message while declaring war on them. Are we afraid that we don’t possess enough love? That God can’t love people despite their sin? Are we so sin-free that complete repentance is demanded of everyone else before we will give them an opportunity?

I want to take things a step further. What do we lose even if homosexuality is merely a preference? What battle are we really fighting? When did the gospel—allegedly our greatest responsibility—take a backseat to the issue of American citizens’ rights to homosexual civil unions? I ask because I don’t see the stand against intoxication, which is already legal. I don’t see the stand against obesity, which is already legal.

The point is not to give up and allow anything and everything. The point is to pick our battles against the right things. We are battling sin; not homosexuals. How much greater would our message of hope and love be if we conceded all the ground we feel entitled to in order to present a humble, weakened, compassionate, understanding Gospel? What impact has the gospel had in our lives that we attribute to Jesus campaigning and dividing the country on political issues? None—we proclaim his humility, his love, his willingness to die with the sinners and become one himself.

Can we still point sinful people toward the gospel? I certainly hope so. The world is sick and Jesus is its healer. Sinful people need to be pointed toward Jesus. We don’t need any more people being pointed toward homosexuals and pretending they are the enemy. We don’t need any more bad logic that says allowing homosexual unions means not preaching truthfully about sin. Do we really need to identify everyone’s individual sins before we can feel good about preaching the gospel? We are all born into sin, into a broken system. Suppose you do “fix” that gay girl or guy, what about their pride? What about their lust? What about their anger? What about their idolatry? What about their greed? Do you also need to beat them over the head about those things? Or can you stand firm in the truth of the Gospel that all are under the power of sin and all need freedom from it?

Picture this: you support homosexual unions and can tell a gay couple that you fought for their civil rights because you believe in their humanity and dignity as such; not as trickery or a “foot in the door,” but as a true display of humble love. You then let them know that you have tried to love as Jesus did, by humbling yourself even where you weren’t sure or disagreed; not to add another church-goer but because such a message of love ought to be proclaimed. You refused to dehumanize them because you love them. That is tolerance. You might have been sure that homosexual activity was sinful, but how sure were you that you needed to oppose it like you did? How sure were you that it was “the” issue it has become? How sure were you that you spent as much time sharing the gospel or sending money to impoverished people?

How much time did Jesus spend condemning people and fighting against their public rights?

How much time did Jesus spend welcoming outcasts, feeding the hungry, proclaiming hope despite sinfulness?

On the Virtue of Disagreement

For most of my young life, I went with the flow. I was a good kid, following orders, obeying my parents, doing well in school. I can count on one hand the number of times I actually had any discipline issues with authority figures.

But midway through high school, I decided to become a contrarian. Clearly, intentionally, and without hesitation. Now, I know that this is in no way unique, but it was a watershed moment for my own development, and I still carry the tendency even today for my brain to start itching ever so slightly if I haven’t had a good dustup in a long while. I adopted the attitude of “if I haven’t pissed off someone today, I haven’t been doing my job.”

Things came to a head when a classmate of mine, a girl for whom I’d previously harbored a secret crush, discovered feminism. She began to test the volume of her roar, and I took that as a signal to respond. Crossing swords over our adolescence-addled understanding of gender theory in English class, in the instrument locker, and at the lunchtable couldn’t have been more ridiculous or less important, but it was FUN.

At least, it was up until the moment of desperate frustration when she said to me, “Where do you get the right to your opinion?”

Whatever that opinion may have been, it’s been lost to the mists of memory. But the question remains, stirring up subtle feelings of shock and anger even today. Where did I get the right to challenge her, to express an opinion that contradicted her, to tell her that she was wrong?

Years later, my opinions, such as they were, have changed dramatically. With regard to feminism, I find myself much more sympathetic to the point of view that she was attempting to articulate at the time, even if my philosophical presuppositions have shifted dramatically from where hers (and mine) used to be (and, I presume, hers still are). I was wrong to think that, as I maintained even through college, the role of women in society should be determined by the writings held sacred by a particular religious community.

Some years back, I went online and searched for a letter I wrote to the student newspaper of my college. Published in the “opinion” section, it was titled “Women are Gifts from God,” and established (so I thought) my utmost respect for a class of people that was so favored by the divine that boundaries had been erected for their own protection. My mother thought it was lovely and shared it with her friends, physical evidence of my upstanding religiosity and faithfulness. A fellow student published a contradictory letter the following day, titled “Women are More than Gifts,” which called out my pious chauvinism and deftly deflated my spiritual ego. Though at the time I was angry and offended, my apostasy has significantly changed that perspective. A few years ago, I found my opponent’s email address and sent her a decade-belated note of appreciation, noting that her criticism at the time had finally been recognized and valued.

As an apostate, being wrong is a part of my history, a part of my identity. The realization that I was truly, seriously, emphatically wrong on one of the most important questions of the human condition is always with me. And I think for many people, there is a significant tendency towards anxiety of error, which is why those in psychology spend time studying the strong effects of confirmation bias.

I can see why that would be the case. Being wrong doesn’t just mean “incorrect” or “untrue.” We use the same word to mean “unjust,” “dishonest,” and “immoral.” The latest billboard campaign by the Freedom From Religion Foundation makes use of this double-meaning to antagonize the Catholic Church.

An erstwhile Catholic, now apostate.

And I think that people in general tend to internalize that second meaning of the word, so much so that to be wrong about something, even sincerely wrong, is to be thought of as being a bad person in some way. But being trained as a scientist, I had to accept being wrong as a fact of professional life. Being wrong about any given hypothesis is, scientifically speaking, just as interesting as being right. And I think that can be true about life in general.

Which is why I’m so in favor of disagreement.

Having a different opinion than someone else, coming to different conclusions, applying a different interpretation – this is essential. Without this interplay, the crossing of rhetorical swords, there’s virtually no chance of change. Assumptions go unchallenged, presuppositions remain undisturbed, and our personal paradigms rest sleepily in our subconscious.

Don’t think that I don’t like to be right. Of course I do, just like we all do, but I don’t want to be right by personal fiat. I want to be right if and only if what I think corresponds with reality. And the best way to test my rightness is to see if I’m wrong. It’s my hope that championing disagreement not as a personal slight, but as an intellectual virtue, will lead to the edification of us all.

So please, let’s agree to disagree. OK?