It goes beyond just asking people to lie. It’s what that lie actually says about the power structure of institutional authority, as well as the person who must submit to that institution. I’m feeling that way about these arguments about gays in the church. The parameters for the discussion of the issue has been set in such a passive aggressive tone. Of course, the primary foundation reduces people who are LGBTQ to nothing more than what they do in their practice of sex. And that is the fight: to be able to claim who is moral and who is immoral.

Much of the church’s argument seems to hinge on this idea of moral superiority. My personal belief is that the LGBTQ person is not immoral. Lying is immoral. Living a lie is immoral.  (Upon further thought, what I meant to say is that living as though it seems one must live a lie is immoral.  For the choice to be out or not is personal and should be respected as such.) Don’t get me wrong, I am a human being and know that I have human failings. But it seems that I am being asked to acquiesce to the idea that loving someone of the same gender is immoral before I can gain acceptance into the institution that is church.

I guess I’m just saying that I will not acquiesce to being immoral. When I am asked by the church to lie and agree that LGBTQ falls outside of the realm of who God wants to serve God’s church, then I am being immoral. Immoral acquiescence…can’t do that for any human. I have to answer to an even higher authority.

**use of the term “church” is specifically monolithic to express the ideas here and is based on experience in many denominations

Tell Somebody!

Just wondering…..what would it be like if the people heard this as my testimony?

Once you have preached a sermon, exhaled the last amen, it seems as if that is the end of story.  It is now out into the atmosphere where it will either move through, past or deep into the hearer.  But what about the other end of the story?  Each time I start to prepare a sermon the same question comes to mind, “What could I possibly bring to preaching?”   And each time I start with the same two things, the Bible and myself.  That may be all I have, but between the two there is still so much to unearth.  I love looking at a verse, examining the words, thinking about the history that surrounds that text, as well as the nuances in the original languages and subsequent translations.  I get excited when I see the words on the page take the shape of a message of good news.  I am grateful when those words give comfort to a hurting soul and this hurting world.

A smile forms on my lips when I think about this, but then my heart sinks for just a moment.  I remember for a moment that there are many who would silence my voice, try to break up this relationship that I have with the Word and its proclamation.  I remember that there are many who believe that I should not have the honor of spreading the gospel because I am a member of the GLBTQ community.  I often think to myself, how queer this situation is.  It is like living in the time of the Markan Jesus.  I have been blessed, but asked not to tell anyone.  I experience healing, but am asked not to speak of it.  I have chosen to bear witness to Christ on the cross, and am asked not to share the story of God’s gift.  I have even looked into the empty tomb, and am asked not to shout, “Christ is no longer here!”  How queer that God would give me the most incredible thing to witness, and that some would tell me to go away and tell no one.

Tell Somebody!