odd man out.

Conversations with conservative Christians about homosexuality inevitably turn to how Christians tend to respond to homosexuality more harshly than they respond to other sins, and there’s an argument that often comes up that rather baffles me.  It goes something like this:

“Yes, Christians are more vocal about homosexuality than we are about other sins, and we may hold people to a higher standard with regards to sexual sins than we do with other kinds of sin.  But that’s because there’s a growing movement of people who are trying to change our perception of homosexuality so that we no longer perceive it as sin.  We don’t have to be harsh on impatience because we all agree impatience is sinful.  We don’t have to be harsh on greed because we all know greed is sinful.  We have to be harsh on homosexuality because some people no longer perceive it as sinful, and that’s a dangerous movement.”

The argument doesn’t sit well with me for two reasons.  First, I’m honestly not sure that everyone is so convinced about the sinfulness of other certain behaviors—behaviors like impatience and greed.  I say this because of how apathetic Christians seem to feel about the near-ubiquity of these behaviors in many of our Christian communities.  I can gloat about overeating at a church potluck even though our community agrees on values like temperance and selflessness.  We laughingly identify someone as “the church gossip” even though our community agrees on the havoc gossip can wreak.  When certain kinds of sin are more culturally acceptable, we’re much more likely to talk in shades of gray, with statements like “It’s an area for growth in my life” and “We all struggle in those ways.  We’re only human.”  When certain kinds of sin aren’t culturally acceptable, we’ll make the boundaries clear, and we’ll use language of “standards” and “holiness.”  If we perceive a behavior as sinful in any sense, we should perceive it as destructive to the spiritual life and to the faith community; and if we perceive it as destructive, we should work to eradicate it regardless of its prevalence.  Because we don’t respond to impatience and greed with any ferocity, I’m not convinced we actually—on a gut level—perceive them to be sinful, at least not in the forms that tend to show up in our church communities.

Second, I’m not sure where this line of reasoning leads.  Suppose the movement in our culture and in Christian circles reverses direction such that most Christians generally come to agree that same-sex relationships are sinful.  Then what happens?  Do we add homosexuality to that list of things that we all perceive as sinful and don’t enforce for anyone (impatience, greed, gluttony, gossip)?  I’m being a bit cheeky here, of course, but I genuinely don’t understand why Christians are so keen on getting ethics right if we readily admit we don’t follow the ones we’re pretty confident about.  What’s really at stake in our doctrinal disagreements if we seem to ignore our doctrines anyway?

This is the part where I could say conservative communities should be soft on homosexuality because they’re soft on everything else, but I’m actually going to say quite the opposite.  Here’s my suggestion: If your faith community believes homosexuality is sinful, then enforce it.  Be completely gentle and compassionate, of course, but hold people to a sexual standard that only the very Spirit of God could enable them to keep.  As in Ephesians 5:3, let there be “not a hint of sexual immorality” within your community.  And then hold everyone to a standard of behavior that’s just as high with regards to everything else you perceive as sinful.  Remove all impatient acts.  Exterminate every trace of gluttony and gossip.  As in Ephesians 5:3, let there be “not a hint…of greed” within your community.  For the sake of integrity, set the bar high for all kinds of immorality.

And in the meantime, use our culture’s current debates about homosexuality as an opportunity to take an honest, fearless look at your church’s sexual ethics.  Are members of your faith community generally succeeding in their efforts to live up to your standards?  Does it seem like you’re asking more of sexual minorities than you are of straight people?  How has your cultural setting affected your perception of God’s standards for sexuality?  What changes is God calling you to make in order to invite you as an individual to experience fuller life in God’s kingdom?  Use our cultural context as a catalyst for growth instead of seeds for division.

I believe Christians are getting better at talking about sexuality, and I want to help us continue purposely framing our discussions to be as productive and meaningful as possible. For that reason, I’ve written New Year’s resolutions for conservative Christians—since those are the circles in which I mostly run—related to the questions we ask about sexuality. For Part II, I want to suggest questions we ought to begin engaging, if we haven’t already. An underlying assumption here is that your church is talking about sexual minority issues and seeking to move forward in relationships with LGBT people, which may not actually be the case in your context. The common thread between these questions is that they try to steer away from contentious political and social arguments in order to address the most critical issues facing LGBT individuals in conservative communities of faith. I want us to address some of the assumptions dictating church practices in order to discern whether those are reasonable assumptions we’re applying consistently. I think discussing these questions together may help conservative Christians feel more free to love and support others in ways that both honor their convictions and honor the experiences of others.

So, if the church in 2013 wants to discuss sexuality in ways that will benefit us and allow us to love more effectively and discern God’s will more clearly, I think it’s time to engage the following questions:

1. Is an openly LGBT person who chooses to pursue celibacy necessarily spiritually unhealthy?

If you speak with someone who’s been out to a conservative community of faith for any length of time, I guarantee they can tell you about a time when someone made them feel as if they’re spiritually unhealthy, regardless of whether they’re practicing that community’s sexual ethics. This happens in at least two ways. First, those who are openly LGBT face subtle acts of emotional violence in the form of others condescending or patronizing them, often in ways that sound like (and are probably intended as) genuine concern or accountability related to sexuality. They receive much more attention in this area than their straight peers do, indirectly implying they need more attention in this area. I’m not talking about gentle check-ins with LGBT youth about their overall health, which may be wise in light of the disproportionate statistics surrounding LGBT youth and depression/suicide. I’m talking about sending subtle messages that lack empathy, messages that narrowly define LGBT people by their sexuality and draw attention to that difference as a spiritual crisis: “I’m praying for you and that particular struggle,” or, “How are you doing with, you know, that part of your life?” Second, they often face overt discrimination in the form of restrictions that limit their full participation in the community of faith, restrictions unrelated to their sexual orientation or gender identity. Openly bisexual men find themselves prohibited from teaching children’s classes; celibate lesbian women face meetings with special discernment committees before filling leadership roles.

These inconsistencies betray an underlying bias against LGBT individuals: that nontraditional sexuality or gender identity necessarily reflects spiritual illness or weakness. The problem is that I don’t think our bias reflects any theological reasoning. It’s a result of our slavery to cultural taboos and ignorance instead of critical convictions based on scripture, tradition, reason, or experience. If we had legitimate evidence to believe LGBT people were farther from God, unable to demonstrate the Spirit’s gifts, or even less spiritually mature—or if particular individuals were refusing to submit to a church’s sexual ethics (but see question #2a)—we might have reason to treat them with special attention; but as it stands, I think fear and discomfort motivate our actions more than anything else, and neither fear nor discomfort are Spirit-given gifts. The unstated “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy that exists when churches allow known sexual minorities who are mostly closeted to participate more fully than their out siblings suggests the crisis is not a person’s sexuality or gender identity but rather the church’s consternation about how to respond to minorities that leads to our inconsistent behavior.

So, let’s turn our attention to the central question: Is an openly LGBT person who chooses to pursue celibacy necessarily spiritually unhealthy? If we believe they are, why are they? Is it an effect of their orientation or the cause of it? And if we believe they’re not, is there anything other than our own resistance to change and controversy that’s motivating us to treat them differently? (I’ll admit I’ve rather lost my patience with those who offer “the way things are” as reasoning for why our practices can’t always keep pace our beliefs.)

2. Should same-sex relationships be a marginal or central issue for Christians?

In other words, “Is it okay for Christians to disagree about same-sex relationships?” I’ll revisit an old post from Richard Beck, who offers a simple case study: “Why is Killing Okay but not Sexuality?” Beck responds to a certain speaker who implied “the traditional Christian sexual ethic was a boundary marker that couldn’t be crossed if one wanted to be a Christian” by asking whether there’s any reason Christians tend to be okay with ambiguity on certain ethical teachings but not okay with ambiguity on others: Why do Christians seem okay sharing pews with people whose views on killing vary dramatically (a pacifist and a veteran, for example) but not with people whose views on same-sex marriage vary?

People in theological circles will talk about “central” and “marginal” issues. Imagine a target: At the center are “central” issues, issues on which people really, really need to agree in order to identify as Christian and to be part of the “in group” in a faith community. Towards the edge are “marginal issues,” areas that deserve theological reflection but are not deal-breakers; disagreement on these issues is okay and even encouraged as people develop spiritually. Most issues fall somewhere in between, and conflict arises when people place certain issues at different places on the target. So, for example, Christians generally agree that naming Jesus as Lord is a central issue for people of faith—it’s one that’s very directly related to what it means to be a “Christian,” as people have historically defined that word; and most Christians will also agree a person’s choice of Bible translation is a marginal issue—a decision that someone’s faith can inform, but not one that’s going to affect one’s status as a “Christian” in the eyes of other Christians. But there are other issues we tend to disagree about, and sometimes messily so. Same-sex marriage is one of those issues. For some people, same-sex marriage is a marginal issue: It’s an important question, and it’s one that someone’s faith should absolutely inform, but someone’s position on same-sex marriage does not affect their status as a Christian. For many conservative Christians, though, same-sex marriage is closer to a central issue: If someone supports same-sex marriage (or even suggests homosexuality is a marginal issue), that belief disqualifies them from identifying as Christian and from participating in a given church. (Although this post is meant for conservative Christians, I’ll also point out that many progressive Christians also make same-sex marriage a central issue in the opposite direction: If you don’t affirm same-sex marriage, that disqualifies you from identifying as Christian.)

I think Christians need to discern whether same-sex relationships are a marginal or central issue and why we ought to classify them thus. In the process, I think conservative Christians should pay special attention to the reality of our particular cultural setting: Is our culture’s move towards full affirmation leading some to give unreasonable weight to the issue from a defensive position, or does our culture’s move mean Christians need to over-emphasize traditional sexual ethics as a means of separating themselves from the culture? I also think we need to address the question of marginal vs. central on two levels:

a. Each particular church should be aware of whether this is a marginal or central issue as far as participation in that church is concerned, particularly those churches that don’t answer to higher governing bodies. There are many times when people leave churches amicably because they realize their personal convictions no longer line up with the teachings of that church, and that makes practical sense to me. There are other times when people are surprised to find themselves suddenly unwelcome or excluded because their convictions don’t line up with the church’s unwritten laws, and that causes reasonable confusion/distress/anger. Whenever a church places any certain doctrinal issue towards the center as far as church participation is concerned, it needs to be able to explain why and apply that emphasis consistently. (See Beck’s post about boundaries.)

b. Individuals should give thought to whether this is a marginal or central issue as far as one’s relationship with God is concerned. Early in 2012, Alan Chambers—who’s the head of Exodus, the world’s largest ministry that seeks to help Christians abstain from homosexual activity—made waves when he made a comment about how he believed people involved in ongoing same-sex relationships could still receive God’s grace and forgiveness, later clarifying he believed the gift of salvation was a permanent gift: “If someone ever knew Christ, they still do.” The waves he made were fascinating: Some conservative Christians seemed genuinely shocked that Chambers would suggest people involved in same-sex relationships could ever be on good terms with God, especially as far as eternal salvation is concerned. Other conservative Christians, though, seemed genuinely shocked that the first group was shocked, wondering why group #1 believed these relationships (which they, too, perceived as sinful) were somehow any more sinful than any of the other ways in which people sin, knowingly or inadvertently, or should prevent people from receiving God’s grace. It was one of those bizarre moments where lots of people looked around in confusion, saying, “Wait, I thought we were on the same page here!” It drew into sharp relief the variety of ways Christians perceive the spiritual implications of behaviors they consider sinful, and it drew the particular behavioral question of same-sex relationships into a broader discussion about grace and how and when people are saved. How important is it that any particular Christian get the issue of same-sex relationships right, and why is it so important or unimportant? If someone earnestly, sincerely gets the question of same-sex relationships wrong, what does that mean for the person’s relationship with God? Is this something a legitimately dedicated Christian could conceivably get wrong? Is this even a “right vs. wrong” discussion?

Let me reiterate that my goal with raising these questions is to focus Christians’ discussions on issues that actually affect the lives of LGBT individuals within their faith communities. Many Christians are treating LGBT individuals as if they’re spiritually ill, and many churches do contain members with wildly diverse views on sexuality. Let’s avoid using the comment thread on this post to discuss the questions I’ve raised here—they’re a much bigger discussion, as far as I’m concerned, and that discussion belongs in another setting. Here’s what I do want to hear from you in the comments: What other questions do you think conservative Christians need to address, or how would you clarify the questions I raised above?

Part I, where I outline questions the church shouldn’t be asking, is here.

Christians are getting better at talking about sexuality, and I want to help us continue thoughtfully framing our discussions to be as productive and meaningful as possible. For that reason, I’ve written New Year’s resolutions for conservative Christians—since those are the circles in which I mostly run—related to the questions we ask about sexuality. For Part I, I want to examine questions I’ve encountered that are no longer useful and offer suggestions for alternative questions that address more directly what we’re actually trying to discern together. As a friend pointed out, some of these questions I’m criticizing are unavoidable for LGBT individuals and their friends/relatives on a personal level as they seek to understand themselves and understand God throughout their identity development, so I’m not suggesting every person needs to avoid ever wondering about these things. Rather, I’m suggesting these questions have become fruitless within broader conversations among Christians trying to discern how to move forward with LGBT people. From what I can tell, the problem is not the questions themselves but how we’re using them: The common thread between the three is that I suspect we tend to overestimate how much each one will be able to inform our understanding of sexuality and our response to LGBT people. They’re not as useful as we think.

So, if the church in 2013 wants to discuss sexuality in ways that will benefit us and allow us to love more effectively and discern God’s will more clearly, I think it’s time to retire the following questions:

1. “Is sexual orientation a result of genetic or environmental factors?”

Let’s start with a big one. The Christian movement has a notoriously poor relationship with science, insofar as we’re great at embracing science we like and dismissing science we dislike. Unfortunately, this question brings psychological research into the spotlight, and it can lead us in two dangerous directions. First, it can draw us into a tenuous dichotomy that calls genetic things “of God” and environmental things “of the world.” Christians who don’t affirm same-sex relationships tend to embrace research that emphasizes environmental factors, while Christians who do affirm tend to embrace research that points to genetics; and passionately so, in each case. In either case, I think we’re being small-minded and—pardon my flowery language—blind to the absolutely beautiful wonder of our existence as complicated people who are biological and spiritual and chemical and relational. We’re also ignoring the power of both God and sin to work through both our genes and our environment. Regardless of where psychologists land on questions of causation (and my hunch is that it’ll be a “both-and,” because how could something so physical and emotional be limited entirely to nature or nurture?), I don’t want us to trap ourselves into thinking genes exclusively point to God and environment to sin, a dichotomy that seems to exist in our discussions of sexuality only.

Second, it can fool us into expecting an answer to this question will provide answers to many other questions, like whether sexual orientation change is possible (see question #3) or whether God assigns sexual orientation to people (see question #2) or whether homosexual orientation is natural, whatever that means. Answers to these subsequent questions are unrelated to causation, though, even if we did know for sure what makes some people gay and other people straight. I think we’re generally less concerned with causation in other qualities that make people different (question #2), and our noisy interest in the question of causes for homosexuality may be indicative of the church’s discomfort with the rapidity of our culture’s changing norms for sexuality and same-sex relationships. People on both sides of the debate give the question more weight than it deserves in order to build up their positions, but I think the answer here will be mostly irrelevant to the major questions that plague us. People will largely accept any scientific evidence that supports their positions as long as such evidence, however insubstantial, exists.

Ask instead: “What are the factors that have formed me into the person I am, especially related to my sexuality, and what are the factors that have formed my understanding of God’s will for my sexuality?” Sexuality is much more complex than the object of one’s physical attractions; it encompasses a bigger picture of human relationships, biological impulses, cultural norms, etc., etc., etc. I think we’ll get much farther if we stop seeking a one-sentence explanation for sexuality and begin to interrogate it as the result of innumerable factors, some of which come from God and others from our inability and unwillingness to live in God’s design. I’m less interested in why I am attracted to men than I am in how my culture, including the Christian subculture, has taught me I should interact with other men and women (and whether that’s holy), or in what sort of ideals I’ve striven to attain in my sexual ethics (and whether those are ideals worth striving toward), or what I perceive as normal and healthy (and whether I’m appealing to reliable sources for those definitions), or why I believe what I believe about God’s design for sexuality (and whether it’s true to God’s nature and history).

2. “Does God make people gay?” or “Does God assign a specific sexual orientation to each person?”

The former question is woefully unclear with the result that people can argue right past each other without ever discussing the same things, so I’ll address the latter, which is more precise. I’ve noticed many Christians have a fairly predictable pattern: Whenever someone possesses any quality or condition that makes them unique, our judgment about whether it’s a favorable or unfavorable attribute determines whether we’ll identify it as a blessing from God or as a symptom of broken humanity that God can redeem for God’s glory. So, if someone is particularly attractive or intelligent, we’re likely to recognize God as the source, but if someone develops a severe illness, we’ll probably recognize our imperfect world as the source. I’ve grown weary of discussions about whether God assigns sexual attraction, seeing as they tend to be little more than reflections of each person’s position on same-sex relationships: If same-sex relationships are sinful, then nontraditional sexuality is a symptom of a broken world; but if they’re not sinful, then nontraditional sexuality is one of the many ways God sews diversity into creation.

Furthermore, I don’t think a conclusive answer to this question would get us any closer to sexual ethics, which is usually where the conversation leads. People often use their answer to this question as support for their position on same-sex relationships (“God made me this way, so it can’t be wrong,” etc.), but since our answers are mostly speculative anyway, I’ll reiterate what I said above: Whether someone believes God assigns sexual orientation is usually a reflection of, and not evidence for, their position on same-sex relationships. There are passages in the Bible (especially in the Old Testament) that don’t share any of our modern squeamishness about attributing to God things we’d label “bad,” so the idea that God could make people gay while prohibiting same-sex relationships has never been particularly noisome to me; similarly, if sexual orientation (straight or otherwise) is not part of the identity God creates for each person, I don’t think that would necessarily tell us anything about God’s will for sexual minorities. If we’re going to talk about sexual ethics, we’ll have to find our evidence elsewhere.

Ask instead: “Is God glorified through my sexual orientation?” When the disciples ask Jesus whose sin caused a certain man’s blindness—a negative quality, it would seem, as far as they’re concerned—Jesus essentially dismisses the question, saying sin wasn’t the cause, and reframes the discussion: “This happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him” (John 9:3). In one of my seminary classes, we were talking about how we should respond to people who try and attribute natural disasters to God’s punishment on some particular group, and our professor concluded the debate by pointing out it’s just as arrogant to claim absolute knowledge that God didn’t do something as it is to claim absolute knowledge God did. Since we’re often less than certain about what God does and does not do—and since neither conclusion clarifies our discernment on sexual ethics—I think we’re making better use of our time when we explore together whether our sexuality (or our response to natural disasters and their victims) glorifies God. Regardless of whether God designs certain people to be gay, our primary aim should be God’s glory.

3. “Can God change someone’s sexual orientation?”

At best, this question is so much theological pontification, approximately as useful as asking whether God can make a rock so big even God can’t pick it up. At worst, though, this question can be a weapon wielded against those who have chosen not to pursue change in sexual orientation or who advocate against such pursuits on behalf of others. The question forces one of two responses: Either one answers, “No,” which sounds like a heretical diminishing of God’s miraculous power; or one answers, “Yes,” implying any lack of change is a result of human faithlessness or impatience. Don’t get me wrong: People asking this question are often asking it from a place of compassion, especially when they ask it to people who would actually prefer their orientation to change. But it disregards the difficult reality that is impossible to avoid in a life of faith: that God does not always do what people think God should do or want God to do, regardless of whether God is capable of doing that thing. As long as people have been in relationship with God, it’s been tough to swallow this particular characteristic of God’s involvement with us, and we rather think by now we should be able to predict and explain how God will behave in any situation. When “What God Can Do” becomes the foundation of our relationship with God, it can free our imaginations to allow God to work as miraculously as God wills, but it can also lead to perpetual dissatisfaction and frustration, paralyzing our faith and hope in a God who doesn’t behave as we’d like.

Ask instead: “Does God tend to change peoples’ sexual orientation?” or “Has God changed peoples’ sexual orientation?” or “Does God promise someone should expect a change in orientation?” These questions depend on our knowledge of how God has behaved among us rather than on some people’s conjecturing about how God should behave among us. They’re rooted in the reality of God’s promises and probably give us a better idea of what we should expect and what Christians ought to paint as our ideal outcome for people. The questions necessitate our honesty and fearlessness, if we have any hope of accurately assessing what God does and does not do, and they require us to listen to stories from those people who can be completely transparent about their experiences as sexual minorities. If we’re feeling particularly adventurous, I think the question “Why might God choose not to change someone’s orientation?” is probably more interesting than any others I’ve mentioned and could get us thinking about a much bigger picture.

Again, my goal with criticizing these three questions is to help us avoid framing our conversations in ways that are less helpful than we might expect them to be. What questions do you think have outlived their usefulness? And are any of the questions I mention here more useful than I suggest?

Part II, where I outline questions the church should be asking, is here.

I don’t want to write this post, so I’ll keep it short.

A few summers ago, a friend and I spent a Saturday following a certain well-known group of protestors as they made their rounds throughout our city, picketing various events.  Their signs and chants were as malicious as we’d always heard they’d be, and their brazen indifference to the objections of their opponents made their message all the more infuriating.  As we drove away from one of their protests, I expressed my exasperation to my friend.  ”The main reason I hate this group is that—” I began, before he gently stopped me: “Hold on.  Did you hear what you just said?”

I did hear.  I immediately recognized that my word choice made me sound a lot like them, and I’ve since been keenly aware of the way this certain group’s pronouncements of hate and judgment often inspire similar statements from their victims and detractors.  I genuinely don’t know how Christ calls us to respond to this group.  I don’t know.  But I feel very strongly that Christ does not call us to respond with equal measures of hatred and hostility.  This group claims to speak on behalf of God, and they often attack people when they’re at their weakest and most vulnerable.  Both of these actions are reprehensible, but neither of them is grounds for Christians to act reprehensibly.  Ever since this group announced its plans to picket the funerals of victims of the Connecticut school shooting, I’ve seen some Christians spew venom strong enough to match the venom of this particular group, and the only result is that the overall amount of hate in the world increases.

So, how ought Christians to respond to them?  Scripture gives examples for how to respond to oppressors and those who do injustice.  (This group’s tendency to attack victims and people who are grieving suggests we might perceive them as oppressors.)  Scripture also gives examples for how to respond to false prophets and false teachers.  (This group’s tendency to attribute their false proclamations to God probably puts them in the category of false prophets or teachers.)  In neither case does scripture prescribe vulgarity or threats of violence from those who follow Jesus.  When that’s our response, this group succeeds in its mission to increase hate in the world. 

I’ll offer a few thoughts to start a conversation about how Christ would have us respond to this group.  It occurs to me that the best way to thwart the plans of a group aiming to make noise and draw attention to itself is to ignore the group actively (including, for example, omitting their name in blog posts about them, or better yet, not writing blog posts at all).  I’d wager a guess that the only people in the country who actually support them are those within the organization, so writing Facebook posts about your disdain for them accomplishes little and only gives them a larger platform.  With that being said, anyone who’s been on the receiving end of the silent treatment can tell you that disregarding someone is its own form of violence and hate, so we ought to think seriously about whether such a course of action demonstrates love.  On the other hand, Christians ought to be concerned that those who are not Christians might think this group really does represent God well; perhaps our best response is to counter their messages not by attacking that group but by proclaiming God’s love and promises just as loudly, against which this group’s untruths will not stand.  Directly confronting the group itself seems to be entirely fruitless, as they’ve made it clear they’re not open to correction or criticism.  Is there any way to show love to oppressors or false prophets who spurn the stern exhortations of other self-professed Christians?  We should remember in our discussions that the response of those who are geographically close to the group as they protest (an infinitesimally small portion of the population) may need to handle the crisis differently from how everyone else in the country should on behalf of the organization’s victims.

MLK said it best: “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” I’ve pulled my hair out trying to discern how the love of Christ calls me to respond to this group, but I’m at a loss. Let’s tackle this together.  How does Christ call us to respond to a group that proclaims hatred in the name of God to vulnerable, hurting people?

I’ve perceived a growing weariness—in some cases, bitterness—among many of my gay Christian friends toward the broader conservative Christian community, and I’ve been feeling it as well.  It’s tough to pin down the source of the melancholy.

Perhaps I’m exasperated things haven’t happened more quickly.  There’s been increasing momentum for the gay rights movement in the Western world, and I suppose I expected that would translate into increased empathy and understanding among Christians towards their LGBT neighbors.  I don’t want or expect the church to change its values merely from a desire to keep up with cultural trends, but I did think this might be an opportunity for us all to learn how to love better in light of our increased understanding of different kinds of people.

Or perhaps I’m impatient with people who ought to know better (or, at least, it sure seems like they ought to know better).  Again, I’m not talking here about people’s beliefs about marriage; I’m simply disheartened with people who have been carelessly abrasive towards LGBT people long after they can reasonably excuse it as ignorance or, well, carelessness.  To be sure, we’re much, much better now than we were in the past; but I would have expected Christians to be trailblazers in loving people, as they typically are. 

Perhaps I’m still feeling more alone than I should.  There are many more LGBT and same-sex attracted Christians than there are out LGBT and SSA Christians, but the way many churches often fail to accommodate sexual minorities (and, really, social minorities) and idolize the traditional nuclear family narrative sometimes makes me feel like I’m the only one who doesn’t fit.  It feels like many church leaders tend to aim for what’s easiest rather than doing the difficult work of making room for different kinds of people, and that’s disappointing for people whom “what’s easiest” excludes.

Perhaps the problem is that things actually have gotten better to the extent that they’ve drawn into sharper focus how bad things were and how much better things will be.  Although my life experience has been mostly positive, I can say with certainty that life is better now than it was, say, five years ago, and it wasn’t until I experienced fuller life that I could recognize the relative emptiness of my life before.  Even as things have gotten better and continue to get better, there remains the weariness of knowing things still aren’t there yet.  Sometimes it feels like there should be more straight Christians actively pursuing that “better,” that things are only going to improve when greater numbers of people in the majority add their voices to the roar of those minority voices crying out for change.  Feeling stuck in the middle between “what was” and “what will be” can be exhausting.

There are times when we’re supposed to cry out prophetic woes to the church, and there are times when we’re supposed to cry out mournful groans to God.  For those whose prophetic voices are growing hoarse, consider this your permission to lament to God: No, things are not as they should be.  Yes, that ought to make us discontented.

Fortunately, it’s a good time of the year to lament.  Advent draws into sharp focus the severe pain of waiting for what we hope—in the sense of “expect”—God will do.  We know (even if it’s sometimes hard to believe) the story of a world gone awry does not end with things as they shouldn’t be, and we know God hears our cries for help.  Those realities neither invalidate nor deaden our pain, but they do redeem it in the context of God’s bigger story: It doesn’t end this way.  In the meantime, we cling to those whiffs of what is to come: those moments when someone does understand and empathize, or when people lay down their weapons in a culture war, or when someone musters up the courage to come out to a faith community that immediately responds with love.  Those moments are, like a star hanging in the sky over Bethlehem, signs that alert us to the good that is coming (that is already here!) and reminders that the season we’re in is nothing more than a season.  They give us reason to continue hoping when we might feel tempted to despair, and they let us know we’re not hoping in vain.

So, today I lament and hope: Because things are not as they should be, and because—probably sooner than any of us would imagine—God is making and will make things right.

Questions for those who leave comments: If you share this melancholy, what is it you need to lament to God?  If you don’t, how do you avoid it in the midst of a world that isn’t as it should be?

I’m in that season of young adulthood when engagements and weddings are nearly ubiquitous in my life, and because I’m single, I frequently attend weddings without a plus-one.  That I genuinely enjoy weddings (i.e., celebrations of lifelong partnerships) in spite of my relationship status seems to make me a bit of an odd duck among some of my peers, and while I was watching two more of my friends tie the knot this past weekend, I began thinking about what I love so much about weddings.

From those reflections, I’ve created a guide to enjoying weddings without a plus-one.  It’s intended very specifically for people who attend weddings alone without the goal of acquiring a partner but with less-than-100%-confidence in their status as singles, people for whom the joy of celebrating two friends committing their lives to one another might provoke feelings of confusion, fear, insecurity, doubt, or jealousy.  I’m hopeful it addresses some of the broader areas of uncertainty that singles face—whether they’re single temporarily or permanently—in a culture that often feels designed for couples, a problem Christian communities often unwittingly magnify.  While I absolutely don’t want to downplay the seriousness of the pain and disappointment many singles experience, the guide is quite blunt, since I tend to be straightforward about my own experiences.  My conviction is that singleness (temporary or permanent) is a gift and that singles are are an essential part of any community, so this guide reflects an attitude of emphasizing what singles have and offer rather than what they lack.  I should offer the additional disclaimer that most of the weddings I’ve attended recently have been within my denomination (meaning they’re relatively subdued) and in the South (meaning they’re fairly old-fashioned—charmingly so, in my opinion), and my perceptions may be a bit skewed.

So, before you write a “1” on that RSVP card and mail it in, familiarize yourself with the following tips for enjoying weddings without a plus-one:

1. If you know anyone else going to the wedding, go with them.

Undoubtedly, the most intimidating tasks for the solo attendee involve finding seats, both for the ceremony (especially if there are no ushers) and the reception.  You can avoid both of these crises if you arrange in advance to come with others.  Meeting up with other single friends is a given, but don’t hesitate to make plans with couples or families you know who are attending.  There are couples who will unknowingly make you painfully aware of your status as the single in the group, and there are other couples who will include you so seamlessly it won’t be clear who’s including whom.  Go with a couple from the latter group.  If they have kids, they’ll probably appreciate the extra childcare you provide.

Are you imposing on these families?  I don’t like the question, because it somehow implies they’d be better off without you or that they’re doing you a favor, when in reality the way Christian community works is that everyone (even those people who have traditional nuclear families) benefits from their relationships with the larger, nontraditional extended family.  Forming those nontraditional relationships comes easier to the singles in the group, and they serve an essential function by pulling people away from some kind of last-name idolatry.  The kingdom of heaven is hardly a place where everyone shows up in their own family minivan; it’s not difficult for me to imagine Jesus extolling the virtues of the carpool.  Go with other people, and for the evening, the three (or four or seven) of you are, in a very non-metaphorical way, a family.

2. Feel free to cry throughout the ceremony.

Weddings are usually sweet and beautiful, especially if you’ve read Revelation; and you do have a heart, after all.

3. If you’re not dancing, you’d better be having super important conversations.

…by which I mean to say there are at least two excellent ways to avoid spending the entire reception feeling dejected, and both capitalize on your autonomy.  The first is to seek people out for meaningful conversations, since there’s a good chance you’ll be around people you haven’t seen in awhile.  Conversations at weddings tend to be flyby catch-ups, brief updates about the kind of information you can find on a Facebook profile; but when there are tables and chairs and hours available, it’s a great opportunity for more substantial dialogue, and you can be the one who raises the standard for interactions with the people you encounter.  It’s easy for couples and families to close themselves off from a broader social scene accidentally or stick to shallow chats, and single people can be a catalyst for connecting people in relationships that draw them outside of themselves.

The second involves rocking the dance floor with your incredible moves.  Oh, you don’t have incredible moves?  Then you’ll fit right in on a wedding dance floor, where your fellow dancers will consist of people like the bride’s 14-year-old cousin and the groom’s middle school English teacher.  Seriously, though: I grew up in a denomination in which people considered dancing to be inextricably tied to sexual sin, and it’s only been in recent years that my people have started to recognize there is such a thing as righteous dancing, the kind of self-unconscious celebration that has nothing to do with sex other than the fact that it acknowledges our bodies are important and useful.  That tends to be the kind of dancing I see at a Christian wedding, and there’s nothing like the “Cupid Shuffle” to eliminate any lingering feelings of discomfort related to your relationship status, especially since dance floors are the great levelers of all those demographic distinctions that might otherwise divide us.  One of the gifts of singleness is the freedom to connect with a huge variety of people from all walks of life, and dancing helps break down the walls that prevent those connections, so make the most of the opportunity to make friends (even if the friendships last only a few hours) with a diverse mixture of people.  (Yes, dancing can involve sexual immorality, so don’t do that kind.)

4. Don’t get anywhere close to drunk.

No, I don’t think Christians ought to be getting drunk in the first place; but in my experience, Christians are often at an increased risk of drinking too much when they’re with other Christians who are drinking, since it feels like a relatively safe atmosphere in which to cut loose.  Are you ready for some real talk, singles?  One of the benefits of having a significant other at any social event is that they can tell you when you’ve got something in your teeth, or when your political jokes have stopped landing, or when you’ve maybe had a few sips of alcohol more than you ought to have.  This kind of social accountability is an important function of marriage, but for singles, that accountability only exists when you’ve got particularly close (or particularly forthright) friends nearby.  If you choose to drink at a wedding, there might not be anyone to tell you when you’ve passed a limit, and you need to be fully aware and in control of yourself.  (Don’t get me started on drinking if you drove yourself to the wedding.)

Does this mean you shouldn’t relax and enjoy the festive atmosphere?  No, but it does mean you have to be smart, especially if the situation already has you feeling particularly tense or emotionally vulnerable (conditions that mix particularly poorly with alcohol).  This proactive thinking doesn’t just cover intoxication; it translates into a general attitude of being respectful and responsible with yourself and with other people, avoiding the temptation of allowing yourself to become a burden to others.  There’s a fine but crucial distinction between inviting someone to share your burdens (which Christians are supposed to do) and becoming a burden to others (which Christians ought to avoid).  Single people need to learn to depend on others and to ask for help, but they also have the unfortunate duty of actively doing for themselves the kind of maturing that marriage often does automatically for people, especially since we live in a culture where it’s acceptable to live as an adolescent until you have a spouse.  If you’re a single 25-year-old, you don’t have to pretend you’re a 37-year-old, but you also don’t get to pretend you’re a 17-year-old.

5. If you’re feeling any resentment or sadness, don’t work through it during your conversation with the newlyweds.

…because it has nothing to do with that particular couple.  You need to admit and process those feelings—God created us as feeling creatures for a reason, and if you’re in pain, there’s nothing to be gained from denying that pain—but if you have to work through those feelings at the wedding itself, please, please, please do so in the many hours of the evening in which you are not talking to the couple rather than the five minutes in which you are, because your pain is entirely unrelated to their happiness, and on the day of their covenant ceremony, they ought not to feel as if they’ve done something wrong.  (They haven’t.)  It’s wrong for married people to condescend to singles with an attitude of superiority or privilege and treat singles as if they’re necessarily unhappy or unfulfilled, and it’s equally wrong for singles to blame any unhappiness they do feel on the married people in their lives.  Both vocations are equally valid and meaningful in God’s kingdom.

6. Participate in scheduled activities.

Yes, we can all agree it’s gross when the groom throws the garter.  (You don’t even get the luxury of pretending you don’t know where it’s been.)  Those who plan the wedding may choose to include any number of an endless list of wedding traditions that are only enjoyable in the rarest of circumstances, and many guests will require extreme measures of prodding and persuading in order to participate.  (Many of these traditions will even draw special attention to your singleness.)  Nevertheless, remember the wedding is not about you or any of the other guests.  It’s 2012, and gone are the days when people have to include certain traditions for the sake of keeping up appearances.  You can safely assume the traditions matter to someone involved in the wedding planning.

Use the freedom your singleness grants you to make a big deal out of the traditions that evidently matter to someone.  If everyone agrees a dollar dance is silly, then everyone can sit tight in their chairs and be cool and not participate, and at least one person in the room can be supremely disappointed.  But if everyone agrees they can make the dollar dance fun, then they will, and you can be a source of momentum for making that happen—the life of the party, as it were.  I don’t mean you have to take over and tell everyone what to do; it’s enough for you to participate yourself and do so ungrudgingly.  Even if everyone else in the room is too cynical (or too distracted) to recognize the beauty of any particular tradition, or ritual, or rite, or act of worship, the single person can breathe new life into any given activity and set an entirely new tone for the room, throwing dignity out the window so that other people recognize they might be holding onto their own dignity a little too tightly.  You’ll have a better time, and most of the others will, too, and a particular someone will be so happy to see what they envisioned coming to life with joy and energy.

7. Find ways to be helpful after the couple leaves.

If finding seating is the most uncomfortable task for the solo attendee, leaving is probably the most emotionally perilous, especially if you didn’t or couldn’t follow step #1.  An empty car can feel especially empty if you leave immediately after watching the happy couple depart in a limo for, you know, potentially 60+ years of life together.  Here’s more real talk: Many of your married friends will need to rush home after the ceremony to put kids to bed or put a spouse to bed or do anything else because married life just takes longer, but you’re under no such compulsion.  If there’s any work to be done after the wedding—gathering centerpieces, wrapping up food, transporting gifts—volunteer your time and services.  If it’s a small, low-tech wedding, it’s entirely possible that the newlyweds’ families may be looking forward to the cleanup time to relax and laugh and reflect privately with one another after the guests depart; if this is the case, it’s probably best you go ahead and hit the road.  But if it’s a large wedding with a lot of work to do, I can almost guarantee the families will eagerly put you to work, and you’ll save an already-exhausted group of people from spending ten hours putting tortilla pinwheels in plastic bags.  Believe me when I say leaving immediately after seeing the couple off (when you’re conscious of how you don’t have what they have) is profoundly more bleak than leaving after helping to move 300 chairs (when you’ve been able to demonstrate love to a family in need of those with time to give).

Human beings are created in the image of God, whose very nature is love.  That means the nature of humans is to love, and love requires an object.  Those who are married and/or have children have the benefit of constant recipients for their love, but singles will feel consistently frustrated and ineffective if they don’t find other people towards whom they can direct their love.  Fortunately for singles, our world is and never has been lacking in people who need to receive love, and while wives and husbands and dads and moms are busy spending significant amounts of time showing love to their immediate families—as God is calling them to do!—singles have the privilege (and it’s as much a privilege as loving a spouse is) of dedicating their love to God and to the world who needs them.

Pardon the generality, but mine seems to be a generation that loves demonstrations, both the negative and positive kind.  (See, for example, Time’s awarding “The Protester” its 2011 Person of the Year award, in light of the Arab Spring and the Occupy movement; the more than 10 million users of Change.org, a site that manages online petitions that have produced significant results; and the innumerable options of various causes to support by clicking “Like” on your Facebook newsfeed.)  We like making a point, and we like doing it with creativity and panache.  Businesses have taken note, and everything from purchasing shoes and glasses to drinking certain soft drinks can carry implications for social change.

Those with a bent toward demonstrations may already be aware of this week’s Spirit Day, an annual day of solidarity with LGBT teens and protest against bullying.  Although the observance began only two years ago as a response to the epidemic of suicides related to anti-gay bullying, it’s rapidly grown to the point that countless celebrities and other people of influence participated last year and will again.  The concept is superbly simple: Wear purple (since purple is the color on the pride flag that corresponds to spirit) on Friday, October 19, and find a way to communicate that your attire is a symbol of your support for LGBT teens.  Spirit Day is a particularly low-commitment example of a growing number of annual LGBT-themed protests and demonstrations that capitalize on my generation’s affection for short-term activism (or, if you’re cynical, “slacktivism”), and it may come as no surprise to readers of this blog that I feel ambivalent (Do I ever feel otherwise?) about such rallies.

To be sure, demonstrations have an important—essential?—role in raising awareness for any sort of social movement, insofar as they effectively communicate the message a group is trying to communicate.  There are only so many ways to draw attention to any particular topic subtly and unobtrusively, meaning one must occasionally surrender subtlety to make noise and start conversations obtrusively, especially when the issue at hand is something people seem keen on silencing.  For Christians involved in our culture’s (and our faith’s) ongoing LGBT discussions, demonstrations are a convenient opportunity to alert the people around you to your awareness of the existence of LGBT people and your interest in LGBT issues, much in the vein of my previous post about “Safe People.”  Participating in a demonstration can represent a huge step in any given person’s journey, and the action might be inexpressibly meaningful to others in that person’s life.  I’ll probably never forget fighting back tears in a campus bathroom on last year’s Spirit Day when two different individuals sent me texts that included pictures of the purple shirts they had donned that morning in support of the cause.

The main danger I see with any demonstration is the risk of poor communication, such that the demonstration’s recipients perceive a different message from what the demonstrators mean to say.  This was, in my opinion, the tragic flaw of Chick-Fil-A Appreciation Day in August: Some ate Chick-Fil-A because they disliked gay marriage, and others ate Chick-Fil-A because they liked free speech, and others ate Chick-Fil-A because they disliked the backlash against Chick-Fil-A, and all of this poor communication and disunity somehow translated into outsiders hearing an unequivocally anti-gay message.  (On that note, the less-publicized Kiss-In a few days later was equally muddled and ineffective to the point of being detrimental.)  Spirit Day defines its message as an opportunity “to stand against bullying and support LGBT youth,” but it’s almost inevitable that people on both sides will hijack the day to make it about any number of other causes or questions or debates that are only distantly related to standing against bullying and supporting LGBT youth.  Any time you participate in a protest, you run the risk of outsiders hearing something different from what you’re trying to say, and you have to decide whether the risk of that potential misunderstanding is worth the reward of what you might effectively communicate.  That risk nearly always dissuades me from participating in any given demonstration, much to the chagrin of my inner activist. 

Demonstrations also involve the danger of cloistering, since they provide a too-tidy visual for who’s on your side (Us) and who’s on the other side (Them).  This became sickeningly clear to me a few years ago when I stopped by a Westboro Baptist Church protest at military base, where even the geography of the situation—WBC on one side of the highway, patriotic counter-protestors on the other side—drew a sharp division between the conflicting groups.  The vitriol of the Phelps family (“Thank God for dead soldiers,” read one sign, in addition to variations on their infamous “God hates _____” format) met its match with the vitriol of the flag-wavers (I won’t repeat some of the vulgarity they shouted), and I found myself incapable of imagining a scenario in which either group would ever empathetically listen to those across the highway.  When Spirit Day arrives, there will be many who purposely wear purple, but there will be many who won’t—most because they’re unaware or indifferent, but some out of an intentional decision not to participate—and you won’t have any trouble recognizing whether someone actively supports this particular cause.  Whereas life usually leaves room for gray areas and spectrums of opinion, demonstrations like Spirit Day force people (at least people who are aware) to make a decision in one direction or the other.

For all the pros and cons of demonstrations, I’d wager the most significant social change comes through ongoing relationships, through the substance of regular conversations and shared experiences and slow influence.  Whereas demonstrations might communicate poorly, relationships foster richer communication by putting people in the same room and giving them the chance to talk and listen and clarify over a period of weeks or months or years.  Whereas demonstrations might push people farther apart into stricter polarities, relationships emphasize areas of overlap and resemblance because they depend on love and connection.  If you ask people why their beliefs on LGBT issues have changed in either direction, you can usually expect them to answer in the language of relationships, talking about friends or family whose life experiences slowly challenged their preconceptions about LGBT people.  (You’ll rarely hear anyone explain how a parade or a boycott opened her eyes to the virtues of an opposing position, even as those efforts might put additional pressure on someone.)  Demonstrations and relationships are entirely different animals: Although demonstrations require a sort of brazen chutzpah, relationships require more persistent courage and patience, a willingness to take seriously the arguments of opponents even as you stand firm in your own convictions.  There’s also a different power dynamic in play: When I lead a demonstration, I set the tone and run the show, forcing others who might engage to do so on my terms in my territory.  When I live in relationship, I have to submit to the natural give-and-take of human interactions on a level playing field, and I lose the authority that a megaphone might grant me.

Nevertheless, the most off-putting problem with the kind of slow reconciliation I’m describing—regardless of your particular issue or your particular position on that issue—is that it’s unglamorous or, to put it bluntly, boring.  There will be sporadic breakthroughs and moments of startling harmony in this kind of work, but there will be many, many more moments of overwhelmingly sluggish progress, exasperating ignorance, and hope-stealing resistance.  The real work of reconciliation often means having the same conversation again and again with different people, constantly pushing yourself to continue to engage and ask and listen, and regularly reminding yourself every person is on a unique journey with a unique schedule.  When reconciliation gets boring, it’s easy to lose hope in the power of God to work through the process, and optimistic engagement with the other side may devolve into caustic accusations and shallow name-calling.

I thought The Marin Foundation’s I’m Sorry campaign this year was an excellent example of how a demonstration can function within the ongoing work of reconciliation.  The main event, of course, involved wearing shirts and holding signs at Chicago Pride, but in preparation for that demonstration, the organizers asked everyone who would participate to spend time giving serious thought to why they needed to apologize (so their participation wouldn’t be meaningless) and to how they could actively make the situation better (so their participation wouldn’t end with the last parade float).  The event itself fell in line with a number of ongoing projects The Marin Foundation utilizes throughout the year, like Living in the Tension gatherings, to have difficult conversations and make significant progress in the lives of people who seek to be reconciled.  During the campaign this summer, one woman asked me with some skepticism, “What’s the point of a demonstration like this if you’re just going to leave after today and let the situation remain as bad as it is?”  With joy, I was able to tell her that the Foundation wasn’t leaving, that it was committed to the ongoing work of bridge-building in that specific community.  Because of the relationships that existed within the community, I suspect the demonstration ran a much lower risk of poor communication or polarization.

On Friday, I’m going to wear a purple shirt.  It’s not going to save any lives, it’s not going to change any hearts, and I doubt it will conclusively heal the animosity between the LGBT and Christian communities.  But it has the potential to be—like all of the most effective demonstrations—an opportunity for those who have committed themselves to the ongoing work of reconciliation, boring as it may be, to reiterate their active involvement and invite others to come along.

When I decided to start coming out a few years ago, it was difficult to determine who would be safe people to tell.  This wasn’t because I lacked close friends or family members I could trust; it was because I was in a conservative Christian setting, an environment where it’s often difficult to gauge who might be prepared to handle a coming out with sensitivity and grace.  Over the course of my lifelong journey through churches and the Christian school I attend, it’s been exceedingly rare (but increasingly common) to hear people discussing LGBT issues, and it’s been even rarer to hear people discussing them with any noticeable air of comfort or familiarity.  Many people in these settings are relatively unexposed to LGBT issues or people, so they’ve never had any opportunity or real motivation to learn what to say or how to say it.  Nevertheless, I’ve learned that one’s level of familiarity with LGBT issues is often entirely unrelated to how effectively one can respond to a coming out or love and support an LGBT person.  People’s eagerness to learn and understand always pleasantly surprises me, and I’ve grown to admire those people whose gut reaction to something unfamiliar (like a coming out) is to love first and ask questions later.

National Coming Out Day is October 11.  It’s meant as a celebration of coming out and of the visibility of the LGBT community, and it often provides impetus for those who are considering coming out to take that important step.  I’ve written before about my experiences coming out, but I thought it might be helpful for me to speak to those on the other side of the coming out conversation.  More specifically, for those who desire to walk with their LGBT friends and family but don’t know how to make themselves known as available and ready to listen, I want to describe the qualities I’d look for if I were a closeted gay person seeking safe people.  I write this because I’ve talked to closeted LGBT people who feel completely alone at Christian schools, and I’ve also talked to Christians who want to support LGBT individuals but don’t know how to advertise themselves as such, and it breaks my heart to think of the beautiful opportunities we’re missing for connection and sharing between those people.  Unfortunately, it’s still impossible to predict with perfect accuracy who will be safe—it’s an art, not a science, and many of the people who have treated me best didn’t fit these descriptions initially—but the people I’ll describe here are the people I would probably feel most comfortable seeking out as confidants and friends. 

(I should point out that when I say “safe” people, I’m using it informally to refer to people I’d feel comfortable sharing with as peers and friends.  The word “safe” is often formal, technical jargon, particularly at schools and universities, to identify certain professionals who have completed training to know how to best respond to LGBT individuals; but in this post, I’m mostly talking about those who would serve as nonprofessional allies.  I hope it goes without saying that if you mean to present yourself as an ally to LGBT individuals and invite their openness, it’s absolutely essential that you do so from a place of humility, compassion, and empathy and never out of a desire to manipulate, coerce, or control.)

1. They aren’t afraid to raise the issue.

If you’ve ever been disoriented or lonely in a culture where your language wasn’t the native tongue, you’ve probably experienced that peculiar jolt of affection and familiarity you feel when you overhear a stranger using words and phrases you actually recognize.  As a youth group student and even a freshman in college, I often went weeks or months without hearing Christians mention homosexuality or the gay community, so my ears perked up whenever anyone even vaguely alluded to LGBT issues.  Without a doubt, someone’s willingness to broach LGBT issues in any sort of positive or empathetic tone is the clearest and most visible indicator they might be prepared to listen to me talk about my sexuality.  They may do something as noticeable as leading a Bible study about homosexuality or as simple as posting a link on Facebook to a story about sexual minorities; but in environments where nontraditional sexuality receives no attention, even the tiniest statement of knowledge or interest can communicate a loud-and-clear message (accurate or not) that this person is the safest person in the room.  It’s helpful but not essential that they use current, appropriate language when they do bring up the issue; to be honest, many of the people who might be coming out in Christian settings won’t be familiar with current, appropriate language (or may even intentionally reject such language) anyway, so getting a certain phrase wrong probably won’t turn people off.

Unfortunately, when these people intentionally raise questions about or draw attention to the LGBT community, they’re often victims of aggressive backlash from those people in the community who aren’t comfortable with LGBT-related discussions.  (In many settings, this population comprises the vast majority.)  Introductng the topic requires enormous courage and may involve offering oneself up as a target for an entire community’s animosity or fear about a broader social movement, and in some settings, the person who’s willing to broach the subject may even become fodder for LGBT-related rumors.  Nevertheless, in particularly silent contexts, an action as small as posting on Facebook can be a beacon of hope and solidarity for those sexual minorities who feel hopelessly alone, and I can’t overemphasize how helpful it might be for certain people to discover proof of the existence of others around them who care about these issues.  

2. They avoid making assumptions.

This is much more subtle, but I usually expect people who avoid making assumptions about me, my life, and my desires and expectations will react well to my coming out.  If you’ve never attended a conservative Christian school, you may not fully understand how palpable and ubiquitous is the pressure for students to find a spouse and marry him/her as soon as possible.  The pressure for me as an undergraduate was palpable at church, too, where conversations with older Christians would inevitably lead to questions about my romantic life, with the assumption that, as was the case with many of my peers, romance was really what I was hoping to discuss anyway (or that advice was really what I sought).  I have no doubt these Christians who asked about my dating life were well intentioned and genuinely concerned with helping me obtain something that obviously brought immense joy and satisfaction to them (i.e., a spouse and children), but implicit in their inquiries was an apparent lack of openness to the possibility that my life would move in a different direction.

When I started coming out, I naturally migrated to those people who seemed aware that forming a heterosexual nuclear family was not every person’s immediate goal.  It seemed more likely those people would be capable of discussing nontraditional sexuality well, and I expected they possessed the imagination necessary to explore with me what my life might be like as I discerned God’s will.  Sometimes, this meant I gravitated toward people who were single or who themselves identified as less-than-heterosexual, but it also meant I noticed those who didn’t default to questions about dating and marriage, people for whom romance seemed uninteresting or unimportant.  I never felt like I had to explain (or, to be more accurate, make up excuses) to them why I wasn’t pursuing anyone, and I appreciated the lack of pressure I felt from them.  People who avoid making assumptions about others—about what they desire, about what they expect, about what’s “normal”—send the message they’re conscious of the variety of shapes a person’s life might take.

3. They (mostly) don’t ask invasive questions.

I include the “(mostly)” qualifier because I’ve heard a few anecdotes from people who were thankful someone else had the boldness to ask, but the general consensus seems to be that it’s not a good idea to inquire into the sexuality of someone who may be LGBT.  It’s not uncommon for someone to have strong suspicions about a friend or family member’s sexuality and to wish that friend or family member felt safe coming out so that they could receive support and love, but it’s dangerous to force someone else to come out (or to force them to be dishonest in order to avoid coming out) before they consciously decide they’re ready to do so.  The woman who asks her friend if he’s gay out of a genuine desire to know him more fully might encounter a reaction of shock, offense, or embarrassment that damages trust rather than opening a door for self-disclosure, regardless of whether he is actually gay or desires to share that part of his life with her.

So, safe people generally won’t ask invasive or direct questions like, “Are you gay?” or, “Is there something you want to tell me about your sexuality?”  They also won’t rely on heavy-handed or leading references to nontraditional sexuality, since those indirect allusions can often be more unsettling and frightening to the closeted LGBT person than direct questions would be.  Instead, those safe people who suspect a loved one is LGBT will lean into both qualities I describe in the above paragraphs.  First, they’ll find subtle, natural ways to bring up nontraditional sexuality or to mention other relationships with LGBT people, not only in that individual’s presence but as an ongoing passion and interest.  Second, they’ll avoid making any assumptions about that person (either that they’re straight or LGBT) in order to be unfazed if and when that person does begin to open up about sexuality.  They’ll regularly express unconditional love and invite self-disclosure by practicing self-disclosure.  Those actions lay a foundation for trust and open-mindedness, and they avoid making the other person feel pressured (“I guess I have to come out to her so she’ll quit bringing it up!”) or too self-conscious (“Is it that obvious I’m a lesbian?”).

I hope it’s been clear throughout that these qualities are valuable for any Christ follower who wants to support and walk with other people gently and compassionately in any situation.  I believe Christians should be proactive in addressing difficult issues, open to the diversity of narratives that can honor God, and gentle with the tenderness of others’ lives, and I believe such an empathetic posture demonstrates an abiding joy and peace resulting from trust in God.  When LGBT individuals make the weighty decision to come out, they may find themselves naturally drawn to those individuals who, in their qualities of joy and peace, embody the very nature of the God who loves us as we are.

October is National Bullying Prevention Month, and as someone who spends time thinking about faith and sexuality, that delights me for two reasons.  First, I think bullying prevention is an absolute theological slam dunk.  I’m well versed on disagreements about the biblical perspectives on same-sex relationships, but I believe one of the most consistent themes throughout the entirety of the scriptures is God’s heart for those whom society oppresses, marginalizes, and, yes, bullies.  Like many of my all-too-ready-to-fix-the-world-by-supporting-causes peers, I genuinely appreciate opportunities to participate in demonstrations or events that encourage productive dialog about significant issues.  Nevertheless, because my enthusiasm lies in the arena of sexual minorities and the Christian faith, I often find myself participating half-heartedly in secular rallies that don’t quite capture the statement I want to make or second-guessing every step I take out of fear for how my message will be received by certain communities of people.  When it comes to the crisis of bullying in our country, though, I have no hesitation extending my full support to prevention efforts—especially as they relate to anti-LGBT bullying—and I’m convinced Christians should actively seek to prevent bullying regardless of what they believe about nontraditional sexuality.  (I’ve argued this before: “Why I Need You to Stop Saying ‘Gay.’”)

Second, I’m enamored with a recent cultural shift that has slowly started making bullying prevention cool by celebrating the diversity and individuality of those who are frequently the victims of bullying.  It’s hard to put my finger on exactly what has changed, and it’s even harder to define exactly how the change happened; but somewhere along the way, people learned to revel in their nerdiness and stand up for society’s misfits.  I choked back tears when Mitchell, one of the gay characters on Modern Family, delivered the following gem to bullied kid Manny: “This is the funny thing about growing up.  For years and years, everybody’s desperately afraid to be different in any way.  And then suddenly, almost overnight, everybody wants to be different…and that is where we win.”  In spite of myself, I tapped my foot along when the ragtag chorus on Glee sang an original song celebrating their status as school outcasts.  I blew up all my social media outlets trying to share the video of hundreds of students at a Houston high school performing a musical anti-bullying PSA.  And I beamed when I heard the recent story of the overwhelming support for the Michigan girl who was elected to her school’s homecoming court as a cruel joke.  As bullying became an epidemic in our country, many of the people who shape culture decided to make prevention cool, and their influence is slowly trickling down in the form of vocal support for victims.

That influence only moves so quickly, though, and the harsh reality remains that we’re facing a legitimate bullying crisis, especially with reference to LGBT youth.  That point was made clear to me when I came across a site that tracks the frequency of anti-LGBT words and phrases (including “Faggot,” “No Homo,” “So Gay,” and “Dyke”) on Twitter and was painfully unsurprised to see their weekly rate of occurrence numbered in the hundreds of thousands.  Stats on LGBT youth and suicide, harassment, violence, and homelessness remain disturbing (start here, for example), and I’ve heard countless anecdotes from people who identify as gay or whom others merely perceived as different about the pain of persecution and intimidation throughout middle school, high school, and even college.  It’s essential that we separate the safety of the victims of bullying from any perceived political movements or religious ideologies; to get tangled up in discussions about sexual ethics and marriage laws is to miss the point, because the point is that youth (and many adults) feel unsafe and unloved.

Unfortunately, as much as I celebrate our culture’s gradual cool-ifying of bullying prevention, I’m uncomfortable with the way the anti-bullying narrative often takes the shape of retributive bully-shaming, whereby the victim of bullying receives support and encouragement while the perpetrator of bullying suddenly becomes the new victim of (seemingly deserved) negativity and scorn.  Thus does Mitchell’s above pep talk to Manny end on a note of winner-loser competition, does the Glee number essentially boil down to a dismissive message of, “You’ll be sorry once I’m famous,” and does the headline to which I linked frame the high schooler’s experience as enjoying the “last laugh” in the controversy.  We’re getting better at recognizing the harms of bullying and standing up for victims, but I fear we’re prolonging a cycle of harassment when we start throwing vicious language at bullies and essentially write them off as hopeless lost causes.  In fact, the label of “bully” may now carry as much shame and disgrace as any of the discriminatory pejoratives we would hear from the lips of a so-called “bully”—and it may be worse, since the “bully” label includes a certain sense of having been earned.  If anyone deserves to feel abused and mistreated, so the thinking goes, it’s the people who have abused and mistreated others.  We feel justified bullying the bullies.

For example, you may have heard the story of Jennifer Livingston, a news anchor who responded on-air to a viewer’s letter that expressed disapproval of her appearance.  Her statement was eloquent and poignant, and it deserves the national media attention it has received.  Livingston has also received an outpouring of encouragement, but it’s distressing how quick many have been to lambaste and demonize Kenneth Krause, who wrote the letter to her.  Make no mistake about it; I disagree with Krause’s perspective and his decision to send the letter, but the outpouring of vitriol he’s received simply adds more negativity into an already painful situation.  I’m thinking here about comments to the original YouTube video, where individuals have labeled Krause everything from a “coward” to an “idiot” to a “jerk,” or an article on Jezebel (admittedly, a site known for abrasive language and content) that names him a “concern-trolly d-bag,” an “asshole,” and someone “made of slime.”  Criticism and ridicule have, once again, begot harsher criticism and ridicule.

Christians who work to prevent bullying have the opportunity to do something different by actively working to protect and affirm victims of bullying while simultaneously recognizing and embodying God’s ever-present, unconditional love for every single person, even for the perpetrator who bullies others.  The compassion Christians show the world begins with humility, the unassuming confession that “while we were still sinners, Christ died for the ungodly” (Romans 5:8).  Even in the process of dying for the ungodly, of course, Jesus showed compassion for his tormentors, famously praying, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing” (Luke 23:34).  John 8 portrays Jesus literally standing up against those who, in their positions of power, would publicly shame a woman for the sake of proving a point, but he does so in the gentlest means possible.  (He reserves harsher criticisms for another setting.)  Christians don’t get to choose sides and call certain people “bad guys,” believing as we do that “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and all are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus” (Romans 8:23-4).  (Forgive my cliched examples throughout, but I really think we’re dealing with spiritual baby food here.)  In a world that often protects victims by shaming bullies, we have the chance to demonstrate radical love through our extension of mercy and grace to every person.

Here’s what I would love to see: I would love to see Christians—and especially those Christians who are eager to pursue tangible reconciliation with the LGBT community but who feel like their hands are tied with certain religious convictions about sexuality—take up the cause of bullying prevention, making noise and using the wonderful creativity God has given them to express words of hope, safety, and belonging to those who are victims.  I’d love to see them use National Bullying Prevention Month as an opportunity to reiterate to the world through our actions how seriously we take matters of oppression, violence, and injustice because of how seriously God takes them.  I’d love to see them set an example for others (especially for young people) of how to handle disagreements (especially in this political season, and especially online) with respect and generosity.  And more than anything, I’d love to see them work to eliminate our country’s crisis of bullying while extending compassion, empathy, mercy, and healing to its perpetrators.

There are people in your life who disagree with your position on same-sex marriage.  If you support same-sex marriage, there are people in your life who cannot in good conscience support that significant shift in our country’s concept of family.  If you oppose same-sex marriage, there are people in your life who cannot in good conscience deny gay couples the privileges straight couples enjoy.  If you’re completely apathetic on same-sex marriage and have grown weary of the fuss, there are people in your life who perceive the issue as hugely significant and central.

As we enter election season for the next few months, it’s inevitable you’re going to run up against someone whose beliefs about marriage equality are different from yours.  You may read a hasty comment a coworker posts to Facebook; you may overhear a conversation between the couple behind you in the checkout line; or you may get into an ugly, bitter argument at the dinner table with someone who’s never before expressed any sentiments related to the issue.  In most cases (at least the first two in that list), there will be no reason for you to engage, and you already know this.  But there’s a strong possibility you will find yourself involved in a serious discussion (or many serious discussions) about same-sex marriage in the next few months, and I’m already seeing how negative and hostile those discussions can become when we don’t approach them carefully and deliberately.  In order to encourage productive, healthy discussions about a topic that’s important and personal to me—and, to be honest, to try and train myself to handle these discussions better—I suggest the following policy when it comes to discussions about same-sex marriage: Share face-to-face, honest conversations with people.  Let me explain each piece of that statement.

First, share face-to-face, honest conversations with people.  I’m a staunch advocate for in-person conversations, both because of what I learned with The Marin Foundation and because of what I’ve experienced with responses to this blog.  Quite often, when you encounter opinions that conflict with yours, it happens in the context of social media.  When your friend expresses an opinion online with which you take issue, the knowledge that everyone else can see what s/he wrote makes it tough to allow the statement, noisome as it is to you, to float out there in cyberspace uncontested, and the ease of expressing oneself online dramatically amplifies the temptation to respond impulsively and thoughtlessly to what you read.  Even if you take great care with your response and state your view effectively, though, you’re still butting up against the limitations of communication that’s strictly verbal and lacks the nuances of nonverbal expression, and I’m skeptical discussions occurring in the medium of a Facebook comment thread or a Twitter exchange will accomplish any good for anyone.

As intimidating as they are—and they can be enormously intimidating—I have no doubt face-to-face conversations are the most effective way to cover this sensitive ground.  If discussing same-sex marriage is important to you, it should be important enough to merit a medium that facilitates effective communication.  If you take issue with something a friend expresses online or in passing, resist the temptation to continue the discussion in that medium; instead, immediately request and plan for a face-to-face meeting with the person.  If someone tries to trap you in a debate online or in passing, make the conscious choice not to engage, and if you’re willing, graciously and non-condescendingly suggest a face-to-face meeting.  (I’m again noticing Andrew Marin’s influence: I can distinctly remember Marin saying, whether it was in a public speech or over lunch, something to the effect of, “People may try to force you to debate or answer pointed questions, but you never have to engage.  You can always choose not to engage.”)  If you’re uninterested in a face-to-face meeting with the person, seriously consider what’s motivating you to engage online.  Otherwise, sit down at a table with the other person, and take joy in the opportunity for connection with another human.

Second, share face-to-face, honest conversations with people.  I suggest complete transparency in your discussions for two reasons: On the one hand, vulnerability tends to be disarming and inviting.  It’s not difficult to go to the library and find eloquent, reasoned arguments for and against same-sex marriage; but if mere rhetoric itself were all the other person lacked, you could save yourself an hour by simply slapping a copy of those eloquent, reasoned arguments in an email.  Be completely honest about why you believe what you believe or why you’re voting the way you’re voting.  Speak from your heart, and don’t merely recite the arguments of philosophers who stand on your side of the divide.  If you happen to be a sexual minority and feel comfortable talking about that part of your story, explain what you’ve experienced and what has shaped your perceptions.  Regardless of what you’re sharing, your willingness to be honest represents an extension of respect and trust, and extending respect and trust tends to elicit respect and trust from the other person.  If you can stand to take the risk, the bold motion of letting down your defenses can entirely change the tone of a conversation and lead to better understanding and communication.

On the other hand, vulnerability forces you to be entirely upfront with yourself about why you believe what you believe, and it leaves absolutely no room for false pretenses of nobility in your reasoning.  I mean to say that, if I’m completely truthful with myself, I’ve done a lot more work on some of my opinions than I have on others.  It’s scary for me to admit many of my beliefs come less from intellectual exertion and more from gut-level inclinations, but honest discussion requires me to be upfront with myself before I can be upfront with others.  So, don’t say, “Based on my studies, I’m convinced the biblical arguments in opposition to same-sex marriage are more faithful and responsible to the text than are the arguments in support of same-sex marriage,” if what you actually mean is, “Although I’ve not given much study to the issue, I’m comfortable relying on the ancient faith traditions I’ve received from my ancestors and see no reason to alter the church’s traditional sexual ethic,” or, “Same-sex relationships fall right in line with a whole host of progressive issues that give me pause, and I’m uncomfortable with many of the changes I’m seeing,” or even, “I just think same-sex relationships are icky, and that’s all there is to it.”  Don’t say, “My informed understanding of human nature and sexuality leads me to believe same-sex couples deserve the same privileges opposite-sex couples receive from the government,” if what you actually mean is, “I care deeply for my gay brother and want him to have the same opportunity for a lifelong relationship as anyone else,” or, “I don’t personally know anyone involved in a same-sex relationship, but I’ve never had a problem with gay characters on TV and see no reason to deny them marriage rights,” or even, “I’ve got something to prove to my parents/church/society and need a controversial cause to support, and this one fits the bill.”  If you’re uncomfortable expressing your true motivations because of what those motivations say about you, it’s probably worth your time to revisit your beliefs.  But if you’re comfortable with the reasoning behind what you believe, express it with confident transparency, and make it very clear why you take the position you take.

Third, share face-to-face, honest conversations with people.  I’ve encountered many people who have no interest in dialog with regards to same-sex marriage because they don’t want to legitimize the arguments of the opposing position, a position they perceive as harmful or sinful.  And that’s okay—I completely understand why some are unwilling, due to either their own convictions or even their own emotional health, to share a discussion with someone whose worldview repulses them too much.  Nevertheless, if you know you’re unable to engage another person in a dialog that recognizes the validity of that person’s worldview for the sake of understanding and growth, don’t tell the other person you are.  Don’t invite someone into a “conversation” (or accept an invitation into a “conversation”) if what you actually envision is a sales pitch for your perspective, a meeting whose success you measure in terms of the other person’s eventual conformity and assent.  Such tactics lead to feelings of distrust and betrayal and almost certainly will not achieve their intended purpose.  If what you want is to change the other person’s mind, give them fair warning about what they should expect before they agree to meet with you.  (You know as well as I do it’s a rare person who will actually accept an invitation from someone who claims to want to change his/her mind, but that doesn’t justify your misleading someone about your intentions in order to corner him/her with your arguments.)

If you are up for a conversation, though, anticipate it as an opportunity to grow in your comprehension of the other person’s position and to further develop your own opinion.  Take seriously the issues s/he raises, and ask questions with the purpose of understanding more (and not with the purpose of poking holes in his/her argument).  Above all, give the person the benefit of the doubt: that s/he is intelligent and compassionate, that s/he is working hard to get this right, and that s/he possesses some particular insight you lack.  If, at the end of the conversation, it’s difficult for both of you to determine a “winner,” that’s a good sign you both came ready to listen to each other and to connect richly with each other.  Conversations are not competitions.

Fourth, share face-to-face, honest conversations with people.  It’s impossible to sit down at a table across from an ideology, a stereotype, or a political party, so don’t approach conversations about marriage equality as if you’re debating The Gay Community or The Christian Conservative Movement or The Institution of Marriage.  Talk to a person, and pay close attention so that you might understand why his/her opinions may not completely match up with your expectations of what that person should be saying or feeling.  I earlier mentioned you should be transparent about your motivations and your perspective; expect the other person to do likewise, and then listen to what s/he has to say.  Try to avoid assumptions and hyperbole, the kind of speech that goes too far, like, “If you oppose gay marriage, you probably think we should force all gay people into electroshock therapy to try and make them straight!” or, “If you support gay marriage, you’ll probably be trying to legitimize bestiality in the next election!”  Remember that very few people’s beliefs synchronize perfectly with any particular institutional doctrine, and keep the conversation in the context of the beliefs of the two people who are actually talking to one another.

Insofar as you have an existing relationship with the person, keep the conversation in the context of your relationship.  If you’re talking to your sister, remember that you’re not talking to Barack Obama or Mitt Romney.  You’re not talking to Dan Savage or Dan Cathy.  You’re talking to another human who may feel conflicted or ambivalent, who may be surprised at how much his/her views have changed on the topic, and who is trying to piece together a worldview that works.  You may disagree severely with the other person, but that doesn’t invalidate the relationship you share with each other.  Remember that LGBT issues are human issues and that the people talking about LGBT issues have their own histories and baggage.  Keep conversations humane.

Although the election will be over in November, marriage equality as a political issue is not leaving the stage any time soon, so it’s vital we learn to discuss it with sensitivity and grace.  The policy I prescribed may sometimes feel arduous, but I’m convinced it’s significantly more beneficial than any impassioned-but-shallow squabbles or awkward, timid silence.  I suggest we share face-to-face, honest conversations with people and, by so doing, grow in our understanding and love for one another.