Sexuality and Faith

At my last Worship & Ministry committee meeting, the following question was posed to me:

"How do you feel your sexuality relates to your faith?"

I was a bit taken aback by this, as I assumed I already knew the answer and found out when I tried to answer the question that, indeed, I am not clear on this yet. The answer I gave was something to the effect of since love is spoken about so much by Jesus as being so important, thus who I am capable of loving affects my faith. That answer isn't wrong, but it is incomplete.

The truth that I knew then and was too afraid to speak borders on severe egoism. I worried at the time, as I am worrying now, that sharing the true answer to that question would lead to charges that I was raising myself to God's level; further, that these charges wouldn't be altogether uncalled-for, either. But a truth that I keep to myself and am unwilling to have tested by people who might disagree with it or find it offensive isn't a truth at all, but just a shadow of the truth.

Here is the truth, egotistical as it may be.

The answer I gave is the beginning of the truth, but not the whole truth. As the cliché goes: "God is love". I find romantic love to be the closest we humans can get to experiencing the love God has for us. I don't know who first said that to be in love is to see someone as God sees them, but I find this to be true experientially. Thus, who I can love is connected to my faith in a sense of perception, that I can potentially see all these people the way God sees them.

And this is where the potential charge of egotism might be raised. I consider the fact that I am bisexual (or, more accurately, pansexual, if any of you are aware of the difference), to be a great gift from God. The fact that I have the potential to love someone regardless of their sex, seems to me a true blessing. I am capable of seeing so many more people as God loves them than most mono-sexual (heterosexual or homosexual) people are capable of. My potential to see someone as God does is, in a way, higher than most people whose attractions depend on the sex of the person.

I try to not let this make me think I am better than people who are only attracted to one sex, but the truth is that I find bisexuality to be a unique blessing. If God has a sexuality, I imagine that He or She would share the same sexuality I have. This is not to say that I don't think gender identity is important. I love my husband partially because he is a man and he wouldn't be who he is if he were a woman. But the potential to love a woman the same way I love my husband is there. The potential to love two people, one male and one female, is there. And I am infinitely grateful for this, even when it means I feel excluded from both straight and gay people.

I sometimes wonder if attraction to the opposite sex implies an attraction to what's different while an attraction to the same sex implies an attraction to what's similar. At least, this is how my sexuality often feels to me. And I consider this to be another aspect of my sexuality to be grateful for, that I can be attracted to the similarities and the differences. My sexuality is not only part of my identity, it affects the whole of my identity. My ability to relate to other's attractions taught me empathy for other's perspectives. And this has led me to open-mindedness, which is an enormous part of my faith, the ability to empathize with other people and their different faiths.

I hope this doesn't make me sound monophobic, if I can coin a term. (By this, I mean someone who thinks bisexual people are better than those who are only attracted to one sex.) This is just my attempt at answering the question I was asked honestly and fully.

The Gay Christian Network Gathering

I attended the Gay Christian Network Gathering yesterday. This event is taking place in Alexandria, VA from Jan. 3 to 6. I'm not up for the whole weekend, so I'm thankful to Justin for allowing me to participate for the afternoon and into the evening. It was impressive to see the numbers of people (350 is what I heard). Overwhelmingly, the participants were white males, and people came from all over the country.

As someone from the tradition of unprogrammed Quakers and silent worship, here are some of my observations and thoughts:

• The opening of the afternoon General Session consisted of singing, and not the kind of singing I've experienced at the more traditional (Episcopal, Lutheran or Catholic) services I've attended over the years, but singing in the Evangelical tradition - drums, keyboards, and video screens with words. Very uplifting, but as I so often feel with these kinds of things, a bit awkward. I don't know if it's because it's not a part of my nature to go with the flow (what's that all about, anyway?), or if I'm feeling that my emotions are being manipulated, or what.
• LOVE - there was lots of love in the air. But I could also sense a lot of pain - people who have been hurt by their church. There were many people there who had been through "ex-gay" programs, and are among the 70% of people for whom ex-day programs tends to do more harm than good, although they are clear that they do not blame these programs for their hurt, nor do they begrudge those for whom the programs work.
• There was nothing visible about HIV/AIDS. It's possible that I was the only one with HIV there (in fact, I mentioned it at the small group gathering I attended, and a man sitting next to me asked "what is HIV?". I said "You know, AIDS", and he still didn't know what I was talking about). It's quite possible that something was said in the morning session or opening session the night before, but I'm sensitive to is the silence a form of acceptance or denial?
• The speaker for the general session I attended was fantastic! Kelly Fryer is a former Lutheran Minister who was "de-frocked" after coming out as a Lesbian by the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America. She started an organization called A Renewal Enterprise ("Setting people free to change the world"), based in Chicago. (For more info, see http://www.arenewalenterprise.com/). The theme of her message was that we all draw lines, and right now in "the church", glbt issues is one of the most prominent lines being drawn. The fact is, however, that everyone draws lines somewhere (I sure can back that up: my parents are wonderful and caring secular humanists, but have very fundamentalist lines when it comes to certain political and religious groups). But, Kelly said, Christ died to set us free from hatred, self-hatred and doubt, and that ultimately, we don't get to draw the lines. I particularly like her calling that we all have a mission, and that when we accept this, it is a responsibility (as my good friend Lois so often says, with opportunity comes responsibility). A part of that mission is reconciliation, something our world so desparately needs, and that this comes to us and through us to the whole of creation (a concept very much in line with Quaker teachings of the inner Light and God in all things). Kelly stated "Jesus is Lord" as the first of five guiding principles. Just from my own upbringing and knowledge, I know that this statement is not universally agreed upon by Christians, let alone other faith traditions, but the more powerful part of her message (this is why, I think, it's important to keep listening) is that no one - not the church, not one's pastor, not one's family - speaks for God. God/Lord is the one who knows us better than we know ourselves, and loves us anyway.

Kelly's message, I think, was very empowering. She emphasized responsibility, and not being a victim. She stressed that we all need to be willing to be changed, not just wait for others to change - all messages that I completely resonate with, and like to think have been a part of my life's work. I know that I've changed immensely in my ability to see love in places I never thought I'd see it in the work I did in Wheaton, IL, and now see that when love rather than anger can be the driving emotion, good things can happen.

The question, for me, is "what about Quakerism?" The GCN gathering was clearly more Evangelical in nature. There are those of us who have not necessarily been hurt by our faith communities, but within Quaker traditions, there have been and continue to be a lot of angry words about homosexuality. Is there a way for Quakerism to be a part of the healing, bringing forth some of what is uniquely Quaker - the Peace Testimony, for example? And, at future GCN gatherings, can/should we try to have a greater presence to perhaps offer silent worship in the morning for those who need that as part of their faith practice?

I've been reading a book called "Head and Heart" by Garry Wills about Christianity in America. In early America, Quakers figured prominently in the abolition movement. In a future posting, I'll write about that, as I think we have some models from that history to perhaps guide our role in holding the dialog around homosexuality, faith, and God.