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Dear Church

Dear Church, What happens if you’re wrong?

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Places like this remind me how much more there is than me and my knowledge about things.

I remember somewhere around 2012 when Rob Bell, the Christian author and pastor “came out” in affirmation of the LGBTQ+ community. I remember hearing about it, and mulling over it in my mind. I tend to argue and process in my mind, from as many angles as I can imagine, before I settle on where I “land.” I usually take the more cautious position, believe it or not, unless there is a compelling reason to do otherwise. I remember having a discussion with my husband. He had read Rob’s book, Love Wins https://a.co/d/hCIFnUr and found it compelling. I had not read the book. Perhaps I was afraid it would confuse my position on what love was. Also, I didn’t read as much in those days. I do remember rationalizing to Chris, “I would like to take the affirming position, as it feels more loving; but I would be worried that I might be wrong.” I do remember considering then what might happen if I was wrong. It boiled down to not making it to heaven and possibly leading others that way as well.

I worry about being wrong ALOT!!! I think about it at my job. I think about it in my marriage. I think about it as a Mom. I think about it as a “Jojo (grandmom).” I think about it as a friend. I think about it as a writer. I think about it as a creator. I think about it VERY often. I am not a miserable person :), but I am careful about what I choose to believe. I really do want to the right thing, because I still feel a deep responsibility to all around me (friends, family, coworkers, God, etc. ) not to cause harm. I do not want to be responsible for being a wrong example for others. In fact, believe it or not, it takes a great deal of courage for me to put these curiosities and opinions in front of you, because of this very real “weight of glory” as C.S. Lewis named it.

What I did not consider in 2012, when I was determining if I could join Rob Bell’s ideology, was what if my 2012 position was wrong? What if it wasn’t all about heaven or my responsibility to convince everyone in my sphere to go there? Or what if God made some people gay, because He is creative and likes variety? And what if it’s possible that gender dysphoria is real, and appropriate healthcare measures are a reasonable means to help a person become their true selves? What if it didn’t even matter what I believed about it? What if my beliefs on the matter had nothing to do with whether or not my kids “became gay.” or whether or not they would experience this gender dysphoria? What if the Bible actually meant something different than I had previously understood? What if the Bible exists by a very long process with many iterations, and what if those verses dealing with the topics of LGBTQ matters were interpreted by people who had opinions about it that were based on their own views versus a revelation from God? What if the Bible is more of a history book, where we can learn about God and people’s perception of him, and not a weapon to use toward everyone who doesn’t interpret it like we do? But I am getting ahead of myself.

I feel my search for rightness, after I fully faced the LGBTQ issue, brought me to the realization that I had been wrong. It helped me grow open to other ideas that challenge my beliefs. I remember when it occurred to me that maybe my community loved the Bible more than they loved Jesus or people. I wonder if “We teach the Bible” has become a more important statement than “We love others” or “We follow Christ.” Many “Bible believing” churches seem to have a clear view of what each verse means. They believe there are clear rights and wrongs, and if you don’t agree, you are judged.

Dear Church,

What if you are wrong?

I don’t know how to be in a place of certainty anymore, but I know that I aim to be in a place of integrity, humility, and justice more than ever. Whether I am right or wrong, I feel compelled to support my fellow humans, whether they look and act like me or not, especially in these times where diversity, equity, and inclusion are being scorned. Maybe it is time to take a closer look at our beliefs. Maybe it’s time to risk the possibility that we may have been wrong. It might cost you your community, but integrity, humility, and justice are worth it.

Consider those verses that aren’t being amplified right now, such as this one: Micah 6:8 “He has shown you, O man, what is good and what does the Lord require of you. But to seek justice, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.”

Dear Church, El Camino, Pride, Thoughts

Dear Church

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The Church in Leon, Spain. Just one of many cathedrals we saw on our Camino journey last year.

Traveling across Spain on foot gave lots of time for taking in the amazing cathedrals. They were awe inspiring with their grandeur, and I found myself curious about the unbelievable time, talent, and treasure that had been invested in these works of art.

I found myself wondering why? Were they concerned that God would not be pleased with anything less? Did they want to show the power of religion? Were they wanting to make sure that this cathedral measured up to the one down the road? Or why am I judging? Maybe they just wanted church to be fantastically beautiful to invite in the hurting, giving them hope that something that grand had to have power to heal. I know seeing a church as we crested a hill at the end of a long walking day, kinda gave me that feeling on my Camino.

Whatever the reasons, am grateful for the time, talent, and treasure invested. Walking through the vast time capsules that were these cathedrals was nothing less than a gift to me and others, these centuries later. They are stunning.

I imagine that modern church leaders discuss the nature of church buildings in similar ways. They may need them to have a big stage with fog machines, or they may focus on the practical with chairs that connect easily. I expect they want to be more inviting than austere, feeling warmer with their coffee shop vibes.

I like inviting. I was part of a church that I loved dearly where the pastor said that he wanted the atmosphere to be comfortable until you were in your seat. Then he felt the church leaders were responsible to work with God to bring transformation, which is not often comfortable. I appreciated this sentiment at the time. I felt I needed transformation, and assumed everyone else did too.

Another past pastor of mine used to say that he wanted people to be glad, at their funeral, that he was their pastor. He also clearly felt responsible to guide others on the correct path. I also feel this responsibility too, if I am honest. I think growing up a preacher’s kid gave me this sense of needing to help people toward the blessed life.

I wonder what it feels like to attend one of these cathedrals. Is it comfortable? It is a place of transformation? Is it the responsibility of the pastors and priests to invite us into comfort or conviction?

I used to believe so, but after some curious thinking I am less sure.

It must be a tremendous burden to feel responsible for all of those people. For the corrupt person, it could also support a tremendous feeling of power. Is this what being “called” looks like? Teaching people how to live? I wonder if there are things that are missing or even wrong in this structure called “church.” There seem to be lots of things spoken that are not demonstrated, things like “the greatest of these is love,” or “how can he say to his brother, ‘let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the while he has a plank in his own eye.” It can be hard to reconcile, and I understand all too clearly the challenge.

My family has gone through stuff. We have traveled the lonely path of being very involved in a church, then subsequently embracing a life of loving and fully supporting our lesbian daughter. Our daily life probably looks similar to any other privileged, white family. I try to love others well and live an intentional life, caring for myself and those around me; yet this has been a season of grief and loss of nearly all of our early church community.

I remember the echo chambers of the large, albeit beautiful cathedrals. I remember being in my modern echo chamber of a sanctuary and nodding my head, feeling so accomplished in my Christian successes. My husband was a Sunday School teacher, and taught challenging and thoughtful lessons. I remember our last Sunday there, before we moved away. I remember individuals in our class recounting all our valuable traits that they were going to miss. They mentioned the example of our lives, and how much they appreciated our friendship. We poured so much into that community, and loved them all so much.

I have always wanted to write a letter to them. I wonder why we have not heard much from most of them, since our daughter came out. We had a journey, that was not easy, of tears, searching, confusion, etc. as we navigated how to respond to our precious child. It would have been really nice to have some of those old friends reach out in support. When we did hear from them it was in urging us to change our position. That added shame to an already difficult time.

I know time also can affect relationships. We have all traveled a hard road through a pandemic and the divisions that came because of a vaccine. And amidst the sickness came some powerful moments of pain, as we saw again and again, Black people dying unnecessarily by the force of racism. And all of it is made political, including how to handle the LGBTQ community. https://respectfullycurious.com/did-covid-steal-your-relationships/

It has been 4 years since we were honest about our position on embracing the LGBTQ community. Time has been kind for those we have kept in close proximity with– our family and a few dear friends have been able to find a way to love us. But for many of our early church community, time has not been kind. It has allowed assumptions about who we now are and how we now live to fester. When we have revisited those friendships, we have felt the toxic void of proximity.

Next I will share my hardest post yet. My body fears it. It is not a theological treatise, but my heart’s response after yet another recent, deep wound from those who used to be our closest friends.

Dear Church,

Please consider the damage. Perhaps it is time to move from our austere places of worship, inviting or not, to life on life, with respectful curiosity and humility.