I'm wondering what I can ethically say there to the people at Pride.
Here's the raw results from the Louisiana Annual Conference this week:
- Andrew Smith's petition to denounce the passage of the Traditional Plan had a robust debate but failed to pass with a narrow 340-360 vote.
- Four of the eight elected lay delegates to the 2020 General Conference (1 of 3), Jurisdictional Conference (2 of 3), and alternate (1 of 2) were people who align with progressive or centrist views.
- Seven of the eight elected clergy delegates were identified as progressive/centrist (the lone non-progressive is an alternate).
- In terms of race and gender, the elected delegation represents an impressively representative cross-section of Methodists. One of these, Adam Philley, is (I believe) our first out gay delegate (an alternate).
Such a victory bespeaks hard work and careful planning. Spurred by dismay at the 2019 General Conference's support for the Traditional Plan, progressives and centrists in Louisiana organized a "Big Tent Coalition." We strategized, politicked, coordinated, and prayed our Wesleyan butts off. To all the people who labored behind the scenes and in public fora to bring this about--Katie, John C., Brandon, Adam, Mickie, Marissa, Jay, Andrew, Karli, Marty, Juan, Lane, Donnie, Laura, Jen R., Jen S., Buzzy, all our delegates, all who spoke and advocated for us, each person who checked in with me and hugged me and cried with me, everyone I'm forgetting or haven't mentioned by name--I can't possibly thank you enough.
So, yes, I'm happy. Three cheers.
Well...two.
Why? As thrilling as these victories are for those of us eye-deep in Louisiana Annual Conference politics, our witness to the world beyond the Church--and to LGBTQ+ folk--remains broken.
Since at least February, the United Methodist Church's loudest message to the world has been this: we don't want gay people here. Yeah, I get that's not literally what our Book of Discipline says. Yes, I understand--truly, I do--that this message runs counter to the intentions of most people who supported the Traditional Plan. But the fact remains that the take-away for most people who've heard anything about the UMC boils down to two points: (1) we voted against LGBTQ+ inclusion, and (2) we may split over this issue.
Back when I blogged here regularly--about a decade ago--I wrote a lot about David Kinnaman and Gabe Lyons's 2007 book unChristian: What a New Generation Really Thinks about Christianity . . . and Why It Matters. Researchers with the evangelical-aligned Barna Group, Kinnaman and Lyons conducted a series of surveys with younger folk to pin down what they thought about Christianity.
Two findings stay with me after all these years. First, most young adults who don't go to church aren't "unchurched"; they're de-churched. They have had some experience going to church, usually because their parents made them. And then they fell away when they hit late adolescence and early adulthood. Something about church failed to hold them--or even repelled them. The authors' other major finding: when asked what words they link to "Christian," survey respondents' top three answers were, in decreasing order, anti-homosexual, hypocritical, and judgmental.
Reflect on that for a moment. At least in 2007, at least according to these researchers, the major impression most young people have of Christianity is that they disapprove of homosexuality.
I would love to say that in 2019 the atmosphere has changed. I'd love to think that Christians, or at least Methodists, are best known for helping the poor, clothing the naked, feeding the hungry, doing justice, loving mercy, and walking humbly with our God. I see evidence of those priorities in my local church. I saw evidence of them in the lives and work of Louisiana Methodists this week.
But I can't blame casual observers for looking at the results of our major meetings--including the 2019 Louisiana Annual Conference--and getting the impression that we're fixated on debating and condemning homosexuality.
Tomorrow, as I staff the Methodist table at Pride, I wish I could tell attendees that impression was wrong. I wish I could point to a strong statement from our Annual Conference that we in Louisiana care more about doing no harm, doing good, and staying in love with God than we do about stressing--again, as if the world were not already convinced--that Methodists think homosexuality is bad.
But that's just not where we are. We're a reflection of the nearly 50/50 split on Andrew Smith's petition: divided. Mixed. Purple, not red or blue. And part of me loves the fact that we're so deeply conflicted, so diverse. Part of me loves that we're the church of George W. Bush and Hillary Rodham Clinton. I love it because that's our nation. Our church reflects where the country as a whole is on so many issues. Our messy mix empowers us to model love for one another in the midst of disagreement, to be the community about which the world says, See how they love one another?
That's part of why I as a gay Methodist stay in the UMC. I feel called to be part of that witness. If I wanted to be in a Church whose membership perfectly reflected my beliefs, I'd be Episcopal or Lutheran or UCC (all fabulous churches). I'd probably live somewhere other than Louisiana. For now, though, I'm committed to my spiritual home, asking daily how I may serve here. In this know I stand with many LGBTQ+ Methodist siblings as well as countless Methodist allies. Together we hope and pray, work and weep for a holy transformation of hearts and minds.
But before that blessed day comes, there's tomorrow. There's me at a table at Baton Rouge Pride representing the United Methodist Church. There's me talking a non-Methodist LGBTQ+ person looking to connect or reconnect with a Christian faith community. What do I say?
So many queer folk have been hurt by the churches of their childhoods--denounced, shunned, or excommunicated. When people like that ask me if my church is safe--my local church but also the UMC as a whole--they're asking if they will be spared the kind of rejection they're used to receiving from Christians. Now, I'm comfortable affirming that most congregations in Louisiana would never condone abuse toward an LGBTQ+ person. Even under the Traditional Plan, Methodists are enjoined not to reject lesbian and gay laity.
Nevertheless, Methodists continually reaffirm rules and doctrinal statements that install sharp cutoffs on that acceptance. "Sure, you're welcome to come," we say, "but just keep in mind that your sexuality is incompatible with Christian teaching. Also? If you feel called to ordained ministry or want to be married in our Church, forget about it." It's We love you, BUT... To me, and to most LGBTQ+ folk, that attitude just seems, well, anti-homosexual, hypocritical, and judgmental. And, like it or not, those beliefs manifest at every level, even in the local congregation I love.
As a gay Methodist, I can see the purple tensions that underlie our conflicted stance. I can appreciate the Church as a work in process and sometimes even draw strength and meaning from that struggle. I can sense and participate in the long-ball game of moving the UMC away from such stances. I have committed myself to a discipline of patience and forbearance with my mixed community (whether I'm successful at that discipline is an entirely other matter).
But I cannot ethically ask an LGBTQ+ person to join me in that commitment. I cannot recommend the Church I love to my LGBTQ+ siblings--even after the wonderful, hard-won, immensely encouraging victories we saw this week. To evangelize, to invite someone into my church in the hopes of making them a disciple, is to make a promise: Your Creator loves you as you are, and we will strive to embody God's love in our welcome to you. I lack faith in that promise, which hinders my evangelism.
My message this Pride day may thus be rather less proud than I would wish. As our Bishop modeled in her phenomenal Episcopal Address, all I can do is apologize to the LGBTQ+ community and promise that we're trying to do better, to be better. This message I give at the same time as I hold hope and thanks for the progress we've made this last week.
So, to my Big Tent Coalition friends: thank you so much. The Spirit of God is moving!
But, to everyone else, and especially to LGBTQ+ people:
I'm so sorry.
I'm so, so sorry.
We're working on it, really we are, as hard as we can.
For now, though, maybe try the Presbyterians next door.
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