Yeah, But: the Relativity of Inclusion

This is the "yeah, but" to yesterday's post.

There I wrestled with the fact that, although pro-LGBTQ+ inclusion forces (progressives and centrists) made some significant progress at last week's  Louisiana Methodist Annual Conference, the Conference--and the Church--remains an unhappy mix of inclusion and exclusion when it comes to non-straight and non-cis folk. I decided, reluctantly, that I cannot in good conscience invite an LGBTQ+ seeker to my church so long as something as fundamental as their full inclusion in the church (i.e., able to be ordained, able to be married) remains in question. "Try the Presbyterians," I said.

Yeah, but.

Inclusion and exclusion are relative positions on a dynamic spectrum. I surprised a conservative-leaning pastor this last week, for instance, when I described my local church as "purple" rather than blue (liberal) or red (conservative). In his mind, University UMC in Baton Rouge is a bastion of progressive Methodism. To be sure, many of us in that church are quite progressive. I have never felt anything but welcome and loved. But not everyone at University thinks that way. We have a mix of pro-inclusion folks, not-so-pro-inclusion folks, and lots of people in the middle.

Compared to a Reconciling congregation (Rayne Memorial in New Orleans, for instance), our purple centrism marks us as conservative. University UMC chooses not to adopt a formal, "We want to see the Discipline changed to ordain and marry LGBTQ+ people" stance. Doing so, we've determined, just wouldn't reflect where a significant portion of our membership is right now on this issue. And, for better or worse, we're not pressing inclusivity as a definitive topic. We're not obligating our membership to choose.

I know other Methodists in other Conferences and Jurisdictions for whom UUMC's centrism  constitutes an intolerable concession to bigotry. They base their argument in work like Martin Luther King, Jr.'s "Letter from a Birmingham Jail." (If you've not read it in a while, I urge you to stop and look at it; it's amazing.) There King calls out white moderate ministers who cluck their tongues at the Civil Rights Movement's activism. These ministers, many of whom considered themselves allies in the cause of racial justice, nevertheless urged King to back off, quiet down, not make so many (white) people upset. Speaking truth to power, King excoriates their fence-sitting. He carefully, patiently explains his movement's tactics, grounding them in history, scripture, and philosophy. Then he writes this:

I must make two honest confessions to you, my Christian and Jewish brothers. First, I must confess that over the past few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro's great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen's Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to "order" than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: "I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action"; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man's freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a "more convenient season." Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.

I would hope that no Methodist in 2019 looks back at King's activism and thinks, If only he had been a bit more patient and not forced this issue... I would hope that everyone recognizes how moderates' passive, "well, the truth is probably somewhere in the middle" equivocation perpetuated the evil of segregation.

For progressive Methodists, LGBTQ+ inclusion today parallels (not exactly, of course) anti-segregation and racial justice measures of the mid-twentieth century. Moderation is no virtue in the face of active injustice. Not choosing to act is itself an action. They're correct. I suspect that, if there is Methodism twenty or fifty years down the line, those future Methodists will look back on the Church's struggles over LGBTQ+ inclusion with a similar chagrin that we today feel about previous generations' failure to line up behind King's movement.* It's in this spirit, hearing the criticisms of my Methodist siblings from progressive Conferences, that I reluctantly decline to recommend my church to LGBTQ+ people right now.

That said...

A stance is moderate only in comparison to a viable progressive alternative. And while in Minneapolis or Los Angeles my local church's stance would seem hopelessly backward, in Baton Rouge we are pretty open and affirming. And compared to the rest of Louisiana (save New Orleans), we are, well, kind of a bastion of progressivism. If I'm gay and growing up in rural Louisiana, likely (exceptions of course exist) the only taste I have of LGBTQ+-inclusive Christianity is online. My status quo is that homosexuality is unthinkably sinful, something that big-city folk deal with and that any right-thinking Christian...doesn't think about at all except to go, yuck!

When I first became aware of my sexuality (late bloomer that I was), I was in my freshman year at Oklahoma City University. Having grown up in a series of rural churches (Baptist and Methodist) I had no context for a gay-inclusive faith. I had no model for thinking about myself as gay and Christian. Had it not been for Epworth United Methodist just down the street--a Reconciling congregation--I don't know what I would have done.

There are no Reconciling congregations in Baton Rouge and precious few in Louisiana. If I'm an LGBTQ+ Methodist, a freshman at LSU (or Southern, or BR Community College) wondering how I can reconcile my faith and my sexuality or gender identity, where do I go? I'm not going to find a full, open, 100% progressive Methodist church in town. But. I could do worse than University UMC. Or St. John's, or First Methodist, or the Wesley center (I'm sure there are others I'm missing).

And what if I'm LGBTQ+ in Bogalusa? Crowley? Sikes? Or what if I'm cis/straight but curious about how we should treat folk who aren't? In some of those towns, even the most traditionalist/conservative Methodist congregation would likely be a better choice than, say, an Independent Fundamental Baptist Church.

Dismissing congregations that fail to meet the progressive gold standard, in other words, leaves a whole host of people with no real way to navigate their lives and faith. More than a little bit of urban privilege, I recognize, informs my high-and-mighty "I can't recommend us" stance.

That doesn't mean I can happily recommend the UMC to LGBTQ+ folk right now. But I can--I must--be sensitive to individual context and story. For someone in need of a safe, familiar, Methodist harbor, my church may just play a part in holding that person to life and faith. That person can then decide for themselves about whether they're up for the challenge a purple church.

The Presbyterians are, after all, right next door.

 *I note, of course, that many white Methodists did support King wholeheartedly. I also note that there are a number of injustices today that we as Christians--me included--have resigned ourselves to accepting. The future is going to judge us harshly for our inaction and faux-moderation about mass incarceration, systemic racism/sexism, poverty, immigration, and global warming. God have mercy on us.