Monthly Archives: December 2014

“What do celibate gay Christians long for in this life? In the Eschaton?”

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We had originally planned a different post for today, but yesterday we received a very thoughtful question that we wanted to address right away because of its timeliness:

“In thinking about Advent, what would you say that you and other gay Christians pray and long for with regard to your sexuality? What are you looking for in the eschaton? In this life?”

That’s a heavy question with a complicated answer, and the two of us spent a few hours yesterday discussing it. As with most questions of this sort, there is a variety of possible answers. How a celibate gay Christian would respond depends largely upon his/her reasons for choosing celibacy and whether he/she sees his/her sexuality as something to be excised or something to be integrated.

We know folks who would say, “In this life I hope to remain faithful to the scriptures and the teachings of my Christian tradition, and in the Eschaton I hope that I’ll finally have freedom from same-sex attraction.” People who hold this perspective tend to see being gay (or same-sex attracted, whichever type of language they prefer) as a painful cross to bear. Some face continual struggles with promiscuity or pornography. Some celibate gay Christians have experienced their sexual orientations exclusively in ways that cause distress. But this certainly isn’t everyone, and we would guess that it is not the majority. We know people who hope that everyone will be heterosexual in the Eschaton. We also know people who hope that they’ll come to understand sexuality as a gift in the way that married people have experienced it. Additionally, we know people who hope that all humans will become nonsexual beings in the Eschaton.

As for the two of us, these are our prayers and longings for this life with regard to our sexuality:

That God will continue to help us use our sexuality and vocation in ways that glorify him and bring forth his Kingdom. Traditionally, Christianity has considered celibacy to be a higher calling. That does not mean we are more virtuous or righteous than married people. It means that in certain ways, more is expected of us. This is not something to be prideful about: it’s intimidating and often frightening. We can only make feeble attempts at living into what God calls us to do and be, but we hope that with God’s help we will continue to improve.

That churches will see value in celibacy and support people in creating a positive vision of celibate vocations. Celibates have always been the minority in Christianity, and celibacy has been a countercultural way of life in nearly every Christian historical context. Living celibacy is often an attempt to meet a high spiritual expectation while existing in a culture that sees celibate people as freaks, and this is especially true for celibates who live in the world rather than monasteries or some form of religious life. In Orthodoxy, there are almost no discussions at this point about non-monastic celibacy. In Catholicism, there is a recognition that lay celibates in the world have a vocation, but there is almost no guidance about what this means or how one should live it out other than “don’t have sex.” In most Protestant denominations, celibacy has been dismissed as unfavorable at best, abnormal at worst. And there are many people in all three branches of Christianity who have made an idol of marriage. We hope to see these problems addressed, and we desire to be part of the solution.

That the language policing in both conservative and liberal churches will stop. Gay people who are intentionally celibate are often met with hostility simply because we use LGBT language. We know heterosexual Christians who behave as though celibacy means nothing if one also identifies as gay. Sometimes we think these folks would rather see us excise LGBT language from our vocabularies than see us grow into our vocations positively, and that is absolutely depressing. What’s even more depressing is that some seem to view preaching the message of celibacy as more important than preaching the Gospel. This has often been our experience of conservative churches, but liberal churches can also have unhelpful ways of language policing. If a celibate person in one of these contexts chooses to use the language of “same-sex attraction” rather than “LGBT,” more often than not it will be assumed that he or she is engaging in self-hatred and is perhaps delusional. We know heterosexual Christians and non-celibate LGBT Christians who refuse to discuss celibacy in any positive way and behave as though preaching the message of “it’s okay to identify as gay” is more important than preaching the Gospel. One of our greatest hopes for this lifetime is that people who are not gay and celibate (or insert whichever word you choose) will spend more time listening, less time language policing, and a lot less time presuming that they understand the gay celibate experience better than we do.

We also have these prayers and longings for the Eschaton:

That we will see our vocations perfected and experience the angelic life of celibacy more fully. We do not know much about how the ideal celibate life should manifest. We sense little glimpses and write about these ideas (which are only prayerfully considered guesses) on the blog at times, but it would be impossible for us to offer a comprehensive vision of what lay celibacy should or could be at its fullest. In the Eschaton, we hope to see completely what we have seen only faint glimmers of in this lifetime.

That we will understand fully how God redeems culture, language, ethnic heritage, class, ability, gender, and sexuality. All we know about the Eschaton is that we will be ourselves, but glorified. It’s impossible to know in this lifetime what “glorified” actually means. To what extent will all of us be the same, and to what extent will we maintain the differences that once formed our identities at incarnate beings? It doesn’t seem right to us to declare that because we’ll all be unified in the Eschaton, we’ll necessarily be the same in every possible way. To our way of thinking, it’s impossible to know whether redemption of ethnic heritage means that people who were Russian, Greek, Nigerian, etc. in earthly life will be stripped of all ethnic and cultural differences. Or an example that has hit home for us within the past year: will d/Deaf people become hearing people in the Eschaton, or do hearing people assume this will happen simply because they see hearing as a state superior to deafness? Right now we have more questions than answers about the Eschaton, and those questions include sexuality and gender identity. We do not think it is possible to know that in the Eschaton, all people will be nonsexual, or heterosexual, or whatever sexual orientation they experienced in their incarnate bodies. But we do hope that everything beautiful and God-honoring about all layers of our identities will carry over into our glorified state.

Whether you are a celibate gay Christian or not, what do you pray and long for in this life and in the Eschaton? This could make for a wonderful discussion in the comments.

Comment Policy: Please remember that we, and all others commenting on this blog, are people. Practice kindness. Practice generosity. Practice asking questions. Practice showing love. Practice being human. If your comment is rude, it will be deleted. If you are constantly negative, argumentative, or bullish, you will not be able to comment anymore. We are the sole moderators of the combox.

A Queer Calling Featured in Washington Post

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Last night, Washington Post published an article on celibate gay Christians that includes the two of us. As a result, we’ve seen a number of new readers coming our way. Welcome! If you’re just getting started with our blog, you might want to check out the following posts first:

We would also like to clarify that in the article itself, there is an unfortunate typo in Sarah’s quote. We felt the need to address this because a number of comments on the article, on Facebook, and in other places have misinterpreted the comment due to the typo. Sarah’s correct quote is as follows (emphasis ours):

“It’s not that we don’t have moral convictions of our own, but we are tired of that conversation. We really wish people could look past the black and white thinking,” Sarah said. “But since same-sex relationships are being talked about more openly, there’s more space to talk about celibacy — this is the ideal time to be having this conversation.”

Because the original article uses the word “thing” where “thinking” should be, we’ve seen it suggested that 1) we are an interracial couple, or 2) Sarah was being dismissive of the existence of racial discrimination in the United States and the Michael Brown and Eric Garner protests, or 3) that our “true agenda” is to convince churches that issues of sexual morality should be approached with a whatever-floats-your-boat attitude.

To address each of these individually:

1) We are not an interracial couple. Both of us are white.

2) Both of us recognize the importance of the peaceful protest movements that have resulted from recent high profile cases of police killing unarmed black people. We support these movements vocally and would be participating in them more actively if Sarah’s health was not in such an unpredictable state. We’ve been using our Twitter account to raise awareness of these issues.

3) The black and white thinking Sarah was referring to has nothing to do with churches changing their teachings. To put things into a bit more context, our experience shows that every time gay celibacy is discussed, people are more interested in discussing the yes or no question, “Is gay sex a sin?” That question doesn’t interest us. Celibacy as a vocation cannot be reduced to avoidance of sex, and it’s incorrect to suggest that choosing celibacy is necessarily a repression of sexual desire. That’s the black and white thinking Sarah was referencing.

These things clarified, the article is great. Check it out by clicking the link in the first sentence of this post.

Comment Policy: Please remember that we, and all others commenting on this blog, are people. Practice kindness. Practice generosity. Practice asking questions. Practice showing love. Practice being human. If your comment is rude, it will be deleted. If you are constantly negative, argumentative, or bullish, you will not be able to comment anymore. We are the sole moderators of the combox.

Vulnerability Brings Charity to Life — Henri Nouwen

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As we share about our experiences as celibate LGBT Christians, people ask us frequently if we know about Henri Nouwen. Nouwen has achieved a kind of celebrity status amongst participants in this conversation, especially those who are Catholic. His life, particularly while living at L’Arche, offers arguably one of most vivid portrayals of what celibacy can look like in our current cultural context.

Because Nouwen is so well-known, we have decided to take a different approach to this celibate profile. Instead of giving an introduction to Nouwen (several already exist) we would like to describe some ways that his life and writings map to our four core values of celibacy: vulnerability, hospitality, shared spiritual life, and commitment.

Nouwen’s life offers a counter-cultural embrace of vulnerability. He understands that leadership comes when a leader offers his or her vulnerable self:

“I am deeply convinced that the Christian leader of the future is called to be completely irrelevant and to stand in this world with nothing to offer but his or her own vulnerable self.” –from In the Name of Jesus

Nouwen has a way of appreciating that every person can gift others with his or her vulnerability. One reason Nouwen stands out to many people we know is that he voluntarily entered a life of serving people with a range of physical disabilities. Yet, Nouwen attempted to pass on a vision of disability that was rooted in profound respect for the image of God found in each person rather than viewing those he served as problems to be solved. Nouwen wrote a book called Adam, God’s Beloved where he detailed how Adam — who needed around-the-clock care — became his teacher and guide. It is clear that Adam taught Nouwen much about how simply being present with another person can be transformative, inspiring Nouwen to pen things like:

“Those who really can receive bread from a stranger and smile in gratitude, can feed many without even realizing it. Those who can sit in silence with their fellow man not knowing what to say but knowing that they should be there, can bring new life in a dying heart. Those who are not afraid to hold a hand in gratitude, to shed tears in grief, and to let a sigh of distress arise straight from the heart, can break through paralyzing boundaries and witness the birth of a new fellowship, the fellowship of the broken.” –from Out of Silence: Three Meditations on the Christian Life

Being present for a friend or loved one often requires a great deal of commitment. Nouwen frequently described commitment as the kind of compassion that draws near to the vulnerable. In Nouwen’s thinking, vulnerability and compassion are two sides of the same coin and integral to the Christian life.

“Compassion asks us to go where it hurts, to enter into the places of pain, to share in brokenness, fear, confusion, and anguish. Compassion challenges us to cry out with those in misery, to mourn with those who are lonely, to weep with those in tears. Compassion requires us to be weak with the weak, vulnerable with the vulnerable, and powerless with the powerless. Compassion means full immersion in the condition of being human.” –from Compassion: A Reflection on the Christian Life

And compassion helps people move from hostility to hospitality:

“Hospitality means primarily the creation of free space where the stranger can enter and become a friend instead of an enemy. Hospitality is not to change people, but to offer them space where change can take place. It is not to bring men and women over to our side, but to offer freedom not disturbed by dividing lines.” –from Reaching Out

Vulnerability enables us to find common ground even with people most different from us. Responding with compassion brings us to a place of hospitality for others through seeing our common humanity. This incarnational way of living helps us cultivate a shared spiritual life because we start to identify with others’ vices and others’ virtues:

“To care means first of all to empty our own cup and to allow the other to come close to us. It means to take away the many barriers which prevent us from entering into communion with the other. When we dare to care, then we discover that nothing human is foreign to us, but that all the hatred and love, cruelty and compassion, fear and joy can be found in our own hearts. When we dare to care, we have to confess that when others kill, I could have killed too. When others torture, I could have done the same. When others heal, I could have healed too. And when others give life, I could have done the same. Then we experience that we can be present to the soldier who kills, to the guard who pesters, to the young man who plays as if life has no end, and to the old man who stopped playing out of fear for death.

By the honest recognition and confession of our human sameness, we can participate in the care of God who came, not to the powerful but powerless, not to be different but the same, not to take our pain away but to share it. Through this participation we can open our hearts to each other and form a new community.” -from Out of Solitude: Three Meditations on the Christian Life

Nouwen’s writings are accessible to do many people because his work is vibrant with spiritual wisdom. If you are still looking for Advent reading and waiting in hope for the ability to live out charity and other Christian virtues, we strongly recommend Nouwen’s writings, especially those on compassion. We wouldn’t be surprised if many of our readers are already familiar with Nouwen’s work. Feel free to share your own reflections in the comments.

Comment Policy: Please remember that we, and all others commenting on this blog, are people. Practice kindness. Practice generosity. Practice asking questions. Practice showing love. Practice being human. If your comment is rude, it will be deleted. If you are constantly negative, argumentative, or bullish, you will not be able to comment anymore. We are the sole moderators of the combox.

Loving Differently

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A reflection by Sarah

A couple of months ago, Leah Libresco who blogs at Unequally Yoked called for a series of guest posts on the theme of “loving parishioners in their particularity.” Each of the posts in this series is insightful and challenging, offering issue-specific commentary on the question, “How can the Church do better at loving and welcoming people relative to ways they are different from others?” In the days since my surgical procedure last Friday, I’ve been thinking back to many of these posts and how delighted I was to see this conversation developing.

Loving others as they are instead of who we would like them to be is hard. When we see people in our parishes experiencing difficulty or lack of welcome due to some form of difference, sometimes our first reaction is, “Let’s find a way to help that person be more like everyone else, or at least remind him/her that in Christ we are all the same. That will solve the problem.” I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve had these thoughts myself. “Of course the best way to welcome a black person at a predominantly white parish is to treat him/her like everyone else,” or “Isn’t that what the person in the wheelchair wants? For others to acknowledge that the disability doesn’t make a difference in God’s eyes?” I’ve been guilty of this in the past. And since my own forms of difference have become more noticeable within my current parish environment, I’ve been thinking more often about how hurtful and unloving these attitudes are — no matter how compassionate and equalizing they may seem.

Over the past few months I’ve been engaging in conversation with friends and loved ones about ways to be hospitable and loving to people with chronic illness and people who are Deaf or are dealing with hearing loss in adulthood. Going through various highs and lows associated with my Ménière’s disease has made me more keenly aware that, “Just treat everyone the same” is not enough. But if it isn’t the best response, what does it mean to show hospitality and love to parishioners in their particularity? I do not have a complete answer to this question, but these are some scattered thoughts based upon my own experiences.

I believe firmly that asking questions is an essential part of loving another person. We cannot assume that we know and understand the needs of people whose life experiences are different from our own. Simply asking, “What do you need from us as your Christian family?” is a great first step. Not all people are accustomed to being forward about their needs, but this opens the door for conversation. A hearing person is not the best determiner of a Deaf or hard of hearing person’s needs within a community of faith. A healthy person is not the best determiner of a chronically ill person’s needs. A straight person is not the best determiner of a gay person’s needs. Yet for some reason, many of us think we already know how to “solve the problem.”

That brings me to another facet of this issue. As we’ve said here before with regard to LGBT issues, people are people — not projects. Kind as this may seem, it is not necessarily loving to visit a chronically ill person and tell him or her, “You seem to be doing fine! You’re sitting up today.” Many people in this situation will hear the comment as invalidating. In the same way, it is not loving to tell an adult who is going deaf, “It seems like your hearing is getting better. You can hear me now and hold a conversation with me.” I’m not in the habit of policing people’s words, but I do think it’s easy to make such statements without realizing their implications. If you tell me you’re glad to see that I’m hearing better, especially when we’re in a quiet room and you’re sitting beside me and speaking at 60 decibels, what you are actually telling me is that you value me as a hearing person — not as a person created in God’s image. You are communicating that you see my hearing loss as nothing more than a problem to be solved. A more hospitable approach to discussing health and disability issues with people who are chronically ill or disabled would be to remind them consistently that you love them because of who they are.

I also believe that loving parishioners in their particularity means acknowledging that intentions only go so far. We might have the best of intentions in what we do or say to show love to a person who is different from us, but our intentions matter very little because really, it’s not about us. When we say or do something that causes offense and our first response to being called out is, “I didn’t mean any harm by that,” we’re being selfish. We are communicating that the other person’s feelings of unwelcome are less important than our own need to be helpful. “You’re hypersensitive. Political correctness makes everyone a bad guy. When I was growing up, ‘deaf and dumb’ is what everybody called them. I didn’t mean anything by that.” This sort of remark serves only to disenfranchise a person who is already feeling less than welcome at church. Chances are, the offended party already realizes that you didn’t intend offense. He or she is likely seeking an opportunity to discuss the issue further and explain why certain actions, language, and attitudes are harmful to others. Loving people as they are means being open to that conversation.

Loving people in their particularity means learning to treat others as you would like to be treated…while realizing that this is not equivalent to, “Just treat everyone the same.” No other person deals with exactly the same things as you do. Perhaps I’m wrong about this, and feel free to challenge me, but I would guess that none of us really want to be treated exactly the same as every other person.

Comment Policy: Please remember that we, and all others commenting on this blog, are people. Practice kindness. Practice generosity. Practice asking questions. Practice showing love. Practice being human. If your comment is rude, it will be deleted. If you are constantly negative, argumentative, or bullish, you will not be able to comment anymore. We are the sole moderators of the combox.

The Joy of Beginnings

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In today’s world, there’s little room for gray area between obsessing over perfection and seeing any sort of half-baked effort as worthy of praise. Either we insist on stark separation between successes and failures or we give everyone a participation ribbon and say that quality doesn’t matter. We fixate on outcomes: what was our race time? What grade did we receive on the project? How did the band sound at the concert? When we will earn an annual salary that allows us to live comfortably? Amid the chaos, it’s easy to lose track of the beginning and the importance of beginning well.

It’s school concert season. We’re looking forward to attending the plethora concerts at the school where Lindsey teaches. Lindsey’s dad once remarked that the true measure of a parent’s devotion is the sixth grade orchestra concert. We’re sure that any parent who has heard the squeaks, creaks, screeches, squeals, and other indescribable utterances of new strings and brass players has some sympathy for Lindsey’s dad’s position. But beginning bands and orchestras everywhere have something to tell us about the joy of beginnings.

Making beginnings is hard. Taking first steps involves a lot of falling flat on your behind. Sitting with a 3-, 4-, or 5-year-old just learning how to read can try the patience of many people. Learning to tie your shoes is hard. Trying to figure out why math suddenly has letters in it when you get to 7th, 8th, or 9th grade has never been easy. Declaring a college major can be a major cause for existential crises. Beginnings are rarely glamorous.

Sizing beginning steps for another person is even harder than determining what you need when starting something for yourself. Do you throw new language learners into the deep end of an immersion experience? Do you risk picking repertoire so easy that a musician doesn’t have to practice at all? Do you seek objective measures of “talent” before indicating that a person has potential? Do you take the attitude that everyone is constantly beginning?

Beginning anything that’s positive, godly, or holy is a joyous experience. When you get started, you expect that it’s going to be hard. There’s something about knowing just enough to make an honest attempt, however falteringly. Beginnings can be fragile. What beginner wants to continue trying when he or she is being held to an impossible standard by someone unwilling to nurture the effort? Conversely, what happens when a person’s natural aptitude and circumstances make a particular beginning relatively easy and straightforward? What about the risk of developing an entitled, “I’m invincible!” attitude?” Trying to find the balance between recognizing the effort and fostering growth is hard.

In terms of fostering spiritual growth, it’s no surprise that churches and their clergy have trouble finding the sweet spot between giving everyone a pat on the head accompanied by, “God loves you. Don’t worry about your sins,” and praising an exalted ideal that is anything but obtainable. There are Christians who are terrified of saying the word sin because they don’t want to drive others away from the church. When this happens, churches can neglect serious conversations about important subjects in the interest of trying to get along. Conversely, there are Christians who are absolutely willing to play hard ball at all times lest they become complicit with someone else’s sin. Conversations happen in these circumstances, but they’re detached from any sense of lived experience. Exclusive use of either approach fails at providing appropriate spiritual guidance. With the first approach, any spiritual growth that occurs seems to be by happenstance rather than challenge toward spiritual maturity. With the second, people often feel so much pressure to put on their “perfect Christian” masks that they fail to share life together.

Remembering that we’re all beginners at Christlikeness can do a lot to help us grow closer to God. Preparatory seasons like Advent and Lent are a great time to think about making a beginning. Even though Lindsey’s faith journey started in a church with a liturgical calendar, it took Lindsey 7 years to have any sense of personal Advent devotion. During Lindsey’s senior year of college, Lindsey felt a strong need to observe the season and fashioned dorm-friendly candles from construction paper. Each Sunday leading up to Christmas, Lindsey would tape a flame in place. Lindsey has never quite figured out why observing Advent as Advent is so important, but something keeps gnawing a bit inside every year about why preparing for Christmas matters. If someone would have given Lindsey an extended lecture about the importance of using real candles, praying exclusively from one particular prayer book, or attending services at churches that use the right rubrics for Advent, then the joy of Lindsey’s effort with construction paper would have been lost.

Beginnings can also be broadenings. Sharing our life together has given the two of us opportunities to broaden our spiritual practices. Sarah has taught Lindsey a lot about how the rosary can foster devotion to God and understands that Lindsey does not have the same kinds of experiences in praying the rosary. Sometimes a beginning remains a beginning. Other times, a beginning fosters something new. Lindsey grew up praying whatever came to mind in freely-formed prayers. When we met, Sarah didn’t exactly know what to make of Lindsey’s prayerful outbursts. Sarah was hesitant about free-formed prayer and was cautious about praying aloud. Lindsey understood where Sarah was coming from, so we spent time together discerning how free-formed prayer would be a part of our shared spiritual life. There have been many times in our life together where we have wanted different ways to share Sarah’s health needs with God. Sarah has often used periods of illness to experiment with free-formed prayer. As a consequence of using free-form prayer more regularly, Sarah’s prayer discipline has broadened to include spontaneous prayers with traditional prayers. If we were not patient with each other regarding differences in spiritual practice, both of us would feel discouraged. At the same time, if we did not challenge each other to explore new ways of connecting with God, neither of us would experience much development in our prayer lives.

Advent and school concert seasons have some things in common. In Advent, we wait. We wait for Christ who is to be fully revealed to us in the fullness of time. We have the prophesies, and we hope with big expectant hopes. Our Advent efforts are feeble and often out of tune. By observing Advent each year, we hope to get just that much better. Marking Advent creates space for celebrating the joy of beginnings, even if we know that there’s far more to the story. Christ’s incarnation is a story of meeting people where we are while simultaneously inviting us to participate in a much larger story.

Comment Policy: Please remember that we, and all others commenting on this blog, are people. Practice kindness. Practice generosity. Practice asking questions. Practice showing love. Practice being human. If your comment is rude, it will be deleted. If you are constantly negative, argumentative, or bullish, you will not be able to comment anymore. We are the sole moderators of the combox.