Monthly Archives: November 2014

Saturday Symposium: Holiday Challenges

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A blessed Saturday to all of our readers! This year, Thanksgiving coincided with Sarah’s birthday so we had a good time observing two holidays. We’ve spent time with family and friends. We continue to remember all those who are traveling in our prayers. Be safe!

Let’s get on with our weekly Saturday Symposium question:

How this works: It’s very simple. We ask a multi-part question related to a topic we’ve blogged about during the past week or are considering blogging about in the near future, and you, our readers, share your responses in the comments section. Feel free to be open, reflective, and vulnerable…and to challenge us. But as always, be mindful of the comment policy that ends each of our posts. Usually, we respond fairly quickly to each comment, but in order to give you time to think, come back, add more later if you want, and discuss with other readers, we will wait until after Monday to respond to comments on Saturday Symposium questions.

This week’s Saturday Symposium question: The run up to Christmas can be challenging for celibate people, for LGBT people, and for anyone who feels estranged from their family or their church. We’d love for our posts here at A Queer Calling to be relevant and potentially useful for people facing trying circumstances around the holidays. We’d be interested in hearing from our readers: what challenges do the holidays present for you? Is there anything you’re especially anxious about this year? 

We look forward to reading your responses. If you’re concerned about having your comment publicly associated with your name, please consider using the Contact Us page to submit your comment. We can post it under a pseudonym (i.e. John says, “your comment”) or summarize your comment in our own words (i.e. One person observed…). Participating in this kind of public dialogue can be risky, and we want to do what we can to protect you even if that means we preserve your anonymity. Have a wonderful weekend!

Blessings,

Sarah and Lindsey

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.

Healing from Spiritual Abuse

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The day after Thanksgiving can be difficult for many LGBT people. Holidays can bring up a flood of memories, good and bad. Reflecting on one’s year to identify places where one feels grateful can also lead to recalling some particularly painful moments. This year, we’ve been acutely aware of our own relationship with our church especially as it has developed while we’ve navigated various challenges around Sarah’s Meniere’s disease. We’ve dealt with a cascade of memories from previous pastors and churches where we’ve felt cast aside by Christians who have found us too inconvenient in one way or another. Many people of all sexual orientations and gender identities have experienced waves of sadness, despair, and despondency on the heels of spiritual mistreatment from members of their churches and/or members of their families. Because most people are off work and many are with family members who are not part of their daily lives, the day after Thanksgiving sometimes becomes a day of thinking through issues of spiritual abuse.

Let’s begin by acknowledging that spiritual abuse is a difficult topic for many. Every person’s experience is unique, both in kind and in degree. A defining feature of spiritual abuse is that a trusted spiritual guide conducts himself or herself in a way to control, coerce, and manipulate others. Depending on one’s spirituality, these guides can be formal leaders of churches, parents, older family members, or charismatic personalities. Mary DeMuth has an older post detailing 10 ways to spot spiritual abuse, and we think that her observations that purveyors of spiritual abuse distort views of respect and create a culture of fear and shame are especially on point. In today’s post, we’d like to talk about some specific ways we’ve been able to find some healing from spiritual abuse, recognizing that integrating our faith and our sexualities as LGBT Christians has been a significant part of our journeys.

Trusting our spiritual sensibilities. Spiritual abuse can be so dangerous because it’s all too easy for an abuser to cause a person to doubt his or her perceptions of the world. We’ve had to learn that despite what abusive people have told us, our spiritual sensibilities are reasonably accurate. When we find ourselves in places of wondering if something is abusive, there’s likely something to that wondering that needs further exploration.

Giving ourselves permission to take space away from abusive conversations, people, and environments. We’ve learned the importance of acknowledging toxicity. Taking some space allows us to get perspective on events, and we’ve cultivated a range of space-taking strategies. Some of our preferred space-taking strategies include changing the subject, talking with different people after services, visiting a different church within our Christian tradition, attending informal (or formal) retreats with people we trust, or choosing to stay home. Using space-taking strategies can help us get to the point where we can consider specific spiritual counsel against the broader teachings of our Christian tradition. Noticing places of contradiction and asking further questions can be a great way to deepen our own understanding of our Christian tradition while also countering possibly abusive counsel when we’re ready to reengage particular conversations.

Remembering that we have supportive friends in our communities. So many spiritually abusive people try to control situations through manipulating information and preventing people from checking in with one another. During seasons where we’ve felt as though we have been in communities that actively try to prevent friendship, we’ve learned to flee. Sometimes it’s better to end up seemingly alone for a bit than it is to continue in a place where every relationship is monitored. After feeling safe enough to lift up our heads, we’ve realized that we still have friends around us. During seasons when we feel spiritually isolated, we are so grateful to learn that we still have good friends who are willing to let us know when they are concerned about one or both of us spiritually, to talk with us about spiritual questions, and to offer counsel after we’ve asked for advice. We especially appreciate friends who can help us separate the wheat from the chaff in any given situation.

Finding therapists who respect our religious beliefs and tradition. We recognize that there’s a difference between what we can talk about with our friends and what we are better off discussing with a therapist. There’s no shame in saying, “I can’t get any perspective whatsoever in this situation, and I don’t know what to do next.” Awesome therapists are awesome because they understand the complex dynamics of abuse, guilt and shame and can help people see through the fog. When we look for therapists, we look for people who are knowledgable about our specific concerns and have capacity for building solid therapeutic relationships with us. We’ve found it more helpful to be upfront that we want therapists who respect our Christian tradition rather than seeking therapists who are part of our tradition.

Slowly relearning vulnerability. In all honesty, relearning vulnerability has been one of the hardest things to do. Spiritually abusive people seem to exploit vulnerability in just about every way possible. So many spiritually abusive environments mandate a “Tell all” approach that constantly causes people to cast pearls before swine. We’ve spent a lot of time reflecting on vulnerability and how vulnerability can draw us into relationships with others. It’s been important for both of us to take time to practice identifying our own needs and be selective with strategies to meet those needs. As we seek spiritual direction, we work actively to build relationships with potential spiritual directors where we feel confident that they understand a bit about why we feel called to our particular vocations and that they are willing to learn with us along the way.

Becoming aware that we have a role in educating others about our specific vocations. For us, a huge part of healing from spiritual abuse has involved appreciating how our experiences as LGBT Christians influence our vocational pathways. There are times when we feel strong enough and grounded enough to make a concerted effort to educate others about the relational lives of celibate LGBT Christians. We’ve accepted that many people don’t know much, if anything, about either celibate vocations or the process of discerning celibacy. We’ve also accepted that many straight Christians frequently do not know other LGBT people, even though that’s been changing rapidly. We found that reflecting regularly on celibacy and celibate partnership helps us answer questions that our spiritual directors might have about our vocations. Because of our own experience with spiritual abuse, we try hard to avoid educating other people about other vocations but we’re happy to share about our own vocations in a supportive environment.

Healing from spiritual abuse is a long-haul process. We’re still working through a number of concerns in our own lives that are both past and present. As always, we welcome any respectful discussion in our comment box!

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.

“I believe God does not require celibacy for LGBT people. How do I support my struggling celibate friend?”

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We’re grateful for all of our readers. We know that we have many readers who hold various forms of progressive sexual ethics and appreciate that our blog helps them think more about the nature of celibacy. Many believe that people who have the gift of celibacy should be able to choose a celibate vocation independent of considering sexual orientation as a motivating factor. These readers share our frustration with the tendency of some church communities to issue celibacy mandates to LGBT Christians while making no effort to create healthier spiritual environments for vocational discernment. Recently, we’ve received some questions like this one:

I like reading your blog because it’s very clear that you personally feel called to celibacy and find your celibate vocations life-giving. However, what is the best way to support and encourage someone who struggles with imperfect celibacy? I completely understand why some people who don’t have the gift of celibacy nevertheless interpret Scripture or their own personal calling to be to follow that path. But it seems like sometimes some of the most sensitive, caring, and spiritual people still struggle with this. I don’t mean a case where celibacy is imposed by someone else, but when someone truly has a deep spiritual conviction to be celibate and yet struggles and fails at that. Their lives seem dominated by struggle, guilt, shame, and occasionally risky sexual behavior where I struggle to see how celibacy is bearing good fruit in their lives. I want to respect their convictions while, at the same time, helping to paint a positive picture of what life in Christ could look like. I don’t want to elevate my own same-sex marriage as a potential answer for my friends in this position, but…. what can I do?

This is a good question, and it doesn’t have an easy answer. It points to our collective difficulties in understanding celibacy and vocation. Often, there are gaps between our vocational aspirations and our lived experiences in the here and now. Some of the most intense times of spiritual bitterness can happen when people are confronted with how their actual vocations differ from the vocations to which they aspire. It’s not uncommon to experience “imperfect celibacy.” In fact, we would guess that most intentionally celibate people live celibacy imperfectly. Yes, there are some ways to fail within a celibate vocation that cause friends more distress than other kinds of failures. Here are some thoughts based on how we approach these questions with our own friends:

Try to understand the vocation to which your friend aspires. Sometimes it can be helpful to ask what hopes and dreams a person has for living into a celibate vocation. Many of our hopes and dreams have their roots in improving our abilities to practice radical hospitality. We believe that any vocation should help a person grow towards Christ. Especially if a person is in his/her twenties or thirties, looking to the future (without ruminating on it unhealthily) can sometimes be helpful. Often in times of immediate vocational crisis, people can feel as though their current or past conduct has disqualified them from particular ways of life. The grief over this is real. Nonetheless, sometimes people in these situations overstate the repercussions of how they fear their actions have closed doors. We’ve found it beneficial to use reflective listening techniques to try and help friends in vocational crises identify immediately accessible things that can help them live into their aspirational vocations just a little more.

Reflect on, and possibly share, your own experience being transformed by Christ in the midst of vocational struggles. We all have places where there is a gap between our convictions and our abilities to live out those convictions. Thinking more deeply about specific places where God has helped us grow towards our own convictions can be useful. Lindsey has experienced a profound sense of God opening up hospitality as a way of life. Although Lindsey has always wanted to be generous and welcoming, Lindsey has had to work to find ways to practice authentic hospitality as an introvert. Likewise, Sarah has always wanted to be a mother, but typically celibate vocations do not involve having biological children. Sarah has had to (and continues to) discern how strong maternal instincts can fit into a celibate vocation. Throughout our respective processes, we’ve both experienced amazing transformational moments. Cultivating deep empathy for a friend becomes possible when you bring to mind times and places where you need to have deep empathy for your former self.

Appreciate differences between your own spirituality and your friend’s spirituality. Discerning vocation is about finding one’s life in Christ. A variety of spiritual disciplines that aid in vocational discernment exist within different Christian traditions. We find ourselves writing constantly about making the kingdom of God visible because we’ve found that this core idea resonates with readers from diverse Christian traditions. However, we know that vocation is profoundly personal where each individual needs to connect with his or her own Christian tradition at many steps along the way. When we are talking with friends struggling to live their vocations, we do our best to center conversation within their specific Christian traditions rather than exalting our own.

Encourage and respect your friend’s search for compassionate spiritual direction within his or her Christian tradition. At the end of the day, we don’t consider it our job to provide a specific spiritual prescription during times of vocational crisis. We reserve that task for spiritual directors who commit to walking alongside the people to whom they minister. We believe ardently that every person needs a spiritual director. It’s essential for those struggling with vocation to find compassionate spiritual directors who can meet them where they are at right now, appreciate how Christ is calling them to participate fully in the Kingdom of God, and make wise recommendations about how to bridge the gap between a person’s current lived experience of vocation and his or her aspirational vocation. When a friend shares about his or her struggles with imperfect living of vocation, our natural next question is, “Do you have a spiritual director who is helping you with these struggles?” Spiritual directors are awesome because they have studied the wisdom of particular Christian traditions to guide people through life’s difficulties. If our friend says that he or she does have a spiritual director who is offering sound, compassionate, and wise counsel within the context of his or her Christian tradition, we trust that our friend is in good hands and remind our friend that nobody can snap a finger and live vocation perfectly.

We’re never terribly surprised when any person has trouble living out his or her vocation. Living into the fullness of what Christ is calling one towards is hard! As always, we welcome discussion in the comments. Feel free to ask follow-up questions, respond to our suggestions, and make suggestions of your own.

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 Review of “Mom, I’m Gay” by Susan Cottrell

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This month, we’re double-dipping on book reviews because another author has generously provided us with a copy of her book. For the first time, we will be reviewing a resource aimed at parents of LGBTQ children. Susan Cottrell‘s “Mom, I’m Gay”: Loving your LGBTQ Child without Sacrificing Your Faith is a quick, straightforward read with lots of little gems throughout. We are deeply grateful to her for sharing her book with us.

We write all of our reviews with two central questions in mind: What does this book have to say to LGBT Christians who are living celibacy or exploring the possibility of celibate vocations? How does this book contribute to conversation about celibacy as a way of life that LGBT Christians might choose? We would like to maintain that focus as much as possible, but given the nature of this resource we will also be discussing what this book has to offer for parents, particularly moms and dads of celibates but also parents of LGBTQ children in general.

Cottrell blogs regularly at FreedHearts, which we’ve linked in the first paragraph. She is a Christian and mother of five, and her family includes children who are part of the LGBT community. FreedHearts is her full-time ministry, and she is passionate about helping LGBTQ individuals and their parents. To be honest, we were hesitant when we began reading “Mom, I’m Gay” because neither of us is a parent and we feel somewhat under qualified to review it. But as we progressed through its pages we found ourselves reflecting on our relationships with our own parents and found many points of connection with our stories, particularly Sarah’s.

The first thing we noticed about Cottrell’s work is that the book is very simply put together with short chapters. There is nothing lofty or complicated about “Mom, I’m Gay” and that is one of its greatest advantages. It’s a collection of short reflections on Cottrell’s own process of coming to embrace her daughter. Every parent who struggles earnestly with questions of how to respond to an LGBTQ son or daughter has likely experienced the emotions and thoughts: fear, uncertainty, exasperation, love. While reading, a recurring image for us was that of troubled parent picking up this book during a coffee break at work, perhaps even taking it to the bathroom to read a chapter and shed a few tears. Not a single chapter is too long to be read within 10 minutes, which makes the book a good resource for readers with limited emotional bandwidth. Parents who are grasping at straws for a way even to begin thinking about LGBTQ issues will find gentleness and compassion in each brief chapter.

LGBTQ people who read this book may find it challenging or soothing…or both. It’s not easy for us to put ourselves in our parents’ shoes and make an honest effort to see things from their points of view. “Mom, I’m Gay” challenged us to think back on our own coming out experiences and the interactions we’ve had with our parents since then. Our four parents’ beliefs on sexual ethics range from very conservative to very liberal, and it was helpful for us to consider their different struggles and how each might respond to Cottrell’s message. Some passages, like this one, had us exclaiming, “Yes! Every parent of an LGBTQ child should know this!”:

Life is ephemeral, beyond our control, easy to snuff out. Put first things first. You have a beautiful child. Do not let this issue overshadow that truth. Ask God whatever you need to, and let him guide you through this maze. But do not let anything diminish the blessed gift your child is and their place in your family. Now is the perfect time to embrace, kiss, encourage, affirm, and love your child.

Whatever conclusions parents and their LGBTQ children reach about the morality of same-sex sexual activity, bits like these will have strong resonance. Life is short. We are called to love one another. Sometimes, it’s not immediately clear how we should do that, but this should not stop us from recognizing the image and likeness of God in every human being. This nugget of wisdom is just as true for LGBTQ children who are frustrated with their parents as it is for parents sorting through tough emotions after a child’s coming out.

We found chapters 11 and 12 especially meaningful. Chapter 11 focuses on people-pleasing, an issue that both of us have struggled with mightily. We imagine that one or more of our parents probably has too. There’s a great deal of social pressure in Christianity  for parents to reject LGBTQ children. Likewise, there’s a significant push for LGBTQ people to leave the Church, “change” sexual orientations, and view ourselves as “people who struggle with same-sex attraction.” While Cottrell writes from a perspective that is firmly in support of committed, sexually active same-sex relationships, the message of this chapter has meaning for all people who are involved in this discussion, trying their best to follow Christ and live out their callings. People-pleasing harms us. If we’re more concerned about listening to what others think than we are about hearing God’s voice in all of this, our priorities need reexamination. As celibate LGBTQ Christians, the two of us sometimes experience difficulty in separating the judgmental messages we hear from straight Christians (and, to be honest, non-celibate LGBTQ Christians). This chapter encouraged us to continue examining our own behaviors and ask, “Is this coming from God or from respectability politics?”

Chapter 12 is titled, “Bear Their Burdens,” and it speaks to the need for parents to support their children even in the most difficult of circumstances. Cottrell challenges readers to see the person first and the perceived problem second. On page 59 she says, “Don’t shift all that to your child but instead help lift that burden. Let the weight of the discomfort rest on you. Your child is carrying enough as it is.” What struck us here was that as Christians, all of us are called to bear one another’s burdens. The “It’s not my problem” attitude doesn’t come from Christianity — it comes from our own discomfort. We wonder what it will mean for us to bear the burdens of others. Will it inconvenience us? Will it get us in over our heads. Back to chapter 11 again, will it cause people to think negatively of us if we’re seen as giving even the slightest support to a gay person, a pregnant teenager, an addict? Cottrell makes it clear: your child should not have to journey alone through the difficult questions of life. Likewise, no person should have to travel a difficult road without support. As Christians, we should always be ready and willing to extend a loving hand. This is one area where the Church has failed LGBTQ Christians the most. Celibate LGBTQ Christians, like all LGBTQ people, have experienced painful rejection, and much of this is because it’s hard for the Body of Christ to be the Body of Christ. It’s easier to dismiss people as risks for scandal than to reflect seriously on how we can support vocational discernment and progress toward maturity. Cottrell’s book nudged us to think about how we can do better at bearing the burdens of others.

We would love to engage in more conversation with the author about how her ideas can be applied to parents of celibate LGBTQ children. There is no generic pathway that all Christian families follow as children come to accept their sexual orientations. Some parents hope that their children will choose celibacy, but this doesn’t happen. The parents might respond with condemnation or with an “agree to disagree” attitude. Other parents demand that their children choose celibacy and will not accept the possibility of any different outcome. Still, other parents are completely accepting of sexually active LGBTQ relationships, but their children choose celibacy anyway either because they have discerned a calling to celibacy or because their sexual ethics are more conservative than those of their parents. Some celibate LGBTQ Christians, like Sarah, have one parent with a very liberal sexual ethic and another who believes that sexual orientation is a choice. We’re curious to know if there is anything else Cottrell might have to say about family situations like these.

Also, we would push back on the idea presented in some places like chapter 19 that finding a gay-affirming church is a necessary part of embracing one’s LGBTQ child. We would like to ask the author if she, as a person who supports sexually active same-sex relationships, sees any possible pathway for being a loving and accepting parent who believes in the teachings of a conservative Christian tradition.

In general, we would recommend “Mom, I’m Gay” to others interested in LGBTQ Christian issues. So much of this book is basic Christianity: love other people and never forget that they are made in God’s image.

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.

Saturday Symposium: Developing Understandings of Vocation

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Hello readers. Another week has come and gone. It’s been a busy week here at A Queer Calling, and we’ve enjoyed talking about various topics with you all. We know that many of our readers in the United States are in the midst of last-minute Thanksgiving plans. Therefore, this week we’re praying especially for our readers who are traveling and/or are dealing with difficult family situations. Please don’t hesitate to let us know how we can be praying for you.

Let’s get on with our weekly Saturday Symposium question:

How this works: It’s very simple. We ask a multi-part question related to a topic we’ve blogged about during the past week or are considering blogging about in the near future, and you, our readers, share your responses in the comments section. Feel free to be open, reflective, and vulnerable…and to challenge us. But as always, be mindful of the comment policy that ends each of our posts. Usually, we respond fairly quickly to each comment, but in order to give you time to think, come back, add more later if you want, and discuss with other readers, we will wait until after Monday to respond to comments on Saturday Symposium questions.

This week’s Saturday Symposium question: This week, we’ve shared a lot about things we wish we would have known about celibacy as teenagers in addition to sharing how our own understanding of celibacy has changed within the past year. We know that we’re not the only people who have changed our understanding of vocation as we’ve continued to live out our lives. We’d be interested in hearing from our readers about your experiences with your vocations: What kind of things do you wish people would have told you when you were a teenager about vocation? How did you come to embrace your vocation? How has your understanding of vocation changed as you’ve tried to live out your specific vocation? How have you encountered support and resistance as you’ve sought Christ in the context of your vocation?

We look forward to reading your responses. If you’re concerned about having your comment publicly associated with your name, please consider using the Contact Us page to submit your comment. We can post it under a pseudonym (i.e. John says, “your comment”) or summarize your comment in our own words (i.e. One person observed…). Participating in this kind of public dialogue can be risky, and we want to do what we can to protect you even if that means we preserve your anonymity. Have a wonderful weekend!

Blessings,

Sarah and Lindsey

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.