Author Archives: Sarah and Lindsey

On Feeling Betrayed

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A reflection by Sarah

Everyone experiences betrayal at one time or another. It’s something we have to accept as part of the fallen world in which we exist. Sometimes people betray others intentionally; at other times, people inadvertently and carelessly betray one another. But regardless of the betrayer’s intentions, it can be very difficult to recover from the resulting harm.

Like most people, I’ve experienced betrayal in relationships. Heart-wrenching is the only term I know to describe how I felt upon learning that one of my exes had been having affairs with men and women behind my back in two different parts of the country. This feeling magnified when she decided to betray me still further by assassinating my character to our mutual friends during and after our breakup. Everyone has these kinds of stories. Nearly all adults can provide at least one tale of a relationship gone sour. But in addition to experiencing betrayal at the hands of specific friends, loved ones, and acquaintances, we can also feel betrayed by groups of people. While it’s possible to distance oneself from individuals, it’s not always possible to seek distance from certain groups, especially when you are part of those groups no matter how challenging it may be to engage with others on the inside. As a celibate, LGBT, Christian who is one-half of a celibate, LGBT couple, I find myself in a perpetual struggle with feeling betrayed by both conservative Christianity and the LGBT community. Quite often I get the impression that on the whole, neither group is willing to acknowledge my existence.

It’s probably not surprising to hear that as an LGBT person, I have felt marginalized in the Church, both in my current Christian tradition and in my former Christian tradition. I’ve been a Christian my entire life, and with the exception of some time I spent exploring more progressive Christian thought in college and early in graduate school, I have always been part of a conservative tradition of one kind or another. Over time as I’ve journeyed within traditional Christianity, I have developed a deep and abiding peace where I feel content, fulfilled, and (in the most positive sense) challenged by the Church’s wisdom. However, I cannot shake the feeling that there is nothing I can do to reconcile my faith and sexuality adequately in the eyes of conservative Christianity. There will always be someone who tells me, “Don’t do it this way. Do it that way.” There will always be a person who finds fault with my language, my process, and my way of life.

At one point in my former Christian tradition, I shared with a close friend that I was a lesbian thinking she would be supportive, and might even be willing to walk with me as I was navigating the tough questions of sexual ethics. Her immediate response was, “Don’t say that too quickly. People can always change.” For many dedicated straight Christians, it seems that an LGBT person’s embracing a celibate vocation will never be good enough. No matter what that person does, it seems that there will always be others ready to shake  fingers and pronounce, “There’s no such thing as a gay Christian.” If a person displays any willingness to use language of the LGBT community, then he or she is immediately suspect as a rabble rouser out to upend the Church.

Furthermore, many people with the conservative Church have no appreciation for how their words might affect LGBT Christians. I’ve experienced instance after instance of people getting away with incredibly hurtful and damaging comments, even when I have tried to express, “What you just said about gay people being child molesters is untrue and unnecessary.” As I have sought redress for comments people within the Church have made to me and others, more often than not the ball has been thrown back in my court because according to the majority of priests I’ve known, I must have done something morally questionable that invited the hostile remark. I must have said something that gave people legitimate cause to wonder about my willingness to live a holy life.

Within many conservative church settings, I’ve interacted with people who have fought tooth and nail to block any sort of legal recognition for LGBT people. These people have positioned themselves as “defending marriage” without realizing that much of what they are advocating has nothing to do with the definition of marriage. I have heard Christians argue that LGBT people should not have access to housing or should not be able to find jobs. In recent years, some of the more egregious examples have gone out of fashion and, as far as society is concerned, are now relegated to the “only true bigots believe that” category of ideas. However, I’ve noticed that the same folks I knew ten years ago who were willing to wage war over the possibility that LGBT couples might be able to have legally recognized relationships of any kind are the same folks who are now touting the possibility of civil partnerships as an alternative to gay marriage. From where I’ve sat on the sidelines of much of the marriage equality battle, I can’t help but observe that on some level, reactions from conservative Christian churches have given significant steam to the marriage equality movement. Perhaps the most profound way I feel betrayed by conservative Christianity is that, by all appearances, it has devoted so much energy to painting me into a legal corner with as few options as possible for meeting significant needs.

But as much as I’ve experienced a sense of betrayal within the Church, I have experienced just as much alienation and disappointment within the LGBT community. For starters, many LGBT people have no place for those who are intentionally celibate. Celibacy is cast as an oddity at best and a sign of sexual dysfunction or self-hatred at worst. I’ve experienced consistent pressure from the LGBT community (both the secular and liberal Christian factions) to be sexually active. This pressure significantly delayed my readiness to embrace my own vocation, even though I felt called to celibacy comparatively early in life. Other LGBT folks I’ve known from different contexts in my young adulthood have been quick to tell me that my experience of life is not possible, and I shouldn’t talk about my relationship with Lindsey in terms of celibacy because others have been forced into celibacy against their will. People have gone as far as bluntly commanding me to shut up because, despite our total renouncement of ex-gay ideology, Lindsey’s and my story reminds them too much of past trauma associated with celibacy. By that same logic, would it be appropriate to suggest that non-celibate couples shouldn’t get to talk about their relationships out of respect for those who have been traumatized by sexual activity…or even by marriage?

Outside of the explicitly Christian subset, I have always sensed the presence of a strong animosity towards organized religion within the LGBT community. For a community that sees itself as accepting of just about every kind of diversity, I’ve found that very few LGBT circles include space for people who practice Christianity, particularly of a traditional variety. Very soon after I moved to a new city for graduate school, I realized that a local gay bar was the only place I could go to find other people who shared some of my experiences. Since I lived only a couple of blocks away, I went regularly and tried to get involved in various lesbian social groups. However, as soon as the other women learned I was a graduate student in theology, a significant majority would stare at me–to borrow Jean Shepherd’s line from A Christmas Story–“as though I had lobsters crawling out of my ears.” I became accustomed to receiving questions like, “How can you study something that is so oppressive?” and, “Why did you sign up for that graduate program? Vestiges of internalized homophobia?” There was joking among some of my lesbian friends that I would become a nun, enter into an illicit lesbian relationship with another nun from the convent, and eventually ride off with her like Thelma and Louise, throwing caution to the wind.

And for all of its distrust of organized religion, the LGBT community has surprising bandwidth as it relates to organized politics. There seems to be an assumption that all of us want to be activists and are waiting for every opportunity to flex the community’s political muscle. Last year, Lindsey and I experienced what we perceived as betrayal by someone who was either part of the LGBT community or a strong ally. I had posted on my personal Facebook account about our being treated in a way that I regarded as discriminatory, and one of my Facebook friends decided to forward my name and email address to various media outlets without my consent. I began to receive contacts. As Lindsey and I discussed how to handle the situation, we made some decisions that might not have been the best for protecting our privacy, but we tried to be fair to us and to the party that had caused the discrimination in the first place. We received all sorts of criticism from members of the LGBT community about how we chose to treat the party that had wronged us. Several people asserted that we “owed it to the LGBT community” to broadcast the story in as many ways as possible. While we did get great support from many of our close friends, strangers from within the LGBT community cared more about leveraging our story for political purposes than about how the incident had impacted our lives. And of course, there was no interest in how our faith informed our choices as we navigated the situation.

Let’s not forget the marriage equality issue either. A few years ago, I encountered significant diversity amongst LGBT people concerning views on marriage. Some friends thought the fight for marriage equality was stupid because they viewed marriage as a patriarchal institution that could not be redeemed. Others had different reasons for being critical of the marriage equality movement, but those thoughts were usually heard and validated (unless they were religious). However, today–at least in my circles–things look very different. Any criticism of the marriage equality movement, even if it comes from a place of believing that some LGBT people should be able to marry, gets met with hostility.

Sometimes it’s absolutely exhausting to be deeply connected to two worlds where I’m constantly hearing messages about how and who I ought to be. As I’ve gotten closer to 30, I’ve become comfortable asserting, “I am who I am. What you see is what you get. And if you don’t like it, tough.” I’m not going to change who I am just to appease the sensibilities of a conservative Christian who thinks I’m the scourge of society or an LGBT person who says I’m not a real lesbian. But a tough exterior doesn’t change the fact I’ve felt so deeply betrayed by both communities, and I show a marked hesitation each time I interact with either. It has been made abundantly clear to me that both conservative Christianity and the LGBT community would rather assert that people like me do not exist.  The LGBT community would welcome me with open arms, until someone learns that I am celibate and I become the target of ridicule and pointed criticism. As for the conservative Christian community, my sense of betrayal stems from being excluded from the people of God. And when I consider how these different betrayals have manifested in my own life, I’m not surprised that many LGBT Christians have made choices to distance themselves from the Church, the LGBT community, or both.

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.

Phasing out Civil Unions for the Sake of Marriage Equality is a Bad Idea

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Last week, each of us independently posted an article from the Catholic Herald called “Don’t convert same-sex civil partnerships automatically into marriages, urge bishops” on our personal Facebook pages. Bishops in the UK are concerned that gay and lesbian Catholics who entered into civil partnerships in order to access legal protections will find themselves at odds with their faith tradition’s teachings on marriage if these partnerships are automatically converted into marriages without their consent. We thought the article from the UK context would generate a lot of interesting conversation because we both have diverse circles of friends with a wide range of views on sexual ethics and marriage equality. Upon seeing our friends’ responses, we were surprised by two things. 1) Very few of our American friends realized that some US states have already converted existing civil unions into marriages. 2) Many of our American friends with a more progressive sexual ethic were mystified as to why any LGBT couple would have a problem with their legal relationship being named a marriage. In today’s post, we want to highlight the reality that civil unions are being phased out while also discussing real concerns we have as a celibate, LGBT couple related to our various legal options.

In the United States, civil unions were once available in Connecticut, Rhode Island, Delaware, Vermont, and New Hampshire. Federal courts in those states have ruled that civil unions are a kind of “marriage lite” and violate equal protection. Therefore, the named states are in the process of phasing out civil unions entirely and some (e.g. Connecticut) are automatically converting or have already converted them into marriages. Civil unions are still available in some places: Colorado, New Jersey, Hawaii, and Illinois. However, we are concerned that it’s only a matter of time before civil unions become a relic of history rather than an available legal option.

We wish more Americans were talking about this issue. Why do we so readily accept marriage as the only viable legal pathway to gain certain rights and responsibilities to another significant person in your life? How is it that it is so easy to overlook the different kinds of people who benefited from the availability of civil unions? According to Cyril Ghosh of The Guardian:

“There are a number of good reasons why both heterosexual and homosexual couples may wish to enter into a civil union instead of a marriage. For example, for many couples, civil unions provide a secular alternative to marriage that aligns with their values. Some may not be ready for a commitment like “marriage” – a word that’s laden with history and tradition. Others may not wish to enter into a marriage contract because they believe the institution carries distinctly religious connotations. They may also see marriage as a patriarchal institution and be ideologically opposed to it. Finally, many couples that have been married and divorced may not be ready to marry again, even though they might want to codify their relationship with their current partners and lovers in some way.”

Civil unions also filled a void in elder care law by allowing widows and widowers legal pathways of supporting one another in various health care systems. It has been difficult for us to see civil unions as a unique concern of LGBT people. We know many who think that government should only be offering civil partnerships while letting various religious traditions retain control of the word “marriage,” and we’re mostly in agreement with that position. An oft-cited article from the New York Times highlights that as of 2010 in France where civil unions continue to be available, there are two civil unions for every three marriages. The vast majority of civil unions are amongst heterosexual people. Civil unions are slightly less popular in the Netherlands where there is one civil union for every eight marriages. Nonetheless, civil unions are thriving in these countries. They aren’t viewed as evidence of an oppressive “separate, but equal” system. They are important options for people who are willing to accept the responsibilities of being legally attached to another person, but do not, for whatever reason, want that relationship to be considered a marriage.

We should say at this point that it is not our intention to shame any of our friends and readers who have entered into same-sex marriages legally, religiously, or both. Today’s post is not meant as an argument against gay marriage, and if you’ve read many of our other posts you are likely aware that we believe all committed LGBT couples should be protected under the law and should be able to select the best available option for their particular situations and be informed by their faith traditions when making this decision. That said, we also believe it is important to ask ourselves whether the current progress of the marriage equality movement is in some ways hindering the freedoms of LGBT people who seek legal protection for their relationships, but do not want to enter into marriages.

From the beginning, we envisioned our relationship as something different from marriage. Part of this is influenced by the fact that we are part of a Christian tradition that teaches a traditional sexual ethic, and we strive to be obedient to all our tradition’s teachings. (If you’re thinking, “Why don’t you just go to a different church?” read this. We’ve already answered that question.) But the more significant reason is the conviction we share that God has called us in a very personal way to celibacy, and using the term “marriage” would introduce confusion regarding how we understand our celibate vocation. As we’ve stated in other posts, even in the unlikely event that our Christian tradition were to change its teachings on marriage and sexuality, we still wouldn’t be interested in getting married because we don’t see “marriage” as a fitting term for the ways we relate to each other. We don’t see our relationship as a romantic one. However, it is our wish to be considered each other’s next of kin in terms of health care, end of life, financial, housing, and other kinds of legal decisions, and an arrangement of the kind previously available through civil unions in some states would have met most (though not all) of our needs.

We’ve been counseled by friends to prepare certain types of legal documents (power of attorney, healthcare directives, wills, etc.) for ourselves, and we’re in the process of doing that. Still, those types of documents only go so far. They don’t solve other problems like access to retirement funds and access to assets (of which we currently have none, but hope to have someday) without a significant tax imposed when one of us reposes. They also don’t solve the problem that when Lindsey begins a new job this August, the health insurance policy offered by the job will require the two of us to be married in order for Sarah to access benefits. As Sarah–who experiences some significant health problems–does not receive health insurance through Sarah’s own job, and we’ve already had trouble trying to acquire it through the individual marketplace, this issue is particularly pressing. We’re not suggesting that civil unions are the panacea for all these issues, but we find it interesting that the message we keep hearing from everyone we contact for help is, “Why don’t you just get married???” The specifics of what a civil union does and does not provide for isn’t really the point here. It’s that phasing out civil unions narrows the conversation about how to make sure couples who can’t get married are protected.

Our own legal knowledge is very limited and perhaps an attorney can help us sort all these matters in one way or another. But it will likely be expensive, and many of our concerns would be resolved if, like other countries, the United States had some form of civil union in every state for both opposite-sex and same-sex couples. As things stand now with the marriage equality movement, it’s unlikely that civil unions will last much longer because they have become so strongly associated with inequality. If you’re wondering at this point, “Why don’t you go somewhere that performs civil unions and get one there?” the answer is simple. Civil unions are not recognized in all US states or internationally, and there’s no guarantee that eventually the civil unions currently being performed in Illinois, Hawaii, Colorado, and New Jersey will not be automatically converted into marriages at some point within the next few years. Where we live now, we do have the option of entering into a domestic partnership, but the rights associated with this legal relationship are minimal, and they are not recognized across state lines. We also have the option of legally marrying, but to do so would not only excommunicate us within our faith tradition but would also be an act of dishonesty since we do not understand our relationship as a marriage.

The most serious problem with phasing out civil unions and converting existing ones to marriages is that it forces all people within a particular state who desire a legally recognized relationship with their significant other to achieve that by getting married (with a domestic partnership option being available only in select places). We’re grateful for the strides that the marriage equality movement has made in terms of ending certain legally-sanctioned prejudices against LGBT people and couples, but at the same time we question the belief that “freedom to marry” means freedom for all members of the LGBT community. How is it freeing to know that the only option you have for full legal recognition is marriage when you don’t want your relationship referred to as such for religious or other reasons?

We’ve been told that we’re ungrateful to want a civil union considering how many people have struggled and fought for our right to marry each other. We’ve been asked, “Isn’t marriage good enough for you?” and we’ve even been told, “If you choose not to marry, any legal problems you face are of your own making.” All this from the same people who have claimed that American society before gay marriage showed no empathy or concern for the needs of LGBT couples. Please tell us, where is the empathy and concern for celibate LGBT couples, or do we not matter because many of us belong to conservative religious traditions? And what about all other groups of people who have benefited from the availability of civil unions? When fewer people could marry, more seemed to be interested in holding conversation about the needs of those who couldn’t marry. This dialogue included a diversity of concerns that reached beyond those of LGBT people wishing to marry their partners. How have we managed to forget that diverse needs require diverse legal options, and that marriage still leaves those needs unmet for many?

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.

Redefining Sexual Ethics Redefines Celibacy

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Today, we are honored to share a guest post from our friend Alison, another celibate member of the LGBT Christian community. Periodically, we hope to share the stories of other LGBT celibates here because we believe that all stories are valuable and worthy of being told. Each of our guest posters will have different experiences of celibacy, Christianity, sexual ethics, and life in general. That means not everything contained in every guest post will mirror our own thoughts, opinions, theology, and life experience. We believe that diversity is a beautiful part of the divine mystery, and are eager to learn more from others as they graciously share their stories with us. If you are a celibate LGBT Christian and would be interested in sharing your story with us at A Queer Calling, feel free to Contact Us.

A reflection by Alison

I was asked several months ago, “As a lesbian, why are you embracing traditional sexual ethics? Why aren’t you just a becoming a nun in the Episcopal Church?” I spent 2 years trying to be a celibate in the Episcopal church even though I was called to a more traditional denomination. Every time a conflict arose between me and the Episcopal Church, I ended up losing a deeply held notion about ethics, gender, and sexuality, and being pushed more toward Tradition. There has been a major shift in my entire way of thinking in the past few years, and when I look back on the path from there to here, I realize I would have to write volumes of text and reveal embarrassing details to guide just a few people through the same path. My answer to the question will be limited in space, education, and experience. What I can say, even at this point, is that celibacy is not merely the lack of sexual actions I take. Being a celibate person of progressive sexual ethics is totally different than being a celibate person of traditional sexual ethics.

For one thing, progressive sexual ethics tend to look at celibacy as a layover; a time of self-discovery and healing between sexual relationships. When it is not viewed as a casual commitment, celibacy is viewed as a tool. For example, it allows room for career development or charitable work. I do not see celibacy that way. Celibacy doesn’t serve me, it completes me by furthering my worship of God. Being called, for me, is a lot like falling in love. That love is only getting stronger, deeper, and wiser. Traditional celibacy, and all the theology under the surface, has become something to which I want to commit. I want this celibacy to become ingrained on my heart and life.

Traditional celibacy flows from deeper theologies. One root of the traditional sexual ethic sees all human beings as icons, as living images of God, because we are. 1 Genesis tells us that we were created in the image of God, “Male and female He created them.” Christ was born into the world and became fully human while being fully divine. There is something sacred in the physical nature of humanness, even in our fallen state. Our bodies, our sexuality, are also sacred. Editing the sexual ethics handed down to us by the people who walked with and ate with Christ is like editing the Gospel. There are times it should be done (i.e. translation into new languages) but it should be done in unity with the rest of the Church and Tradition. The progressive sexual ethic may contain theology of the body’s sacredness, but it removes the teaching from the surrounding teachings that flow into it. It cuts that particular teaching off from the desert mothers and fathers and other early saints who lived it out, and it ends up contradicting them again and again.

When I was working in scientific research, I remember listening to professors speak about their areas of expertise, and thinking, “There is no replacement for decades of 80-hour-weeks working on something.” No matter how bright you are, no matter what important fragment of knowledge you uncover, you are no match for experience. You are no match for your elders, who have seen and participated in the battles for truth and understanding since before you were born. I am no match for the Church. My ideas matter, but only in the sense that a child must learn to add before she can learn calculus. At the same time, there are false teachings and teachers everywhere. Sometimes you don’t know you’re following a false teacher for too long, and sometimes you never find out. For me, the test is unity. Unity with the past, unity amongst the community, unity with something ineffable, unselfish, and all-loving.

I was recently blessed to read a few texts written by medieval nuns. They seemed to understand the word “virginity” as a goal to aspire to, not just a physical aspect of their bodies, but a grace for which they should fight. I was shocked at how widespread this concept of virginity was. In the religion in which I grew up, that was not the view of virginity. Virginity was state of inaction. If you transgress, you are worthless. They gave symbolic lessons meant to inspire deep disgust for the lack of physical virginity. Yet, for these medieval nuns, many of whom never indulged in physical sexual activity, virginity was something they had not yet achieved. There was no disgust for sexual activity–that was merely a path to holiness they were not following. This teaching is in total agreement with the Tradition of the early Church regarding sexual ethics, but the teachings about virginity in the faith I grew up in are not. If I apply the unity test, a sexual purity lesson comparing one group of human beings (those who have had sex) to chewed-up food fails miserably.

When I converted to Christianity, I did so in the most progressive denomination available, and I still miss that church family. I still go to funerals and weddings at that church. I still care deeply about their lives, and I still desperately want their approval, just like the disaster of a teenager who walked through their doors so many years ago. That Church was the first place I ever felt loved, that church taught me everything I know about compassion, that Church was where I learned to accept the existence of a loving God. I was sitting in that Church in prayer when I was first called to be a nun. For me, love couldn’t look like, “Just do whatever you want sweetie!” because I was in rough shape. My parents were abusive, and by middle school, I was leaving the house in the morning before they woke up, and coming home after they went to sleep. I was left to raise myself with absolutely minimal interference. Parenting meant providing a place to sleep, shower, and load up on food between days. “Just do whatever,” is neglect, and I was all too familiar with it. The good people of this progressive church knew that too. One time, a man I’ll describe as “my uncle,” chastised me for not wearing my coat on a cold day. It was the first time I was corrected in a loving manner by someone who was not a teacher. My uncle cared that I was cold, he cared about me more than I did, and he did something about it.

Most of the members of this church were from extremely traditional backgrounds, and I have always wondered, if their churches had done a better job of figuring out Christian formation for gay and lesbian people, would they have ever left? I know several of the ex-Roman Catholic nuns and priests would have stayed if they hadn’t been pushed out for merely being gay or lesbian. Many people in this church talked about their attempts to embrace celibacy and being rejected anyway, or because of a slip-up. The ex-gay ministries have poisoned the water of nearly every denomination with conservative sexual ethics, turning this beautiful concept of virginity as a grace of the Holy Spirit into the same legalistic shaming with which I grew up. The religion I grew up in has satanic and pagan leanings. I view any lessons that inspire shame or vanity as profoundly unChristian.

At the same time, I can’t help but see that the impact of “do whatever” theology is very similar. “Do whatever” distracts us from aspiring to the grace of virginity, from unity with the Church and with God, by turning our focus inward. This focus forces us to constantly discipline ourselves, and figure out, “What do I need?” on our own. I am still a child in comparison to the church, She is my mother, and I would never ask Her to neglect me the way my parents did in my teenage years. I expect Her to chastise me lovingly, like my uncle.

I don’t know where this leaves my gay and lesbian brothers and sisters who are not called to celibacy yet (sidenote: marital chastity, too, is a path to total chastity, just not yet). All I can say is, even with a lifetime of work, I am going to fall short of chastity as a grace of the Holy Spirit. Even as a celibate, there are elements of the Church who declare that I am a sinner merely because I will not lie about my sexual orientation. Despite many reformed whores among the saints, there are those who see my past transgressions, and desire to block my reception into the Church. The Church has room for improvement, and so do I. Maybe we should look at unity the same way the medieval nuns looked at virginity. It is a grace of the Holy Spirit, one we are working toward and haven’t yet achieved. Like chastity, it’s not a battle I’m willing to give up on.

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.

Clearing the Air on “When Celibacy Fails”

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Approximately two weeks ago, we published a post on the topic When Celibacy Fails. Here at A Queer Calling, we have made many statements about spiritual direction and celibacy in an attempt to say, “It is not enough to tell a person exploring celibacy ‘Just don’t have sex.’ There is much more guidance and support needed in order to walk alongside that person as he/she cultivates a celibate vocation.” We have written about defining celibacy using four characteristic virtues, providing spiritual direction, providing some concrete advice as to how to cultivate a celibate vocation, and suggesting that focusing spiritual directives towards “Strive first for the kingdom of God” can help churches move beyond the celibacy mandate. There is honestly nothing we wish for more than the opportunity to help people in the Church today explore the possibility that celibate vocations can be a life-giving, life-affirming pathways to holiness.

Therefore, we were exceptionally surprised to see another person in the blogosphere quoting a part of the When Celibacy Fails post in order to suggest that we deliberately paint a bleak picture of living a celibate life. We would have responded to the post sooner; however, this blogger did not engage us by commenting on the original post, contacting us privately, linking the full text of our original post in their blog, or even crediting us for our quotes. Rather, we learned about this post through a series of comical events that culminated in some of our friends recognizing that we were quoted. Regular readers will know that we take responding to comments and concerns seriously as we have made a general rule to participate in comment box discussions on the blog and to answer email in a reasonably prompt fashion.

The blogger who quoted us contrasts his writing with ours saying:

One reason I write is to inspire young people to not focus on the dreary picture most self-proclaimed “gay” Christians seem to paint of their lives and experiences, nor to focus on how difficult this particular cross is, compared to others. Rather, I write with the hope of inspiring them to pursue the great and noble cause of chastity for the sake of their love of God, and love of neighbor, and love of the world. And indeed, love of themselves!

We honestly wonder how this blogger arrived at the conclusion that we paint a dreary picture of our lives and experiences as celibate, LGBT Christians. We’re actually much more accustomed to people telling us that we take so much joy in our celibacy that our story is unrealistic. We do understand that Matilda might not be everyone’s favorite part of a New York City adventure. Not everyone will appreciate our adventures in going to church with a camel. Some people think lentil soup is disgusting and should be anathematized. And we are certainly unique amongst our celibate, LGBT, Christian friends in that Sarah (and Lindsey, by extension) has a pistol-packing grandmother who would thwack someone with her oxygen tank before letting that person harm either of us. We know we’re not exactly the same as many other celibate LGBT Christians, even insofar as we have decided to do life together rather than as singles. But of all of the criticisms we expected to receive of our blog, the idea that someone would conceive of our portrayal of celibacy as bleak never would have occurred to us in a million years.

To say a bit more, we wrote our initial piece on When Celibacy Fails because we do know a significant number of people who have struggled profoundly with embracing a celibate vocation. Some of these people hold in the fight and receive varying degrees of support in their efforts. Others have all but given up on celibacy and denounce it as the most oppressive invention of the Christian tradition. In walking alongside people across the spectrum, we’ve noted that it seems LGBT folk encounter spiritual directors who impose a celibacy mandate — if you ever have gay sex, then you’re certain to go to hell — and end the conversation there.

In writing When Celibacy Fails, we had hoped to open a conversation about the need to provide guidance towards a Christian vocation that aligns with a particular person’s state in life. We find ourselves talking differently to teenagers than we do to retirees and everyone at varying stages in between who sends us a contact email. Because people have so many different experiences and at so many different life stages, it doesn’t make sense to us that we should say, as the other blogger does:

I grant that the Church can do better–but it can do better in all things. It can do better ministering to single mothers, it can do better ministering to those who went through divorce, it can do better feeding the homeless, and it can do better with teenaged kids with same sex attraction, like I was so long ago, feeling lost in Church. (Cue the sad violins, please. Who HASN’T felt lost in the Church at some point in their lives? It seems it’s nearly a necessary part of the journey of faith for everyone to feel lost at some point in their lives.)

This sentiment ignores the problem entirely. Specifically, the problem is helping people discern a celibate vocation especially at times when the road is rocky. Yes, the road is going to be rocky; there’s nothing about following Christ that suggests for an instant that the road is going to be smooth. We think that the lived expression of the Church today does a lot to help people who are married through the rocky places of the marital vocation, acknowledging that some of our readers might be very quick to provide counter-examples as to how they have felt ignored or dismissed when seeking counsel for various marital issues. Stating that celibacy can be challenging, and more challenging to some than others, is not the same as whining, and is not the same as saying that LGBT people face a more pathetic lot in life than all other members of the Church.

As a final point of commentary, we find it interesting that this blogger decided to title his critique of our post: “My Cross Isn’t Greater Than Yours, or, Enough With the Whining!” despite the fact that we have made it abundantly clear in multiple posts that the two of us do not consider celibacy a cross to bear. We can acknowledge that other LGBT Christians may experience celibacy as a cross while maintaining that we experience great joy in our celibate vocation.

We very much regret that this blogger did not choose to open up a real dialogue with us. We further regret that another author has misrepresented the point of our post When Celibacy Fails because this blogger chose neither to link our post nor to credit us as the authors of the quotes he selected. Had we known about either of these pieces sooner, we would have responded in a more timely manner. We do our best here at A Queer Calling to practice hospitality. As a part of that hospitality, we always try to alert an author whenever we are integrating any of his or her material to give credit where credit is due. Equally, we will respond to anyone interested in integrating our material as soon as we become aware of the other person’s efforts.

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: Celibacy vs. Singleness

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Hello to all our readers on this fine Saturday morning. Happy Memorial Day weekend to all our US readers too! We’ve been forgetting to announce that for about two weeks now, A Queer Calling has had its own Facebook page. We’re excited to communicate with you there as well as on Twitter and in the blog comments. And as always, we’re working on getting back to all the emails we’ve received within the past couple of weeks.

Now it’s time for today’s 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’s question comes from one of our followers on Facebook. Amanda, who reads the blog regularly, would like to discuss celibacy vs. singleness this week. We did one post in the past on the question, “Is celibacy the same as singleness?” and in writing this week’s “How to Live a Life of Celibacy While Missing the Point of Vocation,” we remarked that the authors of the piece we were critiquing were conflating celibacy with temporary singleness. You can share your thoughts on those topics and/or think about the following additional celibacy vs. singleness questions: what are some differences between the concepts of celibacy and singleness? Similarities? Why do you think people often conflate the two? Is a person who is living celibacy temporarily cultivating a celibate vocation, even though he/she knows that vocation will not last forever? Other celibacy vs. singleness issues you find interesting?

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.