Category Archives: Book Reviews

A Review of A Letter to My Congregation by Ken Wilson

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For our resource review this month, we’ve decided to read A Letter to My Congregation: An Evangelical Pastor’s Path to Embracing People who are Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgender into the Company of Jesus by Ken Wilson. This book has generated much discussion as it outlines a “Third Way” for Evangelical Christians to respond to the controversies about sexual orientation. (We have also reviewed The Third Way film associated with the Roman Catholic Church.)

As usual, we will keep most of our thoughts related to our two focus questions for every review we write: 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?

Throughout the book, Wilson thoughtfully details his position as a pastor of an Evangelical congregation. He serves as the founding pastor of the Vineyard Church of Ann Arbor in Michigan. In his pastoral role, Wilson constantly provides guidance and care when people come to him asking tough questions. He wrote his letter to explain how he has adopted a different approach to counseling LGBT church members.

Wilson makes a powerful argument for using discernment when providing pastoral care to LGBT congregants. One reason why the “gay controversy” is so controversial is that so many Christians have already decided on their response to LGBT people and believe there is no need for further discussion. Expounding upon the role of discernment, Wilson states, “discernment of God’s will is reserved for choosing between two or more possible goods. When faced with a choice between a good and an evil option, no discernment is necessary. Choose the good and shun the evil” (pg. 26). The existing dominant argument within many Evangelical traditions is that it is not necessary to enter into discernment with an LGBT person because same-sex sexual activity is plainly evil. Importantly for LGBT Christians who live or want to explore celibacy, Wilson frames his experience with the dominant argument as follows:

As I first encountered the question of homosexuality, I saw it as a simple matter of choosing faithfulness to God over unfaithfulness to God. …. I assumed (of course) that all homosexual acts and relationships were outside of the bounds of morally acceptable behavior. For me, this was a received tradition. It came with a set of exclusionary practices, but I didn’t examine the practices carefully for two reasons: 1) at first, I wasn’t personally in charge of excluding anyone, and 2) when I was, exclusion per se didn’t need to be exercised because gay people who wanted to remain gay stayed away.

I should emphasize: everyone I respected held this view; no one I respected questioned it. I had other pressing pastoral concerns. It didn’t occur to me to explore the matter further. (pgs. 26-27)

Wilson’s letter may connect with celibate LGBT Christians who perceive that their churches respond to their questions with pat, superficial answers. In problematizing the received argument, Wilson offers space for Christians to use LGBT language and to explore questions about sexuality and gender identity more deeply.

In the quote above and throughout the book, Wilson constantly references exclusion. The question of exclusion undergirds a considerable portion of his argument. We get a sense of what he means by “exclusion” when he says:

Pastors must learn to say no. If someone wants to distribute literature at election time to tell us who God would have us vote for, I’m the one who tells them no. And then listens as they tell me what a weak-kneed leader I am for not standing up for truth. I’ve refused to perform weddings if I didn’t think the marriage had a chance. That conversation hardly ever goes well. I’ve told a member or two of our prayer ministry team that they cannot pray for people in ways that I deem harmful. I’ve called the police to forcibly remove a disruptive person, called protective services to investigate possible child abuse. I’ve asked a lady who brought her tambourine to church and played it with no particular connection to what the worship team was doing to please stop, as it had become a distraction. (pg. 12)

We’ve read much of what has been said about Wilson’s “Third Way” around the blogosphere, so we think it’s crucial to be explicit about how A Letter to My Congregation presents its specific Third Way approach. Wilson argues that the standard responses to LGBT Christians exclude people from the church. When a congregation has already decided that the questions around homosexuality are a simple matter of choosing faithfulness to God over unfaithfulness to God, two extremes surface. Evangelical churches have typically pronounced that gay sex is universally sinful to the point where some churches have actively excluded LGBT people from membership. Congregations with a modern, liberal sexual ethic sometimes exclude anyone who is not fully onboard with various justice initiatives undertaken by the church community. As a pastor, Wilson has had to make calls that have excluded people. Pastors make countless decisions when determining where the boundaries are in their communities. Wilson’s own litany of exclusion highlights areas big and small in which a pastor has to decide where the buck stops.

Ultimately, Wilson’s Third Way seems positioned to avoid exclusion on the basis of sexual orientation and gender identity alone. Pastors using Wilson’s approach would still need to draw lines somewhere, but these pastors can discern the boundaries in different ways. Sometimes, the boundary will be clear cut, while at other times, the pastor may make determinations on a case-by-case basis. LGBT Christians exploring celibacy may find that this approach encourages pastors to offer better spiritual direction, gives grace should an individual struggle to maintain his or her celibacy, and removes stigmas associated with being a gender and sexual minority in the church.

However, celibate LGBT Christians will find little by way of practical advice in living their vocations. Wilson spends a considerable amount of space arguing about why certain Scriptural passages need not be read as an outright condemnation of same-sex sexual activity. Unfortunately, his engagement with other passages about marriage lacks the same depth that he displays when talking about re-interpreting the clobber passages. In making a case as to why it’s acceptable for a pastor to lean towards supporting gay marriage, Wilson repeats many arguments about how unrealistic it is to expect LGBT people to remain celibate. The central question he asks regarding gay marriage is, given the broader witness of cisgender heterosexual Christians who are widowed or divorced and remarried, why couldn’t accommodations be made for the marriages of same-sex partners? He writes:

Some people can bear celibacy graciously. But others cannot. For them, the now traditional teaching that the biblical view of marriage–one man, one woman, for life–is descriptive but not prescriptive in the case of remarriage, is absolutely prescriptive in the case of gender. This means that it can only ever be for a man and a woman. Can we understand how that might constitute an unbearable burden? (pg. 154)

Wilson’s analysis of how and why pastors accommodate divorce and remarriage is thoughtfully developed. However, we find ourselves wishing that he had included at least some examples of welcoming celibate LGBT Christians into his congregation and attending to their pastoral needs. It seems to us that like some other “Third Way” approaches, this book implies an assumption that non-celibate LGBT Christians need more support, love, and acceptance than their celibate brothers and sisters.

We hope celibate LGBT Christians will be encouraged by Wilson’s intense commitment to discernment throughout the entire book. Wilson delivers a passionate case for why pastors must be willing to journey alongside their LGBT congregants and welcome them into full participation within the congregation. He shares his own heart for spiritual direction when he writes, “I am willing to be led by the fire of divine love” (pg. 176). We hope that Wilson’s journey connects him with celibate LGBT Christians if for no other reason than to catch a glimpse into the unique features and textures of their celibate vocations.

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 Does Jesus Really Love Me? by Jeff Chu

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July is almost over, and we’re finally getting around to our monthly resource review. More than one reader suggested that we review Jeff Chu’s Does Jesus Really Love Me?, and we agreed heartily that it would be an interesting resource to discuss on our blog. After snagging a signed copy at the 2013 National Book Festival, we’ve been reading it slowly over a period of months. We had originally planned to publish this review the week after the Gay Christian Network had announced Chu as a speaker for its 2015 conference. But we decided to take some extra time to reread parts of the book, and we’re glad that we did. We found it an enjoyable read, and are excited to hear Chu speak (and hopefully meet him!) in Portland this coming January.

As usual, we will keep most of our thoughts related to our two focus questions for every review we write: 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?

Does Jesus Really Love Me? is a different sort of resource than others we have reviewed so far. It neither takes a theological position on LGBT sexual ethics nor offers pastoral guidance for discussing LGBT issues within Christianity. Instead, it tells the stories of several people with different levels of involvement in the conversation. One of the book’s greatest strengths is the level of respect with which it treats each story. Chu is incredibly compassionate, even when taking on interviews with members of Westboro Baptist Church. It’s clear that in writing this book, Chu needed to step as much as possible outside his own assumptions in order to honor his interviewees’ experiences. Of course it is impossible for any writer to ignore his or her biases entirely, but as we read and remained on the lookout for an overt or hidden agenda, we couldn’t find one — unless you count “share people’s life experiences and perspectives on sexuality and Christian spirituality in America.” Celibate LGBT Christian readers, who often face harsh judgments from both liberals and conservatives, will likely find Chu’s empathic approach refreshing.

Another impressive aspect of Does Jesus Really Love Me? is Chu’s appreciation for the process of coming to terms with one’s sexuality and spirituality. From beginning to end, this book conveys the reality that the concerns of LGBT Christians in America extend far beyond the question of whether same-sex sexual activity is sinful, and that no one comes to a place of reconciliation on every possible issue immediately after coming out. Celibate LGBT readers will likely appreciate this point because it opposes the increasingly prominent message that reconciling faith and sexuality is as simple as reading and accepting (or reinterpreting) six Bible verses. The book’s four major divisions — Doubting, Struggling, Reconciling, and Hoping — speak to stages that most LGBT Christians experience in different seasons of life.

One of the more obvious ways that Does Jesus Really Love Me? will appeal to celibate LGBT readers is its treatment of celibacy in Chapter 8. Chu begins the chapter with a brief discussion of Wesley Hill’s Washed and Waiting, which leads into his interview with fifty-seven-year-old Kevin Olson of Minnesota. We were impressed by the way Chu frames this chapter generally, but also had some reservations about how it fits into the book’s overall narrative. Like most people involved in the conversation about Christianity and LGBT issues, Chu seems aware of the assumption that celibacy is just a layover on the way to self-acceptance and sexually active relationships. But unlike those who disparage LGBT celibacy as a temporary state that rarely lasts and almost always leads to despair, Chu has decided to explore the questions: “What are the effects of this kind of long-term chastity? What would life look like for the homosexual who, in his relative youth, chose this?” (p. 180). These are necessary questions for discussing issues around long-term celibacy: its sustainability, its emotional impact, and its meaning for those who choose it and those who do not. We were glad to see Chu’s interest in learning about these aspects of celibacy.

Chu tells Kevin’s story with integrity. He speaks to his respect for Kevin’s faith and asserts that Kevin taught him much about celibacy, particularly that it is a continual series of choices rather than a one-time commitment. He also does a fantastic job of using elements of Kevin’s story to describe how quickly people both inside and outside Christianity reject celibate (and non-celibate) LGBT Christians. However, there are elements of Kevin’s story that some readers might interpret as evidences that celibacy is necessarily oppressive, and is at least tangentially related to the ex-gay movement. For example, Chu chose to include that Kevin considers himself “homosexually oriented” rather than “gay” because in Kevin’s eyes, the term gay means acceptance of a sexually active way of life. He also makes mention of the fact that Kevin’s father did not treat him affectionately. Though we have no doubt that these bits of Kevin’s story are true, we wonder if Chu was aware that they might be interpreted as a statement that all LGBT celibates are really operating from within an ex-gay framework. It doesn’t help matters that Kevin’s story appears in the “Doubting” section — the same major division of the book where Chu interacts with Exodus International. We realize that only so many stories can be included in a work such as this, but we wonder why Chu opted to showcase only one celibate person and why he chose a man who admittedly lives the life of a solitary and does not identify as gay. It seems to us that other narratives of celibates who do identify as LGBT and lead lives full of rich interpersonal connectedness would have fit within the scope of Chu’s project, and would have provided a helpful complement to Kevin’s story.

Though the stories Chu tells come almost exclusively from evangelical Protestantism and rarely from any other Christian context, we felt encouraged by the book’s overall message that sharing one’s story as an LGBT Christian is a good thing. Not only does Chu show compassion and respect for all the people he interviews, but he seems genuinely interested in knowing all the details of their stories and how they got to the points in life where they were at the times of their interviews. He’s willing to learn from everyone, and we see that attitude so infrequently when interacting with culture war topics. Though Chu is a non-celibate LGBT Christian, as we read Does Jesus Really Love Me? we sensed that he is the sort of person who would offer encouragement to celibates interested in sharing their stories. Throughout the chapters, he models vulnerability by offering pieces of his own journey of faith and loss of faith and using what he has learned from the interviewees as opportunities for introspection. His writing sends a clear message that LGBT voices in Christianity matter, and that sharing one’s personal experience is helpful both to the sharer and the listeners. Chu seems to believe that we can all learn something from every other human being on the planet, and there’s a lesson in that for all of us celibate LGBT Christians who speak publicly on matters of faith and sexuality.

Despite some minor quibbles, we had great fun reading this book and believe it makes a meaningful contribution to the current conversation. We recommend it to all our friends and readers, regardless of sexual orientation or approach to sexual ethics. If you haven’t had much personal experience with LGBT Christians, you should definitely read Chu’s work. If you are an LGBT Christian, you might read it and find yourself inspired to tell your own 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.

A Review of Generous Spaciousness by Wendy VanderWal-Gritter

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We feel honored today for the opportunity to review Generous Spaciousness: Responding to Gay Christians in the Church, written by our friend Wendy VanderWal-Gritter. Since listening to her speak at the 2014 Gay Christian Network Conference, both of us have been anxious to get our hands on this book as soon as possible after its publication. On a personal level, we are immensely grateful for the generous spaciousness she has extended to us as we discern our particular queer calling, and are excited to offer our readers a preview of the positive contributions this book makes to the ongoing LGBT Christian conversation. We have spent several hours reading and rereading her work as thoroughly as possible so that way may give our most honest assessment. Along with the positives, we hope also to offer our readers the opportunity for further discussion on points where Generous Spaciousness seems to offer a bit more space for non-celibate LGBT Christians than for their celibate brothers and sisters.

As with the first book review we published, our review of Generous Spaciousness will focus on two primary questions: 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 think it is important to note that VanderWal-Gritter’s work has been informed by many years of providing pastoral care to Christians asking difficult questions about sexual orientation and gender identity. Her extensive experience shines through brilliantly in Generous Spaciousness. We are confident that LGBT Christians across the spectrum of ideologies on sexual ethics will find this book beneficial in one way or another. Specifically pertaining to celibate LGBT Christians, it has three major strengths:

First, Generous Spaciousness affirms LGBT Christians as part of the Church as opposed to a mission field for the Church to evangelize. We see this contribution as especially significant, but simultaneously we find it troubling that making such a simple statement is still necessary in Christianity as we know it today. This work clearly comes from a place of recognizing the faithfulness and dedication of LGBT Christians, seeing no reason to infer that a person’s sexual orientation or gender identity must automatically subdue his or her dedication to Christ. As in the example below, Generous Spaciousness shows profound appreciation for the struggles LGBT Christians have faced in order to remain connected to faith communities and to a personal sense of faith when those communities have failed to support their spiritual development:

“The Barna Group (a Christian research and polling company) found that over 70 percent of gay adults identify some connection with the Christian faith. And 58 percent indicate a personal relationship with Christ that is still important to them. But 42 percent were unchurched, which is significantly higher than heterosexual respondents (28 percent were unchurched). It has been said that the gay community is full of evangelical Christians who have been shown the back door of fellowship by the Church” (pg. 78).

We cannot speak highly enough to the profound empathy that is present throughout this book. Both celibate and non-celibate LGBT Christians will be gladdened to hear such strong advocacy for straight members of Christian faith communities to see people of all sexual orientations and gender identities as part of the Church.

Second, Generous Spaciousness speaks to the value of moving beyond dichotomies when ministering to real people. Most other books we’ve read on questions of how best to include LGBT members within Christian churches focus chiefly on gay marriage, arguing strongly for or against adoption of rituals for the blessing of same-sex unions. We were delighted to see that this book does not put a horse in that race. Instead, it encourages all Christians to move beyond scripts when asking and exploring questions about sexual orientation and gender identity, and especially when encountering young people who are dealing with these issues for the very first time.

Generous Spaciousness rightly calls attention to the fact that young people have already formulated statements about the acceptability of being LGBT and Christian, many believing that one cannot be both and must choose between the two. Further, it suggests more helpful ways of thinking about questions of sexuality and gender identity that move the conversation beyond mandates and towards core issues of Christian discipleship. In Chapter 5, VanderWal-Gritter offers four examples of “life-giving stories that could be part of the thought and heart process of the students in our congregations who are navigating their faith and sexuality:”

* “My family, pastor, and church support me in being honest about my confusion, questions, and experiences of sexual identity.”

* “As a gay person, I have options to explore as I decide how to live my life in congruence with my beliefs and values.”

* “I know that people in my family and church will love me and welcome me in the future–even if we have differences in our perspectives and ideas about homosexuality.”

* “I can be open to whatever God will do in my life and be confident that I will have the opportunity to love and be loved” (pg. 89)

As we read this section of the book, it struck us that each of these life-giving stories could be just as relevant for a person considering celibacy as for a person considering a non-celibate way of life. LGBT Christians who ultimately decide to commit to celibacy could benefit from more supportive parents, pastors, and communities amidst confusion along the road to that decision. Those leaning towards celibacy may also find comfort in knowing that there are multiple options for celibate vocations, including monasticism, celibate partnership, lay secular institutes, and life as a celibate single person. It is also true that celibates and non-celibates alike often encounter differences in perspective with their families and churches regarding homosexuality. A committed celibate who finds a label like “gay” or “transgender” meaningful might belong to a family and church where most people believe that one should not even use a sexual orientation or gender identity label, or alternatively might be part of a family or church where others take a more progressive stance on sexual ethics. In either case, knowing that one is loved despite this difference can be meaningful. It can be greatly comforting for a person considering celibacy to be able to trust that God will lead him or her toward loving relationships with other people. Though many readers will probably see the four items on VanderWal-Gritter’s list primarily as affirmations of non-celibate vocational pathways, we were impressed to see that these and many other pointers offered in this book are also relevant for LGBT Christians who have chosen or may eventually choose celibacy.

Third, Generous Spaciousness articulates a vision for “staying alive to hopefulness” that is inclusive of LGBT Christians who intend to pursue celibacy. Acknowledging one’s sexual orientation and gender identity can be a difficult process to navigate, especially at the outset of the journey. We’ve read a lot of tips for people trying to come out that focus on an end goal of celebrating one’s LGBT identity and engaging in various kinds of sexual relationships. Generous Spaciousness offers three concrete pathways that guide people towards Christ first and foremost: release of grief, reception of beauty, and cultivation of a positive vision for the future. Surprisingly, these pathways are not explicitly linked to sexual orientation or gender identity, but rather center on trying to find a vocation when one realizes oneself to be a minority. Generous Spaciousness encourages LGBT Christians to see the hopefulness of wider creation while at the same time seeking beauty within their experiences of being in a gender and/or sexual minority, noting that being LGBT should be viewed holistically:

“A gay person’s sense of sexuality ought to be viewed through the same robust lens of holistic sexuality. Connecting our relational image bearing to our sexuality invites us to consider creativity, humor, communion, and the like as expressions of our sexuality. All of these aspects of our personhood are connected to the reality that we are sexual beings” (pg. 115).

By challenging its readers to see sexuality as fundamentally about human connectedness, Generous Spaciousness offers strong guidance as to how an LGBT person might go about integrating his or her sexuality into a broader sense of self.

For all its strengths, Generous Spaciousness does have two significant weaknesses in its ability to help churches support LGBT Christians who are celibate or who are exploring celibacy. The book tries exceptionally hard to be inclusive of the experiences of all LGBT Christians. However, it seems that in detailing the evolution of ministry at New Direction from being an Exodus International member ministry for people with “unwanted same-sex attraction” to embodying a posture aligned with generous spaciousness for LGBT Christians to come to differing conclusions, the book extends a much stronger overture to LGBT Christians already in or exploring the possibility of sexually active same-sex relationships.

The first weakness is that Generous Spaciousness seems to assume celibate LGBT Christians do not need stronger affirmation of their vocations from the Church, and that the Church’s real challenge is in supporting non-celibate LGBT Christians. This might come as a surprising critique, especially given that New Direction has received praise for its ministry towards celibate LGBT Christians. Nevertheless, the book provides two exceptionally poignant examples that leave us wondering how much support celibate LGBT Christians can receive within a church community that employs a generous spaciousness approach.

At the end of Chapter 6, VanderWal-Gritter tells the story of a woman who experiences same-sex attraction but is committed to celibacy. This woman was attending a diverse church with many gay couples. The presence of gay couples “made it harder for her to stay true to her convictions. She spoke to her pastor, and he wisely suggested that she meet with one of the lesbian couples” (pg. 106). The woman committed to celibacy could affirm the authentic Christian faith of the lesbian couple, “but as she twisted the wedding ring on her hand–a symbol that God, her bridegroom, would provide for her needs–she was able to say that God had enlarged her heart” (pg. 107). At no point in this story do we hear about how another person offered the celibate woman a sense of generous spaciousness to discern her vocation in community; indeed, it seems that her pastor’s counsel was more for her to give generous spaciousness than to receive support. VanderWal-Gritter appears to support this counsel, thus overlooking the challenges faced by a person committed to a celibate vocation in a sea of people who are married or strongly exploring the possibility of marriage.

Chapter 12 explores the question of how to provide LGBT Christians with opportunities to lead and serve local congregations that frequently have firm expectations of people in leadership and pastors who struggle to communicate in a sensitive manner. VanderWal-Gritter highlights the example of a married LGBT couple looking for a church and emailing churches in an effort to discern how welcome they would be as a family. As a couple ourselves, we appreciated the presence of this example because we are all too aware of how congregations can ostracize LGBT people in their midst. While this is a great example and is important for churches to consider, it comes on the heels of twelve chapters worth of anecdotes, very few featuring a clearly identified celibate LGBT Christian struggling to be welcomed and affirmed in his or her faith community. We are familiar with the broader LGBT Christian community enough to infer that more of these stories than the obvious ones likely feature celibate people. However, since the vocational status of celibate LGBT Christians is often left unstated, Generous Spaciousness unwittingly suggests that a celibate LGBT Christian doesn’t need as much space as a non-celibate for discerning his or her distinctive vocation because he or she likely has a more traditional sexual ethic.

The second weakness is that Generous Spaciousness discusses all forms of committed relationships among LGBT Christians as though they are basically the same regardless of whether they are sexual. Throughout the book, VanderWal-Gritter uses many descriptors for relationships between LGBT people such as “same-sex relationships,” “consummated partnerships,” and “covenanted gay relationships.” Frequently, she employs these terms interchangeably in a way that suggests they apply to sexually active relationships. In the few instances where this book shows openness to the question of whether LGBT people could be in celibate relationships, the uniqueness of this type of relationship seems hidden:

“It is important to remember that love is love. And love is of God. There is much love to be given and received within the context of companionship or friendships, whether or not these relationships take on an exclusive or primary role in a person’s life and whether or not they are consummated sexually” (pg. 101).

We’ve devoted a lot of space here at A Queer Calling to discussing the uniqueness of the celibate vocation lived in partnership. For many celibate LGBT Christians, it is a difficult process to discern what celibacy can look like within a shifting landscape of vocations, and this is certainly true for others we know who are pursuing celibate relationships. At times while reading Generous Spaciousness, we felt as though we were being lumped together with LGBT couples who do not feel called to celibacy, as though the only difference between a celibate partnership and a non-celibate partnership is the absence of sex. Consider the following quote: “When we read accounts of gay, celibate Christians, deeply committed to the self-denial such commitment entails, and stories of gay Christians who are affirming of gay relationships, it can cause a great deal of confusion. Inevitably, we may find ourselves asking, ‘Who is really committed to Christ?'” (pg. 105). With these categorical divisions posed, we are left scratching our heads and wondering where we fit into the mix.

On the whole, we are grateful for Generous Spaciousness: Responding to Gay Christians in the Church. Wendy VanderWal-Gritter presents a compelling case for why generous spaciousness is needed in the first place and provides insights as to how this approach can open up life-giving vocational pathways for LGBT Christians. She offers a solid starting set of ideas for how LGBT Christians inclined towards celibacy could find strength as they grow into mature vocations. However, celibate LGBT Christians themselves need a generous spaciousness within the Church to receive support in these vocations, and we did not see those needs fully recognized within this book.

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 God and the Gay Christian by Matthew Vines

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* We have made a few adjustments to this review since we first published it. Please see our updates below.

As the conversation about LGBT issues in the Church has continued to develop, more and more queer Christian books have begun to line the shelves in bookstores around the world. Here at A Queer Calling, we are interested in discovering what these resources have to say to celibate LGBT Christians or those who are considering celibacy. Because of this interest, we have decided to post occasional resource reviews on the blog.

We’re going to start with God and the Gay Christian by Matthew Vines, which was released on 22 April 2014. This much-anticipated book has generated considerable buzz, and you can find many additional reviews on other sites. Because our review will focus on a specific topic within the book, we would like to link you to a couple of reviews that address the book as a whole. For those seeking a review that speaks positively of God and the Gay Christian, citing only a few quibbles, we’d recommend the review hosted at Queering the Church. For those interested in a critical perspective by a reviewer who disagrees strongly with Vines’ argument, we’d recommend Gabriel Blanchard’s review at Mudblood Catholic. Please feel free to share links to other reviews you’ve found helpful in the comments.

Before we start our own review, we would like to reiterate that the purpose of our blog is to engage in conversation about cultivating meaningful, mature, Christ-filled ways of life as celibate LGBT Christians, drawing particularly on our own experiences as a celibate couple. Therefore, our review of Vines’ work will not focus on what he has to say about the question, “Does God bless sexually active same-sex relationships?” Instead, we will frame our review around a different set of questions: 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?

Vines’ strongest contribution to addressing these questions is in arguing that vocations should not be mandated. He articulates clearly and forcefully the grave harm that celibacy mandates can do to Christians exploring their sexual orientations and discerning what it means to live a Christian sexual ethic. This aspect of his work is exceedingly important for those interested in moving forward in the conversation about sexual orientation and Christianity. Few Christian traditions show awareness of how their teachings on marriage and sexuality impact the lives of gay Christians on a practical and pastoral level, and this reality needs to be challenged. We agree with Vines’ view that focusing on doctrines and dogmas without providing any pragmatic support for living those teachings has failed countless LGBT Christians. Related to this issue, we’ve shared some of our own thoughts about celibacy mandates, providing spiritual direction, and actively cultivating celibate vocations. Our agreement with Vines about the harmfulness of celibacy mandates has one caveat: we believe Christian traditions that teach a traditional sexual ethic have the resources and capability to do so without presenting celibacy as a mandate, whereas Vines seems to believe that because celibacy mandates are harmful, no Christian tradition should teach a traditional (or as he calls it, “non-affirming”) sexual ethic at all.

For the LGBT Christian who is already committed to a celibate vocation or is considering celibacy as a way of life for whatever reason, the utility of God and the Gay Christian ends here. We do not wish to downplay the powerful manner in which Vines gives voice to Christians harmed by mandatory celibacy. Those stories are real and deserve validation. However, outside of this aspect, Vines’ book contributes nothing of value to those who have chosen or might choose celibacy. In several places, Vines even mischaracterizes and disparages the celibate vocation while simultaneously claiming to honor and appreciate it. Consider his argument on page 18 that assumes celibacy is about denying one’s sexuality and asserts celibate gay Christians struggle mightily to cultivate any meaningful relationships:

For gay Christians to be celibate in an attempt to expunge even their desires for romantic love requires them to live in permanent fear of sexual intimacy and love. That is a wholly different kind of self-denial than the chastening of lustful desires the church expects of all believers. It requires gay Christians to build walls around their emotional lives so high that many find it increasingly difficult to form meaningful human connection of all kinds.

We think Vines’ discussion of celibacy fails for three central reasons:

Vines makes no effort to talk to anyone who has chosen celibacy as a vocation and is living that vocation in a sustainable manner. One thing we noticed immediately is very few real voices, outside of Vines’ voice, are included throughout the book. We both noticed that Vines gives space to gay Christians who have tried to adhere to the demands of mandated celibacy but were ultimately crushed by despair, loneliness, and depression. While it is true that many Christian traditions ignore these stories and this is a problem, it is also true that there are gay Christians who embrace celibacy as a sustainable way of life and share their stories in a number of different venues. As Lindsey reviewed the footnotes, Lindsey noted that Vines included only one reference to anything authored by a celibate LGBT Christian. In endnote 16 of Chapter 2, Vines cites Wesley Hill’s Washed and Waiting: Reflections on Christian Faithfulness and Homosexuality as a “helpful book for understanding same-sex orientation,” but does not interact with Hill’s experiences in the book’s main text. Since Hill’s work was assigned reading for participants in Vines’ Summer 2013 Reformation Project Conference, we are puzzled as to why he did not try to incorporate Hill’s extensive discussion of how celibates could overcome the pain of loneliness. Vines’ decision not to interact with this work specifically is even more puzzling because including Hill’s discussion of his own difficulties in living celibacy might even have strengthened Vines’ argument. (See Update #2 at the end of this review)

Had Vines talked with LGBT Christians who have freely chosen a celibate vocation, Vines might have developed a more complete view of how LGBT people interact with celibacy. Instead, Vines implies that celibacy, which he understands to mean “sexual abstinence,” requires that LGBT people view their sexualities as broken, fallen, and constant sources of temptation:

The traditional interpretation of Scripture, as currently applied, calls all Christians to abstinence before marriage. But it goes much further when applied to gay Christians, denying them the very possibility of marriage. According to non-affirming Christians, gay people’s sexuality is completely broken, so mandatory, lifelong celibacy is their only real option (pg 43).

This particular view of celibacy is convenient for Vines’ argument, and he has shared publicly on an episode of GCN Radio that loving interaction with a person who holds a traditional sexual ethic involves developing a substantive relationship with that individual, respecting him/her as a person while seeing his/her views as less valid, and encouraging him/her to repent of these views:

I think you need to engage in substantive, meaningful relationships with people, actually care about people. Don’t just talk about this. And be there for people, really learn from people, respect them as individuals and as Christians. But when we are discussing this issue, don’t pretend like their views are valid in the same way. They are valid in the sense that their motives I can very frequently respect, and I know that they’re coming from a good place, but the views are inherently wrong and in that sense inherently sinful, and so we need to encourage people to move away from them, to repent. –GCN Radio interview, 10 July, 2013

We don’t find Vines’ portrayal of celibacy to be very useful for LGBT Christians living celibate lives or interested in exploring the possibility that they might have a celibate vocation: Vines’ portrayal of celibacy seems to be an outgrowth of his personal convictions that an individual with a traditional sexual ethic must repent. (See Update #3 at the end of this review)

Further, Vines titles an entire chapter of the book “The Gift of Celibacy,” yet gives minimal space to discussing the titular idea of that chapter. The message of Chapter 3 is not that celibacy is a gift, as the title suggests, but rather that celibacy cannot be a mandate. Vines opens the chapter by saying he will discuss how Christian celibacy is grounded in “the goodness of creation, the fact of the incarnation, and our future hope of resurrection” (pg 44). However, in all of Vines’ discussions on these three foundations, he says little about what celibacy means for Christian theology, and instead focuses on the rarity of celibacy as a gift and why we must create additional space for marriage.

Vines implies that celibate gay Christians, especially those in denominations teaching a traditional sexual ethic, are celibate only because of mandates. According to Vines, “…non-affirming beliefs about homosexuality undermine the meaning of Christian celibacy” (pg 57). In other words, only a progressive sexual ethic would give appropriate honor to the tradition of Christian celibacy. Another of his central claims is that in determining how to interpret the Bible in light of new information we now have about human sexuality, “We can embrace gay relationships and maintain a traditional view of celibacy, or we can change our understanding of celibacy and keep a traditional view of gay relationships. But we cannot do both” (pg 44). In Vines’ view, a traditional sexual ethic necessarily involves celibacy being mandated rather than presented as a possible vocation for gay Christians to discover.

Following Vines’ logic, it is impossible for gay Christians to have chosen celibacy freely without belonging to Christian traditions that sanctify same-sex marriage. In order to assert that it is unreasonable to expect all gay people to live celibate lives, Vines provides evidence of those who have crumbled under the demands of mandated celibacy. It appears Vines is suggesting that gay people who consider celibacy do so only because their Christian traditions maintain marriage as between a man and a woman, and he does not posit any other possible causal mechanism for why a particular LGBT Christian might be interested in exploring celibacy. He fails to consider the plethora of factors, such as personal reading of scripture, life circumstances, spirituality, financial situation, sense of call from God, etc. that may shape a person’s vocational choice.

The subtitle of the book “The Biblical Case in Support of Same-Sex Relationships” reveals a significant bias in Vines’ argument. From our reading, it seems likely that in order to determine a celibate gay Christian’s level of choice in vocation, Vines would first look to see whether that person belongs to a tradition that blesses same-sex marriages. If the tradition does not bless same-sex marriages, then all gay Christians in that tradition must find themselves forced into celibacy as the default according to this line of reasoning. To be clear, our main purpose in highlighting this bias in Vines’ book is to point out the false cause fallacy in this part of his argument. It seems to us that Vines would view our choosing celibacy as a valid vocational choice if and only if we belonged to a Christian tradition that blesses same-sex marriages. Since we do not belong to such a tradition, a logical conclusion one could draw from Vines’ argument is that we did not actually choose a celibate vocation, but were forced into this way of life.

Vines portrays gay celibacy exclusively as rejection of sexuality rather than integration of sexuality. Throughout Vines’ discussion of the traditional sexual ethic, he asserts constantly that this ethic forces gay people to view their sexualities in a negative light. As Vines writes, “For straight Christians, abstinence outside marriage affirms the goodness both of marriage and of sex within marriage. But for gay Christians, mandatory celibacy affirms something different: the sinfulness of every possible expression of their sexuality” (pg 17). We think Vines rightly highlights problems with this view of sexuality. Viewing one’s sexuality as exclusively a source of temptation can (and does) lead to an almost-Gnostic disregard for the body, irrespective of a person’s sexual orientation. But in the aforementioned quote, Vines suggests that a view held by some celibate gay Christians is held by all celibate gay Christians. We find this particular fallacy of composition troubling because we view integrating one’s sexuality as an essential component of a sustainable celibate vocation, and we both have personal experience with said integration. Vines does not address the reality that many gay celibates, particularly those who experience celibacy as joyous and life-giving, accept themselves as sexual beings and have healthy relationships with their bodies.

Regarding rejection versus integration of one’s sexuality within the context of a celibate vocation, we wonder how Vines would address this issue in historical examples where people, for whatever reason, came into celibate ways of life without actually choosing celibacy. When including evidence from the vast historical tradition of Christian celibacy, Vines appears to ignore aspects of this history that could potentially challenge his line of reasoning. He asserts, time and time again, that celibacy must be freely chosen in order to be a valid vocation:

With the exception of some Christians now called Gnostics, whose views were quickly rejected as heretical, Christians from the earliest centuries of the church to the modern era have affirmed that celibacy is a gift that can’t be forced (pg 54-55).

This statement is demonstrably false. We find ourselves wondering how Vines would make sense of, for example, medieval families who gave their young sons and daughters to God by handing them over to monasteries as children. Vines presumes that never in the history of Christianity has the celibate vocation been anything but a free choice, except in the case of modern gay Christians. In light of this, we’re also curious about his conceptualization of the history of marriage. Additionally, we wonder how Vines would respond to the suggestion that marriage does not guarantee integration rather than rejection of one’s sexuality.

In closing, we acknowledge that Matthew Vines wrote this book hoping to stimulate conversation in the Church, and it has already been accomplishing that goal. God and the Gay Christian does make a significant contribution for people interested in discussing the question, “Does the Bible support same-sex sexual relationships?” Vines makes his argument sincerely and after devoting significant time to studying the Bible, and it is clear that misrepresenting others is not his intention. Vines’ book will be valuable for LGBT Christians who have been harmed by celibacy mandates and can identify with the stories included. But while this book claims to offer an affirming position for gay people in the Church, we perceive that Vines affirms only the lived experiences of gay Christians who are in sexually-active relationships, desire/are open to sexually-active relationships, or have been harmed by mandated celibacy to the point that the idea of a celibate vocation is no longer on the table. God and the Gay Christian completely overlooks the experience of the gay person who has made a voluntary commitment to the celibate vocation and is at peace with that decision.

UPDATE #1, 4/24/2014: Matthew Vines contacted us via Twitter to inform us that there are some differences between advance review copies of God and the Gay Christian and the copies that hit the shelves on 04/22/2014. Our review was based upon an advance review copy, which we had the opportunity to read when shown by a friend. Matthew graciously informed us that he does indeed reference Wesley Hill in the final printed version of the book. We are glad to hear this, and will be reading the final version of the book as soon as we can get our hands on a copy. At that time, we’ll make any necessary adjustments to our review in order to ensure that we’ve represented Matthew’s argument correctly. Thanks, Matthew, for pointing this out to us.

UPDATE #2, 4/24/2014: We have now accessed a copy of the final printed version of God and the Gay Christian. We stand corrected on the point that Matthew Vines does not reference anything written by a celibate LGBT Christian. We have amended the review to reflect that he does reference Wesley Hill’s Washed and Waiting. However, our original point remains unchanged as Matthew Vines does not critically engage Hill’s work.

UPDATE #3, 4/24/2014: Matthew Vines contacted us publicly on Twitter regarding our reference to his interview of 10 July 2013 on GCN Radio. He expressed concern that we had misrepresented his position. We value intellectual honesty, and it is never our intention to misrepresent anyone. Therefore, for the sake of clarity, we decided to adjust our original sentence referencing this interview and include a quotation from the interview itself to add more context. For even further context, we have transcribed approximately two and a half minutes of the interview and have included our full transcription of this relevant portion below. If that still does not provide sufficient context, we urge you to listen to the full episode which we have linked within the text of our review.

Here is our transcript, which goes from approximately minute 12:30 to minute 14:53:

“…from a religious standpoint, I’m not going to say that I think it’s okay to think that same-sex relationships are wrong when that viewpoint is destructive, incredibly destructive, to the lives and the value of gay people. So yeah, I mean, that’s why I think what it means to love someone in this conversation is to have that conversation. Respect who they are respect where they are, and respect their motives, but that doesn’t always mean respecting their beliefs because not all beliefs are equal. And if you believe in objective truth, as I do, then you can’t have two positions that are of equal moral value. So what it means to love someone who is Side B, one aspect of that is not affirming them in that belief and in telling them that what Christian love and sacrifice means is willing to submit yourself to God and also being willing sometimes to take the hit to your ego and your pride that necessarily comes when you admit that you have been wrong, and maybe you’ve been wrong about something that you’ve been very public in advocating. That hurts, and it’s not easy, but Christianity was never supposed to be easy. Christian discipleship is not easy. So part of what it means to be loving people who are Side B is, and again, it’s not enough to go and talk at people. We’ve had this experience the other way around, where people think that because they believe in objective truth, because they think their position is right, therefore they can just go and what they need to do to love people is just hold up signs. No. There’s a lot more than that. I think you need to engage in substantive, meaningful relationships with people, actually care about people. Don’t just talk about this. And be there for people, really learn from people, respect them as individuals and as Christians. But when we are discussing this issue, don’t pretend like their views are valid in the same way. They are valid in the sense that their motives I can very frequently respect, and I know that they’re coming from a good place, but the views are inherently wrong and in that sense inherently sinful, and so we need to encourage people to move away from them, to repent.”

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