When I was an undergrad at Florida State University, Tampa-St. Pete was known as the home of “newlyweds and nearly deads.” Gulfport, Florida, population 12,000, sits in the middle of the Tampa Bay, a beach resort recently identified as one of America’s top communities for retirees. Sounds like nothing has changed. Except it has, in significant ways.
I discovered Gulfport in January, when I spoke there on transgender issues, from an ally’s point of view. I returned recently to speak at the newly renovated Gulfport Library on Coming Out in Faith, a collection of 15 stories about life at the intersection of being LGBTQ and a person of faith. One hint of what has changed in the Tampa Bay is that Gulfport has the only public library in Florida with an LGBTQ collection. More than 30 people showed up on a Tuesday evening to listen and raise questions about how – not whether - one may be gay and godly.
I discovered Gulfport in January, when I spoke there on transgender issues, from an ally’s point of view. I returned recently to speak at the newly renovated Gulfport Library on Coming Out in Faith, a collection of 15 stories about life at the intersection of being LGBTQ and a person of faith. One hint of what has changed in the Tampa Bay is that Gulfport has the only public library in Florida with an LGBTQ collection. More than 30 people showed up on a Tuesday evening to listen and raise questions about how – not whether - one may be gay and godly.
LGBTQ stands for lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer. Gay and queer also are used throughout this essay to denote those who identify as part of the acronym that has grown – so far – to LGBTQQIAA2SP, which includes lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, questioning, intersex, ally, asexual, two-spirit and polyamorous.
The response in Gulfport illustrates a new conversation that I believe many queer people of faith are eager to have. To be sure, institutional religion has been horrifically damaging for many who are LGBTQ, especially Baby Boomers who were born in the post-WW II heyday of Protestant church growth and came of age in the midst of the AIDS epidemic. Despite those experiences, surveys show nearly two-thirds of American LGBTQs claim their Christian faith is “very important.” XX% profess a personal relationship with Jesus.
Why do LGBTQ individuals “keep the faith” when church doctrines are still used to shame and vilify our identity or our love for someone of the same sex? Why do we stay when a million members are leaving mainline Christian churches each year?
There are two dimensions to answering this question; one is personal, the other is cultural.
Personally, I’ve always been interested in moral or ethical values. I was the kid who read the Bible front-to-back, two chapters a night, as I grew up Southern Baptist in the suburbs of Atlanta. Young Life met in my family’s home. The habit of “doing church” was formed early in my life. At the same time, I saw enough “Sunday Christians” to know church attendance and living an ethical life were not necessarily the same. My overall experience of church, however, was one of being surrounded primarily by people who tried to live every day by the Golden Rule: “Love your neighbor as you love yourself.” I believe most of my peers shared that experience. While my theology is no longer traditionally “Christian,” faith-based engagement with church remains a key element of my identity and practice.
An intersecting cultural influence was the invisibility of “gayness” in the 1950s and ‘60s. I heard plenty about hellfire and damnation in my small-town Baptist church, but being gay was never mentioned, as if we didn’t exist until the “Stonewall riot” of 1969. My obliviousness served a useful purpose. Because sexuality was not a primary filter for interpreting my experiences, I developed other identities. I grew up in a family where my precocious reading habit, affinity for sports and the outdoors, and career aspirations were reinforced. My parents wanted to be sure my sister and I had every “advantage,” from dance and art lessons to high academic achievement.
Another historical element is that post-war America experienced an economic and technological boom unmatched until, perhaps, today. Baby Boomers, the largest age cohort in the nation’s history, were born into an era of rising expectations, fueled by optimism that tomorrow would be better than yesterday. True or not, “anything is possible” was embedded in our cultural consciousness.
Baby Boomers coming of age in the 1960s, ‘70s and ‘80s boldly set about to test that assumption. The “Stonewall Riot” of 1969 was only one small part of many challenges to society’s status quo. The Black Civil Rights movement and Women’s Liberation were far more visible and contentious for most of those decades. Conservative religious leaders took hostile aim at both, using Bible-based claims that “race mixing” and treating women as equals would destroy the family.
In addition to destroying families, the AIDS epidemic that surfaced in the 1980s brought a new dimension to right-wing resistance to change: AIDS was God’s judgment of death for those who rejected Biblical “law.” Seven verses out of more than 12,000 passages in the Old and New Testaments of the Bible were lifted up as proof of the evil of homosexuality. The viciousness of the attacks, coupled with silence from “progressive” faith leaders, caused many gay men and lesbians, as well as straight allies, to lose faith in organized religion altogether.
The heightened visibility of gay men and lesbians from the AIDS epidemic also created new awareness of who our “neighbors” were. In a sense, AIDS paved the way for bisexual, transgender, and queer people to become known, as the gay community learned to care for and support each other. Allies stepped forward to embrace family members, friends, even strangers, irrespective of their sexual orientation. We rose up together, refusing to accept a God so contradictory to Jesus, who blessed all, especially the outcasts of society, 2,000 years ago.
This is the conversation a growing number in the LGBTQ community wants to have today. It starts with the simple declaration that we, too, are children of God, made in the image of God and equally beloved as lesbians, bisexuals, gay men, and transgender individuals.
Taking that declaration seriously has profound implications. Original sin, the belief that humans are born inherently flawed, is foundational to organized Christianity. The threat of an eternal afterlife suffering in hell unless one “repents” of their sinful nature is the spiritual bludgeon used to intimidate believers into obedience.
In the 1980s, Matthew Fox offered a radical alternative interpretation of humankind and life as inherently blessed rather than sinful. As LGBTQ children of God, our outsider status forces us to decide consciously whether to accept the church’s judgment of our sinfulness or to love ourselves, imperfections and all. It is a difficult decision, as rates of depression and suicide in the gay community attest. If we choose love, seeing the world through the lens of original blessing is the gift we stand to gain – and to share.
What if everyone could see themselves and others as reflections of love, grounded not in sin but in the miracle of life, fully embraced by whatever we consider holy? How would it change your life?
Why do LGBTQ individuals “keep the faith” when church doctrines are still used to shame and vilify our identity or our love for someone of the same sex? Why do we stay when a million members are leaving mainline Christian churches each year?
There are two dimensions to answering this question; one is personal, the other is cultural.
Personally, I’ve always been interested in moral or ethical values. I was the kid who read the Bible front-to-back, two chapters a night, as I grew up Southern Baptist in the suburbs of Atlanta. Young Life met in my family’s home. The habit of “doing church” was formed early in my life. At the same time, I saw enough “Sunday Christians” to know church attendance and living an ethical life were not necessarily the same. My overall experience of church, however, was one of being surrounded primarily by people who tried to live every day by the Golden Rule: “Love your neighbor as you love yourself.” I believe most of my peers shared that experience. While my theology is no longer traditionally “Christian,” faith-based engagement with church remains a key element of my identity and practice.
An intersecting cultural influence was the invisibility of “gayness” in the 1950s and ‘60s. I heard plenty about hellfire and damnation in my small-town Baptist church, but being gay was never mentioned, as if we didn’t exist until the “Stonewall riot” of 1969. My obliviousness served a useful purpose. Because sexuality was not a primary filter for interpreting my experiences, I developed other identities. I grew up in a family where my precocious reading habit, affinity for sports and the outdoors, and career aspirations were reinforced. My parents wanted to be sure my sister and I had every “advantage,” from dance and art lessons to high academic achievement.
Another historical element is that post-war America experienced an economic and technological boom unmatched until, perhaps, today. Baby Boomers, the largest age cohort in the nation’s history, were born into an era of rising expectations, fueled by optimism that tomorrow would be better than yesterday. True or not, “anything is possible” was embedded in our cultural consciousness.
Baby Boomers coming of age in the 1960s, ‘70s and ‘80s boldly set about to test that assumption. The “Stonewall Riot” of 1969 was only one small part of many challenges to society’s status quo. The Black Civil Rights movement and Women’s Liberation were far more visible and contentious for most of those decades. Conservative religious leaders took hostile aim at both, using Bible-based claims that “race mixing” and treating women as equals would destroy the family.
In addition to destroying families, the AIDS epidemic that surfaced in the 1980s brought a new dimension to right-wing resistance to change: AIDS was God’s judgment of death for those who rejected Biblical “law.” Seven verses out of more than 12,000 passages in the Old and New Testaments of the Bible were lifted up as proof of the evil of homosexuality. The viciousness of the attacks, coupled with silence from “progressive” faith leaders, caused many gay men and lesbians, as well as straight allies, to lose faith in organized religion altogether.
The heightened visibility of gay men and lesbians from the AIDS epidemic also created new awareness of who our “neighbors” were. In a sense, AIDS paved the way for bisexual, transgender, and queer people to become known, as the gay community learned to care for and support each other. Allies stepped forward to embrace family members, friends, even strangers, irrespective of their sexual orientation. We rose up together, refusing to accept a God so contradictory to Jesus, who blessed all, especially the outcasts of society, 2,000 years ago.
This is the conversation a growing number in the LGBTQ community wants to have today. It starts with the simple declaration that we, too, are children of God, made in the image of God and equally beloved as lesbians, bisexuals, gay men, and transgender individuals.
Taking that declaration seriously has profound implications. Original sin, the belief that humans are born inherently flawed, is foundational to organized Christianity. The threat of an eternal afterlife suffering in hell unless one “repents” of their sinful nature is the spiritual bludgeon used to intimidate believers into obedience.
In the 1980s, Matthew Fox offered a radical alternative interpretation of humankind and life as inherently blessed rather than sinful. As LGBTQ children of God, our outsider status forces us to decide consciously whether to accept the church’s judgment of our sinfulness or to love ourselves, imperfections and all. It is a difficult decision, as rates of depression and suicide in the gay community attest. If we choose love, seeing the world through the lens of original blessing is the gift we stand to gain – and to share.
What if everyone could see themselves and others as reflections of love, grounded not in sin but in the miracle of life, fully embraced by whatever we consider holy? How would it change your life?