bit of a dramatic morning today.
some background: i work for a church called christ church west green, which was planted by a church called st. saviours, which in turn was planted by a church called king’s cross church (kxc). we’re all part of a network of churches called the table network, along with a few other kxc plants. kxc does not hold an affirming theology and neither do any of their plants, except for us.
and so we’re essentially being kicked out of the table network (it’s probably more of a mutual agreement) because we have a more progressive and inclusive (affirming) view of sexuality, and it’s incompatible with their doctrine. i knew going into today that this would be our last meeting with them (we have a joint prayer gathering at the beginning of every month) and i’m not exactly sure what i was expecting, but it wasn’t whatever that was.
the meeting started typically enough, with encouraging stories, time for worship, time for prayer, but then pete (a lead pastor at kxc, who runs the meetings) said we were going to pray for some churches in the ‘family’.
apparently, one of the churches based in wales is essentially being forced to leave the church of wales (which as an institution holds and mandates an inclusive and affirming theology) and plant a new church so they can hold onto their exclusive and non-affirming doctrine.
so everyone gathered around them to pray, reaching out, closing their eyes, praising them for being so courageous in resisting the pressure to welcome gay people wholeheartedly to be part of their church just as they are, no ifs ands or buts. the gist of all the prayers was that they were being led by the spirit, that God was with them as they fought the good fight against the evils of creating a safe and inclusive space where lgbt+ people are free to worship and love God without believing a part of them is fundamentally wrong. and obviously they weren’t using those exact words, but it’s what i was hearing.
to me, they were praying for the strength and provision to bravely continue to exclude, marginalize and other; make people feel less than, less worthy of love, less holy, less able to inherit the kingdom of God because they just aren’t trying hard enough to be straight or celibate, they just don’t have enough faith.
and then later, they offered to pray for us, and i thought, pray for what? for us to fail? for us to finally see the light and once again tell queer people that they either have to pray the gay away or die celibate and sexless, which, if they just looked at it in the right way, is a gift?
pete explained we were leaving the table network due to a difference in beliefs about sexuality; that though we weren’t going to be part of the ‘family’ anymore, he was hopeful we could all remain great friends. then chris (my vicar, who i’m so proud of) said some kind words, and as all this was happening, something was bubbling up in me, this restlessness, this creeping anxiety, a form of suffocation.
i remembered all of the nights i spent quietly crying in my bedroom as a teen, journaling about how i felt disgusting and damned, praying that God would change me. every night, praying He would make me straight. every night the same prayer, learning to hate the way i loved, the crushes i had, the way i craved intimacy and affection just like anyone else. and i remembered not being able to tell my parents because no matter how much i knew they loved me, God said it wasn’t right, and they loved God, so what would happen?
it was destructive, it was unholy, it was something so many gay christians can relate to and are still experiencing today. i had to work to love myself, and by some form of grace, i came to believe God loves me too, not in spite of who i am, but because of it.
and so sitting there earlier, listening to everyone praying to strengthen this church in wales that will almost certainly lead to little boys and girls spending nights crying in their bedrooms, feeling disgusting and damned, something rose in me. and as chris was about to pass the mic back, i asked for it, and i stood up, and i said something along the lines of:
“hi everyone, i’m obed, and i’m gay. i just want everyone to understand the reality of this situation. there are parts of me that are feeling rejected, there are parts of me that feel excluded, and this is all bringing up a lot of trauma, all the work i had to do to learn to love myself in the church. you say that we’re invited, we’re invited, but when push comes to shove, we’re not, and it’s sad to me that we can no longer be part of your family because of this. hopefully we can still be friends. it was nice to meet those of you i met, and thank you for including us up to the point that you did, but honestly, the lived, emotional reality of this experience is really uncomfortable so i’m just gonna go.”
and then i grabbed my things and left, the room in total silence other than pete saying “thanks for sharing, obed.”
i got some nice, supportive messages from people after, and chris and i debriefed when we got back to our church. he told me that after i left, they talked about how these conversations are real and important, that there are real consequences and that they shouldn’t trivialize these things. they had a moment of silence, to dwell in the moment and process everything i guess?
but honestly, the sequence of events felt either completely thoughtless and unconscientious, or pointed and intentional. like, did they really not think about how a queer person in that room might feel in the face of all of this? you’re literally praying for a church to stay strong so that they don’t have to (meaningfully) include people like me and become like my church, which in their eyes seems to have fallen from grace and truth in allowing people to remain content on their path to hell. you can say you’re simply holding on to your scriptural truths and convictions, that you’re only trying to do what’s right, but these things don’t exist in a vacuum, and real, ongoing harm is being done in the name of these views.
i’m glad i said my piece, even though there’s so much more to say, so much more i wish i’d said. but chris is right in that this is such a delicate conversation, and the gracious thing to do is to learn how to hold all of these tensions, learn how to make space for these disagreements, with love and mercy and compassion, trusting that God is at work, even here.
i just think that if you’re going to hold onto a theology that can do (and has historically done) so much harm and lead to so much pain, heartbreak, often even death, you have a responsibility to pursue real, loving relationship with the people you might be hurting; listen to what they have to say, try to understand their perspective and pain. the stakes are too high. real people are suffering. what are the fruits of your doctrine? how are you building the kingdom of God with all different kinds of people?
i can tell you right now that in the entire time we went to those joint prayer gatherings, maybe three out of around thirty-five kxc staff members ever started a conversation with me, and that’s all i really needed to know.
but then later, during dinner with my church small group, i felt so held. i felt a true sense of community, sharing with others, being with people who really see me and care about me. and i remembered that there is goodness here, that there is hope and joy and true solidarity.
i felt the deep and unwavering love of God.
