So my church voted yesterday on whether to adopt a fully welcoming stance regarding LGBTQIA people. It was all a bit complicated, but basically they presented a document to the congregation and asked if they wanted to have it be church policy. The document isn’t precisely pro-LGBTQIA so much as it is pro-all kinds of people, regardless of their sexuality and gender identity. It’s a document I view as being made in love, with an ear to those of us marginalized by the Synod. It is also idealistic, for which I love it.
I did not get to vote on this document, because I was not a church member. That was partially my own fault- I haven’t transferred my church membership from like… 3 states ago. Because I couldn’t be made to care. What matters to me is where I spend my time, not whether I’ve jumped through some hoops.
So they voted, and I stood on the margins where I often find myself. And honestly, I stood there without really knowing what I wanted. Like, I knew what was going to be best for me- I’m queer, and I belong in the church. Adopting the document is, I firmly believe, the most Christ-like path. But I also knew full well several people were planning to leave if it was adopted. Including someone I worked closely with. And he’s taking his family with him.
So I sat there on the margins and I worried. And I wondered. I’m one of the most visible LGBTQIA people in the church. Am I worth it? Is it really worth losing those people over something like me?
I’ve had a really, really mixed experience in life, re: my worthiness as a person. It’s been mostly blanket rejection and pain, with a small slice of humanity that thinks I’m spectacular. And like… I think you’re supposed to go find and be with the people that think you’re great, but like… I never really knew how to do that. And there was usually just a couple at a time, not a whole group.
…This church, it’s… a lot of them. I’m sure some of it is my parents, who are good people in their own right, and joined the church a couple years before I did. But not all. I’ve been visible enough, I’ve served the church, and I’ve been open and honest about my struggles. And somehow, these people care. Somehow, they come up to me and say so. It… it boggles my mind. It probably shouldn’t, but it does.
The results have come in. The church voted, and 60% or more said they wanted to adopt the document. To turn their backs on the Synod and their mandates to reject me and others like me.
I should be happy. I should be jubilant, knowing this one church, at least, chose God’s love. But all I can think about is the person that’s said he’ll leave. And so I grieve.
I shouldn’t. He made his choice. I have no control over it, only what I choose to do with what he chooses.
And in the end, it’s not really me the church was voting about. It’s the other two people that spoke with me at the panel a month ago, that grew up in the church. It’s their family, their friends, all the LGBTQIA people that are spread across the myriad of connections of every voting member. It’s the convictions they hold dear, the will to love as Christ did. Even if it costs them. They could get thrown out of the denomination for this decision. People have said they’ll leave.
It’s what we’re called to do, as Christians- to choose to welcome and love the outcast, the prisoner, the impoverished, and the exile. I’m just so unaccustomed to people actually living their faith when push comes to shove, that it shocks me. And of course my own self-worth issues are coming through.
Tomorrow I have to face a world not of my making, and not of my deciding. But I guess I get to do so knowing my church is very, very serious about their belief that I belong there. I can’t seem to untangle the mess of my emotions, but I’m grateful.