Coming Out Strong

One common stereotype for LGBT people is that they are artistic. So many famous dancers, actors, singers, painters, and writers were/are LGBT. As with other stereotypes, most of the time they are simplistic generalizations, but there is often some truth in them. Why might LGBT people be attracted to artistic hobbies and professions?

            The choral director during my freshman year at Goshen College spoke with us about why music is a gift for oppressed groups of people. He specifically addressed the pain of LGBT people, telling us music was one place where LGBT people could be themselves. He wanted the men’s choir to sing a song with Walt Whitman’s text about same-sex romantic feelings. Although we were unable to sing that particular song, we sang Schubert’s “Sehnsucht,” which speaks about same-sex desire, and sang other deeply poignant pieces of sadness and pain. That year of choir had a profound impact on me, as I was not “out” to many people at that time. I was a voice minor, which required a sophomore recital. As I prepared that year and at the beginning of my sophomore year, I put all of the feeling that I felt I needed to hide into my pieces, especially the ones about love and loss.

            The majority of LGBT people grow up in heterosexual communities and are assumed to be heterosexual or cisgender. The construction and affirmation of an LGBT identity is often done in isolation as many LGBT people feel that they must hide or repress their expression of love out of fear of exclusion. Art offers a means to express identity and experience in ways that can speak to an LGBT experience without being dismissed by dominate heterosexual or cisgender expectation. LGBT themes that are not as apparent to the majority of cisgender or heterosexual people, can be understood by LGBT people who have felt or feel the same way.

            Even for people that are “out,” often have a need for artistic expression. Most art represents cisgender heterosexual relationships, so LGBT people need art that speaks to their experience.  LGBT art can be a place to draw awareness to LGBT issues to the rest of society. Instances like Chaz Bono’s appearance on Dancing with the Stars have brought the topic of transgender lives into everyone’s home, presenting a chance for conversation and education about lives that are often misunderstood and/or invisible.

            Art can be a powerful tool to promote solidarity for oppressed groups. For example, the civil rights movement used music to unify and protest against racial discrimination. Four-part harmony hymns are a significant part of the Church of the Brethren and Mennonite denomination’s worship and identity. At BMC’s recent gathering the LGBT participants, many of us with histories of rejection from these faith traditions, sang our hymns in part to reclaim a piece of our identity.

            At the last two Mennonite conventions the Pink Menno movement organized and participated in hymn sings to heighten awareness of LGBT people within the church. They created a space for allies to join in solidarity with their LGBT brothers and sisters. The Pink Menno hymn sing at the Pittsburgh Mennonite convention was a powerful experience for me. I was amazed to spot an individual who was an estranged church mentor for me in the group singing. This person was not as supportive of my calling to go into the ministry after they found out that I was gay. I went and stood beside them, but they didn’t notice my presence until the singing was over. So surprised and happy to see me, they turned and embraced me in a warm hug. I experienced this as an expression of apology and love without saying a word. I’m thankful to God for using that hymn sing to begin a process of reconciliation.

            Art can be a place for LGBT to break their silence and reach out to others. They have a chance to reach out to other LGBT people with common experiences. For those that feel isolated, they can find hope in knowing others understand what they are going through. Knowledge of that shared identity creates solidarity. Art can also create the opportunity for allies in the church to reach out, showing LGBT people they care and are willing to help make the church a more welcoming place.  

Last month I attended my first BMC Gathering.  After corresponding by phone and e-mail, it was great to meet and speak face-to-face with members of the BMC LGBT community. Sharing and preserving our stories were important aspects of the event. Several people attending had their stories recorded for historical records and there were several evenings when people told stories from their “coming out” journeys.

 Last fall, I studied the theological significance of stories in my Bible, Religion, and Philosophy senior seminar class. Every class we were asked to share stories directly related to the theological theme assigned for that week. The class coincided with me beginning to be more “out” on campus, and I chose to be honest in the assignment and share my “coming out” stories. I found it to be liberating and healing, after so many years of holding those stories within me, to finally be able to tell them to others. It was the first time I had written and spoken about several of my stories in a semi-organized narrative. To family and friends, I had shared most of my stories, but they were told in bits and pieces. That class was a safe space for me and my peers to be vulnerable about those sacred stories that were so close to our hearts.

 I’ve learned that sharing stories holds the possibility of building solidarity. I told parts of my coming out journey to attendees of the Gathering during the weekend. When we share our stories we create a window for others to catch a glimpse of our experience. During the Gathering, I found similarities between my story and others. I laughed at the shared awkwardness of “coming out,” and at times was reminded of how serious “coming out” can be. When we share our stories to other LGBT we allow ourselves a chance to see that we are not alone.  When we tell our trusted allies, we give a chance for them to show us their support and love.

For me, an important step in my “coming out” journey was acknowledging and learning that God was present to support me. It was a comfort during those early years to know I was not the only one who knew I was struggling to figure out my sexuality. It is a comfort to know I can still turn to God. Whether you find support through faith or friends it is important to know you are not alone.

-Reuben Sancken

I remember being aware of the existence of Brethren Mennonite Council (BMC) early on in my process of coming out.  I probably discovered it on the internet through my own exploration on a search engine, or it was found and brought to my attention by an immediate family member. In either case, I did not expect to join or be employed by the BMC community in the future.

            I’ve grown up in the Mennonite faith tradition. My relationship with the Mennonite church has been a confusing and disorienting experience: At times I’ve been embraced and at other times I felt like I was being pushed away.  Generally, I felt welcomed by those I came out to in the church. While I’ve had those supportive people, I still have internalized a feeling of being excluded after years of knowing church statements and documents that tell me I’m not welcome if I wish to be in a same-sex committed relationship. I felt a calling to church ministry in my mid-teenage years, which I was vocal about to my home church community.  My sexuality for the majority has been kept silent, and I only came out to my immediate family during high school. I went to Goshen College, and it was there that I encountered BMC again. As a student leader, I attended “safe zone” training, which used BMC materials. For the large part of my experience in the Mennonite church I’ve remained in the closet, gradually telling friends and mentors in college and considered myself “out” my last semester.

            When I was making post-graduation plans, I decided to do a year or two of voluntary service in a church affiliated program.  I was not interested in Mennonite Voluntary Service, because I knew if I chose that program I would remain more closeted. Family recommended that I leave the church to find another denomination that is more welcoming, and they recommended that I apply for Lutheran Volunteer Corps. I was immediately excited when I found on the application that the organization embraces openly LGBT volunteers. When I searched for volunteer placements I found the Kaleidoscope Coordinator position at BMC was open for the upcoming year. I chose to apply for the position for several reasons, but one of the biggest reasons was that I felt like I hadn’t really given the church a chance. Not wanting to give up being Mennonite, a key part of my identity, I chose to serve at BMC. It is the only place I feel like I can authentically serve the Mennonite church at this point. I have spent the large part of my struggle with the Mennonite church on my own, or with the help of straight allies. One of the greatest blessings so far at my job has been the welcome from the LGBT Brethren and Mennonite Community. I thank you for your support!

            I am very excited about my upcoming year of serving BMC! I hope to promote BMC for those that do not know of its existence and bring attention to the resources we offer by working on updating the website and creating promotional internet videos. Over the last few years, I’ve been exposed to the multilayered ways that people are oppressed. The intensity of alienation becomes magnified when levels of privilege that differ from the perceived norm intersect. BMC ministers and welcomes all LGBT Mennonites and Brethren and their supporters, but I realize some may feel excluded. As a white man, I know I carry the biases and shortsightedness that contribute to the exclusion of people of color. I want BMC to be a place where people of color know that they are genuinely being welcomed. I would love to find a way to talk with anyone who identifies as nonwhite about your experience. How can BMC be helpful? What does BMC need to do to be a more just and inclusive community?  I’m looking forward to building a better community!

 -Reuben Sancken

It has been a privilege to spend the last two years at BMC. I leave with the sense that the work I have done is part of a much larger whole. I am grateful for all of you who have been doing this for many years, who created space and a platform that I could join. And I am grateful for all of you who are beginning to think about when and how you can contribute to a church and society that is inclusive of lgbt people.

Metaphors help me get my head around big ideas, and one I have come to recently is using wind to think about three aspects of BMC’s work (as well as the larger lgbt justice movement). Wind creates waves, wind can turn turbines, and wind fills our sails. I don’t often allow myself to publicly dig into my sometimes far-fetched metaphors, but I decided to indulge myself on this occasion. Feel no obligation to continue reading!

Wind creates waves, and together they are a steady, continuous force of change on the landscape. Sometimes change happens quickly and dramatically, and sometimes it can only be seen with hindsight. As individuals we slowly transform the world, people, institutions and systems around us with every small choice and action. When as family members, friends, and lgbtq people we make choices to share our values, beliefs, and actions openly so that the world will see and hear.

Wind can turn turbines, and with our will and ingenuity we can build them - we can create systems that make more effective use of the power that is in the wind, create a larger more immediate impact, and create infrastructure that will sustain this into the future. Together we can get organized and educated. We can join with others who are doing this work, and continue to build partnerships and relationships that allow us to do the most work with the available energy and resources. We can learn (and keep learning) about lgbtq people, about social justice movements, and about larger systems of oppression and privilege.

Wind also fills our sails. As we engage in the work of changing our world, we must always remember to keep each other going, to make sure people stranded offshore don’t go unnoticed. Especially for those of us who have been able to access a community where we can live an openly and relatively affirmed and hassle-free life, it is easy to forget that it may not have always been this way for us, and it certainly is not that way for many. We must continue to find ways to support people in “our” own community, to create open (and visible) doors to our communities, and to continually reach out to the proverbial stranger.

We can each contribute our breath to this wind that creates change. It has been an honour to serve with BMC in a particularly focussed way the past couple of years, and I look forward to continuing to work and stand with all of you for many more years to come. In September I will be moving (back) to Winnipeg, Mantioba and looking for work, unless something materializes (fingers crossed) between now and then. Although I’m originally from London, Ontario, I have lived in Winnipeg before, and am very much looking forward to reconnecting with many wonderful people there. For anyone who would like to stay in touch, emails can be forwarded through the BMC office. I also plan to be at the BMC Community Gathering in October (see NewsNet article), and hope to see some of you there!

Peace and strength,
Kirsten Freed

I wanted to write a reflection about the recent Mennonite Church USA convention in Pittsburgh that highlighted the positive. Indeed, there were deep currents of strength, resilience, and hope, sprinkled with moments of joy, anger, laughter and sadness. I could tell you about the Pink Menno hymn sings where I felt more connected to “my” faith community than I have in years. I could share the experience of attending worship services organized by Open Letter pastors where many shed tears of deep emotion. I could paint a verbal picture of Ruby Lehman proudly sporting a homemade button identifying her as a “Pink Menno Grandmother.” I could describe the big smile on my face when amongst all the roaming groups of colour-coded youth-group-identifying T-shirts, I saw one group who had chosen to put their church name on a pink shirt. I could try to remember and list all of the positive, encouraging, and hopeful interactions I had with other convention attendees. But with all these experiences to choose from, I find myself dwelling on one of two negative encounters – one that tried to use shame to put me in my place.

I am having no trouble putting aside the more obviously aggressive encounter with two middle-aged business-looking men who approached me and my pink-clad buddy to direct us to a change ministry website. Perhaps I dismiss it as ridiculous because it is so overtly offensive.

The encounter I can’t get out of my mind was a very brief exchange I had with a motherly looking woman on the street. I was standing on a corner a few blocks from the convention center, being a human sign post for those looking for directions to a college panel taking place off site. (BMC, Pink Menno and Open Letter had to rent space outside of the regular convention.) As she walked past me in a crowd of other convention attendees, the woman asked “how old are you?” “I’m thirty,” I responded, to which she threw over her shoulder from some distance away, “then you should be old enough to know better.”

This brief and at first glance fairly innocuous comment has such power because it stands upon a long and deep history Mennonites have of using shame to keep everyone within the community in line. I was skeptical the first time BMC’s director Carol Wise mentioned the use of shame as part of Mennonite culture. Two years at BMC has shown me the truth of this observation. It hurts me to see our supposedly pacifist and community-oriented church turn to emotional and spiritual violence to punish or correct community members they see as stepping outside of a boundary of acceptability.

The thing about shaming, though, is that it only works if you let it. Shaming loses all power when it is recognized for what it is. Since I am proud to identify with a movement toward an lgbtq welcoming church, the attempt to shame me only fueled my determination to be a present, visible and vocal “sign” that a church that includes lgbtq people is both possible and good.

On an individual level, shaming often takes the form of cold shoulders and social isolation (our 21^st century version of shunning). Some people retreat and some people stand firm. The difference doesn’t seem to be how harsh the behaviour was, but rather how much shame was experienced.

At a congregational/district level, this can be seen when congregations, (even in liberal districts), won’t become publicly affirming for fear of discipline, while others go forward anyway. This is threat of “discipline” is really all about using shame (you’ve done something bad deserving of punishment) to keep congregations from challenging the status quo. What, after all, can a district actually do to a congregation? Most districts have figured out that revoking a congregation’s membership looks bad and accomplishes little more than burnt bridges and revenue loss. The current tactic of choice seems to be threatening a pastor’s credentials. When the bluff is called and the congregation continues to support their pastor, there is nothing more for the district to hold over a congregation’s head - they end up looking both mean and weak.

I encourage you to take a moment now and again to remind yourself what values you are grounding your actions and choices in. It is much harder for someone to make me feel ashamed of my actions, when it is very clear in my own mind that I am making conscious, thoughtful, and belief-based choices. Hold your head up high!

Kirsten Freed
Brethren Mennonite Council for LGBT Interests

Recently I was talking to a family member about the process of encouraging his congregation to become publicly affirming. In frustration he said, “It’s so simple. Why can’t we make a statement that we welcome all people and don’t discriminate on the basis of whatever characteristic? Who could possibly disagree with that?!” Indeed.

I’d like to propose that the difficulty our congregations and denominations have in coming to this “simple” conclusion reveals an underlying problem with how we understand ourselves as a peace church. I watch as the teaching “violence is wrong” is distorted to “conflict is bad,” and the value that “community is good” distorted to “the majority is never wrong.” Conflict is neither inherently bad nor good, and is an inevitable part of genuine relationships. One need not look hard at history to find examples of times the majority has been wrong, especially in relation to minorities.

Violence and conflict:
It is our responsibility to name and challenge violence when we see it. When we stand up to people and institutions that are causing harm, we can expect to find ourselves in the midst of conflict. Often those who bring attention to historical and current discrimination and who call for restoring right relationship are labelled militant, unreasonable, extremist, troublemakers, divisive, and even bullies. This is a clear attempt to blame the victim and deflect attention away from the real problem - the bad behaviour. Avoiding conflict when we see violence means making a choice to allow violence to continue. It is time to (re)learn from the gospels and our scholars a different way to view conflict and understand power.

Community and majority:
Valuing community includes valuing all of the individuals in the community. Healthy communities, similar to healthy families, care for, nurture and protect all of their members. While being in community can require compromise or stepping aside at specific moments, this only works given equal power and mutual respect. Healthy communities do not sacrifice individuals for the convenience of the majority. In fact, healthy communities go out of their way to protect their more vulnerable members. The nature of “majority rules” decision-making is that those with fewer numbers or less power will always lose. This is why nations who believe in protecting minority rights don’t put those rights up for a general vote.

Recognizing violence:
Violence is a strong word, and I choose to use it. The ideology and rhetoric that justifies physical violence against lgbt people is an extreme form of the same ideology that justifies discrimination and exclusion in our church. Without minimizing physical violence (which we should get more riled up about), we must learn to see the violence when “love the sinner, hate the sin” goes unchallenged, when parents of lgbt people are taken out of leadership positions, when a transgender youth knows that to live an emotionally healthy life he will lose his faith community, and when a lesbian couple is grateful they are allowed to attend a congregation though they can’t take communion. Let’s get shocked, saddened and angered into action.

Walk the talk AND talk the walk:
As individuals, and as communities we can work to overcome any discomfort we have learned and internalized. We can actively educate ourselves out of the heterosexism, sexism, racism, ableism, and all the other systemic oppressions that we have been taught. We can strive to treat all people, especially those who have been treated as less-than, with love and respect. We can say, out loud, that we affirm all people, including lgbt people.

When we do these things our communities become healthier places for all of us. All members can bring all of themselves into relationship with each other and the whole. All members find the courage to bring questions, concerns, and affirmations, with the confidence that they will be treated with care and honour as whole people. Who could possibly disagree with that?

Kirsten

If you haven’t checked in with Pink Menno recently, here’s your reminder!
www.facebook.com/pinkmenno
www.twitter.com/pinkmenno
www.pinkmenno.org

Let’s all work together to bring a spirit of openness and inclusion to the MC USA convention this summer in Pittsburgh.

Kirsten

Recently a campaign called “It Gets Better” started by columnist Dan Savage, has been receiving a lot of attention. To raise awareness about the recent rash of teen suicides and to try to offer hope to young queer teens suffering from bullying and homophobia, Savage created a YouTube channel where people could post videos about living through bullying and harassment as young queer people and how it gets better. I can only hope that this campaign will help some young people who feel there is no hope. Unfortunately, I feel more attention should be directed and energy spent on a message that there is no place for bullying, harassment, and homophobia in our homes, schools, churches and society and we need a strong message that, as Carol Wise, director of BMC, has written, we’ve had enough!. As she said:

“Bullying does not take place in a vacuum. The persistent targeting of lgbt youth is sustained by religious ideology and practice that is either hostile, silent, waffles in ambiguity, or retreats in the face of challenge. Enough!! It is time for people of faith to stop fueling the misery of teens. This means an end to beloved “discernment processes” that are carefully constructed to drag on for years and avoid any risk. It means no more cover for pastors who wring their hands in private but are silent in public. It means actually naming the reality that violence is specifically directed towards lgbt people and not pretending that doesn’t exist or “isn’t that bad,” or that there is “pain on all sides.” It means acknowledging that the church has participated in the suffering of lgbt teens and bears responsibility for both the harm and the healing.”

Every denomination and congregation needs to look deep into itself and ask, what have we done to fuel the misery of teens? Have we been silent when we should have spoken up? Have we tacitly supported messages that lgbtq people are less than? Have we spread that message ourselves? Telling queer kids that “It gets better” feels to me a little like telling a battered woman that it will get better instead of telling a batterer that he shouldn’t beat up his wife and currently most parts of organized religion are either silent on the battering or outright encouraging/doing it themselves. The rest of us are just trying to do damage control. When will we be able to say that religion is fighting this problem instead of religion is the problem?

Episcopal Bishop Gene Robinson recently published an article called “How Religion is Killing our Most Vulnerable Youth” in the Huffington Post. A few quotes:

“It is not enough for good people — religious or otherwise — to simply be feeling more positive toward gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender people. Tolerance and a live-and-let-live attitude beats discrimination and abuse by a mile. But it’s not enough. Tolerant people, especially tolerant religious people, need to get over their squeamishness about being vocal advocates and unapologetic supporters of LGBT people. It really is a matter of life and death, as we’ve seen.”

“Ministers who remain in comfortable silence on sexuality must speak out. Churches that have silently embraced gay and lesbian members for years must publicly hang the welcome banner. How long will we continue to limit and qualify our messages of acceptance, inclusion and embrace for the most vulnerable in order to maintain the comfort of those in our communities of faith who are well served by the status quo? In the current climate, equivocating messages of affirmation are overpowered by the religious rhetoric of hatred. Silence only serves to support the toleration of bullying, violence and exclusion. In the face of what has already become the common occurrence of LGBT teen suicide, how long can we wait to respond?”

And one more:

“These bullying behaviors would not exist without the undergirding and the patina of respect provided by religious fervor against LGBT people. It’s time for “tolerant” religious people to acknowledge the straight line between the official anti-gay theologies of their denominations and the deaths of these young people. Nothing short of changing our theology of human sexuality will save these young and precious lives.”

The “It Gets Better” campaign could be a powerful way to raise awareness and give hope to some. We can all feel a little stronger as we watch the videos and drop a few tears. But let us not be satisfied simply with the adage that “it gets better.” For if we look at ourselves, our actions, our inaction, and our churches without getting a little angry and doing something to make it better, we’ve failed the youth we wish to help.

Over the past year I’ve heard a lot of reason why people don’t think they or their congregation should become publicly affirming of lgbtq people. I thought about writing a response to each reason - there really aren’t that many. Maybe I still will, but before laying out counter-arguments, I decided it was important to start with why I think becoming a publicly affirming congregation is the necessary ethical action to take.

Why your congregation should become publicly affirming and join the Supportive Communities Network:

Premise 1
All people are loved by God. It is our responsibility to treat every person with respect and dignity. Our responsibility increases when a group of people is systematically marginalized and oppressed.

Premise 2
When religion is used as a tool to exclude, discriminate, harm, or promote fear and hatred, it adds a layer of spiritual abuse on to the harmful action. Additionally, it damages the reputation of the religion and the ability of religious followers to be a witness for love and justice in the world.

Premise 3
Lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people have been treated poorly by our institutional denominations, and by individuals acting in accordance with what they have been taught at church. At best, we have been treated as second-class members - at worst as sub-human.

Conclusion:
As (Mennonites or Brethren), as Christians and as human beings, it is time for us to end all discriminatory policies and practices, promote lgbtq inclusive theology and education, and engage in (personal and institutional) reflection about how we Christians once again managed to use our religion to support our bigotry.

Joining the Supportive Communities Network means doing these things and standing with other communities who are doing the same.

Kirsten

I refuse to support an organization that actively or passively contributes to my own oppression.

This is a recent realization, and I still often feel compelled to be apologetic about this choice.

But I’ve tasted something better. You see, I thought I knew what an “lgbtq-friendly” congregation or organization was. Then I found some that were actively non-heterosexist. It’s like stumbling upon an array of gourmet cheeses when you didn’t know there was anything other than those individually wrapped slices.

The next time I walk in to a place and someone offers me a sandwich with the rubbery stuff, I’ll be saying “no thank-you” and spending my time where I am nourished. It’s true I may go back occasionally, but only to witness to the poor souls who haven’t heard that next door everyone’s enjoying cheddar, brie, and gouda

As the secular and religious lgbtq movement grows it’s getting harder and harder for people, congregations and institutions to serve up believable excuses for continuing discriminatory practices. If your group is thinking about how to become welcoming, check out one of these short papers:

Doing Process Well: Recommendations for Brethren Congregations
Doing Process Well: Recommendations for Mennonite Congregations

And bring on the feta.

Kirsten