Coming Out Strong

I recently met with two members of the Elkhart Mennonite Voluntary Service Unit, their local program coordinator, and members of the unit’s two supportive congregations. A primary reason for my bus tour of volunteer houses for Mennonite Voluntary Service (MVS) is to make sure that lgbt people connected to MVS are in a safe environment that is open and affirming of them being lgbt.

There was a considerable amount of caution in our conversation together. Caution can be fine if it is done to be sensitive to support those that are potentially vulnerable, but several voices in secure positions were uneasy about what I would report on this blog. This sort of nervousness didn’t promote confidence that this was a welcoming environment. A particularly strong voice present was especially concerned about what I would say and held a perspective of resistance to welcome shared by others in the church I’ve encountered before.  This perspective would say they are open to inclusion, but then say things that distract and sometimes sabotage the conversation of welcome and safety for lgbt people.

One of the voices present shared that volunteers with conservative theological backgrounds have felt excluded and are leaving the MVS program. I don’t know if these conservative volunteers are not welcoming of lgbt people, but that seemed to be what was implied. This objection to a visible welcome of lgbt people equated those that feel excluded because their theology is threatened with lgbt people that feel excluded because of who they are. These two aspects of exclusion are not equal. Someone may feel uncomfortable when their theological perspective is threatened, but someone concerned about their safety is worried about their physical and mental well being. Even though there is a growing number of people and communities (including MVS unit congregations) that are declaring themselves as open and affirming of lgbt people, they are still the marginalized voice in the Mennonite church. Lgbt people and their allies are explicitly excluded by Mennonite Church USA policies and practices.

In addition, these two aspects of exclusion don’t need to be mutually exclusive. For example, one reason I chose not to apply to Mennonite Voluntary Service was because of its affirmation of the Confession of Faith, which has a section that implies heterosexual marriage as the only valid marriage. At the same time, limiting romantic relationships to a man and a woman is not supported by my theology that God blesses both heterosexual and same-gender unions. Those with conservative theological perspectives are not the only ones that have felt exclusion. I know of many MVS alums that felt excluded because they were lgbt and/or allies of lgbt people, and other people that chose to go with open and affirming Christian volunteer organizations because of the exclusion of lgbt people in the MVS program.

Mennonite agencies like Mennonite Mission Network (MMN), which oversees MVS, participate in the exclusion of lgbt people. MMN claims to have chosen not to address “issues of sexuality,” and says, it “is best addressed in congregational and area conference settings rather than in the context of mission.” Although not explicitly stated, “issues of sexuality” means gays, lesbians, and bisexuals. This claim of not addressing “issues of sexuality” is a statement in itself. When people or institutions choose to remain silent, they are not demonstrating neutrality; they are choosing the privileged voice. Just because a voice is dominant does not mean it is right. Also, directly above MMN’s statement of neutrality on the topic of sexuality is a statement saying MMN affirms the Confession of Faith. Historically, this document has been used to dismiss lgbt people in the church.

MMN chooses not to include gender identity, sexual orientation, or any other queer words in its Organization Information documents. One of MMN’s organizational values is diversity. It has a list of groups that it includes in its definition of diversity, but the lgbt community is missing. In MMN’s “personal witness” in its “lifestyle expectations” there isn’t a commitment against gender identity discrimination, sexism, and heterosexism. By saying nothing about lgbt people, MMN sends the message that being lgbt person or an ally is shameful. MMN may not be attempting to send these messages, but their silence doesn’t stop people from interpreting their silence as exclusionary behavior. MMN is not the lone part of the church that excludes lgbt people, but as the face of Mennonite Church USA’s mission ministries, they have the power to promote inclusive change in their programs.

Another reason for resisting welcome of lgbt people given by this voice present at the meeting was the “stigma” attached to people and institutions that were open and affirming of lgbt people. It was said that lgbt inclusive churches were seen as a “one topic” church. I responded that welcoming communities do not see themselves as a “one topic” church. Rather, it is those that are not open to welcome that have given them this designation. Welcoming communities are also active in other social justice and faith concerns. For example, they advocate for peace, reconciliation, and the welcoming of all people. But this begs the question of why being labeled “lgbt welcoming” is considered bad? Others gave the Anabaptist’s their name, which means “re-baptizers.” It was considered a stigmatizing word back then, but now it is proudly stated as a part of Mennonite (as well as the Church of the Brethren) heritage.

Thankfully, this was only one voice in the group. Nobody else seemed as resistant to welcome, and would challenge his statements in a respectful manner. The two current members of the house and several others encouraged more visible inclusion of lgbt people in the program. The conversation served as an introduction to what welcoming lgbt meant and included other productive conversations. Most in the room agreed that they need to have something to say to prospective volunteers about where the communities are in the process of welcoming lgbt people. This would be a statement that I suggested they would share with all their prospective volunteers, so an lgbt person looking into being in the house doesn’t need to be out to them to know where the community is. I think this would be a good idea to implement in all the houses. We ended the meeting with requests for continued conversation with how to welcome lgbt people. It may take some time, but I’m hopeful that the Elkhart unit can grow into being more welcoming.

 -Reuben Sancken

In June, I went to the Church of the Brethren Young Adult Conference (YAC) in Knoxville, TN. I’m still new to the Brethren scene, so YAC was a good place to make connections. I attended several workshops during my week, and in one of them there was a discussion about worship. Hospitality was emphasized as one of the most important parts of worship. As I reflect on my experience at the conference, hospitality is an appropriate lens to view my week.

When I went to the conference, I was an outsider for several reasons.

1. I’m not a member of the Church of the Brethren.

2. I’m gay

3. I’m the Brethren Mennonite Council volunteer. My job was approved in January as a Brethren Volunteer Service (BVS) after more than ten years of being rejected. Then, it was rejected again only two weeks before the YAC.

 I’ve grown up in the Mennonite church, so I know who is welcoming towards lgbt people in the various Mennonite church circles. I’ve learned who is welcoming through relationships I’ve formed through the years and recommendations from friends and family. Without these indications of acceptance, at YAC I went into an environment where I had not met face to face people whom I knew were lgbt supportive. Most of the people at the conference I really did not know. I found this to be a good experiment to see what characteristics made people friendly to lgbtq people.

 When I arrived, I went right into introducing myself to others. Most people I spoke with would introduce themselves by saying what Brethren congregation they attended or what Brethren institution or program they were connected to. It was an interesting challenge to explain my place at the conference. Most of the descriptors I used to describe myself located me as being outside the Brethren church. I would tell them I am Mennonite, gay, and work for BMC.

 I went to several workshops, and I found hospitality was a common thread connecting all of them. Trying to learn more about the Brethren tradition, I went to a workshop about the history of conflict within the Church of the Brethren. I learned about the many times when the church didn’t show hospitality, which often ended with the church dividing. I found it interesting that the first division within the church concerned the marriage between a Church of the Brethren man and a Mennonite woman. It’s interesting that marriage is still a divisive issue in the church. In the United States, there was the struggle to recognize and legalize inter racial marriage and now the struggle has extended to recognizing same-sex marriage. It is frustrating that we don’t seem to learn from the past.

 At the conference, I went to a workshop about Brethren who identified as progressive. Many of the people there thought hospitality came from dismantling stereotypes of labels we put on others. In a third workshop, Circle of Oppression, we discussed the words and systems of injustice that separate people. It is clear to me that an important part of hospitality is being aware of the divisive words and systems, so that we can work to dismantle them.

 Through reflection of my experience of meeting people, I found some of the friendliest people at the conference were those that understood what it was like to be different. Some examples of these were new Church of the Brethren members, lgbt, and people of color. The Young Adult Committee also did a great job of welcoming people. It was clear that hospitality was a value that they wanted to incorporate throughout the conference. While it is true that outgoing people are often known for being more welcoming, I found quiet people could be just as friendly.

I felt included by many of the people that attended. They possessed several qualities that made them welcoming. One quality was not being silent about injustice towards those that have been excluded. Several people showed their welcome by vocalizing to me and others that they were disturbed by the decision to remove BMC as a BVS placement. Several people sought me out to see if my experience at YAC was going alright, which helped me to feel included.  Another factor that made me feel welcomed was being listened to and having an opportunity to listen to others.

 How can you be more visibly welcoming to lgbt people? What messages are you sending as a straight or lgbt ally to lgbt people? Check out our Safe Zone training manual in the suggested reading section of this blog to learn how to be a better ally.

 -Reuben Sancken

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.