Today, I complete the process of joining the Presbyterian Church (USA), by transfer of membership from the United Methodist Church.
This process of denominational discernment has spanned several years, shadowed my seminary applications and hung over me with a weighty inevitability. I am a fan of denominations, because of how they focus on different aspects of Christianity, the nature of God and Christ, and the role of Christians in the world. I think it's a good idea to experience many different denominations to experience these different perspectives. I sometimes joke that I am a Reformed Methobaptipiscoterian, having spent significant time with Baptist, Methodist, Presbyterian, Episcopalian, and Reformed Church in America traditions. But as seminary moved closer, I knew I would have to chose the denomination that I might be ordained in (if I choose to pursue ordination), and it came down to a choice between Methodist and Presbyterian. I joined a Methodist church when my mother started working there when I was in 2nd grade, was confirmed Methodist, attended that church every week through high school, served on committees, and am still an active presence whenever I find myself in Virginia. Even before attending a Presbyterian seminary (which Princeton is), I spent three summers working at Montreat Conference Center on the AV crew, and everything about constantly being around every conference at Montreat for three summers will give you a crash course in both the theology and the church life of Presbyterians.
I love both of these traditions. (There are parts of every denomination I've been involved in that I love.) I admit a favor towards the governmental structure of the Presbyterian church, but that's not a deal-breaker. I am split on their theologies--I love both of them, and when they contradict each other, I love them both, so that's something I would have to deal with no matter which I chose. The Methodist ordination process has slightly fewer hoops to jump through than the Presbyterian process, though that's not saying much. There were two main issues that caused me to make the switch. One was a practical one having to do with the vocational structure of each church and which one I felt my calling best fitting with. Most people in the world don't particularly care about elder/deacon differences and sacramental restrictions so I will spare you the details and say that the Presbyterian Church's structure allows me the flexibility that I think is necessary for what God is calling me to do. And frankly, that was the realization that made me say, "Ok, I'm choosing the Presbyterian Church," (and then immediately wonder if that had been predestined anyway, thanks, Calvin.)
The other issue was the issue of sexuality. I most technically identify as "pansexual", which means I am attracted to people of all genders; cismale, cisfemale, trans women and men, people outside the gender binary, all of it. My attraction to people includes but is not limited to or by their gender. Most of my romantic relationships have been with other women. My own gender presentation is more androgynous than most. The United Methodist Church does not ordain "self-avowed, practicing homosexuals", which would mean that if I were ordained in the UMC, I would either have to abstain from relationships with other women, or return to the closet and hide a relationship from the church. The latter does not sit well with me at all, but I did consider abstention and fighting that battle from within the church. (This is not an uncommon struggle for queer Methodists--I had this exact conversation with someone on one of my seminary visits.) Thanks to Amendment 10-A, approved by the PC(USA) in 2010, I could be ordained in the PC(USA) without denying or hiding my sexuality. And while the vocational structure made my decision for me so that I did not have to make that pretty awful decision about my sexuality, in the months between my decision to go to the PC(USA) and now, a lot of events have happened in the United Methodist Church regarding the church's stance on homosexuality (particularly same sex marriage), that have solidified this decision. (Events such as: the trial and defrocking of Rev. Frank Schaefer for officiating the same-sex wedding of his son, the Council of Bishops requesting a complaint against Bishop Talbert for officiating a same-sex union, and the upcoming trial of Rev. Ogletree for officiating the same sex-wedding of his son.)
I have spent a lot of time talking to my friends outside the church, many of whom are not heterosexual, about the people I have met in the church who are supportive and welcoming (and I know would happily marry me to another woman, despite anything the denomination says!), even when the official church structures are not. I have talked about movements of change within the church and how we can help move them along. I have worked to stay positive about all of this for so long, I think to both inspire hope and collaboration, but also stop myself from dealing with the pain I have felt as a queer Christian. It has only been recently, as I've prepared for the transfer of membership, that I have acknowledged the depths of that hurt. So now I would like to take a moment to speak from that place, explaining why I, as a queer Christian, am leaving the United Methodist Church. (I am also joining the Presbyterian Church, it's not just "the other option", for me, but this particular blog is focusing on the UMC.)
I talk about all of the difficulty of being non-heterosexual and Christian, but I also have to say: I had the best church upbringing that a queer Christian could possibly have. I had parents who immediately accepted me when I came out. I came out to my pastor early on and she didn't bat an eye. I was born into a church whose pastor preached a sermon on homosexuality in the early 90's that could have gotten him fired, and is still one of the best I've heard on the subject. I grew up in a church that had frank conversations about homosexuality and didn't all agree but we wrestled with the issue together, a church that prayed for the partner of one of our members when he started facing serious medical issues. I came out to my youth group when two girls heard me on the phone and asked if I'd been talking with my boyfriend. When I told them I was talking to my girlfriend, they squealed and asked me for all the details of who she was, how we met, how long we'd been dating--all the questions they would have asked if I had said, "Yes, that was my boyfriend." When I moved away I went to an Episcopal church where sexuality was a non-issue, and later to a politically active church with a very strong LGBT presence and mission of inclusion, with whom I marched in the NYC Pride Parade. I have known so many incredible, supportive, loving and accepting people within the church and I am DEEPLY grateful for all of them, because without their witness to the love of Christ, I probably would no longer be a Christian. (And I will ALWAYS tell of these incredible Christians and thank God for them and the work they continue to do towards the Kingdom.)
And yet, even with all of this, I still feel like an outsider. I still feel deeply hurt every time the United Methodist Church puts someone on trial for officiating a same sex marriage. Even harder for me to stomach is this barring of ordination to all "self-avowed practicing homosexuals". I could be top of my class at seminary, I could have glowing recommendations from all of my field education supervisors, and if I was allowed to, I might move through the ordination process with flying colors, and yet I could not be ordained, which says to me, "You will never be good enough." Our journey toward perfection ended before it even began. We are not a part of the hope that all other members of the United Methodist Church are joined in. You cannot even say that homosexuality is equal to any other sin, because while expectations for clergy are outlined in the same section of the Book of Discipline, the only specific barring from ordained ministry in the UMC held within Chapter Two, Section One of the Book of Discipline is the injunction against homosexuality.
And it grates on me so much because, I think, yes, scripture is tricky on this subject. Scripture is complicated and unclear and disputed in regards to this issue, as it is in regards to other modern social issues, such as the role of women in the leadership of the church. And that is why our decision-making process in the United Methodist Church is not solely based on scripture. It is based in scripture, reason, tradition, and experience, and there is little talk about experience in this debate. There is little talk about the experience of same gender, loving relationships. If we understand, as most of us do now (even the Catholic church has adopted this position), that sexual orientation is a genetic phenomenon, built into our bodies, why aren't we talking about how God is seen in healthy, same-sex relationships, that fulfill both physical and spiritual needs, like healthy heterosexual relationships do? It is that experience that makes sexual orientation different than genetic predispositions for things such as addiction, or the chemical imbalances that are cause for depression. Homosexuality is not an illness. And while I agree that we are predisposed towards sin (I am joining the Reformed tradition, after all), I find it extremely hard to believe that God would so severely weaken this part of creation, condemning people to loneliness, either through a solitary life or through a relationship they cannot fully connect to. And I had hoped that our Methodist tradition would give us the tools to understand this.
Instead, queer Methodists are left to face the most popular form of hatred: the "love the sinner, hate the sin" argument. "Love the sinner, hate the sin" in the context of homosexuality is a cop-out, it is a way to disengage, keep your hands clean, and pretend like you have taken a loving position instead of what it actually is: a position of condescension and hatred. Once again: sexuality is not a choice. Therefore, when you say, "love the sinner, hate the sin," in this context, you are saying, "I love you, but I hate this major part of your natural identity." By denying same-sex marriage rights, you're saying, "I love you, but I don't think you should have the same kind of fulfilling relationship that I, as a heterosexual person, get to have." By supporting civil unions but not marriage, you're saying, "I love you, and I believe all things should be equal under the law, but not in the sight of God." By denying queer persons ordination, you're saying, "I love you, but you are not worthy enough to lead us." It creates a hierarchy in the body of Christ that was never intended to be there. None of those statements feel like love to me, and if it is love, I want nothing to do with it.
It is OKAY to be confused. It is OKAY to have mixed feelings. It is OKAY not to know, and admit that and say, "Through all of this, I am going to love this person." But love does not disengage, which is what "love the sinner, hate the sin" allows. It allows someone to sit back in a comfortable, impossible position and insist that they are not perpetuating the hurt against the people they claim they love, when, in fact, they are.
So we leave. Because it is clear that we are not wanted, and the overwhelming message is that God's grace does not extend to us. There are a few queer churches, and LGBT groups in every denomination, but we don't have our own movement, because when we looked for the love of God we found hate. We have been denied marriage, we have been denied ordination, and at times we have been denied church membership, and even communion.
We have been denied grace.
Growing up Methodist means learning all about God's grace. The prevenient grace that surrounded us before we even had an inkling of Christ's life, death and resurrection; the justifying grace that bursts in and brings us new life as we accept God into our hearts, and the sanctifying grace that continues its work all the days of our lives, transforming us and moving us forward towards perfection in God. It is the backbone of our identity as Methodists, and one of the things I love the most about Wesleyan theology. But it is so hard to hear people talk about grace, plenteous grace, grace that covers all our sins, and then hear that the ONLY sin that keeps us from full participation and rights in the church is this "sin", that is built into our bodies. We are the unforgivable sin. We are the sin that grace doesn't cover. We are incompatible with Christian teaching.
The only thing that is truly incompatible with Christ's teaching is making any person feel unworthy of love and grace. Now that I am in seminary, it is more likely that I will work in an official capacity in whatever denomination I am a member of. I recognize that the United Methodist Church is a global church, and that means it ends up becoming more socially conservative than national churches such as the PC(USA), and even that the tides might change if it was just North America voting on these issues. But the fact is, there is a large part of the United Methodist Church that upholds the current official church positions, and the treatment of LGBT representatives at the last General Conference was discouraging at best, and devastating at worst, for queer Methodists across the globe. I cannot in good conscience continue to align myself with that. And it's NOT that the PC(USA) is perfect. It still does not officially support same-sex marriage, though we hope to make major strides forward on that front at General Assembly this summer. But the PC(USA) is willing and interested in having these conversations in way that the United Methodist Church is not. The PC(USA) has, as an organization, showed me the love of Christ when I realized the UMC policy of "open hearts, open minds, open doors," did not apply to me.
Some could say, and some have said, that I am taking the coward's way out. Fair enough. It's impossible for me to overstate how much respect I have for all the LGBT persons who are staying within the United Methodist Church and fighting for change. But that is not the battle I feel that God is calling me to fight. To be sure, there are battles up ahead for me, and pretty much all of them have to do with inclusion; but I think it's inclusion for those even more on the outside of the church, those who are not like me, and that mission cannot wait for the years it would take for me to fight to even be allowed to speak. It is not that one calling is more important than the other. It is that there is a lot of work God has for us to do, so we are sent different places for different parts of that work.
And we are the testaments to the work of God's that needs to be done in the world. Because, if there's anything the church's treatment of us has taught us, it's that we are the dogs who eat the crumbs from the master's table. We are not the ones who were first on the guest list, but we came when the doors were thrown open to all. We are the stones that were called upon to sing when the crowds fell silent, and we will continue to sing the song of God's radical love and grace until the the song is so loud that Christ is found on the earth again.
