Andrew Marin on Jesus Creed

Today Scot McKnight, a good friend, well known theologian and the creater of the #1 rated emergent blog Jesus Creed, posted a response that he asked me to write regarding a letter he recived from a worship leader about a gay student in the worship team.

You can check out the original letter here...

And you can check out my response here...

Please feel free to join the "hot" discussion over at Scot's blog, as there are already over 80 comments between the two posts.

Much love.

www.themarinfoundation.org

Guest Post: Divorce of the Church—Part 2

Here is Part 2 to DJ's personal experience to how homosexuality in the church affects GLBT people. And DJ, thank you so much for sharing your life and thoughts with us, allowing us to enter into your head, worries, fears and understandings...

"I don’t think people quite understand the pressure that the gay-oriented Christian feels in the church. We have a hard enough time not hating ourselves, without having to face the derision and misunderstanding of others. It is precisely this external pressure that often drives us to extreme measures: seeking ineffectual exorcisms, suppressing the very core of our sexual selves, jumping into relationships to prove we’re straight (meanwhile ruining the life and self-esteem of the hetero other in the process), and the like.

When you think that you’re going to cause mommy and daddy (in this case the Church) to split—and worse—when one of them might hate you in the process, you will do just about anything to avoid that eventuality. I’ve frequently found that the motivations behind seeking such ends are dysfunctional. Those who pursue these methods often do so due to stated and unstated pressure to conform, maintain status quo, and keep the family from getting upset. Silence seems to be the least consequential (and least destructive) way to handle these internal questions, whether openly gay, celibate, or ex-gay. This silence takes its toll.

I still struggle with this sense that I am ultimately the cause of enormous strife in the Church. I sometimes wish there simply were no gay-ness at all. I wish I could go back to the days before I became conscious of my sexuality, even as many people in the Church are more than happy to relegate sexuality to this very place. But this is simply not reality. This is not where I am—where we are. With all of my unrealistic wishing, I do hope that my greatest wish has some hope for coming to fruition:

I wish that mommy and daddy would just stop fighting.

Perhaps if more people in the church could recognize that I’m not here to destroy the Church, nor the foundations of our society, some of the dissension would abate. I’m not here to eradicate families, and I have no evil agenda to recruit your children. I love the church, absolutely love it. Why else would I put up with so many of the abuses I have felt from it? My sad testimony is replete with instances where my greatest wounds were inflicted by loving church folks. But I’ve remained. I haven’t left. I wish everyone would stop fighting because they feel so uncomfortable about my decision to stick around. It breaks my heart every time someone leaves my church over a disagreement. It’s like mommy and daddy can’t seem to be mature enough to work out their differences, so they just leave. And ultimately, it feels as if they’re leaving because of me."

Much love.
www.themarinfoundation.org

Guest Post: The Divorce of a Church—Part 1

In a previous post DJ, a reader of my blog, made some very poignant comments that I thought were extremely important for everyone to hear. Here is Part 1 of his feelings on being gay and attending a church that is having a hard time living in the tension of what is faith and sexuality:

"Over the past several years, I’ve discovered many revelations about my sexuality, not the least of which is how my former method for dealing with it was chosen primarily by fear: fear of going to hell, fear of becoming a sex-monger, fear of losing my spiritual community, etc. I could no longer survive under the oppressive weight I felt from my former church, especially in the midst of insufficient supportive relationships. For the sake of my mental health, I began to visit another church in the area.

Just 2 weeks into going to services, I could sense God saying “this isn’t where you should be visiting; this is home.” I felt a sense of welcome that I had never experienced in a church before. As I began to take steps towards Christ in accepting myself in the way that He had, I also began to recognize that not everyone in attendance would follow me there.

To say I felt split and confused is an understatement. But at that church, I found a safe space to seek God regarding my sexuality, eventually coming to reconcile my faith and sexuality. This had some unpredictable side effects though:

I felt like I would be the cause of a major rift, being one of only a few gay people at the church.

As this was a transitional period in our church’s history, there was a significant amount of tension in the air, despite the fact (or perhaps because of the fact?) that we never uttered a word about the 2 big litmus tests for determining a true Christian: abortion and homosexuality. While I was not able to articulate this then, I now realize that the hushed atmosphere began to feel like the dysfunctional home that didn’t talk about problems, but where it was impossible to escape them. And I felt like the kid who was going to eventually be the cause of mommy and daddy’s divorce. And so we trudged on in virtual silence. I came out slowly to people I deemed safe, and swallowed my true being around those who felt “lovingly” hostile.

At some point along the way, people began to silently (and sometimes boisterously) leave. No one really said it, but it was clear that things were starting to feel very “liberal” and “unsound” to some of the more conservative folks in the congregation, just because there were a few gay people starting to attend. And the great divorce felt all the more imminent.

I can remember talking to our new senior pastor (in my early days at the church), and divulging my sordid same-sex attractions to him. I intimated that I was very confused about all of this, and trying to find my way—since my previous church had brought me nothing but pain and suicidal ideation. This pastor made me feel very loved and valuable. He replied that he would not preach me into the right way to go, nor look down on me and give me his sage advice, but rather, he would walk alongside me and question with me.

It was a huge sigh of relief. And yet, I could very well tell this would not be the posture of several others in the church. I remember pleading with him to keep my journey silent, so as not to stir up controversy. By this point, I had become pretty visible in the church, giving the welcome occasionally, and involved in several lay leadership positions. If news were to break that I was gay, people would protest. They’d do as people have done in other churches I’ve attended upon discovering my “struggle”: they’d deem me unworthy of service, and remove me from the ministries where I felt called. And then, they’d fight. They’d fight those who would dare stand up for me and declare my value to the church. They’d fight those who didn’t feel threatened by me. My deepest fear of course, was not the fighting, but the inevitable split this would lead to, and I would be the cause."

Part 2 to be posted tomorrow...

Much love.
http://www.themarinfoundation.org/