8 minute read
“My son is gay. Please fix him.”
Dennis had been listening intently. “Zachary, I agree that love is always patient, protects, trusts, hopes and preserves. Now, as Krista showed, she not only had to show patience and trust, but she also had to do the active work of building trust. She had to show humility too.” He continued and looked directly at Krista. “Pastors sharing their humanity and struggles in the pulpit can often be a double-edged sword. People may be healed by your sharing, but others may judge you. Krista, your story reflects a deep understanding of the different levels of interaction in a congregation. Thank you so much.” Debra looked around the table. “Is there anyone else who would like to share their story?” Theodora had been listening quietly. She smiled at everyone. “Let me share a story...” From time to time, though, the complexities of contemporary problems presented challenges that didn’t fit neatly in my view of ministry, but God smoothed out the rough edges and things worked out.
When I started out in ministry, my favorite activity was teaching the weekly class at my church. I was older than most of the students in my seminary classes. I had raised a family, been through a divorce and had all sorts of ups and downs that come with a full, busy life. I was happy to have a straightforward, simple way to deal with life. Yet, no matter what came my way, the Bible was the solution to every problem; it held the answer to everything. A verse or narrative would tell me what to say, what to do or even how to feel in every situation. I was on fire for the Lord and on fire for the Word. Jesus loves me, this I know, because the Bible tells me so. If I did and said what the Bible said, I would be a good Christian and an effective pastor. My view of ministry came from African American culture and the Black worship experience. From time to time, though, the complexities of contemporary problems presented challenges that didn’t fit neatly in my view of ministry, but God smoothed out the rough edges and things worked out. Still, after more than 20 years, teaching Tuesday Bible class has been one of the most enjoyable experiences at Faith United Methodist Church. The Bible class gathers around a table in a classroom and reads the scripture, followed by a lively discussion of the context of the original setting and any contemporary application in our lives.
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Over the years, the church’s pastors have come from Garrett Evangelical Seminary. The congregations have remained relatively conservative–not quite fundamentalist, but still conservative. Many parishioners at Faith Church embrace a literal understanding of the Biblical text. Some issues were black and white. For example, the Bible said homosexuality was wrong, an abomination. For our church, though, our attitude was “live and let live” as long as you don’t bother me. But then the church was forced to discuss the topic because the United Methodist Church was split over what it called "fundamental differences" regarding its beliefs on same-sex marriage and LGBTQ clergy. Again, the local congregation at Faith Church pretty much had a “live and let live” attitude on this.
The issue arose at the Tuesday Bible class when a church member, a woman in her 40s, arrived with three of her children in tow.
The mom and one of the kids, a son about 13, were visibly distressed. The mother interrupted the class and insisted I talk to her son immediately. She was upset because the son was gay or believed he was gay. The boy’s mom remained in the classroom while I took her son into another room to talk.
I felt like I was in some time warp–taken back to 1959. Back to when my son was barely past the toddler stage when I “realized” that my son was gay. I hardly know how I knew. I can’t begin to explain it. He wasn’t particularly effeminate–how could he be–but there was something. I couldn’t quite describe what
I saw, but it was there. I wondered if this boy’s mother had a similar experience, even before whatever precipitated the current situation. I was taken back to when my son’s thirdgrade teacher called to say he had tried to kiss another boy.
I was taken back to coming home unexpectedly and finding my 13-year-old son dressed in my negligee and wearing makeup. Back even to helping him plan his wedding to a young girl without saying anything about his sexuality. I knew what this mother wanted in 2019; she wanted the same thing I had wanted back in the 1950s, 60s into the 1970s. She wanted her son to be “fixed.” She wanted him “cured” from being gay. I sat with the young boy, sensing he also wanted me to fix it, perhaps to read a life-changing scripture or say a powerful prayer–cast out the homosexual demon. I could see in his eyes and hear in his voice the pain from believing that he was undesirable and different.
Theodora paused for a moment. Angela had indicated that she wanted to say something. “Theodora, I have a question. I can see that the inner desire and answers you have about acceptance and love was in opposition to the church voice that said you should stay with the theology of judgment. It is clear that you accepted, loved and knew what to do in your core, but did you feel that the clergy persona and dogma alienated you from being true to yourself?” Theodora nodded. “Indeed, I have had to let all that become a part of my identity. But let me continue.”
I thought about my son, the shame he felt, and the bullying and rejection he endured. I thought about how lonely my son must have been. I thought about the marriage he entered or rather the marriage he tried to hide in. My son finally disclosed that he was gay when he was 25, even though we had known for many years. He told me using the most selfhating language imaginable. I thought about telling him that I already knew, but because he had come to believe that no one could know that he was gay unless he told them, I was silent. I did tell him that I loved and accepted him as he was. I sat with the boy, not knowing how to deal with it. I didn’t know if the kid was gay or even if he knew. I didn’t know the exact nature of what precipitated this desperate visit. I had never felt so inadequate. Despite all the years of education, experience in ministry, experience at work, experience raising a family and even some experience with a gay son, I did not know what to say. I sat there face to face with my own limitations. I needed and wanted to acknowledge and understand the limitations of the pastoral office. I needed to repent my failure to intentionally listen for God’s voice in all of the different ways and situations that God may be heard in this modern world. Being a seminary trained pastor didn’t mean that I had all the answers. In fact, I hardly had any answers.
I wanted to let this boy know that God loved him no matter what. I wanted to read the Bible with him but in a real way. His understanding of the Bible was why he was in a crisis in the first place. But the Bible was his frame of reference. I wanted him to know that God had made him. He was perfect because the Bible said so.
For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well (Psalm 139, 13-18 NIV). But I knew it wasn’t enough for him. I had prayed but had not cast the homosexual demon out of him. I had not fixed him. I talked to him about coming back to speak to someone who could better help him. I wish that this had a happier ending at Faith Church. The mother and all of her children left Faith Church and never returned or responded to efforts to reach out to them. My son died 10 years ago just as gay rights were becoming a reality. As for the young boy, I think of him often and feel that I failed him. I can only pray that I planted a seed. A seed of love, mercy, grace and self-acceptance in whatever form it takes. Yes, Jesus loves me, for the Bible tells me so.
Yes, Jesus loves me
The others were silent as Theodora finished her story. Angela broke the silence by quietly humming the song, “Yes, Jesus loves me, yes, Jesus loves me….” The others joined in. Theodora’s story had been so moving they just wanted to hold it quietly at the center of their togetherness. As the humming faded, Debra spoke. “It is amazing to feel the power of our music as tools for inspiring hope and healing.” Krista touched Theodora’s hand. “Here grace was needed not only for the boy, but also for you, the minister.”
Angela nodded as she looked at Theodora. “‘Yes, Jesus loves me’ was your true theological truth, but it was contradicted by your church and theological training. Clearly, you were wrestling with that profound truth of love and felt disconnected from the critical truth. Grace for the pastor and congregants is an important truth.”
