Oriented to Love

Oriented

To Love

A conversation with Christ at the center 6

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In the Absence of an Agenda

It’s one thing to issue a position statement: This is where we stand, this is who we are, and we shall not be moved. There it is in black and white, all signed, sealed, and delivered. It’s comforting, clear, and sometimes necessary.

But it’s quite another to put out an invitation to our brothers and sisters in Christ, asking them to enter into conversation, not so that we can convince each other of our various stances on an issue but instead so we can listen to each other’s stories—reserving judgment, suspending our point of view for a handful of hours—in order to begin to love each other, something that is only possible when we begin to truly see each other and the unique ways in which we reflect the image of God. “Oriented to Love” was such an invitation.

The idea for this dialogue was birthed when we realized that while ESA has an official stance on what constitutes a marriage (a man and a woman covenanted for life) and Ron Sider has signed the Manhattan Declaration (which articulates that position), we had no organizational alliances with anyone in the gay community—whether Christian or secular. We had never allied ourselves in any real way with any of the issues that most concern the gay community—AIDS education or housing rights, for example—and among our staff we had very few close personal relationships with anyone gay. Upon reflection we realized it was important to make an effort to know the gay community, in particular gay Christians with whom we share a Savior.

Thus, praying for humility and for guidance, we began to make inquiries among the few gay Christians and straight allies (those straight folks who are adamant about walking alongside gay folks in love) that we knew personally or had heard of. We sought people who put Christ at the center of their lives and who were willing to have their stereotypes challenged. In the end we were an even dozen: men and women; married, widowed, and single (some celibate by choice, others seeking partners); heterosexual, bi-sexual, gay, and questioning; in our 20s to 50s; hailing from the West Coast, the Midwest, and the Northeast.

As you’ll read in the following reflections by some of the participants, our (modest?) goal was met—we were all stretched…and inspired. In gathering in a small group and creating a safe place for each other’s stories, in listening with love and open hearts for how God is at work in each other’s lives, we discovered that we were on to something—something important, something hopeful, and something replicable. As we met in our final circle, with a candle representing Christ in the center as a reminder of the One who holds all the spokes of the wheel together, we reflected on what we’d learned, what hope had been planted in our hearts, what we yearned for still, and how we thought our time together might nurture and help realize those hopes. The result is a mini retreat guide, called “Oriented to Love,” which is available for free download from our website at PRISMmagazine. org/orientedtolove. If you, too, feel called to expanding the conversation and learning to listen with love around the issue of sexual diversity within the body of Christ, you have a tried-and-tested resource with which to begin.

Please let us know if you pursue this path and what it teaches you on your faith journey. ♥ — Kristyn Komarnicki.

by Julian Forth

Square Circle by Edward Ancher Nelson (AncherArt.com)

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y goal is that they may be encouraged in heart and united in love, so that they may have the full riches of complete understanding, in order that they may know the mystery of God, namely, Christ Christ, in whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge...”

Colossians 2:2-3

Imagine 12 strangers from across the country suddenly finding themselves in close quarters, sharing meals, and talking about sex. With such a small number of participants, it was as difficult to hide oneself as it was to demonize the others. Over a period of 42 hours we listened to each others’ experiences of grief and comfort; we playfully exposed the stereotypes we held of each other and opened up avenues to appreciating our shared humanity.

We began to see each other not as opposites or threats or judges, but as mutually vulnerable, well-intentioned, and, of course, imperfect brothers and sisters in Christ. The setting, activities, and expressed goals of the retreat created a sincere bond among us which, I believe, provided an indispensable foundation for our dialogue about faith and sexuality.

As we began to move past our initially perceived barriers to listen to each other, we found richness in our shared stories. We differed greatly in our religious experiences and their effects upon us, in our sexual orientations, our struggles, and our convictions. And during our brief time together, we grappled with a wide range of topics—from celibacy to non-monogamy, from the church’s abusiveness to its welcoming gestures; we discussed gay rights, gender identity, ecumenical differences, and much more. Learning about and navigating through these complex issues As we met in our was no small task, but through our dialogue final circle, with a candle we gained opportunities to walk in each representing Christ in the others’ shoes. And in those instances when center as a reminder of the One it was difficult to find common ground, we who holds all the spokes of the were able to accept our differences. What wheel together, we reflected on made this dynamic hospitality possible what we’d learned, what hope were the relationships we were quickly had been planted in our hearts, building with each other—allowing each what we yearned for still, person to be honest, to ask questions and how we thought our time without judgment and without demanding together might nurture and change from one another. help realize those hopes.

It’s important to note that the richness of this dialogue was also made possible by what was absent. The intentional lack of an “agenda” (it was very clear from the outset that our goal was not to change anyone’s mind, to convert, or to save

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“We began to see each other not as opposites or threats or judges, but as mutually vulnerable, well-intentioned, and, of course, imperfect brothers and sisters in Christ.”

others from their “errors”) and the fact that no final “product” was required to emerge from our discussions removed a lot of pressure from the participants. What’s more, there were no investments—that is, no one had any professional, personal, or financial ties that restricted him/her from honest and full participation. In my experience, such factors are often the chains that inhibit pastors, Christian educators, and institutions from creating truly open and safe spaces for discussing sexuality. In many contexts, the possibility for conversation is curtailed by the fear of consequences such as losing employment or losing funding. The absence of these influences made this retreat a much needed oasis among Christians communities.

I regret that we never got a chance to discuss transgender identity, an aspect that is no less imperative for Christian communities to address; nor did our group include any transgendered persons. However, the dialogue’s success lies in the model it offers, with the hope of carrying this conversation into other Christian communities. As most of us know all too well, discussions regarding the LGBQ presence in the church are frequently approached in more or less unhealthy ways. Oriented to Love showed me that the discussions about gay and lesbian sexuality and Christian faith are best had in small, hospitable groups with close bonds and no agenda. It’s my hope that this retreat won’t be the last of its kind but will continue in one form or another among Christians. And I hope that, even when we disagree profoundly, we can discuss sexuality and faith in spaces where our relationships allow us to be gracious with each other and with ourselves.♥

Julian Forth received his M.Div in 2009 from Duke Divinity School, has taught theology at Messiah College, and now works in housing rights and volunteers his time in peace activism. He currently lives in Washington, DC, and participates in various Christian worship communities.

From Chains to Garlands

by Eve Tushnet I’m Catholic, lesbian, and celibate due to my religious convictions, and I write about those things fairly often, so I’ve seen a fair number of gatherings dealing with the intersection of Christian life and same-sex attraction. And most of those gatherings have been about presenting settled positions.

Even where emotional support and intellectual challenge coexisted, they took turns—one presentation would be pastoral and one would be theological, for example. There’s definitely a place for those approaches. And yet for me, a lot of the value of Oriented to Love came from its balance and intermingling of emotional, intellectual, and spiritual work. It was an exploration, rather than a series of presentations, and so while I didn’t come away with one Big

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Idea, I don’t think finding that big idea was the point.

Instead, here are a few smaller things I think I learned, places where I was helpfully provoked: The need for healing isn’t always where you might expect it would be.

Most of our conversation was focused on how to live in Christ today, and yet at unexpected moments the past would intrude. People who have been hurt by a culture of sexual permissiveness or religious authoritarianism—or both—can be especially sensitive to anything that seems to defend those values.

It takes a lot of trust for a gay person to describe the specific ways in which she/he was taught to consider her/his perspective unworthy of respect. It takes a lot of trust for people to put aside their assumptions about why someone would accept celibacy. (I was surprised myself at some of the other participants’ self-descriptions!) Several exercises at the retreat were designed to get us past our assumptions about one another and help us trust so that we could share even the more painful aspects of our spiritual lives and our pasts.

It takes a lot of trust for heterosexuals to be truly vulnerable, too.

There’s a scene in David Lodge’s novel How Far Can You Go? in which two Catholic characters, spiritual wanderers in the post-Vatican II wilderness, confront one another. One is straight, one is gay, and both have found their sexual desires to be a source of deep conflict and pain. The outside world sees a married man and a stolid monk, two people leading good and normal lives in ordinary religious institutions. And yet they look at each other, with their hearts in turmoil, and think, “You have no idea what it’s like!” There were moments during Oriented to Love where I thought that several of the heterosexual participants were surprised at the ubiquity of certain kinds of pain in gay people’s lives (for example, the frequency of hate crimes)—and there were moments when I was startled when the conversation struck a nerve with some of the “straights.” Sexuality is a site of intense vulnerability, a part of us that is so easy to abuse. A lot of gentleness is needed when we discuss it.

It “gets better” if we make it better. I don’t think any of us described growing up in churches where Christian hope was offered, specifically, to same-sex-attracted people. I wasn’t raised Christian; for most of the participants, who were, silence or condemnation was the norm. So I took away from the retreat a desire to speak directly to the next generation.

We talked briefly about Dan Savage’s “It Gets Better” project, which began as a YouTube campaign to create videos in which LGBT adults described how they overcame bullying and homophobia to lead fruitful and fulfilling lives. The project bypasses schools and parents, authority figures who might have little interest in presenting hope or little ability to do so, and speaks directly to the teens who need it the most. I wonder what can be done to present specifically Christian hope to LGBT teens, especially those whose churches, communities, and families are not willing or able to speak to them.

That might look like talking with the counselors at your kid’s school.

It might look like donating books to the school or public library—I haven’t found a ton of good books on this subject, but one recent contribution I’d highly recommend is Wesley Hill’s hopeful, personal Washed and Waiting: Re-

Julian Forth

Tim Timmerman

flections on Christian Faithfulness and Homosexuality (Zondervan, 2010). It might look like talking directly with your children, asking what the climate is like in their school for kids perceived as gay, or, if they have openly gay friends, making sure those friends know that your home is a place of welcome. It might look like presenting your testimony at church, on YouTube, to the PTA, or to your young adults’ ministry.

And maybe one thing young people need most of all is to see the Christian church as a place of beauty and a place where suffering is acknowledged and given meaning. All the Scriptural interpretation in the world won’t mean as much, I think, as the longing to be sheltered in Christ’s wounds or tenderly cared for by Christ’s family.

LGBT teens need personal testimonies of faithful, joyful, and sacrificial gay Christian life; they also need Oscar Wilde’s fairy tales, Therese of Lisieux’s spiritual fire, the lurid physicality of the Anima Christi, and the tender mysteries of prayer. I took my confirmation name partly as homage to Jean Genet’s novel The Miracle of the Rose, in which a convict’s shackles are transformed into garlands of roses. Do we still believe that the church is where our chains become garlands?

Hope requires a vision of the future.

In Catholic circles you often hear the term “vocations crisis,” referring to the need for new priests. But our entire culture suffers from a vocations crisis: We don’t know how to be adults, how to find and accept the pathways in life which God has set for us. I generally think of vocation as the call to pour out your love for God and for specific other people. Thus priesthood and marriage are vocations, but so too are friendship and service to the poor, among others. Vocation always carries with it specific joys and specific sufferings—a crown and a cross. Vocation is always sacrificial.

Our culture has narrowed the vocations available for heterosexuals down to (delayed) marriage and (optional) childbearing. Friendship is trivialized and service to the poor is professionalized. For LGBT people, Christian communities too often give no vision of vocation at all.

We all need a deeper sense that friendship can be a site of beauty and sacrifice. Christ himself said that there is no greater love than to give one’s life for one’s friends. How much would our own lives change if we believed him? How much would we have to change if we tried to live in sacrificial love for the neediest in our community? Maybe the emergence of gay voices in the church can challenge us to renew or develop vocations outside of marriage—a development that would serve Christians of all sexual orientations.♥ Eve Tushnet ( Eve-Tushnet.blogspot.com) was raised in Washington, DC, where she works as a freelance writer.

She was received into the Catholic Church in 1998. She has written for Commonweal, First Things, USA Today, the Washington Blade, the Weekly Standard, and other publications.

The Gift That Comes with the Need

by Tim Timmerman I have received a gift of faith in Christ, and a gift of being a sexual adult male. For those like myself who can find they are sexually attracted to their own gender, navigating the water where religious and sexual conviction meet can be quite tricky. So I was honored to be included in the dialogue that ESA set up around this difficult confluence that few Christians seem willing to chart.

It was a cordial conversation where I believe we each felt we were given the space to share our journey without the concern that someone would belittle our view or critique our choices.

I personally came away with a clearer understanding of “All the Scriptural interpretation in the world won’t how I approach my own sexuality, clarified in the light of mean as much as the longing to be sheltered in Christ’s how others approach theirs.

I was struck in our wounds or tenderly cared for by Christ’s family.” dialogue that sexual sins get Eve Tushnet

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a lot of airtime in our churches. Those we may judge as having aberrant sexual behaviors are seen as exceptionally sinful compared to others. And yet Jesus targeted the Pharisees and their hypocrisy more than anyone else he addressed. A more Christ-like approach seems to be to walk with individuals in their pain and sexual brokenness, gaining understanding in the matter, holding them, and committing for the long haul, rather than wagging fingers.

In the midst of struggling with my need to connect deeply with other men, I often wondered if I should try to either pray the need away or embrace it as a sexual desire. But both those conclusions threaten to eclipse the gift that comes with the need—the human gift of being created for intimate connection with others. Yes, that connection can be expressed sexually, but that is only one way and, as Jesus points out, the greatest expression of love is not sex but self-sacrifice for the other: “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”

My own story involves coming to understand, through trials and tears, that my sexual desires for my own gender are, at their core, not about sex. They are about meeting childhood needs that were never met. It turned out that my same-sex needs were brotherly rather than sexual, and I would never discover who I was as a man by having sex with my gender-mates. It’s hard and ongoing work, but when I allowed myself to face the horrible messages I received growing up with a negligent father and to simply fall weeping in the arms of a loving brother who stood in for my father, it was beautiful, as is being released from the tyranny of sexualizing that impulse.

But I get why so many people end up embracing a gay identity and having sex with their gender-mates. Little is offered by the church in the way of shamefree nonsexual touch and support, and who wants to spend their life alone or without sex? It’s a double bind with no good solution in a cultural climate that’s toxic.

But I can’t deny that I’ve felt my sexual urges for men go completely away. Have I found that if I’m hungry, angry, lonely, or tired my sexual impulses for men can come back? Certainly, but I also know that the dog I feed is the one that grows the strongest.

God has challenged me to seek covenants and community using a bigger framework, one that moves beyond a sexual relationship. I feel that most Christians are stupid in regards to loving and walking with those who struggle with being sexually attracted to their own gender. One Christian camp says, “Come back when you’re better.” The other camp says, “Find a lover and settle down.” I believe neither is helpful.

While the experiences and approaches to dealing with same-sex desires varied greatly within our dialogue, I found it refreshing that in our discussions we often came back to the deep need we all have for community. What does that kind of community look like? It’s a core group of people who understand you, your Martha Hopler angels, and your demons and choose to walk with you for the long haul. Specifically for those of us who can find ourselves sexualizing our own gender, finding those long-term compatriots can be difficult work. I know I had fear that the very nature of the struggle was going to push away those I needed the most. But such people do exist, and those relationships have been life-giving.

It is my hope that dialogues like Oriented to Love can be part of a movement to create a body of Christians who are willing to be a refuge and shelter for those who struggle with their sexual identity. The first step is simply to begin walking with someone who is on that journey.

Something that came up in conversation that was helpful for me to see firsthand was that kind and sensitive Christians will choose to self-identify as “gay” or other such titles. I say that this was constructive for me, because my own journey has been in many ways to push against the 20th-century fad of creating and using the title “gay” to group a largely incongruous bunch of people together. But I saw in some of these men and women that taking on the title of gay, queer, or LGBT finally gave them peace and a place, a community to be a part of. That gave me pause. Why have we not grafted such beautiful people into our families and faith and called them our own? ♥

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Why have we not grafted such beautiful people into our families and faith and called them our own?”

“The ground is level at the foot of the cross and all are welcome at Christ’s table.”

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Tim Timmerman is a visual artist, a professor of art at George Fox University in Newberg, Oreg., and the author of A Bigger World Yet: Faith, Brotherhood, and Same-Sex Needs (Bird Dog Press, 2011).

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Reading that encourages dialogue Reasoning Together: A Conversation on Homosexuality, edited by Ted Grimsrud and Mark Theissen Nation (Herald Press, 2008) Stumbling Toward a Genuine Conversation on Homosexuality, edited by Michael A. King (Cascadia, 2007)

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James Cates

A Good First Chapter

Great and Hidden Things

by Martha Hopler

by James Cates

“Many Christians, especially in America, believe that in Christ all our differences should disappear. We should think alike, act alike, feel alike. This belief is tied to the myth of the Great American Melting Pot in which everyone becomes part of one uniform identity. Our tolerance for diversity is therefore often quite low. If some people do not have exactly the same theology or order of worship or type of music, or the same views on the military or homosexuality, then they may not be Christians at all, we say.”

- Thom Hopler in A World of Difference

“Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and hidden things that you have not known.”

Jer. 33:3

I was invited to join a group of men and women, friends and strangers, to discuss the topic of sexual diversity in the church, but in a way where stories, and not debates, would take center stage.

Some of us came with knowledge drawn from data, others from intuition, some from personal experience. Some of us were very secure in our stance on the issues; others acknowledged we are on a journey of discovery rather than committed to one particular stance. Some were able to articulate their stories, while others struggled in the presence of so many voices. All of us came with questions that would not be answered over the two-day retreat but left with armfuls of stories and some new friends.

What made this conversation different from any other I had been a part of before was that it was organized with one purpose in mind and one purpose only—to create a safe space in which we could hear and experience the other. We were encouraged to simply show up and be in relationship with others in way that invited us to drop any pretenses or agendas. In leaving our “shoulds,” arguments, and demands at the door, we found that our fears, too, diminished. Two activities that we did were particularly helpful in drawing each of us into the circle of community. In one, we passed a heavy canvas sack, full of rocks, around the circle, noting how wearying it would be to bear such a burden alone. The second time we passed it around, each person removed a rock from the bag and then shared with the group a difficult burden that he or she was dealing with at the moment. Eventually the bag was empty, and we all felt the value not only of lightening our load by sharing with each other but also of acknowledging that each of us, no matter how it appears to others, is carrying something around with us every day. In another exercise we were invited to bring something—a photograph, song, any object that expressed something about where our heart or life was at that moment. In sharing these things with each other, we were all reminded that although we come with very different stories and from different places in life, the ground is level at the foot of the cross and all are welcome at Christ’s table.

The story sparked by the dialogue has just begun. How much of it I write will be my choice, but together and by the grace of the God of the universe, we have written a really good first chapter. ♥

A Christian dialogue on homosexuality conjures vivid images, I am sure, for any person considering such an oxymoron. And yet the interactions at Oriented to Love demonstrate that our imaginations only limit what God can do.

For approximately 42 hours a disparate group of 12 Christians met with unity of spirit at a small retreat center. They bridged the gap between those who believe God looks equally favorably on same-sex and heterosexual relationships, and those who believe same-sex relationships lie outside God’s will. And yet in that span of time it seemed that the issue of same-sex involvement was peripheral to a more fundamental issue—namely, how do we, as followers of Christ in the postmodern world, grapple with the truth in/of relationships? As we shared our sorrows and our joys, it became clear that we were united in the struggle to find acceptance and nurturing and in our struggle to understand what such time-honored truths as fidelity and loving our neighbor mean in a world that seems increasingly complex.

To be sure, we had our moments of disagreement. And yet it seemed no greater number than the disagreements that are fundamental to any group of people who seek God’s will and ask each other, “What does he really want from us?” In so doing we see into the souls of those who believe, fervently and earnestly, in a God who embraces us all and in a love that encompasses beliefs that on the surface are disparate but beneath share a common thread of devotion to the Master and a desire to do God’s will.

We also recognized that although we focused with a single purpose, our journeys lead us home by so many directions. Theology, background, tradition, and even culture separate us from one another in the paths we pursue. It can be painful to recognize that separation, but there is also joy in discovering a new path by walking alongside one another or even in another’s shoes. The experience of trusting that God is at work in each other’s lives allows us to love each other as friend, neighbor, and fellow sojourning Christian.

We did not leave with answers, nor should we have done so. To have answers would imply that these deeply personal questions are facile and answerable! Instead, they plumb the depths of what God expects when he calls us to be in prayerful relationship to one another. We left to find ourselves humbled, renewed, and—perhaps most of all—loved. ♥

James Cates is a psychologist living in Fort Wayne, Ind.

Martha Hopler works as a medical case manager and a clinical therapist in Seattle, Wash.

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When Grace Dances

by Tim Otto

Tim Otto

“In the end, I suspect it was that each person (often after a journey of profound pain and perseverance) was fully convinced of God’s grace and love toward him or her and, relaxing in that, was able to listen charitably to challenging differences.”

I’m surprised you are reading this. When a discussion of homosexuality comes up, I find that most Christians are exhausted by it. Are there any words left that might accomplish anything? Words that would resolve it, reconcile us, and put the matter to rest?

And the few Christians who aren’t exhausted tend to be exhausting. They tend to be the true believers (on either the right or the left), who are utterly convinced they are right and willing to evangelize endlessly to the point that one is tempted to respond, “Okay, okay, I’ll agree if you’ll just stop talking!”

So I was surprised to leave a dialogue on homosexuality—in which a flood of words was exchanged—feeling hopeful. I felt this way because the full range of views was present (and a full range of people along the straight/LGBQ spectrum), and yet people listened to each other intently and non-defensively.

Months later, I still feel astonished. No one played the victim card. No subtle snubs communicated, “You are inferior because you think that.” Plenty of emotions were expressed, but few if any felt calculated to coerce.

How did a group of flawed human beings humbly listen to each other with a desire to get to truth—especially on this oh-so-fraught and personal of issues?

My mind goes to the obvious things first: It was a beautiful retreat center, the facilitation was expert and empathetic, the participants were carefully chosen. Those things certainly helped, but they don’t completely account for it. Those things alone could not have achieved such a grace-full conversation.

In the end, I suspect it was that each person (often after a journey of profound pain and perseverance) was fully convinced of God’s grace and love toward him or her and, relaxing in that, was able to listen charitably to challenging differences.

It reminds me of something my mentor Jack Bernard used to say. When confronted by others, he would sometimes smile and reply, “You may have some of the details wrong, but I’m sure I’m as big a sinner as you think I am.” Jack was so in touch with God’s grace that he was able to listen with complete openness to others, believing that they might offer valuable help on how he might grow. And his attitude disarmed his critics, making for fruitful conversations.

It was that spirit of grace that animated ESA’s dialogue on homosexuality. And that gives me hope for the larger conversation in the evangelical church. While the evangelical church might at first appear to be an unpromising prospect for such a conversation, it possesses the most important ingredient—an emphasis on God’s grace.

As I think about the future of the conversation in the evangelical church, my exhaustion has been replaced by a cautious hope. I resonate with the words of W.H. Auden, a Christian who struggled with homosexuality: “I know nothing, except what everyone knows—if there when Grace dances, I should dance.” ♥

Tim Otto is a part-time pastor of the Church of the Sojourners, a live-together Christian community in San Francisco, and a part-time home health RN. He is writing a book tentatively entitled Oriented to Faith: What the Debate about Homosexuality Can Teach the Church. He wrote “A Difficult Curriculum” on page 26.

John Backman

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Watching that encourages dialogue Pastors’ Conversation: Navigating LGBT issues & questions. (DVD)

The Youth Room Has a Closet: Talking with youth about homosexuality (DVD) Bridging the Gap: Conversations on Befriending our Gay Neighbors (DVD) (All three are available at NewDirection.ca)

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It is possible to truly listen…

“It seems nearly impossible to truly listen to a story from the soul of another and not be moved by it. Our stories connect us to each other; they change us and the relationship. That makes dialogue risky and frightening….[but if we use ‘dialogue’ simply as] a code word for ‘change your mind’…suspicion is an appropriate response. Some of us forget that it is possible to truly listen, understand, respect, and empathize without accepting as one’s own the views of the other.”

— Carolyn Schrock-Shenk (professor of peace, justice, and conflict studies at Goshen College) “It is a deep expression of my love for another when I create a welcoming space for her to express disagreement, when I take the trouble to get to know her sufficiently to understand her position by empathetically putting myself in her shoes, and when I seek treasures in her point of view, hoping that she also finds treasures in my point of view.”

—Dr. Harold Heie (Gordon College’s Center for Faith and Inquiry; RespectfulConversations.net)

Living in the Questions

by John Backman The 12 people who took part in Oriented to Love defied simple description, and our conversation gave me a taste of the astounding complexity behind our sexuality.

I learned about gay and lesbian people who, while fully owning their orientation, have chosen celibacy because of a deep fealty to their faith tradition. I learned about gay people who, out of a deep and undeniable love, married their closest friends—of the opposite sex. I heard how our culture has so corrupted our view of sexuality that we have no idea how to touch one another in a physical yet asexual way—to “greet one another with a holy kiss”— no matter how much we crave it. I learned more about the definition of “queer” and about what lies at the core of the argument that marriage should be between one man and one woman.

The twist, for me, was that all the people who taught me these things are striving to live faithfully to the call of Christ.

It’s tempting to scramble for a logical resolution to such a paradox—to filter all the words and perspectives and proceed efficiently to an opinion. I would submit that a great deal of what passes for dialogue on this issue has done precisely that. Hence people are quick to conclude that those on the other side are “rationalizing their lifestyle” or “trying to get with the times” or “hiding behind the Bible to avoid change” or simply “pushing their political agenda.”

Yes, there are people who do these things, but my 11 companions in this dialogue were not among them.

We did not seek a logical solution but rather lived with the

paradox. While sharing our personal stories of sexuality and gender with one another, we also explored thoughts I have rarely, if ever, heard in this context: our stubborn desire for reductive simplicity in the face of such disconcerting complexity, the value of surrendering our vision of what wholeness looks like, the daunting task of living authentically when social systems favor people who are not you, the need for the church’s repentance of the way it has treated LGBTQ people.

“Stop defining. Start listening.”

What if we all started living with the paradox for a while—the paradox of people with myriad different practices and viewpoints living faithfully in the midst of them? Out of these paradoxes, new questions often emerge. Here are a few that have emerged for me since the dialogue: How many orientations are there? Can they change over time?

How many ways are there to live out each orientation—sexual or gender vocations, as it were?

Can we affirm every one of these vocations as a gift from God? If not, why not?

Why do we resist complexity? Is it because a simple one-size-fits-all answer actually exists, or because accepting the complexity requires us to keep our hearts stretched too large?

What if the Christian church threw open its doors to all people, asking only that they be faithful to the call of Christ in their lives?

Why do we feel the need to reconcile opposing views?

How do we live in community with one another—perhaps the most compelling imperative of the Christian faith—when we hold radically different beliefs about the way to be in the world?

Is dogma important? Is authority important? Why or why not?

At one point during Oriented to Love, a fellow participant—who knew about my background in advertising—asked me what I’d write as a headline to describe the dialogue. While he meant the question as a joke, it got me thinking. And what I came up with was this: Stop defining.

Start listening.

I invite you, the reader, to grapple with the questions above, or raise your own. I ask only that you avoid being simplistic. Live with the paradox and speak out of it. Maybe we can break new ground in hearing one another—as Oriented to Love did in such an extraordinary way. ♥

John Backman is the author of Why Can’t We Talk? Christian Wisdom on Dialogue as a Habit of the Heart (SkyLight Paths), out this fall. He blogs regularly for Huffington Post Religion, serves on the board of the National Coalition for Dialogue & Deliberation, maintains his own site at DialogueVenture.com, and is an associate of an Episcopal monastery in upstate New York, where he lives with his wife of 31 years.

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