Christian Tag

  Coming Out: Why Jesus Delights in Your LGBT+ Story We are the people who hide. The ones who slouch our way through Bible studies and small groups. The ones who cling to Christian respectability and mask our stories beneath a facade of normalcy. We are the people who, rejected by the church, hide again in the queer community, deflecting questions about our personal lives, evading talk about our faith, lest we be rejected here too. Alone once again. We are the stories that challenge the status quo in every battle of the culture wars. The POWS of every camp. We are the ones with nowhere to stay and nowhere to go. So we hide. We make peace with our prisons to survive. But it’s in that place that the voice of the Father calls to us, “saying to the prisoners, ‘Come out.’” (Isa. 49:9). Come out, he cries. Step into my light.

In this post and others, I'm attempting to build a case for changing the culture of the church, because much of our current atmosphere makes celibacy feel like a death sentence. If we ever hope to achieve a biblical vision of community, this absolutely needs to change.    Celibate gay and lesbian Christians need actual, authentic, love in Christian community.

Churches that seek to be faithful to the traditional sexual ethic face a tough reality. For better or worse, most people find love through marriage. It's not the way things ought to be, but it's the way things are. And if that's the way things are, we've got a problem. Just how exactly are gay Christians supposed to experience love if they can't get married to the people they love?

Christian community must provide a viable path for expressing love outside of marriage. Without it, we’re just as “anti-love" as all the caricatures portray. Unfortunately, despite everything the Bible has to say about love, evangelical theology remains woefully inadequate on the topic. This means that love outside of marriage is difficult if not close to impossible for people to find, carrying huge ramifications for celibate gay Christians. So it's time to change.

I'm digging a little deeper into the discussion of celibacy here, focusing on the question of love and intimacy in a celibate person's life. I've found that intimacy is one of the biggest impasses that many people have when it comes to being celibate, but it doesn't need to be. Hopefully this post begins to address that concern. Please comment or send me a private e-mail through the contact page — I'd love to hear your thoughts on this! And as always, please subscribe to follow future posts! Celibate gay people can have intimate relationships. Celibacy is not the same as singleness. When you’re a single, Christian woman committed to a traditional sexual ethic, sooner or later you reach an impasse: either get hitched to a guy or be single and lonely for the rest of your life. The predicament is hard enough when you’re straight. But as a lesbian, I found my situation to be far worse. I saw myself stuck between a rock and a hard place, and I couldn’t see any way out. I couldn’t imagine marrying a guy. Just thinking about it made me sick to my stomach. But neither could I imagine being single. I couldn’t imagine lacking the relational intimacy that comes from sharing a life with somebody else. And while I'd read plenty of Christian articles on the blessings and benefits of singleness, I saw them as little more than lackluster appeasement. A half-hearted attempt to make single people satisfied with a way of life that isn’t satisfying at all. I had bought into the modern hierarchy of relationships, with marriage sitting at the top. Unless I got married, I could never experience the greatest expression of love between people. I could be miserably married or miserably alone. A catch-22. And there was nothing I could do about it. Or so I thought.  Fortunately, God’s vision for human flourishing looks very different.

There's so many ways that this post could be misinterpreted that I almost wish I could put a disclaimer after each section. C'est la vie! In short, I'm suggesting that the church's synonymous association of gay with "bad" is more harmful than anything else. Queer sexuality, in particular, needs understanding and not denial. I'm definitely not trying to suggest some sort of post-modern, pop philosophy of embracing yourself, regardless of sin. Instead, I'm trying to say that the church's insistence on associating queer sexuality with sin is blinding us to God's purpose in it. That was certainly my own experience, which I share in the story below and hope to unpack in the coming weeks. Gay and Lesbian Sexualities Are Good, Christian “That’s gay.” My brother sounded sarcastic. I was barely old enough to be in pre-school and had never heard the word “gay” in my life. “What’s ‘gay’?” I asked, but a grown-up in the room quickly hushed us, mumbling something about it being “bad.” My curiosity was piqued, but I didn’t press any further. “Gay” meant “bad.” I catalogued the definition in my brain, and for years, that’s all the word ever meant.

[caption id="attachment_2203" align="aligncenter" width="1279"]Gay, celibate Christian blogging about celibacy and issues that affect LGBT+ people Last month, I announced that I would be introducing a new topic to the blog. Read below to find out more![/caption]   I executed operation “room-to-sit” a few weeks ago when a friend visited my apartment. It’s a familiar routine now that I live in South Korea, where space is limited in my one-room studio. When she arrived, a stack of notebooks decorated my couch, which I embarrassingly cleared to make room for her. One was a prayer journal, another a thought journal, another a creative journal, another... Well, I tried explaining the notebooks… but I think I just succeeded in looking strange.

“Hey, look at my eyes!” The girl pressed her fingers to the corners of her eyelids and slanted them upwards, then downwards, then upwards again. “Haha!” She started chanting in a sing-song manner, “Ching-chong, ching-chong!” We were at summer camp and eating ice cream at a picnic table. I was barely 12 and joined her happily, as did our friends. When she saw that I joined, she dropped her hands and laughed even louder, slamming the table and saying, “You look so funny!” I didn’t get it. Wasn’t that the point? I thought we all looked funny. But I could tell from her inflection that I was the one who looked particularly funny.