Writing

Note: This post is of a highly personal, religious nature. It is also exceptionally long. It is not censored in any way for “civil conversation.” You have been forewarned.

Folks who know me will attest that one of the myriad adjectives used to describe me, one could be church rat. My parents raised me with a healthy dose of involvement in the church, not just out of a sense of baptismal obligation, but I also assume that it was a side-effect of being involved themselves. At any one given time during my childhood, church was a minimum two-day-a-week activity, and at various points throughout the year would swell to week-long initiative.

My earliest memories of church and religion centered around a feeling of true peace, of being surrounded by indescribable support and power. When my mom or dad would bring me along to our St. Andrew’s Lutheran Church for meetings, I would always wind up in the sanctuary at some point, laying on a pew and looking around at all the elements of the room: the strong, imposing presence of the cross, physically providing the support for the entire structure. The wooden trusses, continuing the feel of the natural, wooden creation surrounding the building to the indoors. The colors of the stained glass windows on either side and in the balcony, casting a dancing light on the space. The sound of the building “thudding” as it settled and the wind blew outside.

St. Andrew’s at Christmas 2007

I could attempt to explain what I must have been thinking then in my current, adult context, but I won’t. I have more respect for myself and my childhood development than to do that. I don’t have any idea what exactly I was thinking or why I was drawn to that place, but I jumped at the opportunity to spend those moments there, in the still quiet place, in the awesome presence of God.

Of course, I didn’t just stay in the sanctuary. I would cause the ruckus that every child does, and there are many stories of “that Ross-Jones boy” sticking his nose into things and doing stuff he shouldn’t, causing chaos around the building. But it was at an early age that I began to truly become active in the church — participating in every Sunday School program, singing in the children’s choir and playing piano for youth Sundays, attending every Vacation Bible School and Day Camp for years and then helping out with the younger kids once I grew too old to be enrolled.

Any day of the week was a good day for a living room worship service. My dad helped me to build a “pulpit,” and I acted as musician, preacher and sound technician. My first congregation consisted of stuffed animals and the family cat — even if she did end up sleeping through my sermons.

I thought it was the best thing since shredded cheese because I had the opportunity to participate in not just one but two churches in my hometown — our family church at St. Andrew’s and the children’s and youth programs at Salem Lutheran Brethren Church — which then grew to three when the Grand Rapids Christian & Missionary Alliance Church merged its youth programming with Salem. That meant three times the fun!

While the other boys aspired to be firemen, policemen, lumberers, miners, doctors, and all the other vocations on the minds of the children of Minnesota’s Northland, I had two professions in mind: a minister or a news reporter.

My childhood faith was basic: Jesus loves me, this I know. That faith has carried me through 23 years of existence.

I didn’t question that premise. I didn’t question much of anything until Confirmation. I had a basic formula for living, for being in relationship with God and my neighbor. (And I knew that when the Bible says neighbor, its not just talking about the people who live behind us but instead everyone.) I knew there were some differences in faith, because other kids went to the Catholic church, the Presbyterian church, the Solid Rock, Assemblies of God, Full Gospel or Fellowship of Believers churches. In town we also had two other Lutheran churches — called Missouri or Wisconsin Synod — and another ELCA Lutheran church. Add to that mix Episcopal and Methodist, Nazarene and Baptist churches. But the differences to me were in the way they gathered. They dressed differently, they had different music during worship. That was the difference to my 12-year-old mind.

Jesus loves me, this I know. Love God. Love your neighbor. This was Christianity to me then, and this is the same Christianity that propels me today.

Micah 6:8 asks the rhetorical question, “What does God require of you but to do justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your Lord?” It is a passage sometimes used by various groups advocating for change, especially social-political groups who are seeking to provide a Biblical basis for their action. But often times it is misused and construed in a way so as to emphasize one of its three commissions over the rest — most frequently the call to “do justice.”

But it is far more challenging, more profound than that. Believers should always speak out about the injustices that plague life around them, and there are plenty of examples in every context where the community of God gathers. That justice must be counterbalanced by mercy, by a recognition that God’s justice is always higher, always better than human justice. A mercy that demonstrates God’s rich and powerful, all-encompassing love for creation, for it is all things are created by God, and God loves all that God creates.

Walking humbly with our Lord, however, throws many of us for a loop. Its a challenge. When we get caught up in the action, we forget our approach. The end does not always justify the means.

I started Confirmation, and that wide-eyed, innocent, childlike faith left me. A lifelong process of reconciliation, of paradox, of searching, of frustration, of anger, of peace had begun.

I officially joined Plymouth United Church of Christ in Milwaukee on an April Sunday in 2007, severing my lifelong membership in the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America. But in all reality, I left the Lutheran faith of my upbringing as a response to my deep love of God and creation, and the assurance of Christ’s love for me empowered by the Holy Spirit, sometime in 1998 during Confirmation. And today, that same love compels me to continually pray for the Spirit to work in the life of the ELCA, that God’s love for all God has created reign down that all may freely serve as God has anointed. (1 Corinthians 7:17)

As certain as I am of that basic faith, of the simplicity of my childlike conviction, I am certain that God has created me in God’s image for me, and that image includes an altogether boring characteristic that western society has long marked as sinful, as something for which repentance is absolutely necessary, and above all an insurmountable affliction that until the last 30 years was marked as a mental disorder necessary of therapy and conversion.

I am a gay man. The scientific term is homosexual. Unlike “normal” people, I am attracted to — and subsequently will fall in love and make a life together with — other men.

Researchers, sociologists, theologians all argue about why roughly 10% of the population finds themselves in my position. Some say it is a conscious decision one makes, based on various mitigating factors often in one’s childhood. Others point toward the existence of homosexual animals in zoos and the wild. Yet others believe in a dynamic state of sexuality, that one’s same-sex attraction is a “phase,” and that that person will simply progress to the mainstream heterosexual orientation.

Certainly in the year 2008, that characteristic alone should not be emphasized over all the others. And the church has made great strides in the previous three decades to reformulate its pastoral response in a manner which is authentic to God’s love for God’s creation. That improvement, however, does not extend to the whole church. Nearly all U.S. Christian denominations have long-established policies which maintain either either separate-yet-unequal status for persons of my orientation, or outright bar gay-lesbian-bisexual-transgender (GLBT) persons from holding positions of leadership. Of the mainline protestant denominations, only one — the United Church of Christ — fully and officially allows GLBT clergy to be called and served in its congregations. (The smaller and relatively unknown Metropolitan Community Churches, a denomination started in the 1970’s with a specific outreach to and a majority constituency of gay and lesbian persons, also has no restriction, although the MCC is not considered a mainline denomination.)

The ELCA’s current policy states that, “persons who are homosexual in their self-understanding are expected to abstain from homosexual sexual relationships.” (Visions & Expectations) Essentially, a gay or lesbian person is told they are welcome to serve in the professional ministry of the Church, yet they are not allowed to enjoy the same lifelong companionship an intimate relationship with another person brings that heterosexual pastors enjoy.

“And God saw everything that he had made, and indeed it was very good.” -Genesis 1:31

Its a challenge, living under the assumption that God makes all things as God intends, and that God makes all things good. Some cynically call it overabundant optimism, and others fear such an outlook is ripe territory for Satanic action among the righteous. Both sides of the discussion of the role of GLBT persons in the church use the exhortation that good creation does not equate with good behavior. Of course, their arguments digress at that point, as to whether or not one’s sexual orientation is created, that is a static, unchanging characteristic, or a behavior, that is something under one’s own control and free will.

But its ironic, isn’t it, that we in the church refer to one’s call as a divine institution. We honor God’s call for our lives in our vocation, our actions, our families. Submission to this call is the behavior, but the call is summoned by God. (See Jonah 1)

Behavior is a result of free will. God has endowed God’s human creation with the ability to choose for itself, the knowledge of what is good and honorable against that which is evil and degrading. (Cf. Genesis 2:15-17, 3:1-19) Behavior results in God’s pleasure or necessitates our repentance. Using theological terms, one might say behavior is acts of the flesh, separate from actions of the soul.

Creation, however, cannot be modified by behavior. (For anyone who doubts such things, I present the draining of humanmade Lake Delton in central Wisconsin early last month.) It can only be masked, to varying degrees of human success.

One who is created heterosexual in God’s image, who makes a lifelong commitment to a person of the opposite sex, has certain endowed blessings given to them. Likewise, one who is created homosexual in God’s image, who makes a lifelong commitment to a person of the same sex, has certain endowed blessings given to them, but not the same as those who are heterosexual.

One who is created heterosexual who forces an action of behavior over their creation and desires a homosexual relationship will likely succumb to actions of infidelity to their lover. It is the same with a homosexual person, yet God’s word of love for God’s creation has been misinterpreted toward the homosexual person, and indeed the action of behavior over and above the glory of creation is stressed.

A so-called clobber passage, used to support the religious persecution of GLBT Christians, comes from the purity laws of Leviticus — chapter 18, verse 22 says, “You shall not lie with a male as with a woman, it is an abomination.” It is surrounded by commands against incest and bestiality and admonitions against sex during a woman’s period. One fails to recognize, however, that the purity laws are not designed as the social code for contemporary, modern society. The purity laws compose the Old Covenant with Israel, God’s people.

A sampling of other purity laws include restrictions on burnt offerings, apparel, dietary restrictions, and more. In fact, one is unclean for a period following sexual relations of any kind, and according to the purity law should be segregated from the rest of society so as not to defile their purity for a period of one day. (Leviticus 15:18, 31-32)

I can’t speak for anyone other than myself. I can’t attest to the accuracy or validity of the latest research efforts, the most recent discoveries, the progression of studies surrounding human sexuality. I can only speak for what I know, which is my own experience. I can point to no time in my life since puberty — and really not having any reason to reach into the depths of my memory before then — that I did not fully and consciously recognize my homosexuality. Likewise, I can point to no life-shattering event in my past that would affect my attraction today. My parents enjoy a healthy, loving relationship and celebrated 25 years of marriage earlier this year. Performances, games and meets, any event was a family function growing up, even minor ones, and with few exceptions both of my parents and my sister would be in the audience — that is, if they weren’t involved in some way themselves.

I was never abused. Except for the “standard” friction between a 23-year-old man and his mother and father, I enjoy a healthy relationship with my family. I excelled in most things, and while I was a loner throughout much of my elementary and middle school careers, I deeply cherish a number of strong, close friendships and an even wider range of great acquaintances.

My life has not been without its share of problems, but I will not go into them here, if only for the reason that they are no longer relevant and simply contributed to the shaping and molding of my personal strength of who I am today.

In short: I am convinced that I am God’s creation as I am, for I have made no behavioral change to cover up something that is completely natural — created in God’s image — for me.

Jesus loves me, this I know. Love God. Love your neighbor. This is my simple belief.

The differences that divide believers are deep and the Holy Spirit has worked to convict people to come to different conclusions in God’s living, stillspeaking word. I can do no thing but speak to my conviction, to my conclusion, to my belief. In love, I commend those who approach God’s word with a differing set of values than my own. I appreciate their conclusions are as real and powerful to them as they are to myself.

Spirituality and religion is not a vacuum. One of the greatest disservices to the life of religion was in the 17th and 18th Centuries and the social belief that religion can be separated from one’s life and action and compartmentalized in a fashion as to sterilize the actions of a government. God creates and endows each person with their own, internal values and through the gift of free will and intelligence, each person will achieve unique beliefs. “You’re only as unique as everyone else.”

Luther’s role in the Christian Reformation was as important then as it is today. His conclusions, his approach to faith, were just as true for the congregations that centered around his theology in the 1500s as in the 2000s. But just as then, not everyone agrees, and I discovered that my disagreement with the Lutheran church extended beyond its inhospitality toward me.

Nowhere is this disagreement more apparent than in sacramental theology. Most Protestant churches subscribe to two sacraments, Holy Baptism and Holy Communion/the Eucharist. The basic belief for those who subscribe to sacramental identity is that through these actions, the direct presence and blessing of God through Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit is among the believers assembled. In the waters of Baptism, a new covenant is established between God and the baptized. Through the bread and wine of Communion, Jesus’ life and death is made real through the celebration of the meal. (Please note, these are vastly wide overviews, and each denomination holds differing reasons why and how each happens.)

The Lutheran church, in the area of Communion, teaches consubstantiation — although it is important to note that Lutherans themselves abhor the term and factor it as ineffective to fully describe the presence of the Divine through the meal. In contrast to the Roman Catholic belief in transubstantiation, that the bread and wine fully and wholly become Jesus Christ’s literal body and blood and that the remnants of bread and wine in the celebration are mere accidents of physicality, consubstantiation teaches that Jesus Christ is fully present “in, with, and under” the elements of bread and wine.

This never sat well with me. Jesus Christ died already. His death and resurrection as the atonement for humankind was for all time. It felt like on the second and fourth Sundays of the month, in St. Andrew’s Lutheran Church, Jesus was dying and living again, over and over.

Likewise, the traditional Lutheran view on baptism is as a prerequisite for salvation. One’s soul is joined with Jesus Christ through the “magic words” and the water. It is this reason that Lutherans traditionally baptize infants, rather than participating in believer’s baptism.

But Ephesians 2:8-9 says, “For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God — not the result of works, so that no one may boast.” This view of baptism as the means of salvation seems like both a work and a new law in place. It was either the work of my parents on my behalf when they brought me in front of the font in February of 1985, or maybe it was my own work in May of 2000 when I stood in front of the congregation and was confirmed. Either way, this didn’t sit well with me.

But how important is the theology and doctrine? Where does this fit in my simple conviction of Jesus’ love for me?

Over the past two years, God has been working great things in my heart, softening me and equipping me for God’s call to serve as minister in God’s church. And that call is to serve not in the church that enabled me to know God, to embrace Jesus, to be brought up in the faith that shapes and molds how I view the world. That church is now my neighbor. My call brought me to the United Church of Christ, first out of an issue of practicality, second out of an eventuality of belief, but above all out of love.

I love my new church. I can’t pretend I know everything about it. Our relationship is young, and just as my earliest years in the ELCA, we must have the time where I’m causing chaos and leaving a trail of destruction, because we don’t quite know how to act around each other just yet.

I love the people. Amazing people who are responding to God’s work upon their hearts. People who act out of love for all of God’s creation and serve as cheerleaders in equipping servant leaders for ministry. People moved by God’s prophetic work toward a more just, merciful world. People who simply are looking for a place to belong, a community to call their own.

I love the promise: compelled by Jesus’ prayer that all may be one (John 17:21), the UCC vows itself that no matter who comes into our community, no matter where that person is in their life of faith, they will be welcomed, embraced, accepted and affirmed for who they are as a daughter or son of God.

But it is a love for my home church that compels me to pray for it daily, that its promise may be fulfilled. For all practical purposes, I will fully separate from the ELCA on September 23, 2008, my last day of employment with the Greater Milwaukee Synod. My ties with the ELCA after that date will no longer be outwardly apparent, but in my heart they will exist forever.

It is out of love that I plan to attend the 2009 ELCA Churchwide Assembly in Minneapolis, to be a presence with those working for full inclusion of GLBT persons in the life of the ELCA. It is out of love that I hope I witness there the affirmation for all people in God’s creation.

After all, the Christian faith is a simple one with powerful ramifications:

Jesus loves me, this I know. Love God. Love your neighbor.