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The other day I was talking over Zoom with some of the leadership of a non-affirming church about being an LGBTQ Christian, and one asked me,
“Can the church love LGBTQ people without becoming affirming?”
“Can the church love LGBTQ people without becoming affirming?”
A friend—another LGBTQ Christian who was on the Zoom call—looked to me like “Well? You’re the confrontational one” 
I’d been asked this question before. I’d given the “no” and railed against heteronormative oppression.
This time it occurred to me to respond differently.
I’d been asked this question before. I’d given the “no” and railed against heteronormative oppression.
This time it occurred to me to respond differently.
“Would you feel loved if the church told you who are married, ‘You must at least remain celibate, but it would be better if you divorce, but it’s ok, because it’s not really divorce, because your marriage is a sham’?”
“Would you feel loved if the church told you who are single, ‘You must never marry,’ and those of you who want a child, ‘Not only must you never adopt, we don’t want you near our kids either, you know, b/c of what you are’?”
“Would you feel loved if the church told you that you have to dress as the sex that they have decided you are, even though that’s not who you know yourself to be?”
“Would you feel loved if the church told you that not only would you never be in leadership but you’d be lucky if they even let you be a member?”
My questions weren’t rhetorical, but nobody ventured an answer. What could they have said?
To say “Yes, I would feel loved if the church treated me that way” would be too transparently a lie. To say “No” would be to admit that their theology makes loving LGBTQ people impossible.
To say “Yes, I would feel loved if the church treated me that way” would be too transparently a lie. To say “No” would be to admit that their theology makes loving LGBTQ people impossible.
