Gays, the Methodists and the Rest of Us

photo by William Murphy / flickr

Like most of you I have read with interest the Methodist decision not to allow gay folk to be first class members of their denomination. Their Book of Discipline still states: “The practice of homosexuality is incompatible with Christian teaching. Therefore self-avowed practicing homosexuals are not to be certified as candidates, ordained as ministers, or appointed to serve in the United Methodist Church.” The vote was very close—but the old rules still stand. What this means is that self-self-avowed practicing homosexuals cannot be full members of that church. So much for “open hearts…open minds.”

This decision is not new. My own denomination deals with with homosexuality with a vast silence. Which means that gay folk do not feel welcomed in many churches across the country. This is not easy problem to deal with. We have to begin where people are and so many people have not understood that these folk are just like the rest of us. I look at the crucifix on my desk and see those outstretched nail-scarred hands. They are for everybody. The church should begin to unpack what this all means when it comes to gays. And we need to help people understand the hard demands of the whole gospel. Gays are only part of the list of those we still have trouble with. 

Back in the early nineties when AIDS was rampant and many gay men and many others were dying of this dread disease—I received an invitation. Would I participate in a Healing service at the Calvary Episcopal Church in downtown Memphis? I would be part of five or six clergy participating in the service. 

As the service began I looked out at a sea of mostly men who were ravaged by this disease. There must have been a hundred sick folks there. Maybe more. And beside them sat loved ones—Mothers and Fathers and and partners and brothers and sisters. They had come hoping for healing or love or understanding or maybe just courage. 

At a certain point in the service we ministers stood before the altar as people who wanted special prayers would come forward. Some were very sick and could hardly stand. They came with someone who loved them. They whispered their prayer-needs. “I am dying and I am afraid.” “I don’t know if I am infected but it is all I think about.” “The Bible says that we gays are an abomination—is this true?” Family members came. “My son is so sick and I just can’t stand it. I need help.”  A father came saying: “I don’t understand this gay thing—my son has AIDS and I don’t know what to say or do.” Another young man came saying: I have lost eight friends in the last year and I may be next.” “Drugs have just about killed me,” an old man said. Another said: “My preacher said what I am is wrong and I am going to hell…is this true—it scares me.” 

On and on they came. It was a hard evening. We preachers laid hands on those that came and whispered prayers for every need. That night changed my life. Suddenly I realized what we were doing that night was at the heart of the gospel message. Jesus said, “Come ye that are weary and heavy laden and I  will give you rest.” This invitation is not selective—even though through the years we have tried to pare down those words for so many of our prejudices. The divorced. Blacks. Those struggling with alcohol or drugs. People different from us. Immigrants. Men and women with moral problems. Prisoners. And, of course, gays. 

We have a long way to go—but to say to any person or group  that you are not welcomed here just wrong.  And we have said it a lot through the years. Somewhere one preacher told the story for serving communion one Sunday, As people filed down the aisle and knelt before the altar a young woman came. From her dress and makeup you could tell she was a woman of the streets. Kneeling she looked up and whispered—"Maybe I shouldn’t be here.” And the preacher held out the tiny piece of bread and said: “Oh yes—you belong here.” And kneeling there she sobbed and sobbed.

As we begin our Lenten journey I think of all those out there that feel disenfranchised from the church. My God, what kind of people are we? What kind of church have we twisted his words into? “Rend your hearts…and not your garments” says the old Ash Wednesday invitation. So with this issue of welcoming all is just part of a whole lot of things we have on the churches’ table—led us rend our hearts until we are all closer to the one who stretched out his arms for all.

I keep remembering what the old writer Dostoevsky said: “What keeps me going  is that I believe like a child that suffering will be healed and made up for, that in the world’s finale something so great will come to pass that it’s going to suffice for all our hearts, for the comforting of all our sorrows, for the atonement of all the crimes of humanity. And I want to be there when suddenly everyone understands what it has all been for.”

"What we think is ugly about sin is only the mask it puts on! 

If the mask were ripped off, we could see what God thinks is ugly."

    --Paul E. Scherer

photo by dewet / flickr

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com