ViaMedia

Category: LGBT Stories

  • Time to Step Up and Take the Heat: Allyship or Cowardice?

    by the Revd Dr Charlie Bell, Fellow at Girton College Cambridge, and Assistant Curate, St John the Divine, Kennington

    Over the last few days the official Twitter account for the Lambeth conference has sprung into action again with various quotes from bishops – and other well-meaning contributors – about how excellent the whole experience was, all starting with “I’m giving thanks for the Lambeth Conference…” But it’s fair to say that the Lambeth Conference was not without controversy.

    One of those delights came well before the ill-fated attempts to include Lambeth I.10 and its homophobia into proceedings: it was the denial of invitations to spouses of bishops who happened to be of the same sex. While all active bishops were invited, with their spouses, this hospitality wasn’t extended to same-sex spouses.

    The former Secretary General of the Anglican Communion, Bishop Josiah Idowu-Fearon, spelled it out just in case we hadn’t got the drift: ‘it would be inappropriate for same-sex spouses to be invited to the conference’. And that was that.

    Despite pressure to relent (and, dare I say, repent), the Archbishop of Canterbury and his acolytes remained firm – no same-sex spouses allowed. Of course, this created a huge headache for the University of Kent, and it is somewhat inconceivable that that body would want to host another conference in the future that took such a rabidly and visibly homophobic position in who it invites, let alone in what it discusses. All, as ever, in the name of unity; and all, ultimately, damaging and somewhat pointless. In the end, a number of same-sex spouses were invited and housed – free of charge – by the university, there was a pride march and the presence of the same-sex spouses was celebrated by those present who didn’t find the need to throw gay people under the bus for the sake of spurious unity claims.

    The official homophobia, however, does not come without cost. The husband of the Bishop of Toronto put it acutely, and painfully:

    “I’d been out for 30 years. This was the first time I had been subject to such discrimination since then, and it felt very personal. I felt like a teenager having to navigate my sexuality all over again.”

    Hardly the life in all its fullness that the church claims to offer, however hospitable individual bishops and their spouses, and the university, might have been.

    And yet this sorry (and entirely avoidable) episode highlighted something which, as we move towards February and whatever is ‘offered’ by the bishops, becomes ever more important – the idea of good allyship. The sad reality is that, for all the warm words, the church is lagging behind on this in a very big way.

    Allyship is not that difficult to understand, or even to support, at least in principle. Put simply, it requires those who are not victims of oppression to stand shoulder to shoulder, in solidarity, with those who are. It requires them to recognise their own power and privilege, and use it to build up, rather than cast down. It requires them to listen, rather than find the need to talk all the time. It requires them to amplify the voices of the voiceless.

    And yet it comes at a cost, and time and again we have seen that those who profess the warm words are infrequently willing to take the fall. It requires allies to take just a hint of the heat that the oppressed might feel, and yet we know – from bitter experience – that allyship becomes a performative dance rather than a concrete reality. The time for this charade to end is now.

    It’s not only in the structural oppression of LGBTQI people that this matters – it matters too for the continued oppression of people of colour, of women, of the disabled, and of anyone who faces ongoing hostility, however benignly disguised, of the institutional church. Yet a very brief glimpse over the recent history of LGBTQI oppression shows a huge number of examples of where allyship is ‘this far, but no further’ – the point of ‘no further’ so often aligning with the point where it might demand a real cost from alleged allies.

    To return to the Lambeth Conference, it is a scandal that straight people who call themselves allies were willing to participate in the openly exclusionary spouses programme, whether as speakers or as participants themselves. There are surely exceptions to this – those who were public about their discomfort but felt better able to challenge the oppression within rather than without, or those who went having openly consulted with their LGBTQI counterparts. But in reality, how often did this happen?

    We see it, too, in the way that ‘supportive’ straight people far too often drop back at the last moment, before it might cost them the honorary canonry in a cathedral, or a place at the top table, or the ‘respect and thanks’ of the diocesan bishop. We see it when straight ‘allies’ at a diocesan conference are willing to miss sexuality off the list of things of which the church should repent, because it’s ‘too difficult’. Too difficult for who, exactly?

    And we see it in the writing of bishops who – whilst unusually willing to actually have an opinion on this – nonetheless ‘commit to abiding by whatever decision is made’ on LGBTQI people by their colleagues. So far, but not too far. LGBTQI people are important, but not that important.

    Little of this is genuine allyship – it is a willingness to be brave just up to the point where you might have to face the consequences, and at that point to throw LGBTQI people back in the lions’ den. However it is dressed up – as a need to be a ‘focus of unity’ [sic], as respect for due process, as wanting to ‘work more from the inside’, or as the need for ‘more time’ – all of these have another name: cowardice. And this is a moral cowardice built squarely on the backs of LGBTQI people – a cowardice with consequences.

    Now that’s not to say there aren’t serious and genuine allies in the church, who are willing to go to the wall for their oppressed friends. But it is a call to those who profess to support us to look into their own hearts and ask whether they are really willing to take the fall for us? Are they willing to educate themselves? Are they willing to take our place when the disciplinary is launched or when licenses are threatened? Are we really worth it?

    Just imagine if bishops were committed to being true allies. Imagine if the Archbishop of Canterbury was. Imagine how prophetic it would be if actions actually aligned with words.

    Allies are the way that battles are won, that systematic oppression is dismantled and that life changes for those at the receiving end of oppressive structures. Allies are those who come alongside and who recognise that the imago Dei in each and every person demands a response, and not just nice rhetoric. Allies are those who might encourage the LGBTQI clergy who have ‘managed OK’ and who don’t want to ‘rock the boat’ to raise their heads above the parapet and be counted too.

    Rhetoric and words mean very little, if we’re not willing to see them through. The test is coming for those who profess to be true friends of LGBTQI people. Will you rise to the challenge? We – and surely God too – are watching.

     

     

  • Ordained, Commissioned, Faithful and Eternally Hopeful

    by Revd Andi Chapman, Chaplain in the Royal Air Force, serving in the south of England

    My name is Andi. I am an ordained Church of England (CofE) priest who is currently serving in His Majesty’s Royal Air Force (RAF) and is also in a same-sex Civil Partnership. Some years ago, when I began the journey towards ordination, the person responsible for my academic reference for the Bishops’ Advisory Panel (BAP) wrote: “Andi will be good for the church, but the church won’t be good for him”. At the time, I thought that my university lecturer was having a downer on the church, yet over the past 17 years since that time, what she wrote has in the latter part sadly came true.

    From the time of first receiving ‘the call’ to ordained ministry, I knew the journey would be far from easy.  I expected to encounter some views that could make me uncomfortable. Yet, throughout, from my diocese to the BAP and on to theological college, people were welcoming and promoted inclusion. I was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a rainbow flag-waving gay person, yet if you scratch my surface there would be a rainbow there. I have always been circumspect about ‘coming out’ to people on first encounter, so have applied cautious judgement when meeting new people.

    After three years at Cranmer Hall, I went on to the Lincoln Diocese where again I was welcomed with inclusion and love by the bishops and training incumbent. While not being ‘overtly out’ with the Parish, I did meet my now-husband there and entered a civil partnership which ultimately looked like a scene from the BBC comedy The Vicar of Dibley where the registry office was half clergy from various denominations and half Lincolnshire farm workers! There were a few people in the parish who did struggle with my same-sex relationship, yet for the most part I was supported. That does not mean there was not the pain of rejection from those who did not support us; indeed, some refused to receive communion from me while others left the church building when they saw me. It is important to note that these people were in the minority, and they had been perfectly happy with me being their curate before they knew my situation.

    Then the commissioning came along. I joined the RAF as a chaplain and began my travels around the different stations within the service. It has also taken me to other parts of the world. My aim has always been serving others and showing God’s love through the wonderful, yet maybe apocryphal, saying of St Francis: ‘Preach the gospel always, use words if you must’.

    Yet there is one constant in my story that has remained: that I live in a tri-tension between Church, ministry and love. The Church has remained clear, with Lambeth Resolution 1.10 and Issues in Human Sexuality and its standpoint on same-sex attraction. While I have entered a Civil Partnership, that is as far as I can go. Some years ago, I would have been keen to marry my other half, yet in the interim my views towards marriage have adjusted, and say to me that love does not need to be measured by marriage. Paradoxically, it has been from Christians that I have experienced some of the most disappointing and painful behaviours. Overt homophobic opinions have peppered many of my interactions during my ordained life.

    When I first meet LGBTQ+ church members they often seem surprised that I have found a home within the RAF, as many assume that the Armed Forces would be intolerant towards varying sexualities and gender differences. I can say with confidence that the RAF has given me the space to exercise God’s calling, which primarily involves me living within the community in which I serve. It has given me the securities, inclusion, and scope to work without fear of homophobic attitudes. My role is based around offering pastoral and welfare support to those who serve their country, their families, civil servants, and contractors. The work is predominately diaconal in its output.

    While the RAF has offered me a safe environment to do this role, that does not mean I have been immune from homophobia. On Easter Sunday this year, after the service, one person asked me how my husband was and I answered openly and honestly. I was aware of one retired service person’s reaction to this. I recognised the hostility and tried to prevent any negativity. However, by the following week I had noted that the church numbers were halved. I was not surprised by this, but deep down I did feel a sense of anguish and frustration.

    I am who I am and have to accept the tensions within the doctrine of ‘Church, ministry and love’ for the rest of my life. Yet that is where the need for an unshakeable faith comes into play. Although I know that change is slow, I believe that in my own way I can help precipitate that change, and that I can have value to those in the church, the RAF and my partner.

    Thank you for taking the time to read a little bit about my story. Peace and all good to you!

     

  • Being a Gay Christian and an Ordinand in the Church in Wales

    by Professor Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones, Professor in Ancient History at Cardiff University and an ordinand in the Church in Wales

    ‘I do not think that others who have gone before you perjured themselves, and I do not believe when your time comes that you will perjure yourself either.’ These words were spoken to me about a month ago by the Bishop of Llandaff when she met with me to iron out the details of the training I will undertake on my route to ordination as a priest in the Church in Wales. Bishop June Osborne was referring to my championing of the sacraments and the pledge I will have to take to respect and uphold them when my ordination ceremony takes place.

    You see, I am a gay Christian man who is legally married to another gay Christian man. We have been married for a decade and, in fact, our marriage did receive a blessing from a priest-cum-friend who, having done the deed, turned to our wedding guests and stated boldly, ‘Never let anyone tell you that what you have witnessed here today is not sanctified by God through his love for this couple.’ Our marriage would not have felt real without that blessing, without having God’s presence with us at that time and forever as we live our married life together. God is part of our family; He is in our home, and we carry Him in our hearts and try to do what He would have us do as much as we can.

    So, the Bishop of Llandaff was right: I will not perjure myself when I take the ordination vow to uphold Christian marriage, for I feel that in my daily life, every single day, I uphold that sacred institution. I have never struggled with my sexuality. I was aware of being ‘gay’ – whatever that means, for believe me, gentle readers, there is no limit to the cosmic-sized definition of that tiny little word – from a young age. But I was also acutely aware of being loved by God. Sure, did I not sing about it at the top of my voice at every Sunday School? “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.”

    Karl Barth famously stated that in that line was a summation of all the years of hard work he had put into his theology. I believed it then and I believe it now, although after 54 years on this earth, and having given a lot of thought to whom I am and how God moves in my life, I found another scriptural mantra: ‘I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made’. Let’s put that verse into the context of Psalm 139 and as you read it think about how God has made you His own bespoke creation too. I am no better than you; you are no worse than me; we are created as one-off pieces of humanity. Let’s think about how the Psalmist puts it then:

    You have searched me, Lord, and you know me.
    You know when I sit and when I rise;
    you perceive my thoughts from afar.
    You discern my going out and my lying down;
    you are familiar with all my ways.
    Before a word is on my tongue
    you, Lord, know it completely.
    You hem me in behind and before,
    and you lay your hand upon me.
    Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
    too lofty for me to attain.
    Where can I go from your Spirit?
    Where can I flee from your presence?
    If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
    if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
    If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
    if I settle on the far side of the sea,
    even there your hand will guide me,
    your right hand will hold me fast.
    If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
    and the light become night around me,”
    even the darkness will not be dark to you;
    the night will shine like the day,
    for darkness is as light to you.
    For you created my inmost being;
    you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
    I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
    your works are wonderful,
    I know that full well.
    My frame was not hidden from you
    when I was made in the secret place,
    when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
    Your eyes saw my unformed body;
    all the days ordained for me were written in your book
    before one of them came to be.

    God has made me – and you – to be exactly who we should be. God didn’t make a mistake when he made me and somehow placed that ‘gay gene’ in me. It was His plan from the beginning – because ‘I am fearfully and wonderfully made’. The ‘thing’ that is particular to you, is your God-given ‘thing’. And sure, we have many faults and many things to put right – the bad behaviours we have picked up on the path of life – but the essence of you is crafted, specially, singularly, by God for you.

    I once heard Archbishop Rowan Williams talk about the late, great Archbishop Desmond Tutu: ‘Archbishop Tutu was the best at being Archbishop Tutu that Archbishop Tutu could ever be.’ I have confidence that I can be the best that I can be because God made me to be me. People who scorn me, mock me, deride me because of my ‘gayness’ (again, whatever that means or however that manifests itself), simply do not see that I am ‘fearfully and wonderfully made’ – maybe because, sadly, they have not seen yet how ‘fearfully and wonderfully’ they are made too. I pray to God that may open their eyes to show them how differently special they are to Him too.

    It is with confidence that I take the next step towards my ordination. When God is for us, who can be against us, right? And although there will be dissenting voices, I have no doubt, am putting my feet onto a path paved with godliness – for I have every trust in the Church in Wales, the most liberal, accepting, (and yes, let’s admit it) Christian of the Anglican Churches of the UK. Last year, the Church in Wales took the decision to allow for church blessings of gay marriages. The Church also repented of its persecution of gay and other minority people over the centuries. The Church in Wales’ decision is a visionary step forward and the Church in Wales, I predict, will soon sanction gay marriages in church. This is why I am proud to be a member of the Church in Wales and why I want to work for it and in it: it is progressive.

    Do not think all is sweetness and light here in Wales though. Some conservative churchgoers in Wales – heck, some clergy – will find what I have written here heretical, ungodly even. There is a vocal, vicious, group of internet Church in Wales ‘Christians’ who have already condemned several out gay men and women clergy as ‘decadent’, ‘unnatural’, and ‘perverse’. I’m sure I will be a target for their vitriol too. But they are far from Christ and I pray that they may find Him in their hearts. Bishop June, who is a great support to gay Christians, as she is to all Christians (after all, we approach the faith from many angles), said to me, ‘you might want to think about being prepared to defend yourself.’ I am as grateful for her wisdom and her frankness as I am for her championship.

    So, I’ve thought long and hard about my position of defence. And to be honest, it really doesn’t get better than this: ‘Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so’.

     

  • Living in Love and Faith: The Ozanne Foundation Responds

    Organisations as well as individuals have been invited to share their response to the LLF course, materials and process by 30 April 2022.

    Here is the response of the Ozanne Foundation.

    We write to share our thoughts and reflections on the LLF process and our hopes for the “next steps”.

    1. Overview of LLF

    Whilst we recognise that the LLF was originally conceived as a “necessary step” towards a more inclusive and just Church of England, we question whether the time and money that has been invested in it has been worth the significant harm that it has caused.  This is not least because of the time that it has taken – indeed it is now over five years since the archbishops promised a “radical new Christian inclusion”, a promise that had originally brought hope to so many and yet has now faded to become yet another example of “words not action” for the LGBT+ community.

    It is therefore of no surprise that during the intervening years – where open debate has been stymied within the General Synod and discussions around LLF have been heavily managed – that positions on both sides have hardened.  Sadly, as always, those this has impacted the most are the LGBT+ community, particularly those growing up in certain conservative settings.  Same-sex relationships are still not recognised, our LGBT+ priests are still asked to sign “Issues”, our LGBT+ youth are still taught that they must deny themselves any physical intimacy for life, even if it is lawfully recognised – severely impacting their mental health.  There continues to be no admission of the harm that conservative theology can inflict on those in their “care” and, perhaps most worryingly, there has been little desire by bishops to challenge or chastise those who inflict such harm, allowing them to continue their practices with impunity.  This can be evidenced by the various public letters that many conservatives have signed stating their desire to continue to practice “conversion therapy” and the increasingly hostile rhetoric towards trans people.  Conservative networks and many conservative churches and individuals continue to threaten schism and to withdraw funding, holding their dioceses to ransom.  Meanwhile LGBT+ people, their friends and families have continued to leave quietly – dismayed and disheartened by the lack of any real or meaningful progress.  What is more, we see no evidence that the national conservative networks have engaged with LLF.  Instead, they have publicly promoted the use of their own materials, including the “A Beautiful Story” video, to shore up their positions and underline their homophobic/transphobic doctrine.

    What is most worrying are the stories that we have heard from those LGBT+ church goers who were brave enough to take part in the LLF discussions.  Few found them safe spaces, and most wished afterwards that they had not taken part – even senior LGBT+ clergy.  The Church of England’s “good disagreement” strategy serves only, it seems, its heterosexual cisgendered members, with little thought for those who are most affected by these discussions.  Despite repeated calls to avoid giving equal weight to views on either “side” of the “debate”, given the significant power imbalance that exist and the clear evidence of harm that one side inflicts on the other, the Church of England has continued to push a strategy of “balance”.  In so doing it has lost the trust and respect of a large section of the general public, who look with incredulity at the way the LGBT+ community continue to be treated by a religious organisation whose central message is meant to be that of love and justice.  We are seen, rightly, as hypocrites!

    1. What Next?

    We recognise that we sadly cannot undo the damage that has been done, but we can – we hope – ensure that the next step is one that will lead to concrete decisions, actions and equality.  We cannot continue to objectify and problematise LGBT+ lives, for this has gone on long enough.

    It is clear to most that the only possible way forward is to allow some form of accommodation for those who wish to recognise LGBT+ faithful loving relationships.  This step is now well overdue.  We are well beyond creating a “middle ground” of sanctioning “just” blessings and must now move without delay to a Church that offers marriage to all living in England.  We already have a proven model for accommodating this while respecting individual consciences with the way we have managed marriage after divorce.

    At the same time, however, we are deeply concerned about the continued abuse of LGBT+ people, particularly young LGBT+ people within conservative churches, and the homophobic teaching that they are made to endure, which leads to self-hatred, shame and internalised homophobia – let alone rejection and alienation from their families and friends.  Research shows that this has a significant and lifelong impact on their mental wellbeing and can lead many to consider or indeed to attempt to take their lives.  This spiritual abuse must stop.  For too long the Church of England has turned a blind eye to this abuse and have let the brave testimonies of those who have spoken out go unheeded and unheard.  This lack of resolve to tackle the damage done by conservative theology is deeply inconsistent with the Church’s developing understanding and practice of the importance of safeguarding for vulnerable people and continues to make the Church of England vulnerable to the charge of complicity in abuse.  We therefore urge the Church of England to move swiftly to adopt the Global Interfaith Commission on LGBT+ Lives’ “Safeguarding Principles to Protect LGBT+ Lives” agreed in March 2022 at a conference sponsored by the Foreign, Commonwealth and Development Office.

    We hope that you will find these reflections useful and await with interest the publication of a set of proposals from the House of Bishops regarding the way forward, for action is now long overdue.

    Yours sincerely

    Very Revd Joe Hawes, Chair, Ozanne Foundation

    Jayne Ozanne, Director, Ozanne Foundation

    April 27th 2022

  • Trans Figured: Experience Trumps Theory

    by Sophie Grace Chappell, Professor of Philosophy at The Open University. Her two most recent books are Songs For Winter Rain, a poetry collection, and Epiphanies: An Ethics of Experience.

     

    (an extract from her forthcoming book, Trans Figured)

    I hope to get a wider audience with this book than a philosophy professor might normally expect for most of her writings. But who knows: you yourself, dear reader, might have read some of my more conventional writings in philosophical ethics. (My much more conventional writings in philosophical ethics.) And if you have, you may know this about me as a philosopher: that I think experience trumps theory almost everywhere. Let me say a little bit about why.

    One of my favourite philosophers is Bernard Williams.[1] At the outset of his writing career, Williams took for his own “a phrase of D.H. Lawrence’s in his splendid commentary on the complacent moral utterances of Benjamin Franklin: ‘Find your deepest impulse, and follow that’” (1972: 93). Thirty years later he added, when looking back over his career, “If there’s one theme in all my work it’s about authenticity and self-expression… It’s the idea that some things are in some real sense really you, or express what you and others aren’t…. The whole thing has been about spelling out the notion of inner necessity.”

    Yes, that; very much that, about me and transgender. “I just want to,” but in capitals. An inner necessity, a need to be authentically and above all openly who I actually am, and to be known as who I am by those around me, and accepted and, yes, loved, even so. That is exactly what it’s all been about.

    However, that doesn’t mean that I have a theory of transgender to offer. I tend to steer away from philosophical theories of anything, at least in those parts of philosophy that aren’t best understood as handmaids of science. But even in science, I think the real truth of things often resists systematisation. (And what is being transgender but resisting systematisation?)

    I am never quite sure what a theory of anything outside strict science is supposed to do. Ever since Plato’s Meno philosophers have been saying, and rightly so of course, that the point of philosophy is to change right belief into knowledge: into a state where you don’t just think true things, but also understand, deeply, why they are true. Fine. But is it obvious that constructing a philosophical theory always helps with this? Can we really not have a deep understanding, and an explanatory understanding, that (for example) murder is at least typically and maybe always wrong, or that love is usually a good thing, or that flowers are generally beautiful, or that paedophilia is profoundly wrong, until we have a philosophical theory’s kind of explanation of why this is so? Why is some set of words, arranged in propositions with inferential relations between them, the sole kind of explanation that we need to understand the goodness of love or the badness of murder? For most ethical cases, that seems to me an oddly inappropriate picture of understanding and explanation. In ethical matters understanding can be verbal and articulate, but quite often it isn’t at all; oftener still, the propositional bit isn’t the only bit—and not the most important bit, either. And likewise for explanation: explanations don’t have to be verbal, and often are better if they’re not. (Think of explaining how to do something—by doing it.)

    Science limns the structure of reality, as Quine says in Word and Object. Sure it does, at least if it’s any good. But so does poetry, if it’s any good. There isn’t just one correct way to grasp the deep structure of things. There are lots, because there are lots of things that we might call “the deep structure of things”. Propositional structures are great for the understanding, but experience matters too, and experience is no less cognitive for being, sometimes, non-discursive and not expressible in propositions. All these general considerations about theorising apply in the particular case of transgender: here too it should be experience first, theory later—if at all. In Nietzsche’s famous words, “the will to system betrays a lack of integrity”.

    In any case, and also with particular reference to transgender: trans people don’t owe cis people, or anyone else, an explanation of why they’re who they are. No more than gay people do, for instance, or black people or Jewish people, or any other historically stigmatised minority. Our right to exist as transgender people is not conditional on our being able to prove it, by demonstrating the truth of something called “gender ideology” (our gender ideology, that is, not the rest of society’s). The onus of proof is not on us transgender people at all. It is on those who want to exclude us. By what right do they discriminate against us? By what right do they demonise us, marginalise us, gaslight us, ridicule us, patronise us, in ways that no one would accept for a minute of any other minority?

    We shouldn’t be refused admission to society until we’ve won some abstract rhetorical cage-fight, or arrived at a philosophical theory of transgender that is “satisfactory” (to whom?). Our right to be ourselves, without apology and without explanation, is simply not up for discussion, any more than anyone else’s. We don’t get kindly admitted to equal status once we have satisfied our critics. Like everyone else, we have equal status from the start.

     

    [1] For more from me on Bernard Williams, see https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/williams-bernard/.

  • The Invisible Privilege of Being Voiceless in the Church: Creating a Platform for Bisexual Christians

    by Hattie McInerney, a second-year Theology and Religion PhD researcher at the University of Birmingham

    In 2019, when writing my Master’s thesis, I decided to interview 10 university students who identified as Christian and LGBQ+. Personal and thought-provoking, these interviews gave me a real insight into how queer Christians navigated their faith lives, both in their home churches, and on their university campuses.

    During my research I discovered Carol Shepherd’s work Bisexuality and the Western Christian Church: the first time I’d read an academic, theological piece that focused purely on bisexuality. It led me to reflect on my own personal experiences, as a Christian with faltering faith, and someone who had been questioning their sexuality for a long time. I was keen to know more. Diving further into the bisexual Christian field, I was surprised to see only a small handful of names turning up. Why wasn’t there more research in this area? Why were bisexual Christian voices smothered so deeply under the experiences of lesbian and gay Christians? Why did some texts, proud to reference bisexuality on their covers, then fail to mention it even once within their work?

    These questions, alongside the fantastic interviews I’d hosted with some bisexual participants, spurred me on when identifying a topic for my PhD. I decided to explore every nook and cranny of Church of England attitudes, policy and paperwork: what exactly did the Church have to say about bisexuals?

    It was then that I was introduced to Issues in Human Sexuality.

    Don’t get me wrong, I was aware of Issues beforehand, but I certainly couldn’t say I’d read it cover to cover. Looking further into the text led me to discover Section 5.8, a neat paragraph of 119 words arguing bisexuality’s ambiguity, labelling bisexuals as ‘inevitably unfaithful’, capable of redemption only through heterosexual marriage or by seeking some form of professional help. At the November 2021 General Synod, it was vehemently stated that this passage does not encourage conversion therapy, but the call for bisexuals to ‘seek their truth’ and to gain ‘inner healing’ through counselling says otherwise.

    The Church’s most recent sexuality publication, Living in Love and Faith, was released in November 2020. The 400+ page document takes an awful lot of tree to say very little at all, and if anything demonstrates the lack of clarity surrounding what today’s Church actually thinks of human sexuality. Has the Church really progressed? 31 years since the release of Issues, ordinands are still expected to assent to a document that calls those in the bisexual community confused, frisky individuals needing help.

    As I continued to examine policy, I began to think back to my MA interviews, alongside my own personal experiences. I only returned to church in September 2021, and one month prior to this, I became happily engaged to my male partner. When considering my positionality in this project, I began to face a roadblock. Many methodologies in qualitative research argue a strong ‘insider’ or ‘outsider’ position for their researchers, but where did I fit in? Male-only relationships throughout my life, a slightly broken relationship with the Church after leaving the ordination process during my MA; how could I call myself a Christian, when sometimes I felt God and I were constantly on different paths to one another? How could I call myself bisexual, when despite the gender of my attractions not mattering to me, I only ever seemed to end up in ‘straight’ relationships? I consistently found myself floating in the grey space between inside and outside, unsure of exactly where I’d fall.

    For my PhD, I have so far spoken to ten participants; six identifying as bisexual and Christian, and four who worked on Living in Love and Faith. These interviews reveal the disparities between those who are involved in policy and documentation processes within the Church, and those who experience what it’s like to live as bisexual Christians; and let me tell you, their experiences are far from those promiscuous and ambiguous lives depicted in Issues. Whilst not wanting to give away all my research, one key point from a bisexual Christian has really stood out: that bisexuals experience a truly invisible privilege in the Church.

  • Good News From Via Media: on Transgender Day of Visibility

    by Chrissie Chevasutt, author of Heaven Come Down – The Story of a Transgender Disciple, who has been advocating on behalf of transgender youth and vulnerable people within the conservative evangelical church for the last seven years

    Then… The Holy Spirit commanded Philip down the road to Samaria; Acts Chapter 8.

    I imagine this road trip left Philip with something of a headache? As he trudged back to Jerusalem, he must have been pondering many things, and not just what the future looked like for the black Ethiopian eunuch he had just baptised into fellowship and the body of Christ; because, in doing so, he had violated The Law that forbade anyone emasculated by crushing or cutting from entering the assembly of God’s people.

    The largely Jewish church in Jerusalem was struggling to understand just how they might reconcile their newfound faith in Jesus and the outrageous nature of his grace with the thorny issue of The Law. This meant arguments between those who clung to The Law, and those who dispensed with The Law as a means of setting boundaries for the new church; disputes on who was out and who was in, about food sacrificed to idols, unclean foods and circumcision. And now, Philip would have to explain how a eunuch was welcome in their midst.

    It seemed that some had not yet fully worked out what faith in Jesus delivered them from.

    Philip probably dreaded having to wade into yet another long conflict with the religious legalists within the church. ‘You’ve whaaat?!?! You’ve baptised a eunuch into the fellowship of God’s people?!?! – they are not even allowed to enter the temple!’

    On the long road home, Philip was no doubt preparing his theology, to justify his actions.

    The church has often struggled with issues of race and diversity, gender and sexuality, legalism and judgement. Tradition and The Law is a mother of a burden to lay down in order to embrace grace, grace for everyone. The Holy Spirit’s desire, and Philip’s desire, was to demonstrate that faith and grace triumph over Law, every time.

    The Ethiopian’s baptism had been God’s will, and the proof of heaven’s overflowing grace.

    And now… Reverend Helen Garton, the Minister at St Columba’s United Reformed Church, Oxford, had been watching, hearing, and praying with transgender members of the congregation, and trans and non-binary ordained URC Ministers whom she knew as friends, in the pain and struggles they were facing in their daily lives and ministries. Out of this a vision was born for an ‘Outreach and Development Worker with Transgender, Intersex and non-binary people: a full-time, three-year salaried post at St Columba’s, funded by sacrificial giving from St Columba’s members and further funds from the Wessex Synod and URC centrally.

    I have now been appointed to this post. My work will be developed by listening to those who are already working very effectively in serving the transgender, intersex and non-binary community. This first year is all about research, networking, relationship-building, making connections with those who have already been working for many years in serving the community. Bringing people together, strengthening and encouraging, building cooperation and cooperatives is necessary in a grass roots up, rather than ‘top down’ culture.

    What is already clear is that this new role has two distinct, but balanced, aims: first, the local, urgent and immediate pastoral needs of transgender, intersex and non-binary people in Oxford and surrounding areas, and second, to advocate and work for lasting change and improvement at a national level in every arena that we can influence, including education, health care, law, politics, arts, the media and of course the wider church. One of the first fruits will be an annual national Theology Conference for Transgender, Intersex and non-binary people in Oxford this summer.

    Much of my work will be in ‘digging the foundations’ for a role that will work for the long-term future and betterment of transgender, intersex and non-binary people’s human rights, equality, provision and care. Part of my work will be raising support and funding, because we want this role to be long-haul and sustainable. The work is urgent and extremely demanding; already this year we have had two trans teen suicides local to me.

    And beyond… Our detractors and oppressors argue strongly against bringing the Ethiopian eunuch into their discussion about whether God accepts transgender and non-binary people. ‘Eunuch’ had a range of meanings in ancient times, and even within ancient Jewish culture its usage was broad, just as today the label ‘transgender’ is a vast umbrella term. The eunuch in the Bible represents an oppressed and marginalised people group which transgressed and blurred the strict Jewish vision of binary sex and gender. God’s heart to the eunuchs is beautifully expressed in Isaiah 56, a prophesy of radical inclusion towards a people condemned by The Law.

    The intersection of eunuch, intersex, transgender and non-binary identities is too deep, wide, vast, overlapping and obvious to ignore or dismiss.

    The role with which I have been entrusted, like the baptism of the Ethiopian eunuch, is a prophetic act, a ministry of social justice and an expression of God’s outrageous love for the marginalised and oppressed. As such I pray that it marks a sea-change, a turning of the tide, in the wider church’s acceptance of us as transgender, intersex and non-binary people.

  • What You Do Matters More Than You Can Know….

    by Canon Richard Lamey, Area Dean of Sonning and on Diocese of Oxford’s Bishop’s Council

    I am the incumbent of a market-town parish in Berkshire. A young man who joined the congregation about four years ago stepped forward to be confirmed this year. When we met to think about preparation, and talked about why he was wanting to be confirmed now, he shared with me that his discovering of God was part of his journey as a trans man.

    He told me that he had not grown up going to Church but something had drawn him into a Church building as he discovered who he was. He thought about it a lot, and became convinced that if God was and God was real, then everything was connected and God loved him as he was. He started coming to services at St Paul’s and felt welcomed, included and loved- and that sense of community and inclusion made him open his Bible and learn more about Jesus, and then go on to wanting to be confirmed.

    I was grateful and humbled that he trusted me with these conversations, but I was also struck by the realisation that everything we had said over the last four years in church around human sexuality and personal identity had been heard by him in a very personal, specific and profound way. Could this church be trusted? Was it a safe place? He had found God- or God had found him- but did he need the Church as well?

    He particularly thanked me for putting Pride flags at the back of church for people to take home around Pride weekend over the last two years. At the time, I remember being disappointed that more hadn’t been taken and wondering why we had bothered. Now I know that it made him feel welcome and cared for, even though we didn’t know we were serving a member of our own congregation.

    It was a reminder that churches are called, in Lent and every season, to live lives of the same integrity and truth as we do as individual disciples. Collectively living out what we believe and what we are called to do, whether people are watching or not.

    I am not sure that we have said enough about God’s radical inclusion, welcome and love in church – I am not sure if we ever could – but I am pleased that we said something about the height, depth and length of God’s love in Jesus Christ for all creation and for every single person. I am pleased that I went on the local Pride march and was proud myself to be photographed for the local paper. I am pleased that we have a statement of universal welcome in our church porch and in our noticesheet, every week. I am pleased that people in same-sex relationships hold and have held elected office in the parish and sit on the PCC.

    Speaking with my parishioner, I was glad we had done something, glad we had done enough to make him feel that this was a family he wanted to be part of, glad that he felt safe enough to share his journey of faith with me. We had welcomed him enough to let him keep finding God, the God who made him, and loves him, and delights in him, and in us all. Furthermore, through our welcome and deepening friendship, we have found more of God’s love together. We have come to see Jesus’ face more clearly.

    For all the times I have offered a blessing to the congregation, it felt that I was the one being richly blessed in this conversation. I learned that one of God’s precious and unique children had been starving and we had fed them without even knowing they were hungry.

    This precious conversation is a reminder of how easy it is to get this wrong, but also how easy it is to get it right, by striving to be the Church we are called to be and by not always shying away from difficult conversations, by simply being the community we are called to be, the community the Holy Spirit is bringing to life. And what is true of our individual church might, perhaps, wonderfully, become true of the whole Church of England if we remember that we are always talking about ourselves and not about others, about us and not them, about the people of God who Jesus loves fully and without reservation and not a problem to be solved or cured.

  • Being Bisexual in Church — a Balancing Act

    by Will Moore, an ordinand at Westcott House and the author of the forthcoming book ‘Boys Will Be Boys, and Other Myths: Unravelling Biblical Masculinities’ 

    Bisexuality is often forgotten in heated debates about sexuality. It turns common stagnant thinking on its head. It is the sexual orientation that doesn’t fit neat categories of gay and straight.

    Traditionally, bisexuality has been considered as attraction to both men and women or, more recently to anyone on the gender spectrum. Being bisexual inherently resists simplistic classification. It is a balancing act with so many factors simultaneously at play, being lived out in a different shape by every individual.

    This leads to many myths and misconceptions: bisexuals are ‘greedy’; bisexuals are ‘just going through a phase’; bisexuals ‘don’t really exist’. When bisexual people like me hear these ignorant bi-phobic phrases, we experience bi-erasure.

    The Church of England’s principal authorised teaching document on sexuality, published in 1991, describes bisexuality as ‘ambiguous.’ It goes on to say ‘bisexual activity must always be wrong for this reason, if for no other, that it inevitably involves being unfaithful’. There is an assumption here that bisexual people cannot hold back their emotional, romantic, or sexual attraction and are always left unsatisfied. According to the Church of England, bisexuals experience greedy, lustful and uncontrollable sexual attraction.

    Really? Just because bisexual people might have the capacity to fall in love with people of different genders, it does not mean that they are proportionally attracted to more people, or that they have more sexual desire that needs fulfilling. This teaching document paints bisexuals as immoral, adulterous beasts, challenging God’s creational order.

    Surely the Church has moved on since 1991? Regrettably, not.

    There has been some supplementary (but not authoritative) material since, most recently Living in Love and Faith, but this document, Issues in Human Sexuality, remains the official teaching of the Church of England.  At this February’s General Synod, the Bishop of London was pressed on these paragraphs which derogatively address bisexuality. She dismissively responded that the document is ‘thirty years away’ from now. It may be, but as a new ordinand, I have, within the last year, had to assent to live within its guidelines.

    Many, like me, will have agreed through gritted teeth, hurt by words that refer to people like us. As a bisexual man, I must assent to the premise that I am myself ‘ambiguous’ and will be ‘inevitably […] unfaithful’ for simply being who God created me to be. Further, by consenting to live like this, I am concurring with what follows. It recommends heterosexual marriage, abstinence, and even counselling as ‘guidance’ for bisexuals. These sound dangerously like conversion therapy, something that General Synod, as well as the British Government, has promised to ban. Ours is a tragic love story of dedication to the Church.

    Could I, perhaps, as a bisexual, keep up appearances in the Church? After all, I am in a relationship with a woman. A priest told me in an early conversation about my calling that as an LGBTQ+ person in the Church I should be prepared to struggle. Whether that was an affectionate warning or a menacing threat, I am still unsure. But many months later, an official in the discernment process assured me that because I am ‘in a heterosexual relationship’ (which, of course, I am not, since I am still bisexual), my sexuality would be less of an issue. They seemed to think my sexual orientation drastically altered depending on whom I was dating.

    Heterosexual people do not lose every ounce of attraction to others when they enter a relationship, and it is no different for bisexuals. At times I have painfully prayed to God to be either gay or straight, rather than something in-between. But my supposed ‘gay’ and ‘straight’ parts do not become compartmentalised, one erased and the other flourishing, depending on the gender of the person whom I am committing to.

    For many years, I was worried about being in a relationship with a woman. Would I lose my self-identity as bisexual, as I would at least appear to conform to what the Church and heteronormative society required? Surely, I would be playing the act of a straight man, despite my bisexuality? Would I also forfeit my right to identify as bisexual within the LGBTQ+ community?

    At the time, I thought that dating a woman was conforming, giving power and legitimacy to the traditional, often harmful, sexual ethics of the Church. I had unconsciously succumbed to myths about bisexuality that I had disapproved of for so long. I felt like I needed to be with a man in order to be truly fulfilled as an LGBTQ+ Christian. And, if that was the case, was I becoming the ‘ambiguous’ and ‘inevitably unfaithful’ person the Church told me I intrinsically was?

    Eventually, I realised that simply being bisexual was anti-normative in itself. I was already muddying the waters by using such a label, whoever I might be dating. To be in a relationship with my partner who happens to be a woman, and yet still identify as bisexual, is just as disruptive to heteronormative hegemony. By looking straight but not actually being so, I wasn’t conforming. I was doing the opposite. It was liberation, not betrayal.

    We humans live and love with our whole selves. We must acknowledge Christ’s calling in all of life. This means paying attention to the nuance and uniqueness of each individual. We can no longer assume that being heterosexual and cisgender are normative. God’s glorious creation of human sexuality is much more complex than that. The rainbow of life is broad and colourful. It includes bisexuals, pansexuals, asexuals, and more, along with those who are married, cohabiting, divorced, widowed, or single. There are so many voices that have not been heard. They may be considered messy and muddled, yet they are authentic expressions of genuine life experiences. Listening to them uncovers the breadth and diversity of God’s creation.

    Too often, however, we overlook the uniqueness, even queerness, in every single person. The Church needs to acknowledge and appreciate all those balancing in the betwixt and between whose voices are lost.

    After all, my story is one of balance. This can be difficult and painful and sometimes equilibrium isn’t achieved. As an ordinand, I come into the Church of England bursting with hope for the future, but still laden with the burden of wounds that our Church has inflicted, and still does, on many minorities. As a bisexual Christian, I balance what I really am with what the Church wants me to be.

    All I can say is that I am here, a bisexual Christian who God made and called me to be, in the Church that I love. At times I have been ignored and insulted. I have felt detached from Christian communities. Even the institutional Church within which I am training for priesthood carries in high regard hurtful words about people like me.

    But as bisexuals continue to live out our lives authentically, I hope we will increasingly be known and understood better – whether we are in relationship with someone of the same gender, a different gender, or no one at all. The more we are listened to, the more myths are dispelled. The better we are understood by our beloved Church, the less weighty the burden of balancing our bisexuality will feel.

    To my fellow bisexual Christians: keep balancing and stay upright. Speak out, be heard, stay safe, and be brave. Your voice is important. God hears you and loves you. Soon, I pray, the Church will too.

  • Collateral Damage – Do Church Leaders Care?

    by Jayne Ozanne, Director of the Ozanne Foundation, Chair of the Ban Conversion Therapy Coalition and Editor of ViaMedia.News

    This week saw the publication of the 2021 LGBT+ Christians Safeguarding Survey Report, which has shone a bright spotlight on the cost many of us LGBT+ Christians are paying for being caught in the crossfire of the “debates” over our future.

    The results are very disturbing – with only a third (36.9%) of the LGBT+ Christians surveyed feeling safe enough ‘to be out to everyone’ in their local church.  Perhaps even more worryingly is that over one in six (17.4%) said that “church” was a place where they used to be able to be out, but now no longer feel safe enough to be so.  We appear to be regressing.

    The fact that over three quarters (75.3%) chose the indicator ‘I’m not worried about what might be said in the sermon’ to show that they could feel safe to be themselves in their local church should be a wakeup call to church leaders about the hidden toll that this is all taking.

    The question is, will it?

    For years LGBT+ people have spoken out about the trauma and pain that they have endured, just for being “different” to the perceived heterosexual cis-gendered ‘norm’.  Many from across the medical professions have added their voices too, clearly highlighting the psychological damage being done to those trying to reconcile their faith with their sexuality and/or gender identity.  Then has come a raft of evidence about the evils of so-called ‘conversion therapy’, including harrowing testimonies from survivors.

    Has it made any difference?

    I must admit that one of the things that has shocked me most in these recent years of speaking out about the harm inflicted on LGBT+ people has been the callousness of the response from those hell-bent on continuing with this spiritual abuse.

    They know, but they just do not care.

    And it is that cold indifference and lack of pastoral concern that proves to me, beyond any shadow of a doubt, just how un-Christian their dogmatic stance is.  They may think that they are ‘standing firm for the Gospel’, but the fruit of their teaching is so rotten and bad that it gives off a stench that few wish to be associated with (and those that do just hold their noses and try to put up with it!).

    This was brought home to me in my recent interview with Peter Lynas for Justin Brierley’s show on Premier Radio, Unbelievable.  Time and time again I confronted him with the harm that the Evangelical Alliance was inflicting on LGBT+ people through their promotion of the ironically named ‘Biblical and Pastoral Responses to Homosexuality’ – the ten ‘affirmations’ that set out how church leaders should treat LGBT+ people and their allies in their congregations.  Time and time again he deflected, obfuscated and refused to engage with the evidence.   It didn’t go unnoticed.

    There is nothing loving about ignoring the cries of people you are harming.

    There is nothing loving about turning your back on those who are asking for help.

    There is nothing loving about doggedly pursuing a course of action that is clearly abusive.

    The most upsetting thing is that few in positions of power, who have the ability and indeed the duty to safeguard against this abuse, choose to use their position of power to intervene.  Most stay silent.

    Why? Because they just see LGBT+ people as collateral damage.

    For some reason – which has nothing to do with Christianity and everything to do with fear – they just don’t appear to care.  And it is that which makes me so angry – and I believe makes Jesus really angry too.

    Jesus always dealt with the real-life situation of the person in front of him.  He always responded with love and compassion, whilst the religious leaders around him stuck to ideologies and principles.  He called them on it.  He chastised them for it.  He was crucified because of it.

    Not much has changed, sadly.

    The only thing we do know, is that they will be judged because of it.  One day.

    In the meantime, I know that God is watching and waiting to see who will protect His sheep from harm.  Fortunately, there are many wonderful Samaritans, even if many of the religious leaders walk right on by.  They at least want to help heal and protect the wounded.

    So what can be done?

    Well the first step is to break the silence, gather the evidence and call out the abuse – which is why we did the survey and why I eventually agreed to do the interview with Peter.  The second is to take that evidence to people who have both the pastoral heart and the positions of power to do something about it.

    Watch this space…it’s coming!