When I first arrived at North Park Seminary, it was always a bit of a surprise to me how much the question of women in ministry remained an ‘issue’ for many congregations, lay people, clergy, and students in the ECC. Having grown up in the United Methodist Church, I would jokingly say to classmates, “We were well beyond that at my home church. People were more worked up over the lesbian couple that sat in the pew behind my family every Sunday.” However, the irony for me in making that statement was that, as a child, I had no idea about the nature of their relationship, and I had no concept of the divide that existed in my church over their presence, participation, and leadership in our congregation. The reality is that for me, homosexuality did not exist. It was not something I encountered openly and regularly, and so it was off of my radar screen save for the cruel jokes and words pre-adolescents will call one another.
It’s hard to believe that “Coming Out Covenant” is truly up and running. I’m in my 70th year, and it has taken a very long time to acknowledge a large group of human beings living in our midst. I am one of them.
My name is Charlotte Johnson, and I live with my spouse, Joan Gauthey, in Washington, CT. We belong to Salem Covenant Church in Washington Depot, where we have been active for 44 years. When I say active, I mean ACTIVE. I’ve been in the choir since age 14, both of us have spent years on church council, Joan has been church chair, together we’ve been on Diaconate, Fellowship committee, Christian Education, pastoral search committee, Joan helped with nursery and I’ve organized Lenten Lunches for 20 years. SHOCKINGLY, we even headed the young people’s group when we were young and agile. (Some of those “kids” are now grandparents!) Oh yes, delegates to annual and conference meetings several times. Where we totally fall by the wayside is that neither of us bakes, and I’m a mediocre cook.
Joan has been a wonderful high school teacher for 35 years in town, and was coach of the year in Field Hockey in 1991 for the United States of America. Her Covenant resume is pretty thin. She’s only been in the church 47 years, is Irish, Arab and French, and was brought up in a Congregational Church. However, she did work with Jerry Johnson and the Barnabas group for several years. I, on the other hand, am a saturated “Covie.” My grandparents from Sweden helped start our church in 1888. My father was on the Diaconate for 40 years, and mother rolled enough bandages to circle the Congo. They put their blood, sweat, tears and constant prayers into our church family, as did Aunt Ruth, who lived with us and was always part of the family. Aunt Ruth was born in Sweden, confirmed in our church, and died at age 100 and buried by said church. My sister, 13 years older, and aunt went to North Park College (NPC) and Swedish Covenant Hospital (SCH) starting in 1924 – 1951. Continue reading Charlotte Johnson: “Staying Home”→
“So, Katie,” my group of peers began ominously, “what do you think of Greg being gay?”
All eyes were on me.
I was in high school and was widely known for being an outgoing, kind, hyper-involved straight-A-student. I was the poster-child for excellence. However, I was also a poster-child for an outspoken, opinionated and legalistic brand of “Christianity” that had no room for people who were gay, Mormon or having sex outside of marriage. I’m actually still not sure where I latched on to some of those ideas. Let’s just blame TBN and move on with the story.
“Well,” I paused, “I like Greg, but I don’t think it is right.”
The classic ‘hate the sin, love the sinner’ routine. How progressive I was! I wasn’t from the backwoods; I knew that Jesus loved everyone. I just (somewhat unconsciously) thought he loved me more for being a straight virgin who didn’t break rules and volunteered copious amounts of time to a plethora of organizations.
I was 13 when I first experienced the possibility and truth of a contextual interpretation of the scriptures. My mother was about to become a pastor in the ECC and, though they did not seem consistent with the God I loved, I knew full well the scriptures that spoke against women in ministry and leadership. How could my pre-teen brain reconcile this dichotomy? Continue reading Katie Klug: “Confronting Convenient Boxes”→
Last Tuesday, I stood in front of a class full of seminarians and made a presentation about how we would be imaging God in our class. While I read scripture, I showed slides of classic Bible scenes as depicted by cultures all over the world. Jesus was Korean, African, Chinese, Indian, White, European American, Sioux, Cherokee, Italian, Saudi Arabian, and Palestinian. In my language, I spoke of what it means to open our imaging of God so that those in the pews can see themselves as created in God’s image. In my language, I asked them also to imagine that the gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered members of their congregations were also created in God’s image. I teach in a liberal, inclusive Jesuit seminary that has found a way to make room for Protestants from many denominations to study alongside Catholic students, and train together for work in ministry.
A year ago, I was a churchplanter in the Evangelical Covenant Church. Shortly after my ordination in June 2009, I left the ECC church I had worked at for eight years to start a new congregation in Seattle’s diverse University District. As my husband and I made it known that we would be planting a new congregation, the question came up again and again: would I be welcome at your church? Would my parents be welcome at your church? When people start asking if they would be welcome, if they would be safe in church, something is wrong. I knew I needed to step into God’s call on my life as a minister, and preach openly that all of us, gay and straight, are welcomed and celebrated in the God’s kingdom. Soon thereafter, we officially announced that the churchplant would be open and affirming. Continue reading Leah Klug: “Let Us Work Together”→
I’ve contemplated the idea of sharing my thoughts about this topic for some time now – not sure whether I should or even could piece words together well enough to produce anything worth reading. This is mostly because I am still learning. I am discovering that it is possible to walk away from a careful study of Scripture and come away with a host of differing interpretations, and that I am not exempt from error. Not only that, but people who think differently from me can also be right.
I also must admit that I have some concerns (that border on fear) in sharing my thoughts. First, I worry that I will be misunderstood and even rejected by people I consider friends. Second, that I will become the victim of assumptions regarding my sexual status. I am a single heterosexual woman who desires to remain single indefinitely (I know that’s rare). I believe that God’s call for me is celibacy and I embrace that and celebrate being a happy and fulfilled single woman. As a woman for whom this is true, I risk being attacked by unwarranted assumptions and conclusions that many may draw regarding my sexual orientation. This is not because I frown upon those who are gay/lesbian, rather because of my utter dislike for assumption and misrepresentation. A third concern is that I will hurt those who read or that my thoughts may be misconstrued – my apologies in advance. And finally, I can’t help but consider that I will be misunderstood or have some distance placed between me and my fellow African American sisters/brothers because of what I say or refrain from saying in this brief space.
Nevertheless, I refuse to succumb to playing it safe, being held hostage in the prison of the personal opinions or objections of others. Jesus modeled risk-taking exceptionally well! Continue reading Darlene: “My Journey as a Minister”→
My name is Rick Sindt and I am a sophomore at North Park University, where I am currently pursuing an Art and Psychology double major. I grew up in a small town south east of the Twin Cities, in Minnesota, along the Mississippi River. I grew up with two loving parents and one brother. We lived in the country and always had an assortment of animals around ranging from barn cats to sled dog teams. I have a large extended family and I grew up much like any other boy. This past fall I started the process of coming out.
What has surprised me the most about coming out is that when I come out to people I am not given space to be me. People who I come out to still hold me to the image they had of me as a heterosexual, or they expect me to become their preconceived notion of who a gay man is. I first started telling people in September of 2010. The first person I told was one of my closest friends. I decided to tell her because she continued to ask me about girl interests in my life. I grew tired of putting on a charade, I felt like I was living a lie, and I knew the only way to liberate myself from that feeling was to name my sexuality to someone. She handled it well and graciously. At the time she was alone with me in this journey and it was difficult for her to be the only one who knew. I was finally willing to talk about my sexuality with someone and I talked about it persistently. Continue reading Rick Sindt: “A Little Space”→
It is the stories of others that help promote dialog and understanding. Most people that I know who have once held anti-gay viewpoints but changed their view on the subject, whether their anti-gay view was based on religious convictions or not, have stated that it was personally knowing someone or hearing someone’s story that made them think about the issue in a different way.
Here is my story:
I was born in 1981, so much of my childhood was during a time when LGBT individuals had no or very little positive presence in the public sphere. Although not everyone does, I knew that I was gay from a very young age. I knew I was different and that this difference was not accepted in society and especially not in the church, so I kept it all inside and told no one of my feelings.
I come from a line of deep rich Covenant blood. I am almost 100% Swedish and can trace many of my relatives back to Sweden (for non-Covenanters, the Covenant Church was founded by Swedes). There have been numerous Covenant clergy in my family history dating back three or four generations. I attended church every Sunday and unless I was on death’s doorstep, I was there. I attended a Covenant camp in the summers and even worked at one during a summer in college. I went to CHIC, and then completed the perfect Covenanter’s journey by going to North Park University. Throughout all this, I prayed to God to fix me, or heal me, or change me. I wondered what I had done wrong to be so different from everyone else. It seemed like a cruel joke. I thought maybe if I prayed harder, or was a better Christian, God would make me “normal.” Nothing changed so I just put on the happy perfect Covenanter mask and continued living. This only lasted so long before resentment and anger started to brew, and eventually I distanced myself from the Covenant and stopped attending church altogether, but never completely abandoned God. I always knew that even though I might leave a denomination, I could never turn my back on God or deny his existence or presence in my life. Continue reading Michael Satterberg: “My Story”→
Text for reflection: [Three men] said to him, “Where is your wife Sarah?” And [Abraham] said, “There, in the tent.” Then one said, “I will surely return to you in due season, and your wife Sarah shall have a son.” And Sarah was listening at the tent entrance behind him. Now Abraham and Sarah were old, advanced in age; it had ceased to be with Sarah after the manner of women. So Sarah laughed to herself, saying, “After I have grown old, and my husband is old, shall I have pleasure?” The Lord said to Abraham, “Why did Sarah laugh, and say, ‘Shall I indeed bear a child, now that I am old?’ Is anything too wonderful for the Lord? At the set time I will return to you, in due season, and Sarah shall have a son.” But Sarah denied, saying, “I did not laugh”; for she was afraid. He said, “Oh yes, you did laugh.” (Genesis 18:9–15)
I often have wondered about Sarah’s laugh in this text from Genesis. Was it a laugh of disbelief? “You have got to be kidding, God. The idea of having a child at my advanced age is worthy of great laughter.” Or was it a laugh of pleasure? “After all these years, I can finally have my own child and not share my husband’s son Ishmael with my husband’s mistress.” Or was it a laugh of sarcasm and cynicism? “This time you have gone too far, God: You know that the only role for women in this culture is to bear and raise children. After all these years, it still brings me great pain that I have been unable to have children.” Or was it a laugh that provided a cover-up for a great deal of shame – shame that was a result of years of pain?
When I a teenager, I walked around with a great deal of shame, which I quickly covered up with lots of laughter – just like Sarah. I was ashamed of being gay, and I wondered why God would have created me gay and not straight like everyone else. Even saying the word “gay” did not happen unless it passed my lips as I sang a Christmas tune in the local Covenant Church Sunday School pageant: “Christmas is Jesus’ birthday; that’s why we’re happy, and that’s why we’re gay, for Christmas is Jesus’ birthday.”
Of course, we were “gay” if you mean happy, but we certainly were not all gay in my Sunday School. But I was – and I hoped for a long time, through middle school and upper school, that somehow God would work a miracle and make me to be just like everyone else. Continue reading Scott Erickson: “What Are You Going to Do About It?”→
I was 20 when I first heard someone say that God might be OK with me even though I’m not straight. I spent the next two years at North Park as a transfer student, trying to figure things out on my own. I really felt that there wasn’t anyone I could share it with at the time. In high school and my first bits of college I had done a lot of spiritual leadership-y things – led a prayer group at school, led a lot of worship – and I felt that I had trapped myself. I did well in school, I led all these things, but privately I was lonely and intensely sad. I was deeply unhappy (but it did make for some good songwriting material). I could not believe it was possible that God, my family, my churches, or most of my friends would ever accept me. It hid parts of who I was; I could never just let go, be a friend to my friends, be open, be myself.
I didn’t have anyone to go to with something so unimaginable and unacceptable – I say unimaginable because when I first started coming to terms with my sexuality, I really honestly could not imagine what my life would look like – it was terrifying. So when I got to North Park, I kind of tried to stay under the radar. I was torn because I was encouraged in doing things with the church, but at the same time I felt that if I was honest with people, that my orientation would cancel out all of that. Covenant churches were spaces where I felt that if I got close, if I was known, it would necessarily lead to pain and rejection, so the easiest thing to do was back away. Continue reading Rebecca: “My Story”→
During my years working as a professional singer and actor I was often quiet about my faith, especially around my countless gay or lesbian friends. I quickly learned that their experiences with the Church and Christians were almost always negative. Many were kicked out of their churches, shunned by family members, and even spit upon by Christian roommates. They didn’t have a positive view of Christians or the faith we professed. From their experiences, I saw that many churches excluded rather than included LGBT people, had a closed-door policy rather than an open-door policy, and taught a type behavior modification rather than Gospel transformation.
These churches worked on the model of Behave, Believe, Belong. Christians have told countless LGBT individuals that they must behave a certain way (be celibate or become heterosexual), believe a certain set of doctrines (this is right, that is wrong; this is sinful, that is holy), and then they are allowed to belong to the church community. My fear is that this model might actually be more damaging than helpful. My fear is that this model can distort our understanding of grace and our understanding of God. My fear is that this model might force us to think that if we behave a certain way, believe a certain thing, then God will accept us. Or worse, I fear that people will give up on God entirely because they are forced to behave rather than belong.
This is a very religious attitude. Religion says we negotiate with God to try to get help in exchange for our good behavior. We do what were told and, hopefully, God rewards us. Because of religion in churches, we’re told you must be a certain way, act a certain way, behave a certain way, believe a certain doctrine, then belonging to our community can happen.
