rahaeli is right. There's not really two ways about that one. Staying in a church that doesn't want me there is self-destructive; gunning for ordination in a church that really doesn't want me there, doubly so. The church has betrayed its Christian mission of inclusivity with this decision, and it has rubber-stamped hatred with a declaration that may feign touchy-feely unity, but has queers get out written between every line. And I'm not entirely certain it's not time to pack up and move down the road, find a nice Episcopalian or UCC or MCC church that affirms me because of, not in spite of, my sexuality. It would save me a lot of heartbreak and trouble, and it would mean I had responded proactively to rejectionist language by rejecting the institution from whence it came. My stomach would heal, my conscience would clear, and I'd likely sleep better at night.
But if I stay, I'll know why.
There is a point at which withdrawl teaches nothing. There is a point where, if the bullies kick you out of the sandbox, the bullies have learned nothing but that they can kick people out of sandboxes, and they will do it again.
And where would I go? The Episcopalians, the UCC, and the MCC all three seem like the most viable options at present, particularly in terms of ordination, as I know I could find in all three a welcoming environment. However -- and here I must confess my ignorance of the MCC -- both the Episcopalians and the UCC have what I consider drawbacks, namely in terms of ordained appointments and episcopal (with a small e) heirarchy, and doubtless they have their own unenlightened policies to contend with. I would be leaving the Methodists over a single -- albeit particularly dear -- issue, only to move into the as-present-unknown-to-me territory of another denomination, and I wonder what happens when it turns out that the grass only seems greener.
I find myself turning to, of all people, St. Augustine, and his conclusion that there is no purity in the City of Man. To put it another way, I disapprove of America in so many ways -- from foreign policy to collective domestic ignorance -- and I know I'm far from the only citizen of this country who does, and the temptation to pick up and leave is astounding, particularly whenever it looks like Dubya & co. may wrangle out four more years in charge; and, really, anyone who thinks electing John Kerry will make this a country of sunshine and roses and civil liberties has another think coming. However, I know that leaving would mean one fewer voice and vote for sanity, and one fewer pinko liberal sushi-eating lesbo closer to a country of Crusaders and nuclear weapons. And so I stay in, and continue to pay taxes to, a country that, polls show, often does not want me teaching its children, serving in its government, getting married, raising children, administering its churches, or, really, existing at all. Abusive? You'd better believe it. When the federal government even proposes amending its primary document to make sure that the country knows it's got a constitutional right to treat you as less of a human being, it's probably time to go.
But then where? Canada's got its problems, and while it's much better on this single issue, it's less than ideal in other respects. Europe? Maybe better, but still flawed, and now there's the added drawback of being an entire ocean away from my family and where I grew up. Beyond that, it kind of continues downhill in the geographic relocation department, and Mars isn't quite open for business yet, to say nothing of spacetravel long-distance charges. The City of God doesn't exist -- not here, anyway -- and probably wouldn't take me in if it did. You can't just escape bigotry by packing up and moving somewhere you can't hear the epithets they're shouting at you quite so well.
To leave the church would be to remove my (meagre) financial contribution and my vote, relinquishing my stake in the church's fiscal future. The United Methodist Church is a multimillion-dollar monstrosity. The appropriations budget is enormous, and goes to everything from funding intenerant pastors on reservations in the Southwest, to establishing cross-racial and -cultural dialogues, to petitioning George Bush to stop this idiot war, to working to end genocide in Africa. The amount of good work that this church has done and continues to do in the world is phenomenal. The church is up-front about where the money goes, and there are good causes and rural churches that could not survive without the help of the larger UMC. Without liberal influence, I feel, a significantly smaller percentage of the UMC's spending would go to anti-sexism, -racism, and -war causes I support wholeheartedly.
To schism would be even worse. Breaking the church in half would mean destroying many, if not most, of the programs and aid it offers to a world that desperately needs it, and destroying the church that so many people depend upon. If accepting being denied ordination means that people in other countries get the organised aid they need to live, am I selfish if I say that, no, I will not accept this? If changing the language to be LBGT-friendly will throw many (and many non-American) congregations into tremendous chaos and uncertainty, am I still justified in demanding the change? If I walk away, have I broken my promise to comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable?
If the entire denomination had a vendetta against me, I'd get out. But it's not the entire denomination. It's 579-376, out of 1000 votes made by people who care enough to take two weeks out of their lives to come and sit in a convention center and listen to boring proposition after boring proposition. It's a bunch of people for whom the choice is obvious, and a bunch of people for whom the choice is a difficult one, and a bunch of people for whom stopping a schism is the greatest concern. They're not just numbers and abstract concepts to hate -- they're people, and they're my Methodist family, and I love them honestly. If my presence causes people to struggle, and I feel that struggle is most worthwhile, I have an obligation to those I love to make them struggle.
And it's not just against me -- it's my against friends and colleagues, straight and gay, who have given this church their time and effort and love, who have helped and been helped by the church as a whole and congregations in specific, because they believe in the good of Wesleyan philosophy and reject whole-heartedly the church's abhorrent stance on sexuality. It's my pastor friends who can't leave just because some removed governing body made a decision that the people they help and interact with on a daily basis would reject instantly if given the opportunity. It's my seminarian friends who have been given so much love and support by their home churches and want to stay in the church for the good they can do. It's my LBGT brothers-and-sisters who, no matter what the GC says, will never experience a minute of discrimination in the loving UM churches they've found. It's a bunch of people who will stand behind me and wear rainbow stoles beside me and say, no, this is wrong, louder and louder in the hopes that someone will finally hear.
Denomnations change. Whether or not they change quickly enough is entirely a matter for debate, but they change, and the United Methodists are proof of this; the fact that discriminatory racial practices that were in place in living memory no longer exist today is a testimony to how the church has seen the world change and responded (though far, far too slowly) to it. This year's GC praised African-Americans who stayed in the church for being the presence and constant reminder that finally forced the church to do something about its racist policies. In twenty years, it may well be praising its LBGT members for hanging on past all persecution. If I know this to be a real possibility, do I have an obligation to stay?
The United Methodist Church is like my family -- I was born into it, I was raised in it, and it is familiar to me. I embrace its call for social justice, I affirm its good works in the world, I don't want to see it go the direction in which it is headed, and I see no way to stop it while standing on the outside of the denomination that still contains my family and so many of my friends. Even if I stopped attending, I'd never stop caring -- I'd simply stop being able to do anything about it.
There is no perfect denomination, no perfect religion; nobody has it right for everybody. The most you can hope for, really, is one that's right for you -- and the UMC is right for me, in so many ways, yet this one wrongness may pull me apart. And still, standing in the midst of all this, I have to wonder if anywhere else would be better. Or maybe the only answer is nowhere at all, to leave church systems entirely and find some other way to live. It is a decision I cannot make for anyone else, and it is a decision I cannot make for myself; it is, however, a decision I must make, and soon. I barely have the luxury of waiting until General Conference is over, much less until Fort Worth four years from now, to say whether I'm willing to endure the system's abusive bigotry, or whether I simply can't take any more. I'd flip a coin, except I have a feeling that I'd be unhappy with either answer.
No, less than simply unhappy -- this is a choice between tolerating an intolerable situation or abandoning something deeply precious. And I'm far from the only person who is going to have to make this decision, and it's hard, and it sucks, and dammit, it's not right. It's not right at all.
Yesterday, at noontime communion, the last two communicants drained the cup (either by drinking it or pouring it over the altar) and smashed the chalice on the floor. Then they gathered up the pieces to reassemble them, in hopes of using the same chalice at communion today. The decision has broken the church; now it is the church's opportunity to glue itself back together or fall apart. Before the vote, members of MoSAIC were standing by the doors with water bottles and basins so that the delegates could remember their baptisms and be thankful. After the vote, they were still there. And one of the delegates came up to one of those MoSAIC volunteers and said that their continued presence even in the face of what they'd just done in there gave him hope for the church, that it would not split and that it would one day find a way to live in true community.
John Wesley said, 'In essentials, unity; in non-essentials, liberty; in all things, charity.' That is the creed of the Methodist church I know and love, and have grown up with and into, and do not wish to abandon to hatred and bigotry. It is the hope that love will eventually triumph over fear that has given many strength to endure the unendurable, and I pray for this hope to strengthen all of us through what will be some very difficult coming times for me and my church.
If, of course, I stay.
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