Barriers to the LGBT community are SLOWLY breaking down ...

As I write this, I'm on the eve of preparing to fly out to San Francisco for my ministry sabbatical.  While there, I'm hoping to link up with various community groups and church groups that practise inclusive ministry and welcome the LGBT community into their midst, their leadership and their hearts, without placing conditions of change or conformity on them.

I'm mostly finished with packing ... the next stage is panicking.  However, I was alerted to an article by a fellow tweeter (Thanks Rachel!) about a public apology from the President of Exodus international, an international evangelical ministry focusing on reparative therapy for gay people, to the LGBT community and an announcement that Exodus International was to be closing it's doors.

This is big news for me personally, as for two years in the late 1990's, I submitted myself to a programme of 'therapy' in Port Elizabeth, South Africa, that was run using their materials.  I don't think it was organised with their approval, but it was someone who had been on their courses, and was given the opportunity to come over to South Africa and run them himself.

I suspect that the courses, if run properly, should be run by a team of well-trained people, as they attempt to dig very deep into your psyche, and alter your very sense of being.  In hindsight, it's clear how dodgy such a procedure is, but when you're a young Christian coming to terms with being gay, you're desperate to fit in with the rest of your faith community, and you're led to believe that being gay is purely about lust and that to identify in any sense with being gay is sinful and excludes you from salvation.

This is largely the premise of the course material we were subjected to, and we were led to believe that our identity as gay people was purely based on eroticised expressions of deep-seated need for male bonding, and that - with time - we would be able to unlearn being gay, and relearn how to be straight and 'bond' with other men.  We were told that any identity we felt we had as gay people was incorrect and that we should unlearn any ways in which we identified with being gay, and should teach ourselves how to be straight and do straight things.  We were told that anytime we felt a longing for a life partner or intimacy, it was wrong, and that we had to instead learn how to identify with straight men by playing football, going to the pub, etc..

The reality of all of this is that, because being gay is a matter of identity and not just erotic expression, you begin to feel 'wrong' at your core, and - in trying to be one of the 'lads' - fail miserably, and feel hopelessly inadequate, because you'll never be able to identify as one of them.  Generally speaking, straight lads are different to gay lads, have different interests, and don't feel threatened by each other, in case they discover that you're gay.  So, you spend your time feeling like a failure, feeling unlovable to God, feeling scared of being discovered, and feeling hopelessly inadequate as a Christian, because you can't change, when the organiser of the course tells you that change is possible.

This is why this apology by the President of Exodus International, the largest "ex-gay therapy" group is such a big deal for me personally.  It feels like another step closer toward the healing I've been claiming back for myself since I left the course all those years ago and went through a crisis of identity and a crisis of faith.

It's also a big deal, because many evangelical and fundamental faith groups globally base their dealings with the LGBT community on the teachings of Exodus International and other similar organisations ... that gay people need to seek 'healing', in order to be faithful, and that they can accept the LGBT community, but only on condition that they seek change and not seek to give in to what they see as sinful desires, rather than a true identity.

With this apology, the wind is beginning to drain out of the sails of that argument, and some real dialogue can begin.  I know for hundreds of thousands of LGBT people this will be too little too late from the faith community, but with any luck, it'll stop future generations from being put through life-threatening 'therapy' that attempts to change their identities and personalities.

I can't really answer why I stuck with my faith after all of that ... perhaps it's the desire to make a difference in the lives of those who come after me.  I've had many young people asking me over the years where they can go to join a faith community that won't try to change them, out them, or make them feel like freaks.  Sometimes that's easy to answer, and sometimes it's not.  It can be incredibly geographical, and I always have to warn them to be careful, as an inclusive leader does not always mean an inclusive congregation or vice versa, so their guard is always up. But at least it's beginning to look like change may be possible at a greater level, rather than having little pockets of inclusivity.
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You can read the text of Alan Chambers' apology here (it's a direct cut-and-paste from the Exodus International page here - I'm merely pasting it in, as their page is quite slow at the moment.)

Three years ago, Leslie and I began a very public conversation with Our America’s Lisa Ling, from the Oprah Winfrey Network (OWN) regarding some of our deeply held beliefs about Christianity and the LGBT community.  Today, we have decided to carry this public conversation even further. While this conversation has and may well continue to be met with many different responses from supporters and critics, it is our desire to keep having these honest discussions in the hopes of arriving to a place of peace.

Several months ago, this conversation led me to call Lisa Ling to take another step on this messy journey.  I asked if she would, once again, help us add to the unfolding story by covering my apology to the people who have been hurt by Exodus International.  Our ministry has been public and therefore any acknowledgement of wrong must also be public.  I haven’t always been the leader of Exodus, but I am now and someone must finally own and acknowledge the hurt of others. I do so anxiously, but willingly.

It is strange to be someone who has both been hurt by the church’s treatment of the LGBT community, and also to be someone who must apologize for being part of the very system of ignorance that perpetuated that hurt. Today it is as if I’ve just woken up to a greater sense of how painful it is to be a sinner in the hands of an angry church. 

It is also strange to be an outcast from powerful portions of both the gay community and the Christian community.  Because I do not completely agree with the vocalmajorities in either group and am forging a new place of peaceful service in and through both, I will likely continue to be an outsider to some degree. I imagine it to be very much like a man I recently heard speak at a conference I attended, Father Elias Chacour, the Melkite Catholic Archbishop of Israel. He is an Arab Christian, Palestinian by birth, and a citizen of Israel. Talk about a walking contradiction.  When I think of the tension of my situation I am comforted by the thought of him and his. 

My desire is to completely align with Christ, his Good News for all and his offer of peace amidst the storms of life. My wife Leslie and my beliefs center around grace, the finished work of Christ on the cross and his offer of eternal relationship to any and all that believe. Our beliefs do not center on “sin” because “sin” isn’t at the center of our faith. Our journey hasn’t been about denying the power of Christ to do anything – obviously he is God and can do anything. 

With that, here is an expanded version of the apology I offered during my recent interview with Lisa Ling to the people within the LGBTQ community who have been hurt by the Church, Exodus International, and me.  I realize some within the communities for which I apologize will say I don’t have the right, as one man, to do so on their behalf.  But if the Church is a body, with many members being connected to the whole, then I believe that what one of us does right we all do right, and what one of us does wrong we all do wrong. We have done wrong, and I stand with many others who now recognize the need to offer apologies and make things right.  I believe this apology – however imperfect – is what God the Father would have me do.

To Members of the LGBTQ Community: 

In 1993 I caused a four-car pileup.  In a hurry to get to a friend’s house, I was driving when a bee started buzzing around the inside of my windshield. I hit the bee and it fell on the dashboard. A minute later it started buzzing again with a fury. Trying to swat it again I completely missed the fact that a city bus had stopped three cars in front of me.  I also missed that those three cars were stopping, as well.  Going 40 miles an hour I slammed into the car in front of me causing a chain reaction. I was injured and so were several others.  I never intended for the accident to happen. I would never have knowingly hurt anyone. But I did. And it was my fault. In my rush to get to my destination, fear of being stung by a silly bee, and selfish distraction, I injured others. 

I have no idea if any of the people injured in that accident have suffered long term effects. While I did not mean to hurt them, I did. The fact that my heart wasn’t malicious did not lessen their pain or their suffering. I am very sorry that I chose to be distracted that fall afternoon, and that I caused so much damage to people and property.  If I could take it all back I absolutely would. But I cannot. I pray that everyone involved in the crash has been restored to health. 

Recently, I have begun thinking again about how to apologize to the people that have been hurt by Exodus International through an experience or by a message. I have heard many firsthand stories from people called ex-gay survivors. Stories of people who went to Exodus affiliated ministries or ministers for help only to experience more trauma. I have heard stories of shame, sexual misconduct, and false hope. In every case that has been brought to my attention, there has been swift action resulting in the removal of these leaders and/or their organizations. But rarely was there an apology or a public acknowledgement by me. 

And then there is the trauma that I have caused. There were several years that I conveniently omitted my ongoing same-sex attractions. I was afraid to share them as readily and easily as I do today. They brought me tremendous shame and I hid them in the hopes they would go away. Looking back, it seems so odd that I thought I could do something to make them stop. Today, however, I accept these feelings as parts of my life that will likely always be there. The days of feeling shame over being human in that way are long over, and I feel free simply accepting myself as my wife and family does. As my friends do. As God does. 

Never in a million years would I intentionally hurt another person. Yet, here I sit having hurt so many by failing to acknowledge the pain some affiliated with Exodus International caused, and by failing to share the whole truth about my own story. My good intentions matter very little and fail to diminish the pain and hurt others have experienced on my watch. The good that we have done at Exodus is overshadowed by all of this. 

Friends and critics alike have said it’s not enough to simply change our message or website. I agree. I cannot simply move on and pretend that I have always been the friend that I long to be today. I understand why I am distrusted and why Exodus is hated. Please know that I am deeply sorry. I am sorry for the pain and hurt many of you have experienced. I am sorry that some of you spent years working through the shame and guilt you felt when your attractions didn’t change. I am sorry we promoted sexual orientation change efforts and reparative theories about sexual orientation that stigmatized parents. 

I am sorry that there were times I didn’t stand up to people publicly “on my side” who called you names like sodomite—or worse. I am sorry that I, knowing some of you so well, failed to share publicly that the gay and lesbian people I know were every bit as capable of being amazing parents as the straight people that I know. I am sorry that when I celebrated a person coming to Christ and surrendering their sexuality to Him that I callously celebrated the end of relationships that broke your heart. I am sorry that I have communicated that you and your families are less than me and mine. 

More than anything, I am sorry that so many have interpreted this religious rejection by Christians as God’s rejection.  I am profoundly sorry that many have walked away from their faith and that some have chosen to end their lives. For the rest of my life I will proclaim nothing but the whole truth of the Gospel, one of grace, mercy and open invitation to all to enter into an inseverable relationship with almighty God. 

I cannot apologize for my deeply held biblical beliefs about the boundaries I see in scripture surrounding sex, but I will exercise my beliefs with great care and respect for those who do not share them.  I cannot apologize for my beliefs about marriage. But I do not have any desire to fight you on your beliefs or the rights that you seek. My beliefs about these things will never again interfere with God’s command to love my neighbor as I love myself. 

You have never been my enemy. I am very sorry that I have been yours. I hope the changes in my own life, as well as the ones we announce tonight regarding Exodus International, will bring resolution, and show that I am serious in both my regret and my offer of friendship. I pledge that future endeavors will be focused on peace and common good. 

Moving forward, we will serve in our pluralistic culture by hosting thoughtful and safe conversations about gender and sexuality, while partnering with others to reduce fear, inspire hope, and cultivate human flourishing.

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Combined with the public call for inclusivity by Steve Chalke, founder of Oasis UK, an evangelical Christian ministry, and author and broadcaster, which you can read here, this is turning out to be quite a year for evangelical Christians, who - aside from the Roman Catholic Church's leadership (I say leadership, as the view in the pew is often different) - are the main opponents to greater inclusion and equality for the LGBT community.

A gay priest's story ...

A friend, when discovering that I was gay and in a relationship, expressed that it was a bit of a shock and asked if others were shocked when they found out.  This was my rather lengthy reply and is another telling of my story, which you may know some of, through previous entries. "I guess I did shock a few people when I came out, but not really when I started dating. I told a number of friends when I came back to PE after my first year in the UK when I'd had time to come to terms with it, but it wasn't a big surprise for many of them ... the pieces just fell into place I guess. To be fair, my own journey was so traumatic and took so much of my emotional, physical, spiritual and mental energy, that I can't really worry about how someone will receive the news. At the same time, I don't broadcast it, because I know some would struggle with it, but I can only be who I am, and when they find out, I can't take on their struggles as well ... they need to walk their own journey. I have always known I was gay, but tried to suppress it for many years (28 of them). I guess I have to admit that my work/life balance was unhealthy, but I poured myself into my youth work as a way of hiding from myself. I frequently worked 18 hour days and believed I was being committed and pious, but occasionally I caught up with myself and despised who I saw. I even tried seeing a psychologist for 2.5 years and putting myself through a "Healing from homosexuality" course that was organised by someone that had been on the Living Waters / Desert Streams courses, with financial support from one of the pastors at Harvest Christian Fellowship. All that transpired was that the psychologist got me to sever my links with my family, because he believed it was all down to nurture and imperfect family relationships, and the "healing" course left me feeling hopelessly inadequate and guilty, because I wasn't being healed. It was also unhelpful when the guy who ran the course couldn't admit that he was still a gay man struggling with his need for companionship, not a healed straight man, and even less helpful when he became attracted to me and stopped talking to me. LOL. It was an extremely dark period in my life, where I believed that I could never know love and companionship unless I put myself and some poor woman through the sham of a marriage without intimacy. I couldn't do that to someone else, and I could no longer run from who I was, so I faced a life of loneliness and hiding the real me. At the same time, I knew that I was called to ministry, but that the institution I worked for would never accept me, so I had to hide from them, too. My emotions were all over the place and I was an overworked, exhausted, lonely and miserable wreck, who occasionally went from extremely low to manic. I often thought of death as my only escape from the desperate loneliness and used to ponder suicide as a better alternative to an indeterminate number of lonely and unhappy years, and I remember sharing with my friend, Tim, my Methodist friend, that the only thing keeping me alive was the belief that the hell I was in was somehow better than the hell I would go to for being gay. So, yeah ... not a great place to be. All of this was going on at the time I first met you guys. You were a breath of fresh air and a joy and you energised my ministry at the time, but all of this was going on in the background. When I moved to St Hugh's in Newton Park, things had become even darker for me and Eddie Daniels who was the Rector at the time, reassured me that I could share anything with him in confidence and he would support me. Against my better judgement I let my guard down and shared some of what was going on inside me with him. He made all the right noises and promised to support me, but then I discovered he was going to parishioners behind my back and starting rumours that I was sexually involved with a lot of the guys at St. Cuthbert's ... Neal, Dylan, Gregg, Mike ... and Tim, my Methodist friend, and JP, one of the young adults at St Hugh's. Good guys who I was very close to, but they're all straight and just close friends. They were all very good about it when I told them what rumours were going about, and offered to take the matter to court, but I was too scared of being forced to publicly come out, so I never did. Eddie used this and kept spreading the rumours, and when I eventually plucked up the courage to confront him, hoping he would back down, his defence was, "I am your Rector and I'll do whatever I want." He then forced me into a relationship with a woman I was close friends with, which ruined our friendship and broke her heart. After that relationship failed, and it broke her heart, he even tried to force us to live together in the parish house, which I think was abominable and - even worse - the leaders in the parish saw no wrong in his actions. So, I decided the most mature thing would be for me to hand in my resignation and ask Bishop Bethlehem Nopece to move me to another parish, which I did in a perfectly adult way, meeting with the Bishop before resigning and explaining the situation to him, and him agreeing with me and saying he would find me a parish to go to. I wrote to Eddie, explaining honestly that I was saddened we could not work together, but wished him well in his ministry and wished to move on in three month's time (the suggested notice period in the Anglican Church). He responded by kicking me out of the parish immediately, without any chance to say goodbye to the congregation and without any formal farewell. Obviously, the parish then assumed that I had done something worthy of such banishment, and combined with the rumours, Eddie was making a pretty good job of ruining my reputation and my chance at ministry in Port Elizabeth.  It also didn't help that Terry Beadon, who'd moved parishes, then felt it important for him to post a letter to the congregation on the noticeboard, telling them I was being disciplined for being bad and calling for them to pull together behind Eddie. When the matter went to the Bishop, I presented evidence to him and two of his advisors.  None of them knew my side of the story (not that they asked) and they agreed that Eddie was acting irresponsibly and irrationally. However, I also discovered that rank is more important than honesty and justice, and the Bishop didn't challenge Eddie's rapid removal of me, and also didn't keep to his promise to find me another parish, so I was left without a parish to work in, without a way to publicly clear my name (unless I took the matter to court and made it public knowledge that I was gay - something I wasn't ready for). So I was left to deal with it, in silence and on my own. Robbie, a friend of mine, took me into his parish in Walmer, where I worked for 6 months.  However, I had no desire to remain in the Diocese of Port Elizabeth anymore and told Rob that before I made any rash decisions, I needed a year out overseas, maybe at a Theological College, maybe even a monastery. Coincidentally (God-incedentally!), 48 hours later Rob had a phonecall from a monk he'd never spoken with before, asking if he knew of any young clergy who were available to do a year's exchange in the UK at a Theological College - owned by a monastery!! Obviously, I jumped at the chance, and that's how I ended up in the UK in 2002. It was at Mirfield that I first encountered Christians in ministry who were gay and not ashamed about it, and began gently being honest with myself and others about who I was. I realised that I couldn't fight the fact that I was called to ministry and I couldn't renounce my faith. But I had also spent a long time trying to run from who I was and change who I was, and I couldn't do that either. So I had to realise that I was both Christian who was called AND gay. Not easy, but unavoidable. So I would have to try my best to be faithful to both. To practise my faith in a way that was inclusive and to share that inclusive faith with others who were being told that their faith would not accept them. At the same time, I needed to live my life as a gay person who was being true to my faith.  I have to recognise that I'm gay - I can't hide it, I can't pretend to be anything else and I don't need to be. I didn't choose to be gay and given the choice I probably wouldn't have, but it's who I was and I needed to be honest in my relationship with God as much as with other people. So I need to responsible about that and represent gay people to my faith as much as the other way round. It's a difficult gap to bridge ... on one side, gay people are extremely hurt by the Church (global, not just Anglican) and are forced away from it and it's alleged good intentions ("loving the sinner not the sin" is really just another way of saying, "you can belong as long as you act like one of us") and there's a lot of bitter feeling. On the other side, the Church is very distrusting of gay people and operating with loads of misconceptions, such as gay people are somehow straight people who choose to have sex with people of the same sex, or that all gays are paedophiles (when, in fact, paedophiles are paedophiles, and they may be straight or gay), or even that gay people are somehow trying to recruit straight people (if it was that easy to change orientation, then gay people could become straight and save themselves a lot of grief!).  I also operates under the misconception that being gay is purely about genital intercourse, and not about falling in love and sharing your life with someone you love, where physical attraction MAY form part of the story, but is not the whole. So, sitting between the two camps can be difficult ... I have a lot of Christian friends who don't like gay people and I have a lot of gay friends who don't like Christians. I try to be frank and unashamed of who I am to both of them. So I've reached a place of finding a purpose in who I am, rather than trying to hide it or run from it. At the same time, I'm alarmed that the Church as an institution is become increasingly hateful, exclusive and alarmist when it comes to it's dealings with the gay community, and I need to recognise that I may not always be able to be in ministry, but as a wise friend of mine once told me, "always remember that you were called to serve God, but not necessarily with a dog collar." I am still in ordained ministry, but work as a University Chaplain. That enables me to work in an institution which is inclusive and in which I can be myself, but also to do a lot of good work with the LGBT students and the students of faith, and with students who struggle with either or both. I find it very diverse, challenging and interesting. For now, I'm happy in Chaplaincy. We'll have to wait and see how long I remain in full-time ministry. If anything, what I went through in Port Elizabeth broke my love affair with it. I love ministry, but I don't need to be a part of an institution that deals with people in that way. So, my work/life balance has improved remarkably. I now spend time investing in me as well, which is nice. I also decided to start dating in 2003, as I couldn't continue living life miserably and lonely. I was nervous at first, and was probably damaged goods, but met some great guys who are still friends, broke one or two hearts and had mine broken once or twice along the way. How very normal. ;o) I met Mike in 2008, and we hit it off straight away. He's absolutely lovely, and we've both had an interesting time, learning to trust someone else with our deepest emotions. I'm very lucky to have met him, and I'm not letting go anytime soon. Obviously, we have our abrasive moments, but that's relationships. I'm saddened that I can't share that joy with everyone ... and that I need to watch what I say and how we act in public. We can't hold hands, we have to watch eye contact. We can't even sit too close. There are some functions I can't take him to and I sometimes feel I've betrayed him when I introduce him as a friend, rather than my partner, but sadly, that's the way things go from time to time. Thankfully, however, there are places and friends with whom we can be ourselves and just be normal, which is great. It's been a helluva rollercoaster ride, but I'm thankful for where I am now and for the opportunities I get to just be me, and the opportunity to finally have someone who loves me for me and not the me I think they want to see."