Torn Between Two Worlds

Torn Between Two Worlds

Sometimes I feel like I’m torn between two worlds. 

At other times, I am torn between two armies. 

On the one hand, I am a part of the church - gloriously following the way of Jesus in the mundane messiness of this world. 

But on the other hand, I belong to the gay community - miles away from my home in the church and violently opposed to its very existence. 

I am, like many others, an impossible paradox, spanning the two and living in the tension of warring tribes. I like to think of myself as revolutionary, but in reality I more often than not play the role of a peacemaker. I play this role because right now, peace is a very hard thing to come by. My people - those who are gay and seeking to follow Jesus - carry all the hallmarks of refugees, fleeing from their homes and finding themselves, well, homeless. With all the frustration and pain that this position brings, I recognise that those of us with one foot in each camp have a unique vantage point. We have, for want of a better analogy, fled to the hills, and from up here we can see some things that perhaps you, fixated on your enemy, are struggling to see. Can I show you? 

To My Queer People: 

I know that you have been hurt by the church. I understand that. I truly do. And while I know that I will never grasp the exact ways that this has scarred you, I want to speak to you as a fellow wounded. 

You may not believe me right now, but I want to let you know that from where I sit, the church is actually beautiful. For all its flaws and failures I am entirely convinced that the church is a place of good. A place of healing and a place of rest. I say this because I have spent most of my life in it, sometimes fighting against it and sometimes running towards it, but always in it, and I would never change that.  

I also say this because I don’t believe that the church is simply made up of people. Hurt people hurt people, and let’s face it, who isn’t hurt? But there is more to the church than just the sum of its population. At the head of the church is a figure that I cannot escape and I cannot deny. This figure, altogether enthralling and captivating has revolutionised the way that I engage with this world. The head of a global enterprise and the one who sustains life on all corners of the globe, Jesus never sought to use his position for his own glory but instead took on the form of humanity - that very hurting humanity that hurts in return. And in an act of total surrender, the one person who had never dealt a blow in his life, lay down that life, so that my life might be lived, and lived to the full.

I wish I could describe him to you, but he is so far beyond words and his embrace defies any language that I could here possess.

I know that you have been hurt. So have I. So has he. I hope that in time you will come to a place where you can consider him, and his church, as your own. 

To My People, the Church: 

You are full of love. I know that. Your love is complicated and so often it is misinterpreted as hate, but I see your desire, and I thank you for it. I know that you want us to thrive, to live lives worthy of the gospel and honouring to God. I also know that you are scared. You are scared because you fear the worst for those people that you love. The fear is tangible, and naturally, fear makes us defensive. 

From my position on this mountain to which I have fled, I want to show you a couple of things if you would see them? Firstly, I want you to know that your fear is partially-founded. There are so many queer people who want nothing to do with God, who have heard his call and run the opposite direction. But please don’t assume that this then makes them your enemy. They aren’t your enemy. They are people in need of the warm embrace that I know you are so capable of. Out of pain, they may throw bombs, but your role as Jesus’ ambassadors is to break the cycle of violence and retaliate with grace. Only then will my people be open to listening to what it is that you have to say. 

I also want to show you how beautiful my people, my LGBTQIA+, Christian people, are. From the trenches it is hard to see anything, but from my position I see a vast array of fellow pilgrims faithfully serving the risen king. They are tirelessly pursuing his fame and relentlessly becoming more like him. You may disagree with us on biblical interpretations, but I think that if you could see what I can see, then even you would be flawed by the fruit of the Spirit that unites us. And you see this, I truly hope that you may be willing to enter dialogue, and consider some of the things that we have to say. 

I have a feeling that if you would consider this beauty, you may be more willing to recognise that we are actually, believe it or not, on a similar journey. We don’t want to fight you.

To All My People

At the end of the day, I have come to realise that I am not just caught between two warring armies. My existence is not simply one of conflict. 

Far more importantly I am part of a small group of people who have the honour of seeing the beauty in both – the glory the church and the richness of the LGBTQIA+ people of this world. I am in a unique position to say to each, ‘you are loved, and you are heard.’ The journey toward meeting one another is long and winding, but I am hopeful that with time, you will both begin to glimpse God at work.

Now if we could all put down those guns and eat some cake, I would so appreciate that.