I have been a Methodist most of my adult life. I was married in the Methodist Church in 1975 when I was but 17 years old. I found faith there for nearly ten years before moving away. Experiencing a crisis of faith in the 1980s, I walked away in shame and hurt, feeling I was no longer wanted.
In the intervening years, I felt that missing part of my life was beckoning, something I largely kept at bay out of the fear of rejection.
In 1997, I officially met the most wonderful, loving and inspirational pastor of my life. Reverend Mary Hubbard was the pastor for Central United Methodist Church. Unofficially, I had met her on World AIDS Day in 1989 at a candlelit ceremony at the original Central UMC.
In the intervening years, I felt that missing part of my life was beckoning, something I largely kept at bay out of the fear of rejection.
In 1997, I officially met the most wonderful, loving and inspirational pastor of my life. Reverend Mary Hubbard was the pastor for Central United Methodist Church. Unofficially, I had met her on World AIDS Day in 1989 at a candlelit ceremony at the original Central UMC.
I am not a good Methodist, I am not a good Christian. I don't believe in the Bible. Sometimes I do not believe in God. Sometimes I feel I am a breath away from being an atheist. Like Fox Mulder's poster "I want to believe," I find the want is more than a feeling I have experienced.
Today I am feeling anger and worst of all, hurt and betrayal.
Mary Hubbard baptized me not so long before I was mobilized to Kuwait in 2005, and like a dear friend of mine, Marilyn Kruger, a devout Methodist and a pastor in her own right, both helped lead me down a road of acceptance. Like so many gays and lesbians, we have been brought up to hate who and what we are.
God hates us, don't you know?
Not long after I separated from my wife in 1982, I found myself in the darkest of funks. Both Phyllis and I were hurting. We loved each other, but not in the ways we both deserved. I told Marilyn one night in a sort of confession that I was going to go to hell because of who I am. She was the first person who told me God loved me for who I am.
So for the short of this, I find myself angry at the developments at this week's United Methodist General Conference. Ever since I was a member at Central United Methodist Church, and now First United Methodist, I have held out hope that my church would come to its senses and welcome its gay and lesbian parishioners and join other faiths and fully embrace us--including its gay and lesbian pastors.
Both Central UMC and (more recently) the First UMC were members of a movement in the United Methodist conference, a movement called 'a church of reconciling faith.' In a nutshell, the movement is an effort to work from within to lead an unwilling church to become a more inclusive religious body.
Today was a huge setback--one that has the power to split the church asunder.
If you did not know this, Methodist pastors can be brought up on disciplinary charges and even fired for performing same-sex wedding ceremonies--or for being gay themselves. A number of Methodist pastors have bravely tried to fly in face of these dangers. Reverend Greg Dell of Chicago's Broadway Methodist Church was nearly destroyed for his brave stance. He was the first Methodist pastor to be charged and convicted of violating church procedures in 1999.
Now 20 years later, and even though marriage equality is the law of the land here in America. Methodist pastors are still forbidden to perform marriage ceremonies. My pastor Mary Hubbard has been on the side of marriage equality for as long as I have known her.
She was virtually run off from Central UMC when she repeatedly told our church council that as much as she wanted to fully administer to our congregation (which was 90% gay and lesbian), she felt she could not and still have a career.
Again, 20 years later my pastor still cannot fully administer to her flock. This week's conference could have put an end to this. But no, my church has decided to not embrace a loving future for all of its members and staff.
And still, my church has decided I and my brothers and sisters are not worthy of God's love. Earlier today, while I was working at the food pantry, I had a number of conversations about this topic. One of my friends told me she feared this would split the church apart. I think that is a fair claim.
My church is beginning to feel like the promised land being denied to the Jewsand a rug being pulled from beneath my feet. I am reminded of a movie line, "I wish I knew how to quit you." If it were only so easy.
I told another of my colleagues that if I were ever lucky enough to marry, I would want MY minister to officiate, leading us through our vows; I want to marry in MY church; and to marry in front of my church family.
Today, my church said no.
