COMPOSED ACROSS A BRIDGESomewhere over Granville IslandThey will find me:Red and yellow, pink and very green.The colours of the promise.Promise me a song for me will riseAbove the noise.I swear I heard the sweetestChorus on the other side,But it is far; more far than I foresawAnd treacherous;The families and single peopleDriving in their families-and-single-people cars!This shall be for a lamentation.Blessèd are the late to riseFor they are homeWhile I am somewhere,Painted over Granville Island,Vivid in the colours I combine.Carolyn Whitnall, 2017/18.
I've not shared this one before, partly because I kept trying to submit it places and partly because when I stop to look at it from the perspective of friends outside the circles of my upbringing I see how horrifying and absurd it is to suggest that the personal experiences of a cis-het evangelical changing her mind about oppressions she's complicit in might be dramatic and trepidatious enough to warrant writing about. But for all it's horrifying and absurd it's also real – and I have friends inside those circles contemplating similar journeys with similar trepidation, and yet other friends working to keep them firmly on the "safe side." (The testimonies of many LGBTQ Christians expose this side as far from "safe" for those not protected by conformity to its norms).
I'm ashamed to say I still feel fear. It's a complex, not solely self-protecting fear. I fear being harmful and counter-productive in my allyship, through un-dealt-with prejudice, inadequate "answers," and/or simply not being a very sorted or aspirational person to have around.
But I also fear losing the fragile beginnings of a "place" and a "voice" that until recently I didn't even have to lose. Ironically, it was questions of justice and inclusion, and the wider questions of hermeneutics and ecclesiology that they sparked, that prompted me to pursue formal theological study. And it's that study that has brought me into a community of thoughtful scholars and inspirational trainee ministers, and has brought me out of myself to start to connect, and has brought out of me skills and insights that others have maybe started to take seriously. And now that sense of belonging is making me ... quieter. Slower to speak. Which is not always and only a bad thing – there are things that can be said thoughtfully and rigourously in 3,000 words at the end of a 10 week module that cannot be said in a tweet at the start.
Still, if some in my new community are not similarly persuaded about the full incorporation of our LGBTQ siblings into an equal and mutual framework of discipleship, partnership-relationship support and opportunities for ministry, then it is *laughable* to suppose I can "fix" that with a really good essay, however polished and metered my prose. Meanwhile, my mere visible presence as a would-be ally might actually register vaguely positively with (out or otherwise) LGBTQ classmates and staff, and with other would-be allies. "Strength in numbers" means something in traditionally-excluding spaces, however respectfully accommodating and open to dialogue they are working to become. And it's even more vital in the wider Christian community, pockets of which are actively working to remain unaccommodating, often on the basis of little more than assertion and fear-mongering. I don't need to preserve "my voice" or perfect "my answers" to be one among a courage-building number; I specifically need to stop trying to do that (especially as it's so very much not about "my" anything).
Maybe once I've submitted my MA dissertation I'll get round to writing down some of the stuff the course has helped me learn and come to understand about the divine inspiration and authority of scripture; about how we receive the complex, polyphonic Christian canon together in diverse Spirit-led community; about what I believe this means for the faithfully-inclusive life of that community. But the worth and dignity and place of our LGBTQ siblings does not (you don't say) depend on my ability and credibility to account for it. And most of the time the most faithful and vaguely meaningful thing I can probably do is stand up and be counted. Even, probably especially, when that risks being discounted.
[1] I wrote about this at the time in Neeeighbours. See also Say "shexuality", Reader's Progress and From Loos To Pews Via Jordan Peterson's Views.
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