The other day my friend Jim and I had a conversation about his neighbors. Jim explained to me that, over the last year or so he and his wife had begun to hang out fairly frequently with a couple that lived two doors down. At backyard barbeques, at his kids athletic events, even family get-togethers, Barbara and Kathy were frequently involved. Barbara and Kathy would describe themselves as a committed lesbian couple. Which, undoubtedly, was the very driving force behind our conversation.
Jim explained that these were two people he found to be decent and trustworthy people. He and his wife really enjoyed their company and consistently invited them into their life, not for some hidden agenda but rather because they were the type of couple that enriched an experience. I understood exactly where he was coming from. A dear friend of mine that I grew up with had recently announced a lifelong commitment to her partner, so the issue was something I deeply cared about.
Being the two overly-churched individuals that we are, the conversation floated from Barbara and Kathy to the great moral question of homosexuality as a whole. After all this was a topic well within our scope of personal understanding and, ultimately, judgment (please note a touch of sarcasm here.) Of course the obvious one-liners were mentioned, ya know like, "we just gotta live it out and they will see that there is something different about what we believe" and "it’s not my job to judge them" and "we are responsible to just love them how they are." But these were just practices in Christian correctness, a common protocol that an evangelical must take to eventually get right down to the nitty gritty, ya know, where the conversation really gets interesting.
That part of the discussion came when Jim declared, "But ya know, If Barbara ever asked me 'Jim, what do you really think about Kathy and I being together?' I would have to tell her that deep down I really do think what they are doing is wrong. And I am against them being together."
Upon his pronouncement, I pensively hung my head, nodded, and reluctantly gave in to agreeing with him.
"Yea, ya know, I can't really get around that one either. At the core of the matter, I guess that's what I believe too. I mean, while you can argue that scripture is not clear about it, I certainly cannot find a passage where homosexuality is encouraged" I said.
In the silence following our conversation we found ourselves slightly saddened by the distance we had decided to hold between us and our neighbors. However, I fear that "at the core of the matter" we were almost more relieved that we had found ourselves to still be good Christians. We sighed contently in the knowledge that, despite all the moral compromise we were unable to avoid in our own lives, at least in this specific conversation, in private, we said what needed to be said to remain uncorrupted holders of the truth. In that moment we saw ourselves as defenders, people who stubbornly refused to back down from their convictions. We felt safe, guarded by our creed. We drew a line and, low and behold, we found ourselves on the right side of it.
Several years ago, my friend really did ask me that question. Essentially she confessed to me her new relationship, how much her partner meant to her, and asked point blank If I thought it was right or wrong. I answered much the same way as Jim did.
I wonder though if I really told the truth by answering as I did? Did I really listen to her question? I think my friend’s question was about a whole bunch more than homosexuality. For a person who has come to practice consistency, commitment, patience, and joy via a committed gay relationship, my answer might come across as a rejection of a whole lot more than strictly sexual decisions. There is a good chance my answer communicated something like, "morality is more important to me than you are." I cringe because I don't really believe that. Yet I couldn't see it in the moment.
Just as in the near fight at the fountain, (see part 1) I see now that there were other options available. There was more going on under the surface. There was courage to be taken hold of. There was darkness to oppose. Rather than rejecting my friend as a person I could have refused her question instead. I could have left that as an unknown in our relationship. I could have said "No, don't ask me this unjust question. Im sure you know the answer better than I do.” I could have said, “You are the one who has chosen this path so in the end does it really matter what I think? Just as I will not let you off the hook, I also will not load you down with my judgment. Rather, I have my own path to follow and it requires me to accept you as you are, to serve you, to come along side you, and to give to you what I have, just as freely as I have been given to.” I could have said something to that effect, as I truly believed, yet against the current of our morally charged environment I did not resist. Instead, I believed what many would have me believe; that the only decent reaction is to deem an action either right or wrong and then move on, there is no middle ground, no higher path to take.
So once again, here I am having taken the wrong turn at a familiar crossroads. Not to say that my friend was in anyway at fault for asking, I see now though, I have entertained a loaded question. I've failed to see the darker forces at work here. Like a dog, I have heeled at the supposed authority of the strongman. I've bought into the idea that morality trumps love. And in this moment, fully knowing myself, I realize my helplessness to keep from doing it again. It is a systematic weakness of mine. Upon understanding my limitation, and at the end of self-hope, I can't help but crave the memory of genuine strength. I can’t help but remember the Jesus story.
(to be continued.)
