by Kevin Sparrow

In the final part of our series on religion, we examine groups and individuals working in religion. For many, this path is marked by fulfillment as much as it is frustration. A great number of religions have historically maligned or ignored the LGBT community, so being out and spiritual are seen as “… two things [that] don’t belong together,” explains Reconciling Journey Ministries co-founder Ron Robert. AnnMarie Kneebone, pastor for Chicago’s Grace Baptist Church, adds, “There are still many congregations who don’t feel comfortable with a queer pastor. They are afraid it will make them a queer church, or they believe being queer is immoral.” Even though there are an increasing number of resources in most major religions for LGBT members, they are still not embraced by all members of the spiritual community. At its worst, it can take on hateful dimensions which pit members of the same faith against each, such as the experience by the Muslim LGBT group Al-Fatiha, which had a fatwa (religious decree) issued against it by an Islamic extremist group based out of the UK, Al-Muhajiroun. Working in this type of environment is undoubtedly stressful, and many times, that stress can be compounded by resistance from others of the LGBT community. “It’s difficult to even bring up the topic of religion without eliciting a negative response,” says Robert. “Many characterize the Church as the enemy and have no interest in any dialogue on the topic.”

Remaining a part of one’s religion can be a tenuous prospect when there are few allies, but it is not impossible to find friends in faith. Robert began Reconciling Journey Ministries with Stacy McCaskill and Ronda DeVold to study the devotional workbook for lesbian and gay Christians, “Reconciling Journey” by Michal Anne Pepper. It is now a 501(c)(3) nonprofit located in Naperville and Rockford. And they are open to growing, as Robert asserts. “If someone from Chicago stepped forward and said they wanted to start a chapter, we would be thrilled to support that.” This type of outreach is very important to spiritual work, as Kneebone has experienced in her 30 years of ministry. “When I was 15, I started my church’s youth group and was a lector… At 40, I decided to go to seminary… I have had varied experiences. I was born a Roman Catholic, became an ex-gay fundamentalist Pentecostal, and now I am an ex-ex-gay liberal theologian.” As pastor at Grace Baptist, Kneebone is committed to her congregation to be “a leader that will walk with them through life and partner in thinking through life’s conundrums using a theological lens.”

The understanding LGBT religious leaders have of the divergence between their queer selves and their spiritual selves impacts not only their congregants and peers, but it helps create a focal point on helping others. Kneebone states, “The queer movement has been racially segregated for a long time, and… working as a queer person in religion gives me an opportunity to address this schism as a theological issue as well as a social justice issue.” Kneebone’s own experiences with discrimination have led to a commonality with other marginalized groups, and a theological framework can address the problem to certain sections of society who would respond better to religious rhetoric. Reconciling Journey Ministries hopes to impact another segment of society: “We are… concerned about LGBT youth and are working on developing a curriculum to implement in high schools, colleges, and universities. There are student clubs for Christians and GSA’s, but nothing on our collegiate or high school campuses today that reconcile the two.” Social justice issues have always been a part of religious life as religion instills a strong sense of community. It is a positive step when many workers in faith are willing to reach out and commit to aiding in discussion on sensitive issue and helping secure rights for all.

Although working in faith can take an emotional and physical toll, its rewards are great because it opens up a dialogue for a more responsible society for everyone. LGBT leaders who stick with their religion are setting a positive example and helping break down barriers for others who may go through similar crises of faith and identity. They prove religion should not be at odds with one’s sexual preference as both are vibrant communities that have personal significance, and the more openness that exists in both communities, the more we all can work together to correct the most prominent social issues.

How religious beliefs travel through and inform our lives.

by Kevin Sparrow

There are over 1,000 churches, 59 synagogues, and 37 mosques in the city of Chicago, and a Hindu temple in nearby Aurora. This exposure to religion reaches everyone, starting at a very young age, and some begin a spiritual path as a baby with baptism or circumcision. The growing market for spiritual entertainment has also brought more mainstream attention to various religions, all combining to form a multitude of questions and confusion between people of different beliefs. “I was raised Presbyterian and confirmed in 6th grade, and then in high school, I looked into a ton of religions just because I found them interesting,” says James Taipale, 22, a flight attendant in Chicago. Many people who grow up in faith find a similar need to search, so we will be examining their personal stories to explore what the meaning of growing up queer and religious.

For some people, the exploration of religion begins before birth. “I was raised in the Jewish faith, from the time I was… a zygote,” says Zachary Krasman, 24, Marketing Director for Investment Real Estate Associates in Los Angeles. Colin Shively elaborates with his early experiences, “My mother was Baptist, and my father was Catholic, and they kind of scratched both of those and became Episcopalian, which is a little bit [of both].” The strength of our parents’ faith and their own spiritual endeavors have the most effect on us as children. For some, this critical time for forming beliefs is informed by searching with their parents, but for many, this is where religious faith first comes to be a deep-seated ritual. “I was raised part of the Assyrian Catholic Church of the East. My mom’s dad was a priest,” says Rumsin Khoshaba, 24, a law student at the University of Iowa. “I pretty much hold the beliefs consistent with my church, [but] there are no churches in Iowa cities.” A deeply rooted belief system such as this is much more likely to be retained by a person than a sampler of different beliefs, but change inevitably occurs over time.

“I still consider myself a Jew, or Jewish if you will, but I haven’t decided or found yet if I believe in a God,” Krasman reveals. He is not alone, as most other respondents echo this sentiment. Shively says, “I don’t go to church. I don’t disbelieve in God, but I don’t believe in God,” while Taipale iterates, “I’m pretty much agnostic. [I]t’s hard finding a Presbyterian church where I would be openly welcomed. Trust me, I tried.” Coming into the understanding of our sexuality and independence, we begin to question a lot of beliefs, especially if they condemn something as personal as sexual preference, as Khoshaba experienced. “I didn’t want to be gay, and I focused so much on what the Catholic Church said. I made a deal with God, written down… [to make] me straight. As I got older and did more and more research, it’s caused no real tension. It’s made me second-guess other parts of dogma, [and] it made me look at [religion] more critically.”

The growing realization of one’s sexual identity creating a tension with previous beliefs is a common experience for queer people. “The reason I initially left the Mormon church is my friend’s brother came out because he was gay,” explains Cameron Ruiz, a film producer in Los Angeles. “We weren’t allowed to talk to him, and I didn’t even understand what gay was at that time. I didn’t understand how because of one thing, God doesn’t love [someone] anymore.” Unfortunately, open and affirming places of worship in the particular faith one has grown up in are hard to come by, and for some people, the transition of moving into a new and independent life is complicated by this factor. Krasman explains, “My main synagogue is back in Michigan… I haven’t found a rabbi out here that I connect with.” One option is to go to a non-denominational or LGBT-based place of worship, but oftentimes, the personal relationship we develop with our particular faith cannot be matched.

The other options available to the LGBT people are numerous and could have varying degrees of success. “I think the burden definitely falls on the LGBT community to be more involved in religion. Churches don’t have a default obligation to embrace the LGBT community,” says Khoshaba. “If LGBT people don’t want to become active members of the community, why should they expect the church to accept them?” One possible way to do this is to explore faith more on one’s own. “A lot of kids grow up with their parents’ beliefs. They venture off into their own way of thinking, especially if they are gay teenagers, and if their families are very religious they don’t have support.” Asking other members of one’s religious community about their views on homosexuality or transgender issues could help alleviate fears of being LGBT if they find a supportive voice. Similarly, Krasman thinks, “it takes the understanding and the willingness to embrace, on the part of synagogues and churches, the LGBT community. I think that forums and discussion groups in the synagogues with the higher authorities is a great way to get people to understand and be accepting.” As is the case in many instances, the more LGBT people are visible on every level of society, the more acceptance we will encounter in the future.

How pride and hope can heal the rift between religious life and the LGBT community

by Kevin Sparrow

“God is the first person I came out to.” I remember telling people this when I was 17. It felt like the first real decision I had made regarding my religious life as I had unwaveringly attended the Catholic Church up to that point. It seemed easier to come out to my friends when they found out I had already cleared it with the big guy upstairs. My beliefs regarding one god or any gods have subsequently been altered, but my history in the Church had already left an impression on me.

Today, reconciling the tensions between LGBT rights and religious intolerance seems to be an insurmountable obstacle: 51 countries in the world have laws condemning homosexual relations—in seven of which the penalty is death—and even more have no legal protections for its LGBT citizens. In Iran, many gay men undergo sex change operations to avoid prosecution for homosexual activity. The Delhi High Court in India is currently deciding whether religious grounds are enough to keep Section 377 banning homosexual acts on the constitution. And in Ethiopia, religious leaders are calling to add a constitutional ban to their country’s already strict policies against homosexuality, including a six-month jail sentence. All of these bans are rooted in the dominant religious doctrines of their respective countries.

However, the options are not black and white for LGBT citizens. Religion is as fundamental a part of their daily lives as it is for those who oppress them, and a break from formative religious experiences is not an option for many. Our four-week series on the value of religion in the lives of LGBT individuals will focus on the increasing tension of being out and, at the same time, part of the religious community. From the effects religion has had on our daily lives to political ramifications to those who are committed to working in their faith, we will explore the frustration and hope that being a spiritual queer can demand.

To bring the relevance of this topic into context, the scope must be widened. Worldwide, the harmony between LGBT rights and religious communities varies by country. The Vatican’s upcoming Sixth World Meeting of Families in Mexico City has spurred some activists to “proclaim a ‘right to be who we are, and demand to be respected and acknowledged as part of the Catholic community.’” Demonstrations will occur before and during the January 13-18 event. Although he will not be in attendance, the demonstrations will be especially meaningful following Pope Benedict XVI’s year-end address comparing the proliferation of gay rights to the dangers of deforestation.

In the United Kingdom, on the other hand, sensitivity toward the LGBT community by Christian leaders is still elusive. A recent lawsuit between Pilgrim Homes—a retirement community for former Christian missionaries—and their grantors, Brighton and Hove Council, claim discrimination against LGBT individuals on both sides. Brighton and Hove Council are accused of withholding grant money due to Pilgrim Homes not complying with a policy that asked questions of the elderly residents concerning their sexual orientation. The questions were derived as part of national equality and anti-discrimination laws, and by refusing to comply, Pilgrim Homes was accused of LGBT discrimination. Phil Wainwright of Pilgrim Homes counters, “‘We have every reason to believe that we have given places to gay Christians, and no questions were ever asked. The council hasn’t demonstrated any discrimination on our part.’” Nationally, the Equality Act of 2007 has been effective with little friction except for religious institutions. However, rather than trying to refute the law as Catholic adoption agencies attempted to do after the ruling, both sides in this case are trying to appear open to LGBT members in an effort to retain them in the Christian faith.

A dialogue between leaders of the religious and LGBT communities is gaining traction, and a history of silence by major religions on LGBT issues seems to be falling by the wayside. Unfortunately, punitive mandates that still exist are egregiously excessive, and the signing of the recent UN proposal to decriminalize homosexuality worldwide by only 66 countries is a reminder that religious cachet still forces violence and prejudice on LGBT individuals in many nations. By escaping the silence of the past, we have a chance at building an accepting and affirming future together.