Weathering the Storm

 I find it interesting that some of the voices that were the loudest and most radical when it came to desegregating the Methodist Church are now the same ones advising caution and patience, and moderation with regard to the current conflict over sexuality. Some of these voices are pretty high up in the church. Some are very high up in the church.

A lot of this I attribute to the fact that our members fought to desegregate the church over sixty years ago. Time and experience have a way of tempering the raging passions of youth. Young pastors care little if their actions divide the congregation when they believe they are acting as Christ would. Older pastors are more anxious to wait and see.

These are not universal descriptions. I know some pastors in their thirties seeking caution and advising patience and some pastors in their nineties who are more than ready to storm the ramparts. Some are very concerned about showing that the rules of the church are important and will be followed, while others are adamant that the only rule that matters is the example of Christ.

What I know is this: there's no way out of this without some people getting hurt. There's no way out without some people having their faith in the church challenged. I think about this a lot, and I can't think of a path through this that doesn't alienate somebody, and alienating people from their faith is pretty serious business.

For me personally, me Boyd here at my computer: I'm always going to side with the weak. I'm always going to side with the smaller force. Some of the best Christians I know are gay. Some of the best Christian couples I know are gay. Some of the most devoted members of my church are gay. I come from a time when these people had to hide who they were to survive. Some of them still do. It's hard for me to imagine this is what Jesus would want.  It's hard for me to imagine Jesus wouldn't fight for their full inclusion in every aspect of the church.

That being said, I'm not in a position of any authority in the church. I can say my piece and decide where I stand, but that's about it. This will be decided by other people. I'm getting used to the idea that some people I know, some people I support, are going to get hurt--and I'm sorry for that, but I can't figure a way out of it.

I don't like being in the position of having to say, "The church doesn't support you, but I do." I don't know how to stop that, though. I think that's what Jesus would have me do.  I think there are times when that is what Jesus did.

Churches that follow rules give many people a great sense of comfort and security, and I appreciate that. When they lose faith that their church doesn't follow rules it causes them great discomfort and feelings of insecurity. I appreciate how important that is. I also appreciate the damage it causes when you tell people, "You're not good enough to go with us." which I believe the current conflict does.

There are people I knew who are no longer with us, who were members at Galloway for many years and had someone in their lives that they loved enough to marry at the church but were forbidden to. There are couples, young and old, now that I would love to say, "The church sanctions your love as much as I do," but I can't.

When I can put names to an issue, it's no longer political. When I can say: This is about Patricia, or Lawrence, or Elizabeth, or Timothy, then it becomes something more than doctrinal; when it becomes about people I know, then it's deeply moral and considerably more important.

I feel like our roots are deep enough for the tree to weather this storm. Hopefully, the trunk is flexible enough. Sometimes, I think love attracts lighting, that caring for others lays the seedbed for pain--mine and theirs.

For the people I know who will be hurt by all this--I can't make it stop. I just can't. My ego is big enough and warped enough where that alone causes me considerable pain and embarrassment, but I can't change it.

I'll sit with you through the storm, though. It doesn't matter how wet or cold we get; I won't budge. Sometimes, that's all anyone can do.