Questioning the Binary of Church and Culture

    I spent a weekend full of LGBTQ+ Christians and their allies; full of hands raised and songs sung; full of tensions struck, some resolved and some suspended; the bread and the cup offered freely to those who know the bitterness of rejection and the sting of betrayal. I watched as the presence of people of color, trans and non-binary folx posed a needed challenge to the norming of the White Cis-Gender Gay Male; and all the while we were thrust over and over into the middle of a perennial debate: what does the Bible say?

I was raised in the Pentecostal tradition, so it nearly goes without saying that I was taught to revere the Bible. It never occurred to me to question concepts like “inerrancy” and “authority” as I grew because it was the air we breathed. There was no tension for me because there was nothing to dispute. However, as I look back I wonder if the Pentecostal emphasis on experience gave me the tools to navigate the questions I have now: what happens when our experience contradicts what the Bible says? Further, what happens when our experience contradicts what Christianity has codified as “orthodox” or “faithful?” 

These questions are ringing for me as I process this weekend assembly of LGBTQ+ Christians. There were moments of resonance and beauty, and there were moments that deeply concerned me. I listened to a white man rage about social media and cancel culture, leaving me with a nagging feeling that his anger stemmed from an unwillingness to be accountable to the voices of people of color.  I listened as monogamy was upheld as the most orthodox and biblical configuration for LGBTQ+ relationships, with no exploration of how monogamy might be as anachronistic a concept as our modern understanding of sexual orientation; not to mention, of course, the history of matriarchy, gender-bending, non-monogamy and shared child-rearing in indigenous cultures that European Christian colonialism has attempted to stamp out over centuries. I heard the overworn cliches of LGBTQ+ culture as excessive, pagan, and hyper-sexual, with no acknowledgement of the complexity around how marginalized groups form identity in protest to the exclusiveness of majority culture. 

However, the most unsettling part of this gathering was how it continually reinforced the binary of Church and Culture. In the internal logic of this world, the Church is the arbiter of goodness, temperance and restraint, and (LGBTQ) Culture is hedonistic, whimsical, and profane. Culture is to be feared, and Church is to be trusted. Yet it seems to me that setting up a war between Church and Culture is the exact formula responsible for rejecting LGBTQ+ bodies in the first place. When we associate queerness with Culture (impurity) and holiness with the Church (purity), we ignore the reality of the sacred presence that exists in every nook and cranny of our world.  When we take an adversarial posture toward Culture, we foreclose on opportunities for wonder, curiosity, and imagination. We risk missing the sacred and the beautiful that is right in front of our faces.

For it was my experience that brought me back to myself, and my experience that brought me back to my body. It was on that Friday night that we gathered, a smaller group, some new friends, some old friends. We shared a meal, and then drinks, and then found ourselves at a drag show hosted by a local gay bar. We laughed, clasped hands and shoulders and waists as one beautiful black queen, adorned in her Sunday best, mouthed the words to a gospel song that repeated ‘King Jesus’ over and over. As the performances ended and we began to move to the music, it was clear to me that there was no difference between Church and Culture on the dance floor, nor was there room for hyperbole or polemics either. What felt more real, more poignant, was a sense of self-determination and safety that existed in the joining of new and old relationships. Here, sensuality and sexuality were embraced with playfulness and reverence, not fear and condemnation. Here, the impulse to correct and control was overwhelmed by a love that longs to respect freedom and difference. 

As we danced body to body, hip to hip, cheek to cheek, and heart to heart, I couldn’t help but feel that something sacred was taking place indeed. So as we confront the dissonance of two different worlds, perhaps being told one night that “gay culture” was synonmous with “licentiousness” and experiencing the exact opposite the next, I wonder: what if the things we are tempted to label as “dangerous” or “threatening” to our own ideas about orthodoxy and faithfulness are the places that we must treat with the most tenderness and the most respect?