Today’s guest post is from my good friend Jacob, who has been on a similar journey regarding faith, sexuality, and relationships. In this post, he meditates on the journey of faith as a gay Christian.
The only answer that is suitable for man’s authentic existential situation is hope. The virtue of hope is the first appropriate virtue of the status viatoris; it is the genuine virtue of the ‘not yet’. In the virtue of hope, before all others, man understands and affirms that he is a creature, a creation of God.
Human existence and everything that immediately pertains to it have the structure of hope. We are viatores, on our way, ‘not yet’ beings. – Josef Pieper, A Brief Reader on the Virtues of the Human Heart
One of the world’s oldest and most universal institutions is the roadside inn. The inn was the center of the pilgrimages and stories depicted in the Canterbury Tales. The Silk Road has its caravanserais, so-called “caravan palaces”, where travelers could rest, share stories, and refresh their supplies. Modern backpackers have youth hostels, where instant communities rise up and dissipate in a single night.
Perhaps the most comforting archetype of this stopping place is Tolkien’s Rivendell, the “last homely house.” Here the Fellowship of the Ring is forged. Here Frodo is relieved of the acute suffering of the Witch King’s sword. Here also is visible both the lovely memories of the past and the dreadful uncertainty of the future.
In my own short experience, I have found that the Church (as well as communities within or beside the Church) to be just such a place. To borrow N. T. Wright’s phrase, there is a “now” and “not yet” of the Christian experience. Even within a single Communion service, we worship God in His divine presence, we remember his death and resurrection, we await his coming in glory – but then we break down the tent and go back to our lives.
Just like the Church, I think that communities that have formed among gay Christians, especially the self-labeled Side A and Side B, must be seen in just this light. In my own experience, it is far too glib to say that I have “arrived” at Side A or Side B. Rather, all of us gay Christians and those who journey with us are a moveable feast. Sometimes we travel together and circle the wagons. We share stories of triumph and pain. Sometimes we travel alone for want of space. And sometimes we camp in different places. But if there is anything we have in common, it is the reality of a long journey.
I join Stephen in declaring Wesley Hill’s response to Sacred Tension as very well-written and incisive. Celibacy is not the gospel; neither is the commitment to relationship. The Gospel is the path we tread, and the destination to which we pilgrims set our sights is the ultimate reunion with God. However, what I have come to find is that whatever communities spontaneously form at our roadside inns must be focused on discipleship, listening, and learning. If we see either commitment to relationships or commitment to celibacy as an arrival, either may become an idol.
It is important to note that this is not just a Side A/Side B issue. Seeing one’s conversion to Christianity (or a particular version of it, such as my confirmation as an Episcopal four years ago) as an arrival is just as fraught with the risk of idolatry. Stephen has focused in great detail on the ways in which Side B has not been the right place for him, and has leveled just criticism. I too no longer identify as Side B. However, neither of us would say Side B is not legitimate. But any camp (and I use that word quite purposefully) must focus on the journey.
I have been very encouraged by one particular individual who has been a great influence on me within the Side B community (though he may not even know it). He exemplifies the selfless leadership that we need in all Christian communities – the kind that listens to and shares stories. He is one of the great souls that I have met along the roadside, in process. Likewise, my journey with my boyfriend has been blessed by the mutual affirmation we have of learning from each other’s previous steps on our journey towards God.
Going back to Tolkien’s universe, we must remember that complete healing may never happen in this journey. While Frodo took many injuries in his trek to Mount Doom, the one that never healed was the stab from the Witch King before coming to Rivendell. Many gay Christians will forever carry such wounds. Our encampments along the road will always be haunted by those wounds. They may not be healed in our lifetimes, but we must always practice hope. Like Pieper reminds us, the fact that our journey continues reminds us that there is hope. As long as there is a continual goal in our lives, there will be hope. The wounds will be bearable in our communities, but only if our hope remains in the Lord.
