The Musings of a Confused Mantag:musings.northerngrove.com,2009-01-20://12013-05-16T15:04:37ZMovable Type Pro 4.23-enHeads up!tag:musings.northerngrove.com,2013://1.6502013-05-17T16:00:00Z2013-05-16T15:04:37ZJarredhttp://musings.northerngrove.com/seithman@northerngrove.com 1. It will hopefully get rid of a lot of the spambots that constantly (thousands of times per day) hit my commenting script. 2. It will hopefully resolve some of the issues people have trying to comment here. 3. It will let me get some newer features, as I'm running a pretty old version of MovableType and attempts to upgrade to newer versions have failed abysmally in the future. 4. I'll be able to leave pingbacks on Wordpress blogs I link to. 5. I've used Wordpress and decided I just like it better. (Okay, not really a problem, but hey.)
I've been hesitant to do this, but I discovered there's a new site out there called tp2wp.com that streamlines the migration process. And while it costs $50, I figure that resolving the above issue is worth it.
To support this, I will be disabling all comments and trackbacks on this blog in a few minutes (relative to this blog's posting time) to "freeze" the database.
From your standpoint, the way this plays out should look like this: 1. You may see the blog as it currently is, but will be unable to comment. 2. You may then see nothing. Or a blank blog. 3. You will (hopefully) eventually see this blog, but with a different cosmetic appearance. Hopefully, there will be a brief post from me announcing that the migration was a complete success and it's back to business as usual.
As an aside, I will be doing a full backup of the site's static pages and other files (e.g. images). If something goes horribly wrong (or I just get frustrated before I work through the dozens of minor gotchas the migration site forgot to mention), I should be able to restore the MT version of this blog. In that case, rather than step #3 above, expect to see a blog post from me muttering and cussing.
At any rate, wish me luck and I'll hopefully catch you on the flip side! ]]>
About that Tim Keller quote (Part 2)tag:musings.northerngrove.com,2013://1.6492013-05-17T12:00:00Z2013-05-15T00:01:18ZYesterday, I blogged about the following statement by Tim Keller:If you say to everybody, 'Anyone who thinks homosexuality is a sin is a bigot,' . . . you're going to have to ask them to completely disassemble the way in...Jarredhttp://musings.northerngrove.com/seithman@northerngrove.com
If you say to everybody, 'Anyone who thinks homosexuality is a sin is a bigot,' . . . you're going to have to ask them to completely disassemble the way in which they read the Bible, completely disassemble their whole approach to authority. You're basically going to have to ask them to completely kick their faith out the door.
In that post, I talked about the quote from the perspective of seeing the fear that seemed to motivate and permeate it. Today, I want to talk about it from the perspective of seeing the privilege that seems to motivate and permeate it. Because if I may be honest -- and I'll try to do so as graciously as I know how -- I find something deeply ironic about an evangelical minister objecting to the fact that other people might be asking him to change the way he thinks or even "kick his faith out the door."
Dear readers, that's exactly what every single evangelical Christian is asking of every single person who follows a different religion or no religion at all: "Give up your faith and what you believe and believe what I think is right instead." So effectively, Tim Keller is objecting to other people (allegedly) asking him to do exactly what he calls upon every Jew, Wiccan, atheist, agnostic, Buddhist, Hindu, and Santerian[1] to do without giving it a second thought. That's boilerplate unexamined privilege right there.
It also underlines to me the biggest problem with unexamined privilege: It's often the enemy of empathy.[2] Here's an opportunity for Tim Keller to consider how (feeling like he's) being asked to give up something so important to him feels to him and try to imagine how those he evangelizes to might often feel the same way. And yet, because I suspect he doesn't even make that connection (or avoids it by insisting it's somehow different), he's missing out on an opportunity to (1) empathize with those he's trying to evangelize to and (2) think about how that empathy might influence how he handles his attempts to do so.
I don't necessarily want Tim Keller or others like him to quit sharing his beliefs or inviting others to join his faith. However, now that he and those like him have experienced being on "the other side" of the conversation, I'd like them to let that experience and their capacity for empathy to inform their mission.
Also, it would also be nice if their empathy would help them to understand that yes, if they really want others to be open to their message, they're almost certainly going to have to be likewise open to others' messages. Otherwise, they're expecting something from others that they are unwilling to offer up to others. And one thing I that think is near-universal if not truly universal among humans is that we tend not to like double standards.
Note: [1] Not an exhaustive list, I assure you. But hopefully I've named enough religions and non-religious people to make the point that it's a lot of people he's asking this of.
[2] Or maybe the lack of empathy contributes to one's failure to examine privilege. Personally, I suspect it may be a bit of both, not to mention a self-reinforcing cycle.
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About that Tim Keller quote (Part 1)tag:musings.northerngrove.com,2013://1.6482013-05-16T12:00:00Z2013-05-14T23:34:58ZDuring her Saturday morning address, Wendy drew attention to the following statement made recently by evangelical minister Tim Keller:If you say to everybody, 'Anyone who thinks homosexuality is a sin is a bigot,' . . . you're going to have...Jarredhttp://musings.northerngrove.com/seithman@northerngrove.com
If you say to everybody, 'Anyone who thinks homosexuality is a sin is a bigot,' . . . you're going to have to ask them to completely disassemble the way in which they read the Bible, completely disassemble their whole approach to authority. You're basically going to have to ask them to completely kick their faith out the door.
One of the thing I noticed about this quote was the fear involved. Some evangelical Christians fear that if they allow themselves to question their views on same sex sexual relationships -- any one of a host of other issues -- they might end up losing their faith altogether. In a lot of ways, I get that fear. I experienced it once upon myself at times, too.
And I get it because, in some ways, I represent the realization of those fears. I started out as a devout Christian. When I allowed myself to rethink my views on homosexuality, it also gave me the freedom to grapple with a number of other questions. The end result of that process, which only started with my struggle with my sexual orientation, was that I eventually chose to follow an entirely different path altogether and serve other gods.
It's easy for someone like Tim Keller to point to me and others like me and say, "See, this is what happens when you start down that path!" And I can understand their tendency to do that, at least to some degree.
The problem is, people like Tim Keller think that what happened to me is inevitable for anyone who starts asking those questions. I don't think it is. I sat in a room with roughly fifty other people this weekend, most of whom serve as living evidence that a journey that begins by asking the tough questions and reconsidering what they've been taught doesn't have to lead one down the path I took. It's just as likely that one could change their mind about same sex sexual relationships -- or any other single topic -- and go no further. It's just as likely that after one does all the thinking and reconsidering, one ends up back at the same conclusions they held before then. So people like Tim Keller are fearing something that's not inevitable.
I would like to suggest that the fear people like Tim Keller are feeling is the exact reason I think they need to rethink something about the way they do faith. Because right now, the way they're doing it causes them fear, and I don't think that's healthy for them. So I'd personally like to see them to start asking some hard questions -- and maybe not even questions about human sexuality -- in an attempt to restructure and firm up their faith so they don't have to worry about it unraveling on them so much. In short, I'd like to see them develop a faith -- and a way of doing and having faith -- in which they can actually have more faith.
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So why did I go?tag:musings.northerngrove.com,2013://1.6472013-05-15T12:00:00Z2013-05-14T01:36:42ZJarredhttp://musings.northerngrove.com/seithman@northerngrove.com Not surprisingly, more than a few people asked me what led me to attend the conference, given it's Christian focus. Just to be clear, they were all glad I was there (and not just because it meant a chance to convert me). Instead, it was pretty clear to me that they seemed to operating under a sense of wonder at my choice. I think the leader of my community group, Jason, gave voice to that sense of wonder when he commented that he wasn't sure he'd be brave enough to attend the conference if had been in my shoes.
To be honest, I asked myself the same question several times before the conference and even a few times during it. "Why am I doing this?"
First and foremost, I went because I wanted to meet Wendy. I had been talking to her for quite some time online[2] and had come to admire her and appreciate her friendship. As a result I've often wanted to meet her for a long time. In fact, I kept telling myself that if I ever found myself going up to Toronto and had the time in my schedule to support it, I'd contact her and ask her if she had the time to meet someplace for a cup of coffee. So when the conference came up and she asked me if I'd like to attend, I took that as my opportunity.[3]
Another reason I went is because I wanted to see firsthand how (and how well) Generous Spaciousness worked in person and in a community. I knew Wendy did a great job (at least online, and I had plenty of reason to believe she was no different in person) at embodying Generous Spaciousness herself, but I also feel it's easier for one person to do that, especially when they're dealing with people on a more one-on-one basis. I was curious to see how Generous Spaciousness fared in an environment that involved multiple people, each with their own views, needs, and understandings. (Short answer: It works quite well.)
You see Generous Spaciousness represents hope to me, a hope that I most desperately want. As I told a number of people at the retreat, I've made my peace with the faith of my past and the fact that my journey has taken me down other roads, roads my old faith communities would find strange and possibly more than a little terrifying. Where I struggle, however, is dealing with the members of my old faith communities, especially those who I am still in relationship with and wish to remain in relationship with. My parents, sister, aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, nephews are all Christian.[4] I have friends with whom I have a long history who are Christian, and there are times when I struggle with how to live peacefully with them in a way that still allows me to be authentic when I'm with them.
Sadly, right now, that sometimes means limiting the time I spend with some of those people. That's not a solution I particularly like. Sometimes, it means hiding parts of myself when around some of those people -- thereby sacrificing my own sense of authenticity to some degree. That is not even a solution and I loathe that choice even more.
Generous Spaciousness offers a possible alternative to those choices, and it's an alternative that I want to place hope in. Going to the retreat was, in many ways, an attempt to gauge how much hope I should allow myself to put in Generous Spaciousness.
Notes: [1] Come to think of it, I don't think anyone asked me what church I attended, but rather if I attended one. I find that interesting now that I'm thinking about it. I suspect (thought can't be sure) that even among LGBT people who maintain their Christian faith, it's common to walk away from faith communities for a period.
[2] I participated in the Bridging the Gap Synchroblog back in June of 2009. I think I started reading the BTG blog a month or two before that, though a quick scan of the post titles from back then didn't help me narrow it down any better. But I can say for certain that I've known her via online interactions for nearly four years, perhaps slightly longer than that.
[3] I'll admit that before I signed up, I asked her if she was sure it was a good idea.
[4] For many of these people, my sexual orientation and my choice of how to respond to it is a bit of a sticking point. My religious choices are a sticking point for all of them.
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Walking the labyrinth at the retreattag:musings.northerngrove.com,2013://1.6462013-05-14T12:00:00Z2013-05-13T14:40:24ZJarredhttp://musings.northerngrove.com/seithman@northerngrove.comWhen I found out that Crieff Hills had a labyrinth, I got excited. I'm fascinated by labyrinths, so I knew I'd have to seek it out and walk it at some point. So when another attendee asked if anyone else wanted to go check out the labyrinth (he also mentioned checking out the amphitheater, but that didn't hold as big a pull for me), I jumped at the chance.
The Crieff Hills labyrinth (and there's a lovely picture of it here) is one of the simplest patterns I have seen. Unlike many medieval-style labyrinths (in Greek labyrinths, the "center" wasn't exactly in the center perfectly circular rings), the full length of each ring is traversed once its entered, as opposed to many such labyrinths (study the image included in this post to see what I'm talking about) paths only traverse one quarter or one half of a ring before turning sending you to a different one. This has the effect of having you walk different quarters of the labyrinth, then jumping to a completely different quarter on occasion. The Crieff Hill's labyrinth simply has you jumping between different rings, sometimes bringing you closer to the center, only to move you further away from it before you finally get to the center.
One of the things I like about the Crieff Hills labyrinth (and every other labyrinth I've had the pleasure to walk so far) is that it is marked by a stone path that lets you look out and see your progress. It allows you to see that your ultimate distance from the center increases and decreases -- almost at seemingly random intervals. That's what makes them a beautiful metaphor not only for spirituals journeys and life itself. Being able to see your progress and just how meandering it is in a labyrinth can be a great comfort when you feel like your own life journey is too tangled and wonder if it's really going to get you anywhere in the end. (Hey Wendy, if you're reading this, would you consider including a
labyrinth walk as part of the planned activities next year for this
reason?)
Some day, I hope to find and walk a labyrinth that has walls, thereby preventing me from seeing my progress. I want to experience more fully the sense of getting completely lost in a labyrinth, not knowing how close (or far away) from my destination the next turn will take me. To me, that would be another way to experience the parallels between walking a labyrinth and journeying through life.
As an aside, to date, the Crieff Hills labyrinth is the only labyrinth I've seen that has trees in it. Having to duck branches to walk its winding paths was a unique and rather interesting experience. I think it adds another layer of metaphorical meaning to the experience.
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Musing from an Unbeliever[1] at the Lord's Tabletag:musings.northerngrove.com,2013://1.6452013-05-13T12:00:00Z2013-05-13T02:41:48ZJarredhttp://musings.northerngrove.com/seithman@northerngrove.com In many ways, I feel blessed to be devoted to gods that are rather lenient when it comes to participating in the rites of other faiths. Their attitude tends to be, "you have your obligations to us. As long as what you choose to do does not interfere with or contradict those obligations, feel free to follow your conscience.
No, the discomfort I have with communion stems from the fact that I deeply respect the rites and practices of other faiths. In the case of communion, different Christians see communion quite differently, and it's hard to tell if the most respectful thing to do is to participate or not.
In the church where I grew up, communion was Very Serious Business. On those Sundays in which my church served communion -- it was conducted roughly once a month -- the minister would read 1 Corinthians 11:23-29 without offering any commentary or explanation, then go on to tell the congregation that they should only take communion if (1) they were "saved" and (2) had made their hearts right with God.
Like I said, for some Christians, communion is Very Serious Business. My first church was one such church. And I know many other churches who hold the view that only Christians should participate in communion.
Rites mean something to their faith communities, and sometimes, it's not always easy to determine what those rites mean, especially in a situation like this past weekend where people are coming from diverse Christians backgrounds, each of which may have subtle (and not so subtle) differences in how they interpret this particular rite.
So when it comes to communion, I often find myself uncomfortable with participating in the right communion of communion because I'm not sure what I'm "signing up for" or "saying" by my participation, which makes it difficult for me to really decide if I can do so honestly. And to me, participating in a rite dishonestly is one of the biggest forms of disrespect.
In the end, I did end up participating in the rite. Wendy had each community group -- the small groups we had been divided into for the purpose of sharing and growing together -- in turn and partake together. Under those circumstances, I felt a bit better about participating. My community group (and Wendy) for that matter knew where I stood theologically, so I didn't feel I had to worry so much about being dishonest.
Plus, this was a group of people I had grown fond of and close to over the previous day and a half. Sharing in that rite with them seemed like the correct -- and highly desirable -- thing to do.
Note: [1] Someday, I will write a blog post in which I unpack everything I don't like about that word and others like it.
[2] I suppose I might feel the same way about baptism if the assumption was that everyone present was going to get baptized. In my experience, that's not normally the case.
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Home againtag:musings.northerngrove.com,2013://1.6442013-05-13T00:25:24Z2013-05-13T00:31:53ZJarredhttp://musings.northerngrove.com/seithman@northerngrove.com I will say, however, that it was a wonderful experience and I'm glad I went and that I'll go again in a heartbeat (finances and schedule permitting) if they have it again next year. I met a number of wonderful people who both shared parts of their story with me and invited to similarly share with them. The stories shared were utterly amazing.
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The most terrifying thing my therapist asked me to dotag:musings.northerngrove.com,2013://1.6432013-05-11T12:00:00Z2013-05-10T03:39:34ZJarredhttp://musings.northerngrove.com/seithman@northerngrove.com
[I feel like this entry might need a Content Note or two, but I'm not sure exactly what for. If anyone wants to offer any suggestions, I'd be quite grateful.]
I figured that since I'm in a writing mood, I'd schedule a blog post or two to go up while I'm at the Generous Spaciousness Conference Retreat. This is another personal reflection/tell you a bit about me post. The events I describe happened a little over two years ago.
I was sitting in my first therapy session and it was almost over. Felicia and I had discussed a few different things. Mostly she had asked me probing questions and I answered them, somewhat briefly. Then she sprung the trap on me.
"We're just about out of time for tonight, so here's what I'd like to do. For the next five minutes, I'm not going to say anything. I want you to talk about whatever you want to talk about."
That was it. She was done talking. I had five minutes I had to fill with whatever I wanted to fill it with. Whatever was on my mind that I felt like sharing.
I hated it. I filled with panic (and it had already been an emotional and exhausting session prior to this point). I wondered how she could ask that of me. I mean, didn't we already establish that I didn't know what to talk about, that I wasn't sure what people would find interesting about me, or even if there was anything about me that people would find interesting? Plus, I didn't know what to say to her. I mean, I was coming to her to sort out my problems -- which I felt we had already established and discussed. What more was I supposed to say? What was she looking for? Why couldn't she just give me some script to follow. Or at least a general premise I could ad lib from. I needed a role to play!
I'm not sure when -- whether it was days or months -- that my need to be given a role to play was exactly the issue she was trying to get me to face (at least I think that was her intent). Much of my problem was that I tended to think of my life and even my worth in terms of "roles" to be played -- often roles assigned by other people. I think asking me to go "off script" for even just five minutes and choose my own words and my own topic to speak of was her way of getting me to choose my own "role" for the first time in a long time.
It's something I still struggle with from time to time. I'm still more comfortable in some situations -- especially in situations where I'm around people I don't know very well -- having a script or at least a pre-planned topic of conversation. But I'm also more likely to have a few possible topics or scripts picked out that I can try to introduce. I'm also more likely to change the subject or steer a conversation where I'm not enjoying am not interested in the current topic.
And with people I'm closer to, I'm more likely to take initiative in steering the conversation. Or torture them with talk about the progress on my novel or even excerpts from my most recent writing spree. I'm more likely to put my interests out there and see if there is any mutual interest rather than automatically assuming there won't be any.
It's still a work in progress for me, but I don't feel the need for a role -- and certainly not the need for a role someone else assigns to me -- to function or feel included to the degree I used to. I think Felicia would be pleased. I know I am. And of course, I know Felicia would say that's ultimately what counts.
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On Challenges and Geekerytag:musings.northerngrove.com,2013://1.6422013-05-10T12:00:00Z2013-05-10T03:04:12ZAs I'm getting ready to head to Canada, I thought I'd take a step back and just offer a bit of insight into another area of my life and psyche.I learned to program in machine code when I was in...Jarredhttp://musings.northerngrove.com/seithman@northerngrove.com
As I'm getting ready to head to Canada, I thought I'd take a step back and just offer a bit of insight into another area of my life and psyche.
I learned to program in machine code when I was in junior high school. Some of my readers are probably somewhat impressed. A couple of them might be saying, "me too!" I suppose some might have even learned at a younger age than I did. The rest of my readers are going, "What the heck is machine code?" For this group, let me give a quick explanation. (Those who already know this or can't handle so much geekery are welcome to skip over the next few paragraphs. I'll throw up a flag letting you know where you can rejoin me post-geekgasm.)
Machine code is the only programming language that the microprocessor that makes your computer work actually understands. While most programs you use are written in C, Perl, Javascript, Java, Python, C#, or one of dozens of language, another program which is already in machine code either took the program written in that other language and converted it over to machine code or read the program in the other language and told the microprocessor what to do.
It's much easier to write a program in C, C#, Pearl, Javascript, Java, or Python than it is to write one in machine code. Machine code consists of very simple instructions, like:
Add the number stored here to the number stored there and store the result over there.
Check the number stored here and if it's greater than the number that's stored there, set this flag over here.
If that flag over there is set, jump back twenty instructions in this program and start running from that point.
Even the simplest of tasks can take dozens of instructions in machine code to complete. Doing everything a word processor does would require hundreds of thousands of machine code instructions. Maybe millions. Only people who write device drivers and extreme masochists (and believe me, there's a lot of overlap between those two groups) write in machine code. Even then, they tend to write in assembly, which uses keywords to represent instructions. So for example, if I was writing in assembly language, I might write: ADD AX, BX (Meaning: Add the value in AX to the value in BX and store the result back in AX)
In machine code, that would just be a bunch of numbers: 102, 01, 208
The microprocessor would read in those three numbers and know that it was supposed to add the value it had in AX to the value it had in BX and store the result back in AX. There are programs (conveniently called assemblers) that read programs written in assembly and translate them to machine code for you.
Like I said, in junior high school, I learned (taught myself, actually) to program in machine code. Technically, I learned to program in assembly too. But I had to learn to translate my assembly programs into machine code myself (this is called hand-assembling, by way) because I didn't have an assembler. You see, I was working on a VIC-20 (the predecessor to the Commodore 64, for those who remember them, and those who don't, well, just assume we're talking some really old computers that probably aren't as powerful as the graphing calculator you used in your algebra class) that my father had gotten me at a garage sale. I had the computer, the power supply, the old tape drive that you could use to save your programs to cassette tapes. It was an ancient computer when I got it, so there was no way I was going to find an assembler for it. Okay, the geek-talk is more or less over. Welcome back to those who chose to skip it. So, why on earth did I decide to teach myself programming in machine code when I was so young? Well, because I was bored. As I said, I was playing around with a computer that I had nothing for, a computer that let you type in programs written in BASIC (an old programming language hardly anyone ever uses before -- and no, VisuaBasic is not (quite) the same) and run them. I had written all the programs in BASIC I could think of and I was bored with it. I needed something new to do. Something challenging. Then I noticed that one of the manuals I got with the computer included a section on assembly code and listed all the machine code instructions that the microprocessor in the computer knew. So my next challenging adventure presented itself.
My point in all of this isn't to show off my geek cred or brag about what a smart (and possibly insufferably smart) kid I was. It's that I've always loved a challenge. When I get bored, I want something to do. I want something to tinker with. I want a problem to solve. I especially love those challenges where people tell me I can't do something, especially when it comes to computers. (I had college professor use that fact to trick me into taking on a project for him, actually.) Learning to program in machine code on that old computer meant doing something that wasn't easy. (It also gave me the ability to do something with that computer that an uncle said I couldn't possibly do. Like I said, I especially love challenges where people tell me I can't do something.) It's a trait that's marked most of my life.
Granted, the downside is that it also means that I'm more interested in the challenge than the result at times. There's been a few times where once I've conquered the challenge, I've lost interest in the work that was actually related to the challenge. "Why should I finish the program? I figured out how to do the hard part. The rest of it is easy tedious, and uninteresting." Needless to say, that's an attitude the college professors found irritating. Fortunately, I learned to suppress it on the job. But I've also learned to let my boss know when I need another challenge. Because I live for them. And I falter without them.
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Soon, I'll be Canada-boundtag:musings.northerngrove.com,2013://1.6412013-05-09T12:00:00Z2013-05-08T08:11:31ZJarredhttp://musings.northerngrove.com/seithman@northerngrove.com
Generous Spaciousness Conference Retreat. Here's a brief description of the retreat:
A safe place to be
authentic, to share, to worship, to learn and to grow! All are welcome
to enter this experience of Christian community with generous hearts, a
listening and humble posture, to experience God's outrageous love and
grace!
The retreat is being organized by New Direction Ministries of Canada. I'm looking forward to it for a number of reasons, including the fact that attending means I finally get to meet Wendy Gritter, with whom I have conversed online for two (three? four? I've lost track!) years now. Wendy is one of the driving forces behind the concept of Generous Spaciousness and has done a great deal of blogging about it. Her thoughts on the topic are great. I'm not sure if this particular description was written by her, but I think it accurately reflects her vision of Generous Spaciousness:
What is Generous Spaciousness? GS is a relational posture
that acknowledges the reality of diverse perspectives on the question
of faithful discipleship for same-sex oriented people. These differences
have polarized the church, hindered our public witness as the Body of
Christ, and alienated LGBT people from the church. This posture prioritizes nurturing a safe and encouraging environment for gender and sexual minorities to explore and grow in faith in Jesus Christ,
entrusting each individual to the leading of the Holy Spirit while
encouraging them to be a part of a Christ-centered community. Generous Spaciousness seeks to build bridges, to find unity in our diversity, and to pursue peace.
I'll admit that earlier this week, I was very skeptical about the concept of Generous Spaciousness, or at least whether it could ever be successfully applied. To be honest, between reading material that called me and other LGBT people to tell our stories and educate Christians in spite of the fact that many Christians are poor listeners at best and actually hostile to the listening process at best and being faced with some Christians who are unwilling to let go of their overpowering need to "answer the morality question," I found myself disillusioned.
But then I remembered that people like Wendy have demonstrated both an eagerness to listen and engage with LGBT people and have even been willing to set aside the "morality question" or at least accept it as a disputable matter which Christians can disagree on in good faith, allowing them to focus on hospitality and fellowship. As I considered these things the past couple days, my hopes for finding Generous Spaciousness and the retreat to be something worthwhile have returned.
I'll blog about how it went and my thoughts sometime after I get back. ]]>
I am not a theological problem to be solvedtag:musings.northerngrove.com,2013://1.6402013-05-08T12:00:00Z2013-05-08T13:49:50ZJarredhttp://musings.northerngrove.com/seithman@northerngrove.com
[Content Note: Disappearing LGBT Humanity, Religious Supremacy.]
Earlier this week, I posted a few thoughts about a paper by Nigel Chapman about same-sex sexual relationships and evangelical Christianity. Since then, Mr. Chapman and I have had a chance to discuss things. (Our conversation starts at comment #5.) I eventually summarized my central point thus:
The
insistence by heterosexual Christians that they must first answer
whether LGBT lives and relationships are moral before they engage in
acts of love toward and relationship with LGBT people is an aggressive
act of power against and privileging heterosexual Christians over LGBT
Christians. As long as heterosexual Christians insist on reserving that
power and privilege for themselves, they are actively causing harm
toward LGBT people. I call this sin and would ask that all evangelical
Christians who believe that harming LGBT people and exercising power
over them to be sinful to call all who engage in this particular act of
aggression and pride to repentance.
To me, Mr. Chapman's paper feeds into the evangelical desire to privilege their sense of entitlement to be the moral arbiters of LGBT people's lives over their duty to be good and loving neighbors to LGBT people. After all, rather than saying -- as I have called him to do -- "Hey, the morality of what LGBT people do is not your primary concern. The morality of how you treat them is," he's saying, "Okay, we can worry about how you treat LGBT people after we figure out whether what they do is moral."
I also want to draw attention to is Mr. Chapman's own description of his paper:
So my paper isn't advocacy, and is only indirectly concerned with listening, rather, it's theological problem-solving...
This is the other problem with playing into the idea that Christians need to answer the "morality question" about LGBT relationships first: It's a line of thinking that dehumanizes LGBT people and our lives into a theological problem to be solved. Not humans first and foremost to be loved and related to. An "issue" to talk about and work out.
The sad thing is, I get a clear sense that Mr. Chapman ultimately wants to help LGBT people, make things better for us, and make evangelical Christianity more welcoming of us. But he's so deeply entrenched in the systems of privilege and power that are still part and parcel of his religious subculture that he's unable or unwilling to see that his methods of trying to help actually play into those systems and allow them to continue to other and marginalize the people he wants to help. You cannot help LGBT people and still treat us as a theological problem to solve or even allow others to continue treating us as such.
I hope that Mr. Chapman comes to realize this some day.
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Welcome to the Conversation...Forty Years Latetag:musings.northerngrove.com,2013://1.6392013-05-07T12:00:00Z2013-05-05T23:16:46ZJarredhttp://musings.northerngrove.com/seithman@northerngrove.com I'd like to welcome you to the conversation. It's a conversation that's quite important to me as a gay man who has Christian friends, gay friends, trans* friends, and friends who belong to more than one of those camps. It's a conversation that is absolutely necessary for all of us to live peacefully and share this world we live in together, so the more people who join in with that aim, the better.
Having said that, I would like to take this time to remind you that this is not a new conversation, even though you may be joining it for the first time. This conversation is older than me, having been started more than forty years ago. This conversation was long established when I joined it over seventeen years ago. In all that time, much has been said, re-said, examined, discussed, deconstructed, reconstructed, and rehashed. In short, this conversation has a lot of history behind it.
As a newcomer to this conversation, you would do well to familiarize yourself with some of that history, as it will help you get up to speed when it comes to participating. After all, this isn't some small discussion about unimportant matters. This is a discussion about real people, real relationships, and real struggles they face. And as one of the people this conversation is directly about, I would appreciate it if you'd treat it with the seriousness it deserves.
As a newcomer to this conversation, you're going to have to deal with a lot of new ideas. You're bound to have a lot of questions that are new to you. The thing I'd like you to remember, however, is that these are not new ideas to those of us who have been involved in this conversation for a while. We asked those same questions ourselves years -- even decades -- ago. Since then we've answered them, explored those answers, criticized those answers, responded to those criticisms, modified our answers, and in some cases even come up with new answers. Similarly, a lot of those ideas that you may run across or come up with have been presented, hashed out, rehashed, debated, debunked, shored up, and in some turned into a deceased equestrian that should not be beaten ever again.
So please understand that when you bring up certain ideas or ask certain questions, no matter how novel they may seem to you, they are tiresome old topics -- and often dead ends -- that some of us don't really care to spend any more time on. In case of questions, many of us will try to direct you to recorded instances -- via books, blogs, and other sources -- where those questions have already been addressed. In the case of ideas, we might do likewise (some ideas have been proven so thoroughly invalid and even fraudulent so many times that some of us are exasperated that some people out there can still be unaware of just how off-base those particular ideas are). When we do so, please look up the information we tell you about (or find it yourself via Google) and answer your own questions and engage in at least a first-round critique of your own ideas that way.
The one thing I would absolutely ask that you not do is pretend like you're the first person who came up with the question or idea -- and certainly don't bask in your self-perceived genius for coming up with it. New ideas and new questions do come up from time to time, and you may be someone who does come up with something new at some point. But remember, you're joining a four decade conversation that has involved many different minds -- some of which spent huge swaths of their lives thinking about these things. The odds really aren't in your favor at this point, so I'd ask that you show a bit more humility.
Another good reason why I'd recommend humility is that you and evangelical Christians and institutions are joining this conversation very late in its development. While you may be a young adult and therefore have valid reasons for coming so late to the conversation, your religions and the institutions that represent it do not. Many of those people and institutions have patently refused to join in the conversation -- and certainly would not listen to LGBT voices at all -- in the past. That's a big point of irritation for me and some other LGBT people. Especially when you ask us to deal with questions and ideas that we've already discussed to the point of exhaustion. And while you may be young enough that this represents your first opportunity to engage in this conversation, please bear in mind that your forebears' choice has contributed to your current level of ignorance. Had they joined the conversation when they were first invited, they'd be able to fill you in on much of that backstory and background information you're missing. The fact that they didn't and you're now left in ignorance isn't necessarily your fault. It's just not mine either. However, I would appreciate it if you'd take the lion's share of the responsibility for fixing it.
Also, bear in mind that part of the reason that your forebears chose not to engage in this conversation before is because it did not affect them. Like you, many of them were heterosexual so LGBT issues, LGBT lives, and the choices we LGBT people were faced with were things they didn't have to think about. Unlike me and those like me, they had the luxury to just ignore it all and go on merrily with their own lives. In reality, you still have that choice. This conversation does not affect you the way it does me, and you could fairly easily make ignore it all and move on. I don't get that choice. The things being discussed in this conversation impact my life every single day.
Now, understand, I'm glad you're choosing to get involved, rather than ignore the whole conversation. It suggests to me that you and others like you are realizing that completely ignoring the real struggles and lives of your fellow humans is not cool and that you want to be more compassionate and concerned. That's a good thing. But I'd encourage you to follow that thinking further and understand why compassion might call you to acknowledge how you handle yourself in this conversation, especially considering how much catching up you have to do and how it ultimately affects you and I in different, unequal ways.
Thank you. And thank you again for joining in the conversation, even at this point.
Jarred. ]]>
Musings on "Torn": On LGBT people telling their stories.tag:musings.northerngrove.com,2013://1.6382013-05-06T12:00:00Z2013-05-05T15:46:39ZJarredhttp://musings.northerngrove.com/seithman@northerngrove.com
[Content Note: Subtle homophobia and derailing tactics.]
I want to continue to comment on Justin Lee's suggestions on moving forward in the "Gays and Christianity" discussion that he lays out in his book, "Torn: Rescuing the Gospel from the Gays v.s Christians Debate." A little over a week ago, I looked at Justin's call for Christians to show more grace, especially in the face of disagreement. I thought that suggestion was spot on and that people needed to simply understand just what showing grace might look like when dealing with LGBT people (not to mention subtle ways Christians can be ungraceful). I find the suggestion I want to cover this week more problematic. We must educate Christians.
The short answer to this is "No." The slightly longer answer -- and the answer that might cause some readers to stop reading an dismiss everything else to say -- is "Fuck that shit!" My purpose for existing is not to educate other people about the issues that are near and dear to my heart. To put it bluntly, if they want to understand the issues that are near and dear to my hear -- and if they care about me, they want to do exactly that -- they need to educate themselves. Full stop.
Truth be told, there are dozens of resources out there for people to learn about LGBT issues, the things that LGBT people struggle with -- both collectively and individually -- that these Christians in need of education already have access to. There are hundreds of LGBT bloggers (in fact, Fred Clarke has created a still-growing list of LGBT bloggers who blog from a Christian perspective, and the count on that list is up over 100 alone.) Collectively, those bloggers share personal stories, commentary on political issues that affect LGBT people, cover the latest acts of both ex-gay ministries and anti-gay organizations and how they are harming the LGBT community, and dozens of other topics. All any Christian needs to do to become educated on these matters is open their favorite web browser and submit a few choice words and phrases to their favorite search engine. They will learn all kinds of things.
And yet, Christians aren't doing this. This suggests to me that they don't want to be (further) educated on these subjects. So I see no point in wasting a lot of time and energy into doing something for people that those people don't want -- or at least aren't willing to put any effort into themselves.
Or perhaps some Christians really do want to be educated, but on their terms. Sparky talked about this phenomenon quite succinctly in his post, "Is There a Duty to Educate?":
When you ask us to educate you and get mad
when we say no, you are not lost and alone in the wilderness, hopelessly
ignorant without any help you find your way out. You are already wallowing
in all the information you need - you just can't be bother
to take the effort to read it when you can make one of us spoon feed
you.
If Christians want to be educated -- and they should -- then they need to quit expecting LBGT people to show up at their churches, behave in a certain way, and act as if it's some great honor to be invited to come talk to the nice Christian folks. They can instead come to those places that we LGBT people find some measure of safety and therefore are already sharing our stories there. They can reach out to us with a humble and honest desire to listen to our stories.
So a big portion of my problem with Justin's advice is not that I don't think LGBT people should be telling our stories[1] or engaging with Christians. For the most part, I take issue with the apparent implication that we haven't already been doing this. We have. The Christians who still need to be "educated" simply aren't listening, either due to lack of desire on their part or an insistence that we do everything on their terms.
Note: [1] Though I will note that this is a decision that every LGBT person has to make for themselves and I think many LGBT people have valid reasons not to do this. Sharing one's story requires a great deal of vulnerability and often has the effect of painting a bright red target on oneself for those who want to take shots, attack, and denigrate. Expecting any particular LGBT person to do that is pretty demanding, so I do take issue with Justin phrasing this suggestion as an unqualified "must."
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A heterosexual evangelical Christian writes about LGBT matters and a friend (foolishly) asks for my thoughts.tag:musings.northerngrove.com,2013://1.6372013-05-05T11:58:51Z2013-05-05T16:36:09ZJarredhttp://musings.northerngrove.com/seithman@northerngrove.com
Torn: Rescuing the Gospel from the Gays vs. Christians Debate." However, blogging buddy Matt Stone dropped me a note on Facebook inviting me to offer a critique of Nigel Chapman's paper, "Gay Sex for Evangelicals: Why gay sex is biblically condemned, and how this understanding solves the Evangelical impasse over same-sex attraction." It's basically a paper written by a heterosexual evangelical Christian to other heterosexual evangelical Christians (and possibly gay evangelical Christians who take a view that's commonly called Side B among gay Christians and those who interact with (or discuss) them. He breaks the paper down into two parts:
A section in which he describes the current state of affairs of how LGBT Christians generally experience life in their evangelical churches and explains why this should be a great concern for pastors and all evangelical Christians everywhere.
A section in which he explores places where the Bible condemns same sex sexual activity in an attempt to understand why it does so and how that applies to same sex sexual activity in general and even sexual orientation.
Overall, I really don't have much to say on the actual content of either of those sections or the arguments he makes. I think they're pretty spot on, and reflect what has already been said on the subject (I'll come back to that statement in a bit). However, I do have a few thoughts on the paper, it's presentation, and the general culture which inspired it. And I will share those thoughts roughly and as-is now.
Oh look, another heterosexual man has decided that he has something to say about LGBT issues. Am I really supposed to be excited by this? I mean, heterosexual men's voices aren't exactly underrepresented in this conversation.
The above thought is somewhat (but only somewhat) mitigated by the fact that Chapman encourages fellow heterosexual Christians to actually listen to LGBT people and even offers quotes from LGBT youth in the first part of his paper. All the same, just once, I'd like one of these heterosexual men to do exactly that and then stop without adding his own commentary.
All of his arguments in part two look great to me. Then again, they looked great to me the dozens of other times I've read them when they were put forward by other people, often LGBT Christians who struggled with these questions for years.
I'm deeply bothered by the fact that Chapman doesn't seem to acknowledge that he's covering new ground and that his arguments have long been put forth by others, namely LGBT Christians. (See my first point in this list.)
When those same arguments were put forward for years by LGBT people, they were summarily dismissed by many heterosexual evangelical Christians on the grounds that LGBT Christians were "just trying to rationalize their sin."
The fact that Chapman is presenting these arguments and claims that they are (now) "unassailable" is contemptible in my book as a result. The fact that a heterosexual man is now presenting these arguments does not magically make them "objective" whereas they were biased back when LGBT Christians were presenting them. The fact that Chapman doesn't address this issue and charge his fellow Christians for dismissing "unassailable" arguments simply because they were originally offered up by LGBT Christians is something I believe he needs to repent of.
I really wish he would have stopped after the first part. Not because I disagree with his conclusions in the second part (in fact, I'm inclined to agree with them), but because it continues to play into the contemptible notion that it's up to heterosexual evangelical Christians to determine the moral way for LGBT people to live their lives and that it's the most important question to the whole "Christian theology about LGBT people and the issues they face." It would be nice if for once, heterosexual evangelical Christians would let LGBT people worry about what the most moral course for their lives would be and instead focus on things they are responsible for and can change: Like the hate or lack of love (because let's face it, there's a lot of wiggle room between hating someone and being loving toward them) that LGBT people feel around them and in their churches. That's something that they should be able to answer without delving into questions about the morality of same-sex sexual activity. And that's a fact that gets ignored every time someone like Chapman insists on answering questions about the morality of same-sex sexual activity every time he talks about how Christians should treat LGBT people and the issues they face.
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Musings on "Torn": Christians showing gracetag:musings.northerngrove.com,2013://1.6362013-04-27T15:12:46Z2013-04-27T16:08:10ZJarredhttp://musings.northerngrove.com/seithman@northerngrove.com
previous entry, I want to spend some time examining Justin's advice for moving forward and away from the "culture war"[1] that he offers in chapter fifteen. After all, most of the rest of the book consists of him telling his story or explaining his own take on Christian theology in regards to homosexuality and same sex relationships. The former deserves no response beyond careful reading and the encouragement of others to also read it. The latter holds little interest to me, as I don't consider my life to be bound by Christian theology.
But finding a way forward to living peaceful lives with the many Christians that share my workplace, my shopping centers, and the rest of the world with me, that's something I can get on board with and discuss. So in this post, I want to consider Justin's first suggestion:
Christians must show more grace, especially in the midst of disagreement.
In this section, Justin focuses on how Christians approach gay people. He reminds us of his own exchange with a high school friend that he shared in the second chapter. He focuses on the fact that his answer boiled down -- as Sean pointed out -- to the old adage that just about every gay person has heard: love the sinner, but hate the sin.
In this part of chapter fifteen, Justin reflects on his own experience of people who loved him, but hated his "sin:"[2]
Yes, I know I'm a sinner, as we all are, but something about the phrase feels condescending and dehumanizing, as if I'm now the "sinner" rather than the person's friend or neighbor, and "loving" me has become the new project they've taken on out of obligation to God rather than a genuine interest in my well-being. For this, it seems I am supposed to feel grateful, as if this were a great imposition on someone who could easily have passed me by and left me in my sinful state.
In addition to the dehumanization of being turned into a "love project," I'd also note that a lot of Christians who "love sinners but hate sin" have what I would consider some strange ideas of what it means to love other people they consider "sinners." You will often hear many Christians talk about "love" in these situations about needing to "lovingly correct the other person," which often leads to constant streams of preaching about the sinfulness they hate so much. Not only does this mean once again telling gay people the same things we've heard dozens of times before -- a reality I noted elsewhere -- this kind of preaching about the sinfulness prevents such Christians from getting to ways in which they relate to and show love in more recognizable -- and dare I say more traditional -- ways.
Love is not an abstract comment. It's something that is tangible and can only exist in a real relationship. And I'd argue that Christians don't need to just show grace, but need to learn to love in relationship better. They need to start getting to know LGBT people and knowing what their individuals troubles, concerns, and needs are. To make an allusion to a popular myth, they need to find out who is actually naked, who is actually starving, who is actually in prison, and act accordingly when dealing with each of those people. Some needs are somewhat universal among all LGBT people, but can even manifest in different ways among individuals. Others are more specific to individuals or subgroups within the larger community. The only way Christians -- both as individuals[3] and collectively -- can respond to these needs is to become familiar with them first-hand and on an up-close, personal level.
Christians also need to be prepared that meeting LGBT people's needs may cause them discomfort. After all, part of loving someone means loving all of them and living with all of them. That's the problem with the "hate the sin" part. Christians who want to "love the sinner while hating the sin" want to conditionally accept some parts of the "sinner" while ignoring the rest. This does not make for a healthy or desirable relationship.
Over the years, I've had a few Christian friends who believe that same sex relationships were wrong. They loved me -- or at least tried their hardest. We'd get together and talk. We'd discuss our work, our families, theology (mostly when I was still a Christian), and just about every thing else in our lives. Then on occasion, I'd fall into a false sense that I really could talk about anything and I'd talk about my love life (or my attempts to find love).
Suddenly, the conversation screeched to the halt at an awkward silence. The other person would say something rather non-committal, then change the subject. Just like that, I was reminded that there were just some aspects of my life that were "off limits" for conversation because they were things the other person would rather not think or wrestle with. If I wanted that friendship to continue, I had to be willing to hide that part of my life -- one that I considered (and still consider) extremely important to me.
Needless to say, those friendships faded away over time. Christians would do will to remember that "love" offered with conditions or limits is not felt as love by those so limited. That's a hard truth, but experience teaches me that neither grace nor love are easy.
Notes: [1] I also want to note that in my experience only one "side" refers to it as the "culture war." To LGBT[4] people, it's not a "culture war" so much as a struggle to be treated with the same basic human dignity and allowed to enjoy the same legal protections that heterosexual, cisgender people already enjoy without even having to think about it, let alone worry or struggle. So I'd say that the way forward would go much greater if Christians would drop the phrase "culture war" and similar rhetoric altogether.
[2] I don't accept the idea that same sex relationships are inherently sinful, so I'm choosing to use quotes around the term. Then again, I don't buy into the whole theology of "sin" anyway, so there you have it.
[3] As an aside, I think that an essential key to moving forward is for Christians to stop thinking in terms of "The Church" on an institutional level. Institutions don't have relationships. People do. It's why Justin's point says "Christians need to show grace" rather than "The Church needs to show grace." Until Christianity as a whole lays aside the power structures -- those structures most vested in seeing things in term of a "culture war," I suspect the way forward will be treacherous and possibly downright impassable.
[4] I'm a bit divided on being inclusive in "LGBT people" in this blog post/series or just coming right out in saying "gay people." Truth be told, much of the book, while applicable to trans people, focuses on sexual orientation (and gay male sexuality at that) rather than trans issues. This leaves me torn between wanting to acknowledge other sexual minorities and fearing that by including them in a rather nominal way, I'm belittling their importance and the importance of issues that affect trans people far more harshly than they do me. Quite frankly, trans people get that kind of treatment enough and I'm still working out ways to do a better job of not contributing to it.
When I found out that Crieff Hills had a labyrinth, I got excited. I'm fascinated by labyrinths, so I knew I'd have to seek it out and walk it at some point. So when another attendee asked if anyone else wanted to go check out the labyrinth (he also mentioned checking out the amphitheater, but that didn't hold as big a pull for me), I jumped at the chance.