Has the Side B Project Failed?

Responding to Bethel McGrew's "How the Side B Project Failed"

Photo by Al Soot on Unsplash

A few days ago, Bethel McGrew wrote an article for First Things in which she argued that the “Side B project” has failed, and turned to some of my work as proof of that failure. I thought I would offer some of my own thoughts in response, just in case those who were reading the article wanted to hear more context. I still stand by everything I wrote, but if you’re looking for an explanation, you’ve come to the right place! I will speak only for myself, and address only the section in which I appear, which is mostly located in this paragraph:

This normalization [of “certain manifestations of same-sex desire”] has been succinctly crystallized by Revoice charter speaker Grant Hartley, who has asserted explicitly that not all same-sex romance is “off limits” in a Side B framework, only same-sex sex. He goes on to elaborate that some “Side B folks” might “pursue relationships with the same sex which might be called ‘romantic’—the category of ‘romance’ is vague.” Hartley first provoked controversy with his inaugural Revoice talk, endorsed by Hill, which proposed that Christians could mine gay culture for “queer treasure.” For example, he analogizes “coming out of the closet” to death and resurrection. Even in spaces like a gay club, he feels a sense of “homecoming.”

As for defining romance…

The main issue I see with using the word “romance” as a measuring stick for the chastity of a relationship is that it is not a biblical word, or a word even very firmly rooted in the tradition, and so much of how we define romance reflects more of our own cultural context and preferences than anything. Cultural constructs are still real, yes, but they are ever-shifting, subject to change, not set in stone. Ask ten people to define romance, you will likely get eleven answers. Is it buying someone flowers? Chocolate? Candle-lit dinners? I have often heard something like “I know it when I see it,” but that becomes very tricky to systematize and even tricker to legislate.

I am not claiming that everything that can be called “romantic” is moral or wise for Side B folks committed to celibacy to pursue with a person of the same sex—there is much I would likely advise against!—but I am saying some of what many would call “romantic” is fine, and that the tendency to say “no” to everything “romantic” owes a lot to a culture of over-sexualization, a real loss of intimate friendship, and a pervading fear or distrust of LGBTQ+ people. The category of “romance” is vague, and it encompasses a wide variety of things that are good and bad, and a great many things that are probably good or bad depending on context. I know that’s scary! But I think the best response to this complexity is an emphasis on discernment (I became Catholic through the Jesuits, y’all), not a blanket prohibition.

As for “Queer treasure”…

If I could turn back time, avoiding the phrase “Queer treasure” would have saved me a lot of heartache, I think. I would probably have still said it (sometimes a controversial turn of phrase is a needed shock to the system), but I would have been more prepared for the kinds of reactions it has provoked. By way of explanation, it will be helpful to mention some central assumptions I make at the beginning of my Revoice19 talk (basically a better draft of the infamous Revoice18 talk):

“First, sexual and gender minorities have unique experiences, unique needs, and unique gifts to offer. Second, sexual and gender minorities produce culture, which I will call “Queer culture”. And third, Queer culture is a legitimate culture, with differences in worldview, values, human institutions, and expressing itself in language, music, art, and customs, among other things.”

If LGBTQ+ people are a genuine and unique people group, we produce a unique culture (or rather, multiple unique cultures). If we produce unique cultures then the immense wealth of the history of Christian contexualization and missiology can apply. This means that LGBTQ+ people are not merely recipients of good news that should be formulated so that there are no unnecessary cultural obstacles, but also, we have good gifts and perspectives to share with the Church. (Side note: it makes me feel icky when this contextualization talk only goes one way, and LGBTQ+ people are seen only as needy sinners, and not also as a source of wisdom.) We should expect to find goodness, truth, and beauty in Queer culture because we should expect to find them in every culture. The Reformed tradition calls this—along with any gift God bestows on all people, such as sunshine, rain, natural beauty, etc.—“common grace”: people being made in the image of God means, among other things, that all are capable of producing cultures characterized by some goodness, truth, and beauty.

This line of thought seemed to me at the time of writing my Revoice18 talk (and still seems to me years later) to be pretty straightforward and uncontroversial. (I’m still thankful for the solid summary of my Revoice18 talk that McGrew mentioned and you can find here, which includes a link to the video recording as well).

As for “coming out of the closet” and resurrection…

Sure, it’s not a one-for-one, and resurrection is obviously central and foundational in a way coming out of the closet is not (if Christ has not been raised from the dead we are of all people to be most pitied). What I mean to do in comparing them is to say that many Queer people already have a foundational experience that bears a striking resemblance to resurrection, and from a purely missiological viewpoint, it would be foolish not to make that connection explicit. The phrase, “coming out of the closet,” after all, is already a death and resurrection image: it is drawn from the “skeleton in the closet” and the debutante ball or coming out ball—it is a skeleton becoming a debutante. Imagine you were trying to mutually share faith with LGBTQ+ people. Would it not make sense to draw some of these connections, between the closet and the tomb, resurrection and coming out, chosen family and the Church?

As for my sense of “homecoming” at a gay club…

I must confess I am rather at a loss with this critique; it seems to me that if one does not understand why a gay person would feel a powerful sense of belonging and love in a club filled with other LGBTQ+ people who have experienced similar hurts, longings, and joys, then I am unsure how much of a productive conversation is possible. It feels refreshing to be in a space in which I am accepted for the very things which I am rejected for elsewhere. If it helps, I also felt an overwhelming sense of belonging, love, and homecoming when I entered the Roman Catholic Church two years ago—and the Easter Vigil reminded me of coming out of the closet: from isolation to community, grief to joy, and darkness to light (I wrote about my conversion for America Magazine here). I am living one life—one gay Catholic life—not two.

Some lingering questions…

After reading the article, I found myself wondering: how could I convince someone like McGrew—aware of the brokenness and dangers of Queer culture, but seemingly unwilling to acknowledge much of the truth, beauty, and goodness—that my being gay is not merely an immensely painful burden, a “solitary sorrow,” or swirling vortex of temptation, but has actually been an avenue for joy, a real gift from God? What would it take to prove that, or at least make room for the possibility? (I wrote something along those lines for Grotto Network here). It seems that what I and many other Side B folks see as an embrace of that truth, goodness, and beauty, as joy and gift—and in that sense, real victory—she sees as a capitulation, and thus a failure of the whole project. Have we reached an impasse?

There is so much more to say of course, but I think this is enough for now. I will just leave y’all with the conclusion of the Revoice19 talk, which ties many of these threads together pretty well (and interestingly, echoes the quote from Benedict XVI at the conclusion of McGrew’s article, which I also appreciated!):

What could the Church look like if Queer people were invited in, not because we are helpless projects on the one hand or experts in following Jesus on the other, but because our liberation is bound up together? What if Jesus actually met us where we are, in our own culture? And what could we do together, if all our cultures and gifts were acknowledged and valued, rather than ignored or thrown away? What kind of community could we experience, and what kind of witness could we have to the world?