Revoice and Outreach: Reflections
On Community, Creativity, and Table Talk
This past week, I had the pleasure to attend two conferences for LGBTQ+ Christians: Revoice (an ecumenical Christian conference geared toward those who submit to what is often called a “traditional sexual ethic”) and Outreach (a conference geared toward LGBTQ+ Catholics). I also had the honor of speaking and/or sitting on panels at these conferences to discuss reading the Bible for formation, stewarding attraction as a Christian sexual minority, the Bible and homosexuality, and living a life of chastity.
I asked y’all for prayer, encouragement, and good vibes over the past few weeks, and it seems that the prayer of a righteous person really is powerful and effective! The conferences went very well, and I hope to post my notes for them soon. I thought that while the conferences were fresh in my mind, I might sketch out some takeaways for y’all—and I hope to watch some of the recorded sessions again in the next few weeks, which will likely prompt additional thoughts. So here are a few reflections, with more to come:
Side B Community
The night before Revoice this year, I had the opportunity to meet with a group of community and ministry leaders in the Side B world (that is, the world of sexual and gender minorities who submit to what is often called the “traditional sexual ethic,” and the theologically conservative churches and faith communities in which we most often find ourselves). Over the course of our hours-long conversation, I was struck afresh by how much Side B folks are currently struggling in their churches and faith communities.
I admit, I have a pretty comfortable life as a gay Catholic. Sure, I have my frustrations with the institutional Church, with fellow believers, and my own struggles with living out my faith. But my current church community and theological institute are both extremely safe and supportive, I have a solid group of LGBTQ+ Christian friends that provide a structure to my life, and I can choose to not have the kinds of draining conversations that used to feel obligated to have: conversations about why I use sexual identity language, about why I engage with LGBTQ+ culture the way I do, etc.
I tend to forget that my experience is not normal, and sometimes assume that the progress I have felt in my own life over the past few years is progress all Side B people have shared. But Side B folks (and indeed, any LGBTQ+ folks in more theologically conservative churches and faith communities) are still dealing oppressive institutions, still pushed into the closet, still struggling to find a community of followers of Christ in which they can just be themselves. I was reminded this year how desperately needed communities like Revoice are; even when they are old news to me, they are like a breath of fresh air to so many who have spent years holding their breath.
A few of my friends shared with me after the conference how the conference “got gayer” as it progressed (more painted fingernails, sequins and glitter, a growing flamboyance, etc.), and one of them shared how it happens every year and is such an encouragement to see: people come to the conference hoping to find people like them, hoping to find a place to be themselves, hoping to find freedom—and they do. Sure, no one is obligated to take on the stereotypical trappings of queerness, and doing so does not necessarily indicate that one has become free. But Revoice is a place where many of us have found a hospitable space to breath deep, to smile wide, to love.
Community Over Content
At Revoice, I lead a breakout session titled “Being Read By Scripture,” in which I suggested some ways we might go about falling in love with the Bible again, and coming to be formed and transformed by it, rather than merely informed by it. My practical suggestions for engaging the Bible were drawn from the riches of the broader Christian tradition: a lectionary, liturgy, lectio divina, the spiritual senses of the Bible, and imaginative prayer. Because in previous years I had been so wrapped up in controversy, this year I wanted to share something uncontroversial and undeniably good.
I approached a friend after the session to get some feedback, and he offered something like this: “If I had heard that a straight man was going to be leading your session, I would simply not have come; it would have been too triggering. But because it was you, I felt safe enough to come. And hearing you speak about these basic elements of the Christian tradition, I felt able to engage with them deeply for the first time in a long time.” This feedback was both encouraging and humbling for me: it was encouraging in that I was convinced the content I offered was helpful, and it was humbling in that I was convinced my experience and expertise were not truly necessary, and that God could have used anyone to play the role I did.
That feedback only reinforced what I had sensed throughout the conference: that the real victory of the conference was not the insightful or innovative content—although there absolutely was insightful and innovative content, no doubt about that—but that LGBTQ+ followers of Christ showed up. What nourished people more than anything at the conference was the experience of the community assembled together to worship God, the presence of hundreds of LGBTQ+ followers of Christ seeking to grow in their spiritual life and extending themselves for the spiritual growth of others.
This was a theme at the more intellectually driven, content-heavy Outreach as well: the panel discussions and keynote addresses were stimulating, the strategic conversation with others challenging and encouraging (more on strategic conversation later) but it was during meals (and particularly, after drinks and some late night dancing) that I got to build human connections that really excited me about the future of the Church. Building those human connections is a ministry all its own.
A Divine Interruption
At Outreach, I had the opportunity to sit on a panel titled “The Bible and Homosexuality.” Each of the panelists (including prominent biblical scholars and pastors) had written an article for the Outreach website on one or more of the so-called “clobber passages,” those handful of verses in the Bible that supposedly speak directly about same-sex sexual activity, and have been used as weapons gay, lesbian, and bisexual folks (you can read those articles here). I had read each of the articles, prepared extensive notes (with footnotes!), and asked for feedback from several friends—I was thoroughly prepared to get into the nitty-gritty of biblical interpretation of those verses.
But sitting on the panel, I got the sense (and perhaps this was from the Holy Spirit) that I needed to ignore those notes, and instead speak about reading the Bible for formation and share some of the fruit of my own practice of lectio divina. So instead of discussing the historical context of the Levitical law or exploring all the nuances of what the apostle Paul might have meant by arsenokoitai and malakoi, I discussed the danger of merely accumulating knowledge about the Bible and never really meeting with God in its pages, and shared about how the theme of death and resurrection throughout the Bible has been a source of encouragement for me when viewed alongside the “coming out of the closet” metaphor in contemporary LGBTQ+ life (much of which I shared in a previous post you can read here). This ended up being a great complement to what the other panelists shared.
On Table Talk
Throughout both conferences, I got the sense that there were two kinds of conversations about faith and sexuality happening: one I will call strategic, and the other creative (not that strategy and construction are at odds, but work with me here). The strategic one centers around questions of how to secure a spot at the institutional table (where conversations about faith and sexuality happen), or whether it is better to build our own table, or whether we might go about flipping that table. The creative conversation centers around what exactly we might say once we sit down: once we finally have a hearing in the institution, what are we going to talk about?
I noticed both kinds of conversations happening at both conferences, but in moments in which the strategic conversation predominated, I found myself feeling frustrated and uninspired. Perhaps that is why I tended at both conferences to emphasize the more creative: what might an LGBTQ+-inflected theology (and by this I mean not merely a theology that holds space for LGBTQ+ folks, but one that also incorporates our unique insights) look like? What fresh insight might the Holy Spirit be saying to LGBTQ+ folks through lectio divina and imaginative prayer? What new light might be shed on the basics, the fundamentals of the faith, by seeing them through LGBTQ+ eyes? I find myself asking again, like I did all those years ago at the first Revoice, what treasure, honor, and glory might LGBTQ+ people bring into the New Jerusalem at the end of time, and into the Church now?
…
Like I said, these are just a few of my takeaways from the conferences, and I could have said so much more! In the next few weeks I hope to watch some of the recorded sessions, perhaps write a bit more about them, and post a manuscript of my breakout session and notes from my panels as well. I would love to hear responses to any of this that I have shared, as well as your own thoughts on Revoice and Outreach if you attended this year!