Goodbye, Church A Congregation Should Lovingly Accept People - Including Homosexuals - As Children Of God

The Smith side of my family has been American Baptist since before the Civil War, although the denomination was known by a different name then.

A great-great-grandfather of mine was a minister during those war years in Eden, N.Y.

But a few months ago, I bowed out spiritually and physically from the church and denomination. I meant to leave anonymously, but actions taken last Saturday by the Northwest regional conference of American Baptists have forced me out of my “closet” of silence.

The group adopted a statement declaring homosexuality to be inconsistent with Christian teachings.

It’s never been easy to be a liberal-minded woman and a Baptist. That’s why I always felt it necessary to explain that I was an American Baptist. If one says she’s “Baptist,” it’s assumed she’s Southern Baptist or another of the other much more fundamental groups of the same name.

American Baptists do have a national denominational “conference” - in Valley Forge, Pa., a place synonymous with independence - but its congregations across the country are autonomous. Independent. Individuals are free to interpret the Bible as they believe - as they believe God leads them.

At least that’s the way it’s supposed to be. Let it be known how you truly feel, however, and you’re apt to have a church full of people praying for you to see the light of day. It’s happened to me more than once.

Let it be known you feel it’s perfectly rational to believe in both God and evolution and you’re presented with literature to “prove” that the two are a contradiction in terms.

Have doubts about the virgin birth? The physical resurrection of Christ? Keep them to yourself. It’s safer that way.

For years, I’ve wrestled with these and other questions and dilemmas. My head would say one thing and my heart another. The first time it was suggested to me that there might not be a literal heaven, I thought my world had come to an end.

And, in a way, it did - at least the cozy, warm picture-perfect world in which I was cocooned.

Questioning heaven led to other uncertainties, and eventually I became riddled with doubt and guilt every Easter and Christmas.

I couldn’t come to terms about the divinity of Jesus - the unlikelihood of a virgin birth and physical resurrection that go against the laws of nature established by God. But, what if I’m wrong? That would be one big mistake.

Then, one day a couple years ago, in the midst of yet another (but final) inner turmoil, the words, “Be still and know that I am God,” popped into my head. And I stopped worrying.

I stopped stewing over the “little” things. As long as I believe in God, I felt - and feel - that everything would be OK. That’s all that’s truly necessary.

I would live and let live. I’d keep my big mouth shut and stop annoying others who were just as comfortable in their beliefs as I am in mine. I’d let peace reign rather than raise annoying questions during Bible study.

But a few months ago a letter circulated to area American Baptist churches, asking, did we know about a church in Seattle hiring a homosexual minister? Gasp!

The letter writer wanted each church to respond to the regional representative stating its displeasure at such an action. Our church board, of which I was a member, learned about it as the last agenda item of a long meeting, when everyone was eager to go home.

After a little discussion, the minister said he would send off a letter stating it was the unanimous decision of the board that we opposed accepting a known, practicing gay or lesbian into any congregation, let alone as a pastor.

I had not said much until then. But I could be still no longer. Quietly I looked at the minister and said, “It would not be a unanimous vote.”

You could have heard a pin drop on that carpeted floor.

Then came a barrage of comments about why I was wrong and everyone else was right: Homosexuality is an abomination in God’s eyes. How could we extend Christian love to a person who was an avowed homosexual? If they acknowledged their “sin” and did not practice their passion, then maybe they could be a part of a congregation. Maybe church members could help them become heterosexual again.

I was overwhelmed.

After a feeble attempt to explain my thoughts, I decided no one would listen to what I had to say and I might as well be still.

The next morning, I called the church and resigned my position from the board and have never been back to the congregation in which I was enrolled as a baby; was baptized and married; where my husband and I dedicated our babies to God and promised to raise them as Christians; where we saw them baptized and married. I’ve not returned to the church that sings with my mother’s soul.

It’s not been easy.

But I cannot belong to a church that does not accept everyone as a child of God; that says only a few will enter heaven - the elite group that believes Jesus Christ holds the single key to spending eternity with God. To hell with the others, the Buddhists, the Jews, the Muslims - the homosexuals. Me.

Somewhere along the way - and I could swear it was in Sunday school and church - I came to believe that God is loving, that Jesus was loving. That we should be loving.

I’m comfortable in these thoughts, in these shoes. Much more comfortable than before, when I went to church and bit my tongue so I wouldn’t offend anyone, especially those wonderful women I so dearly love in that congregation and the friends there that I’ve had for a lifetime.

I don’t want to jeopardize those friendships and others, but I’m willing to take that risk to stand behind a principle I believe in. It’s an old-fashioned Christian stance, one I learned as an American Baptist: Stand up for your beliefs.

If anyone reading this feels inclined to place me on his or her prayer list to “see the error of my ways,” don’t.

Instead, pray for yourself - for your heart and soul to become more open to accept each of God’s children. Even those you don’t understand for whatever reason.