From “A House Divided: Engaging the Issues through the Politics of Compassion” by Mark Feldmeir – Chalice Press
I grew up in a small, decidedly conservative town in Southern California, where the most ubiquitous religious cliche was, “God said it. I believe it. That settles it.” I knew that while the Bible did not say much about homosexuality, it did call it an abomination. Because I did not know anyone who was openly gay, I simply accepted the prevailing attitudes and stereotypes of my community and culture. Maybe this is how it was, or is, for you. You do not quite know what you believe, so you accept the views of the status quo.
When I left that little town for college, I met people who were openly gay. From there, I went to seminary and studied alongside gays and lesbians who were not only out and Christian, but who were preparing for ordained ministry. In seminary, I studied the Bible extensively and my understanding of homosexuality slowly began to evolve. As I studied the verses from Leviticus and Romans that condemn homosexual behavior, I also studied passages from Matthew prohibiting divorce – and thought of my own grandmother who had been divorced twice. I studied passages in the epistles prohibiting women from speaking in church – and yet my own pastor was a woman. I studied the commandment to honor the Sabbath and to keep it holy – even during the NFL season, when the Broncos are playing. I studied passages from Leviticus prohibiting the consumption of pork, fully cognizant that I had eaten bacon for breakfast that week. I studied the life and ministry of Jesus, who loved lepers, Samaritans, the ritually unclean, and outcasts, and after my classes, I would go to work at a county hospital as a phlebotomist, drawing blood from the arms of young men dying from a strange, dreaded disease that marked them as untouchable. I watched their bodies deteriorate over time. I learned their names and their stories. I observed their palpable sense of God-forsakenness and shame.
My understanding of Jesus and Scripture evolved, and I became an ordained minister. I came to know church members who were gay, as well as parents of gay children. They struggled to reconcile their personal experiences with their religious beliefs. Over and over, they would ask me: “Will I be accepted? Will my son be welcomed here?” “Will we be permitted to teach Sunday School?” “Will you baptize our children?”
Perfect love casts out all fear. “Perfect” does not mean flawless or without challenges. In the Greek, the word is “teleia.” It means “mature” or “boundless.” A mature, boundless love casts out fear, or “phobia” – fear of what we do not understand; fear of rejecting what we have always been taught to believe but do not quite believe anymore; fear of loving like Jesus loved, who was “perfect love” embodied.
A mature, fully developed love persuades us to help people who are hurting, instead of hurting people who are helpless. If we can cast aside the cultural and religious fears that surround this issue, then we can finally dare to read the Bible the way Jesus read his Bible.