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pastoral care

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Sexuality: doing it wrong

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Issues of sexuality are notoriously controversial, and shirted around uncomfortably; especially where homosexuality is concerned. This goes beyond a “no sex, we’re British” attitude. Discussions turn into debates and degenerate into arguments far too easily, and cause rifts that have no reason to be there. Some practices, sadly, reinforce these rifts and lead us to a discourse that is far, far from Christian love. So here are a few ways in which we’ve been tackling homosexuality wrongly:

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1. Use arcane language that you wouldn’t hear anywhere else. In Issues on human sexuality, for instance, the CofE used in lieu of “homosexual” or “gay”, the word “homophile”. I understand that they wanted to express that being homosexual involves more than just the hanky panky. But in doing so, they made of Issues in human sexuality a document which appeared to have been created without any personal knowledge of homosexuals, and without any willingness to acquire any. It is a shame, because it means that this otherwise well balanced document reached far fewer people than it might have.

So steer clear of your own neologisms, even when you think you’re simply modelling Paul. Avoid archaic words too – “inverted” is likely to make you look just as out of touch.

2. Create distinctions that you wouldn’t be ready to apply to your own life. Far too often, people state that “being gay is fine, but acting on it is a sin”. In doing so, we are simply refusing to think about the theological aspects of homosexuality, while still trying to appear loving, accepting and liberal – basically sheltering ourselves from the “homophobia” label. But this soundbitey approach (a) appears to fly in the face of Matthew’s Gospel; and (b) fails to consider homosexuals as people. To all who use that sentence as an easy get-away, I say: hypocrites. Would you be willing to hear that “being attracted to the other sex is fine” just to be told within the same breath that you can’t touch this ever?

Now this does not necessarily mean that the theological stance that gay people are called to celibacy is wrong. But if we want to hold on to that viewpoint, we cannot dismiss sexuality as an easy thing to ignore. No, we should at the very least focus positively on celibacy and acknowledge that it is a tough calling, as Paul himself stated.

3. Pretend that it’s easy. This goes hand in hand with the previous point, but is addressed this time to both sides of the debate. It isn’t easy to completely give up one’s sexuality. It isn’t easy to follow a calling to celibacy. It isn’t a matter of simply “turning it off“. Yet equally, liberals shouldn’t pretend it’s easy to re-assess a complete worldview in which same-sex attraction was considered a sin. Try to put yourself in the place of someone who suffers from same-sex attraction (and I’m not using that word lightly): believing it to be a sin, you’ve gone through countless sacrifices to be as holy as you could manage, failing every now and then and feeling guilty for it. And then someone comes along and tells you it’s all fine and that you should just embrace “who you are” and that all your previous efforts were not just pointless, they were also stupid. Now that would hurt. Adjusting to this new worldview would just put you face to face with that pointless suffering.

So don’t just uphold an argument or a position. Uphold relationships.

4. Imagine that only one side of the debate is entitled to pastoral care. Yes, the conservative side of the debate has played the part of the oppressor on the LGBT minority, with some extreme cases: in some countries, homosexuality carries the death penalty. It is very clear who the victims are here. So we may not feel that they are deserving of the pastoral care which the oppressed need. But since when do we, as Christians, give care and support on the basis of who deserves it the most? Since when are we withholding love and care from others?

Now we may not see that conservatives need pastoral care. But these are people who live in a world that is changing far too rapidly around them. They may have built a large chunk of their life, say, on the conception that marriage is a sacred union between a man and a woman – only to have someone in authority tell them that, actually, it isn’t. I’m not talking about protesters (whose worldview on this topic is fundamentally unchangeable), but about those who see a large part of their life take on – for them too! – a new meaning. We should guide them and support them in their adjustment to societal change, just as much as we should guide and support gay people in their struggle with a world that doesn’t quite accept them fully. 

5. Hide behind the “all sin’s the same” or “we are all sinners” soundbite. For starters, this is a dangerously misleading theological shortcut. Yet beyond that, it does not reflect the church’s treatment of sin. Sexual sin is somehow more frowned upon – probably because it is easier to think we are not guilty of it, and easier to focus on than it is to focus on our own handling of money. Finally, pretending that all sin’s the same is grossly misunderstanding the nature of sexuality. Sexuality is perceived as part of one’s identity, whether it is accepted or rejected. It’s not the same as, say, being envious of your neighbour’s car, or even wife. Rejecting the latter as sin is easy, because it isn’t tied to who you are – rejecting the former, on the other hand, is hard.

Now don’t get me wrong: just because it’d be hard to reject one’s sexuality, doesn’t mean that it should be left alone. If (and that’s a big if) you see homosexuality as a sin, then it is serious and it should be addressed. But don’t let’s belittle the struggles associated with sexuality and identity by associating them with petty thievery. That’s just plain disrespectful.

6. Stay on the fence, even if only pending deliberations. It is highly laudable for us as a church takes due consideration of issues of sexuality and to not rush to a conclusion. However, in the meantime, there are a lot of people in need of guidance who are left to constantly reconsider how they ought to live out their lives. We are all in a position of authority to someone, and we owe our honesty to them.

And so to me, staying on the fence includes hiding behind the soundbites listed at numbers 2 and 5. Because when you’re using those soundbites, you’re not giving the issue of sexuality any real consideration; and you’ll be caught short when someone tells you “what about me?”.

While sitting on the fence is, then, not an option, it doesn’t mean you should be entrenched into one side of the debate. I would advocate, for instance, to have a preliminary view on the issue but to be open to explore it further if and when the need arises. It doesn’t mean that view should be aired or shouted at the first occasion – you may have noticed that I haven’t shared my own (though I’d be ready to do so, in private). But I have good reason for that: I believe that this post has something to say to both sides of the debate, and I wouldn’t want to be dismissed because I’m a partisan for the opposite cause. Which brings me to the final point:

7. Dismiss all other stances as heretical and/or bigoted. This includes recourse to the phrase “The Bible says so”, which tends more to shut down a conversation than bring it life. It includes the phrase “ah, but you go to that conservative church, of course you’re going to say that.” It includes outraged “You can’t say that! That’s homophobic!”. If we stick to these arguments, we’re helping no one but ourselves, as we are ego-trippingly asserting our own brilliance.

Dialogue is where it’s at. Understanding the other side of the debate. In doing so, we aren’t discarding our own views – and I’m not advocating that we start doubting the truths to which we hold. But if we are to love our brothers in disagreement, we cannot look down on their views as idiotic – merely misguided ;-)

Ultimately, then, what we should do is both easy to summarise and incredibly hard to do. We should remember at every single point that, behind the theology, behind the debate, are people whose lives could be shaped by our views. We should love these people, and extend a hand of friendship, fellowship and swallow our own pride – whether it is in our theology or in our sexuality. But that is a tough call. And so it cannot be met without prayerful consideration. Pray pray pray pray pray. And then pray again. For wisdom and for love and for peace. Not for being right.

Come as you are: the issue of church garb

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The church is known to be a liminal experience. Whether we like it or not, there is an “inside” and an “outside” of the church. Now this is something I think should be combated, for two reasons. Firstly, because it means that for some people, what happens in the church stays in the church. Secondly, because it means that some people will just not feel like they can come into church.

On top of the literal threshold of the church, there are many elements which can contribute to this liminal aspect. One of these is what to wear to church. The phrase “Sunday best” has come into standard vocabulary: some people dress up for church. Thankfully, people have also realised that this dressing up often is a barrier to others, and dress code in modern churches has been relaxed. The “Come as you are“, unconditional acceptance of others when they come in, has been taken in by many; and you will now see in many churches people wearing a T-Shirt and shorts, sometimes even with inappropriate flip-flops.

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Photo: Francis Bijl, reused under CC license

Casually dressed people are less and less likely to feel out of place in churches: that’s good. Some people are making a conscious effort to dress down and be more welcoming to newcomers and to allow them to come as they are. That’s very good. Some people are starting to internally rebuke those who are still putting on their Sunday best for not understanding the Gospel of free, unconditional grace: that’s less good. Far less good.

Acceptance of others wherever they are does not automatically mean going for whichever attire requires the least effort. It does not mean deliberately going for the most visibly permissive choice, whether it is in terms of worship style, church garb, or even issues of behaviour.

It is usually the case that such an attitude is positive: churches, historically, have been bastions of proper, decent behaviour; and the perspective associated with that adds to the liminal experience of people going to church. But we must be careful that in doing so, we do not increase the liminal experience for those who are used to what might once have been termed decent behaviour.

People who like wearing a tie (or, if they’re cool, a bow tie) may feel out of place in a church where such efforts have been made that everyone wears shorts and T-Shirts. People who are ill at ease with homosexuality may feel out of place in a church where a liberal discourse has dominated all the discussions. In short, the informal crew does not have a monopoly on finding there is a threshold to cross to come into church, and the more traditional people must not be forgotten in our efforts to make the church a place where people are welcome to come as they are.

Of course, this must not come in the way of truth. If people feel that showing up in posh attire makes them better than the informal people, or that it is somehow effective to their salvation; they must be gently reminded of the Gospel of grace. But that can only happen if they can show up in church in that posh attire, or with this mindset, in the first place. Otherwise, they’re just going to discard whatever is told them or go somewhere else.

So, look around you in church. See how much of a mix it is. If you find nobody is wearing formal attire, do it for a while – not for the sake of being different; but for the sake of allowing others to bring themselves more fully into church. If you find nobody is wearing casual clothes, do it for a while. For the same reasons.

Ruckus

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Ruckus: it’s a friendly word. Fills the mouth nicely, rolls right off the tongue. Sounds oddly Northern, which makes it obviously better. It sounds pleasant.

The problem is, what it means is far from pleasant. It means commotion (1). But it trivialises that commotion too. It makes it look like it’s much a do about, ultimately nothing. It focuses the attention on the actual disruption, and away from what gets people to cause the ruckus.

boston-tea

Picture in the public domain – source: Wikimedia

Imagine those headlines on a church bulletin:

  • the new floral arrangement caused a ruckus.
  • ruckus after the sofa is moved to another area of the chaplaincy.
  • choir leads ruckus after they are asked to sing Shine, Jesus shine and Be thou my vision in 4:4.

Laughable, right? How about this, then:

  • slight wording change leads to massive ruckus in Christianity.

History has taught us that the ruckus, in this case, was far bigger than in any of the previous cases. The filioque clause, the addition of one single word (!) to the Nicene Creed, led to the first significant schism in the history of the Church. But what makes this different to the other cases, other than the scale of the consequences? What makes the rejection of this one word – or, not to take sides in the debate, the desperate clinging on to it – less ridiculous than the dispute over the time signature of Be thou my vision?

The answer is simple: it just means that we look past the cause. It is widely commented that the schism was the culmination of tensions running far deeper. This does not detract the importance of the actual point as to whether the Spirit also proceeds from the Son; but it makes that point – from a human perspective – the symptom of a pastoral crisis, not just an argued point where one side is right and the other just has to accept it and move on.

The new floral arrangement may not be important in itself, but the change that it represents might be for some parishioners, because it may represent the end of an era and the start of something that is both scary and daunting. The movement of the sofa might be mistakenly read as a rejection. Some of them we may not understand: I sure can’t think why people wouldn’t want to sing Shine Jesus shine, even if it’s been played every single week before. But for these, our pastoral duty is to read into these situations, to probe and to listen (rather than making up our own interpretation!), and, yes, sometimes, to give in and wait before putting in a new floral arrangement. Because, even though it is nothing more than a symptom, when you run a temperature, you try to keep it down as well as trying to get rid of whatever’s causing the temperature.

Now, not every dispute is a ruckus. There are some things which are just plain wrong (like, for instance, offering coffee after church). But I’m sure that most are just that: so here’s two things I’d like you to take away from this.

  • Don’t be quick to dismiss a ruckus as over-the-top. That counts whether you’re in a position of leadership or not. Listen, support, and love as much as you can, and try to see behind the symptom.
  • Don’t cause a ruckus. Make sure that what you’re angry about is actually what you’re angry about. And then seek support.

Fun fact about the word ruckus: even though it sounds like raucous and means something quite as disruptive/noisy/unpleasant; the two words are unrelated! In fact, ruckus comes from ruction and rumpus. And Northern though it sounds, it appears to be an American word. Which is the perfect opportunity to say hello to my friends and readers in the colonies ;-)

Death is a bitch

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I wonder how you felt when you read this title. Which word shocked you the most? Was it the mention of death? Or was it the cursing?

Photo: Martyn Gorman, re-used under CC license

There is a certain rawness to cursing which cannot be carried across by polite language. Because curses, when unexpected, shock. Just like death: when it happens unexpectedly to someone close to you, it shocks you. And it wouldn’t do the bereft justice; it wouldn’t be kind or loving towards them to sweeten it up with polite words. Saying words such as “A passing is a difficult moment” is plainly repugnant to the pain that the bereft feel. Nearly as bad is “My condolences“: all of these make the suffering an abstract object and simply hide its reality, alongside death’s.

But death that surprises – sudden death: that has the same sort of rawness to it. The kind of shock that makes you go back and check in disbelief. The kind of shock that makes you want not to believe it happened. You are left completely perplexed: why did it happen? How is it fair? Where does that leave… me?

And there’s no answer to give to these questions, none that will bring solace. The promise of a heaven up there somewhere does not bring any form of answer to these questions – it is simply placing hope in a distant future, boxing in our pain with a hope that can never be tested, and with a hope that is, if considered independently of the rest of the promise, incredibly fragile.

So that’s why I picked this title: because I did not want to sugarcoat death into something that “just happens, and life goes on.” And, in more than a way, I think this title sums up perfectly what I want to say about death.

There’s more to that statement, too: death is a bitch. It has been submitted. We can look at death, and it will still bite, but it cannot hurt us – not really: death has lost its sting. This last sentence is far more offensive than the title, though: it appears to say that the pains that people feel at the death of loved ones is imaginary or faked. No, these pains are real.

But their truth is passing. See, the main stinging power of death is that it reminds us that we’re not in control. But death is not the victor; death is not the one in control; and neither are we. We don’t own our lives. The things that make us feel secure are just passing, transient illusions; until we realise they are not for us to hold on to. In giving ourselves over to the One who saves, we can see death for the submitted bitch it truly is; and that has the power to comfort.

And once death has lost its sting, we enjoy life eternal, and we enjoy it now.

Note: for any friends who may worry after reading this, I want to make abundantly clear that I did not personally suffer a bereavement. But I was told of someone getting run over and the pain was so visible it was impossible not to be moved.