A Publication of the Reconciling Congregation Program at Trinity United Methodist Church
Volume 2, Number 1 - Summer 2000
A Publication of the Reconciling Congregation Program at Trinity United Methodist Church
Volume 2, Number 1 - Summer 2000
When I worked in the children's ministry of a large, ostensibly progressive church, I was unaware of the Reconciling movement. I never gave it much thought. I knew from friends that there were "gay churches" around, but I never pictured change coming from within a mainline denomination. The pastor at my church had an unofficial policy not unlike the military's "Don't ask; don't tell." When pressed, his stance was summed up by, "Love the sinner, hate the sin." While vaguely uncomfortable with this attitude, I loved the dynamic mission of the place and the people so much, I was so happy, and so suited for my job, that I did not dwell on any "small" imperfections. My justifications ran, "He is human; everyone has limitations; men of his generation . . .. We are still open and accepting of everyone, right?" Painfully wrong: the real message was "We are open and accepting of everybody; everybody upper middle class and straight (or willing to hide), that is."
I was a babe in the woods in other ways, too. When a political struggle surfaced between the children's minister (my supervisor) and a charismatic associate pastor, I thought I could be a bridge between them. I didn't understand that it wasn't a theological or management style difference, but a poisonous power struggle. When the children's minister was fired and it seemed that I would replace her, she determined to do as much damage as possible. The only damning evidence against me was that I had "allowed a known lesbian to care for children in Sunday School." (That this person was a dear friend, doing me a favor on a busy Sunday, one I trusted implicitly with my own children, was not a defense.) I was barely allowed to stay in my secondary position; the verdict from the senior pastor was, "not now and not ever will she be children's minister".
I managed to limp on, one of the walking wounded, for about nine more months, so that the transition would not disrupt the program I had worked so hard to build, and because I still loved and believed in that church. On my last day of work, after I cleaned out my desk, I went to check my mailbox one more time. What awaited me was a vile, disturbing piece of anti-gay hate mail, with a veneer of fundamentalist tripe overlaid. (I think I know who sent it--a disturbed woman who often stopped to talk to me on Sundays, when I was the last staff member on church grounds. She had no idea of my "misdeeds," or of my resignation; the poor woman was so deluded she thought I had access to the senior pastor!). That disgusting letter (some of it pieced together with cutouts from magazines, like a kidnap note in an old movie) lit a spark for me, right there in the workroom. I finally got that it was not okay to ignore or even just tolerate gay and lesbian souls among us. If I had one gay friend, one human being I loved, then I must jump down from the fence of my complacency--"Okay, God, whatever I do next, I will honor what I know is true. But, please, God, I don't want to work in another church; it hurts too much."
I didn't work for another church for three years; I worked on healing and growing; and, I had a baby, my third child. When the baby was about nine months old, a good friend called to tell me about a job at her church: "I know you're not looking for a job, but you would be perfect for this." After several interviews, I knew this church was a place where I could be at home. Many small events and kind words have worked to accelerate the spiral of healing. I can look back and know that all things have worked for good for my life and my family, what seemed like a shame and a betrayal turned to a gentle shove in the right direction.
I hesitated to write for The Spark because my story seems so trivial compared to the journeys and struggles of previous writers. I write now to express thankfulness for the opportunity to enter the struggle and work for a church where I can be honest, to work to heal this wound in the heart of The Church.
The Spark would like to thank all those people who supported us as we set out to educate our delegates and others on the Reconciling movement is and what it stands for.
Through your prayers, your encouragement, your stories and your ideas, although we did not get the results that we were looking for, we still feel that we have made a difference.
And so the work must continue...
We have decided to continue publishing The Spark although some feel the issues are at rest for another four years. We will be publishing quarterly until the next General Conference.
If you would like to support us in any way, with stories, ideas or financial support, please direct them to the address below.
God Bless...
The Spark, vol. 1, no. 1
The Spark, vol. 1, no. 2
The Spark, vol. 1, no. 3
The Spark, vol. 1, no. 4
The Spark, vol. 1, no. 5
The Spark, vol. 1, no. 6
The Spark, vol. 2, no. 2
Reconciling Congregation Program Website
It only takes a spark to get a fire going. Pass The Spark along.
The Spark may be contacted through
Trinity United Methodist Church
600 East 50th Street
Austin, TX 78751
Telephone: 512-459-5835
Fax: 512-467-9611
email: mail@tumc.org
website: http://www.tumc.org
This newsletter is an effort to bring to the public the stories of lesbian & gay Christians, their families & their allies. We look forward to a United Methodist Church that celebrates the full participation of all Christians in the Church.