Around the time I was in Middle School, a group of my friends were participating in a local church's youth group and had invited me to join them. Now, I wasn't much for church at that time so the acceptance of their invitation was purely based on the opportunity to spend more time outside of my home.
Involvement in the youth group led to registering for something called "Confirmation Camp," a week-long experience that somehow brought me into membership with my local United Methodist Church. I say "somehow" because that week couldn't have been more unique. Yes, I'm sure there were plenty of songs that were sung and stories that were told that resonated with those who found God to be an anchor in their lives. However, for young Timoth, the week was less about a connection with God and more about just having fun.
It was at that camp that I learned how to have wet toilet paper fights. I learned how to wear a toga. And the highlight of the week was learning that when you spray Right Guard deodorant onto a chalkboard and light it on fire, it creates a tear-shaped flame. (Why my parents ever allowed me out of the house is a question I still ask myself... LOL).
Following my week at camp, my time in the United Methodist Church was fairly short-lived...not because of the Right Guard incident, however, that seems like a good excuse as any. No, my time there was short because I wasn't ready. I had known something about myself for a few years leading up to that time... something that appeared to be incompatible with the teachings of the church. I knew that I was gay and I wasn't sure that I could tell anyone... especially in the church.
So I left. I wandered a spiritual wilderness for nearly the next decade until I met a young couple...the pastor of a local United Methodist Church and his wife. They were charismatic, friendly and deeply faithful... and my being drawn to them led me back into the church as well as into an opportunity to serve as a counselor at a United Methodist Camp.
No togas or flames this time. However, I was still unsure as to my level of acceptance. So I asked for a meeting with the pastor.
Standing in his office, I asked Paul, the pastor; "What does the church say about homosexuality?" It was the first time I had said that word out loud... not to myself, not to any family members... I said it to a pastor of a church in which I had found myself unsure as to what would happen when I heard the answer.
Over the years, I have often remarked on how powerful that moment was for me in living into my true identity as a gay man... and as someone who gave church another try.
In response to my inquiry, Paul said to me; "Do you want to know what the church says... or what I say?"
In an instant I knew that I was loved and valued as the person God had created me to be... and that I found myself within an institution that wasn't quite there yet. I felt relief. I felt love. I felt promise.
Fast forward many years. I'm now an ordained Christian pastor in the United Church of Christ... a denomination that has been ordaining members of the queer community for several decades. I am reminded continually that I am a beloved child of God, created in God's image, and that I have dignity and respect within a denomination that has been ahead of the curve on affirming folks like me for quite some time.
I am home!
This past week, as many of you may have witnessed, our Christian siblings in the United Methodist Church have found themselves in the midst of a deeply challenging conversation. Within the UMC, the topics of Same Sex Marriage and Ordination of LGBTQ+ individuals have come before the global church for consideration and ultimately, decisions are being made...decisions that question and deny the basic human dignity of those created to be LGBTQ+.
Though I love being part of the UCC, I know that there are many who love being United Methodist. And although my heart breaks at the church's recent process and the harm it continues to inflict upon my queer, Christian siblings... I pledge to honor and respect the decisions of those in the UMC if they choose to remain in their once-beloved church. I'm not going to suggest they flee to the UCC or other denominations that have been doing the difficult work of full inclusion for some time. In part, because none of us are doing it to the extent to which Jesus would have envisioned.
What I will say is that if or when those who can no longer remain within the UMC find their way to the doors of the church I now call home... for a period of rest and renewal or for the duration... we will open the doors wide and offer them welcome.
We will be a place of refuge along the way.
We will provide shoulders on which they can cry.
We will listen.
We will learn from them what it is to be deeply hurt by an institution that they just as deeply love.
And we will be a balm for them as they seek to heal.
I don't know what the future will hold for the United Methodist Church. However, I do know that for me, the command to love my neighbors as myself has not changed. I pray that I may do so in ways that restore trust and wholeness for those who are now seeing the church as the enemy.
I will continue to pray for our Methodist siblings... and tell the stories of how I have been shaped in and through my time with them. And I would ask you to do the same.
And I will pray that we find ways to navigate this time together, bringing about love and justice, peace and compassion that leads us, together, to one place... where we will be blessed with a stunning glimpse of God's kingdom.
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