| When I was a young fellow there were homosexuals -- they were known as "queers" back then, but we seldom heard of them. There were stories of this or that fellow being arrested for bothering people in a public restroom or something, but I can't recall ever even seeing a story in the newspaper. The stories were passed by word of mouth. The queers of yesteryear are today's gays, who refer to themselves in their own literature and conversation as queers but require that the rest of us not do so. Gay was at one time a synonym for "merry," rather than the description of the fellow glancing over from the next public urinal with an inviting look in his eyes. There were also, back in the Paleolithic, men who were known as "bachelors," and women known as... ummm... I think they were called "women," though occasionally they were "spinsters" and sometimes they were "career women." These people would live alone sometimes, and would sometimes take rooms together to share expenses. No one really cared about what they did behind closed doors, if anything. Not only did these folk not flaunt any sexual preferences they may have had, they went out of their way not to discuss such things. At the same time the rest of us didn't dwell on our sex lives. Not only were we not expected back then to be in a continuous state of rut, but those who were were avoided socially. Sexual braggadocio was considered demeaning outside very limited venues. 50 or 60 years later -- two generations -- it's hard to imagine a time when a person's sexual preferences and activities weren't a subject for polite conversation. I'm not fond of queers -- an attitude I developed empirically as a hitch-hiking 14-year-old -- but I have nothing against bachelors or spinsters or career women. What they do in their spare time is none of my business, as long as it doesn't become mandatory for the rest of us. I'd really rather not hear about it, and if I do, I'd rather not hear the details. Or see the pictures. Or see the acts performed in public streets or parks. I'm pretty sure, though, that if you were to conjure up the ghost of Martin Luther and ask him what he thought of the idea of openly gay clergymen he'd nail a 96th thesis to your forehead. |
Leaders of the nation's largest Lutheran denomination began a civil but tense debate here on Thursday on whether to ordain gay men and lesbians, an issue that is likely to come to a vote on Friday. Nobody's been turned into a pillar of salt yet, so it must be okay...
The denomination, the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, is considering lifting a ban on noncelibate gay and lesbian pastors, permitting the ordination of people in committed same-sex relationships.
As long as it's committed, y'see.
At issue is how the Bible should inform policy, how the denomination can best serve its mission, and how a vote to ordain gay men and lesbians would affect the church's relationships with the broader Christian community. Fears of a schism have been fueled by recent turmoil in the Episcopal Church, which voted in July to permit the ordination of openly gay bishops. The issue has cost the Episcopal Church about 100,000 members, who have left to join a new, more conservative entity called the Anglican Church in North America.
But that can't happen to the Lutherans because they're... ummm... different.
Although an Evangelical Lutheran Church in America task force proposed a "structured flexibility" clause that ultimately would leave gay ordination up to each congregation, a sense of division looms.
So as a matter of church doctrine, each congregation gets to decide if sin is permissibe. Does that apply to all sin, or only to the particular sin in question? I can see the day coming when a poor congregation in Memphis, in need of a new church roof, might sanctify armed robbery.
Some delegates here are cloaked in shawls distributed by a Lutheran organization endorsing gay ordination, while others are wearing buttons from an opposing Lutheran organization. "It feels like a high school football rivalry, where you've got two camps like that," said Chelsea Mathis, a delegate from Monroe, Mich.
The vision of the kickoff is particularly painful...
The scriptural framework of the debate only feeds those divisions, Ms. Mathis said. "There are dueling Bible verses when the microphone is open to people," she said.
It's been considered a sin ever since Sodom & Gomarrah, but if you look hard enough through the Bible and hold your mind at just the right angle you'll be able to find most anything you want.
Ms. Mathis said she had friends who were "at their wits' ends with the church" and might leave if it does not accept gay ministers, but she is also aware that, "for some people, it's almost too much to be able to acknowledge that there is homosexuality."
Its existence would seem to be confirmed by the argument going on, wouldn't it? Perhaps her friends at their wits' end should consider leaving and setting up their own gay Lutheran church, where you'd have to prove you were gay to get in. That's a solution that doesn't seem to have occurred to anyone. It's obviously an inferior plan to making everyone else accept your particular sins.
Bridging that gap among 1,045 delegates and the 65 synods they represent can feel impossible, she said.
"Unless we get our way, of course. If we do, it's God's will and the all those bigot and rubes will just have to shut up, won't they?"
Many delegates believe the future of the church -- which has 4.6 million members -- hangs in the balance. The church has taken two steps this week that make the approval of gay clergy members seem more likely. It voted Monday to lower the portion of convention votes required to pass policy from two-thirds to a simple majority.
... known as the "nuclear option."
On Wednesday, it approved a social statement calling on Evangelical Lutheran Church in America congregations to "welcome, care for, and support same-gender couples." The social statement, which required a two-thirds majority, passed by one vote, stunning delegates. "I'm sick to my stomach," said the Rev. Rich Mahan from Charleston, W.Va., who opposes the policy on gay ordination and suspects it will pass. If it does, Mr. Mahan said many of his parishioners are prepared to leave the church, and he might do the same. "I do not believe that our church can condone what God has condemned," he said. "The other side has not proven it by Scripture.""But what does God know about it, after all?"
Meanwhile, Javen Swanson, a married gay man from Lauderdale, Minn., in his final year of seminary, anxiously awaits a ruling. "This decision makes or breaks things for me," Mr. Swanson said. "If it passes, I can proceed as though I were a straight person."