Queerness, Religion, and the Battlefield of the Heart
Currents
Religious beliefs are, for many people, among the most important and meaningful convictions they hold, and yet LGBT people remain alienated from religious life. In the US, more than 75% of the public describe themselves as religious or spiritual, compared to only 47% of LGBT people. There's nothing wrong with being non-religious, of course, but given the fact that over 80% of Americans believe in God in some capacity, it seems likely that there must be many LGBT folks who want to forge deeper connections with religious communities but who have a more difficult time integrating into them. The largest impediment is the very real fact that many religious doctrines and leaders still consider homosexuality and bisexuality sinful or “disordered.” These attitudes and beliefs create an obvious barrier to LGBT participation. When a particular group of people is not wanted somewhere, they tend to pick up on that.
Polls show that even today, only 41% of Americans who attend religious services on a weekly basis support same-sex marriage — 30 points below the national average. Given this long-standing status quo of religious bigotry toward LGBT people, it is only rational that so many stay away. For the spiritually inclined, gaining acceptance in these religious spaces is a necessary step toward gaining acceptance in society. No one should have to accept being an outsider who receives on-paper rights and in-person conditional tolerance. The goal, for those who want it, is to become full-fledged participants who marry, celebrate, and grieve alongside not merely their own inner circles or “chosen family,” but the wider community. Achieving this integration will require a two-way street. It will require religious and LGBT communities to hear one another out and respect one another’s concerns.
I was fortunate to be brought up in a welcoming religious household. My mother, though raised Catholic, became a Lutheran because of my father’s dislike for the Church. She practiced Christianity in her own eclectic way. She went out of her way to tell me that our Muslim neighbors would also make it to Heaven, for example. When I came out as bisexual, that was fine with her, too. I started calling her beliefs “Shelley Heaven” because salvation was for whomever she deemed a decent person. As quirky as her approach to faith is, let’s be honest. This kind of picking and choosing is a common practice among religious people.
In my own search for spirituality, being both queer and inclined toward the transcendent, I tried Catholicism first. It was the faith my mother returned to after the death of my sister and her divorce from my father. And, I mean, just look at the beautiful cathedrals, the decadent sartorial glamor of the clergy, and all that time spent on your knees. Who doesn’t like a religion where an old guy on a throne tells you what to do? Hey, if it was good enough for Oscar Wilde, I thought, it was good enough for me!
In reality, I came to find that the substance did not live up to the style. Same-sex relationships are impermissus by Catholic doctrine, considered undeserving of blessing and “intrinsically disordered.” Talking to other Catholics felt like being back in the closet. Speaking about my sexuality felt like discussing some unfortunate chronic condition. There was no gay bashing in my parish, no overt eruption of bigotry, no one flashpoint, just a continuous pattern of pairing words like “struggle” with phrases like “same-sex attraction.” It grew wearisome, disheartening, and ultimately alienating. The worst of it was talking to other parishioners with the same “struggle.” I saw more than a few gay or bi Catholics seeking advice on how to tame their natural sexual orientation and being told, with the best intentions, that they should focus solely on their attractions to women or (for the gay ones) that celibacy is a gift. It became clear that I would not find the spiritual acceptance I sought in the Church.
As I continued my search, I found myself coming back to Judaism time and again. Judaism felt familiar enough in its form but different enough in its ethics and theology (I never could quite get on board with the Christian notion of a deity that is 100% god and also 100% man). Most crucially, my sexuality and experience were far more welcomed in the synagogue than in the cathedral. The official stance of both the Reform and Conservative denominations of Judaism, which account for over half of all Jews in the US, is LGBT-affirming. So are over 80% of Jewish individuals as a whole. So, after much research, I decided to start the conversion process. If the supportive voices in church had been a bit louder, perhaps I would still be attending Sunday mass.
Source: Pew Research
By my estimation, there are surely millions of people like me — yearning for spiritual fulfillment and turned away by petty doctrinaires. It’s worth noting that what hurts most is not being rejected, but rather the idea that I, as a bi person, am “disordered.” The message that same-sex relationships are dysfunctional or even sick — regardless of how loving, consensual, and fulfilling — is something that pushes a lot of LGBT people and allies away from mainline religions. Increasingly, though, activists within and without organized religion have taken a more aggressive approach in their fight for inclusion, in some cases even attempting to force the issue.
One example in particular hits home for me. In December 2022, a New York City appeals court ordered Yeshiva University (YU), an Orthodox Jewish college, to allow an LGBT “Pride” club. Orthodox Judaism, the most fundamentalist subset of the religion, forbids homosexuality and bisexuality. Instead of trying to work with the school to allow perspectives from other, more liberal Jewish denominations, students used litigation to thwack the university with the law. While a nominal success on its surface, I believe this outcome was ultimately a missed opportunity to actually change minds and win hearts.
The university initially responded by canceling all school clubs but then settled for adding an additional club teaching about LGBT issues from a very traditionalist perspective. The attempt at compromise was evidently insufficient. “The YU sham is not a club as it was not formed by students, is not led by students, and does not have members; rather, it is a feeble attempt by YU to continue denying LGBT students equal treatment as full members of the YU student community,” one activist told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
Contrast the student-led legal battle with YU to the “Welcoming Shuls” Project (“shul” is a Yiddish word for synagogue) run by Eshel, a Jewish LGBT organization. Eshel’s approach is to work within such communities rather than fight them.
As per Eshel’s website:
“Eshel’s mission is to create a future for Orthodox lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender individuals, and their families. Through its innovative and culturally sensitive programming, Eshel works with each individual, family, and community in creating a place for their LGBTQ members. Eshel envisions a world where Orthodox LGBTQ individuals can live out their lives in the Orthodox communities of their choice.”
I spoke to Dr. Saundra Epstein, the director of the Welcoming Shuls Project, who informed me that, by using a non-judgemental approach to work with local Jewish communities and by appealing to Jewish values, the project has helped 250 synagogues become “welcome shuls” over recent years. That’s a tremendous number of people who have found acceptance where before they might not have. The advantage of this Eshel-style approach, which respects the liberal principles of free expression and association, is that by showing genuine respect for other viewpoints and doing the hard work of persuasion, it builds a stronger foundation for real and lasting progress than coercion alone ever could.
The US Supreme Court decision Brown v. Board of Education outlawed segregated schools in 1954, but the last school wasn’t actually desegregated until 2016. A law without the backing of the community is greatly diminished. There will always be ways for the recalcitrant to circumvent the written law. Dwight Eisenhower, president during Brown, observed that “The final battle against intolerance is to be fought — not in the chambers of any legislature — but in the hearts of men.” This is not to say that the law serves no purpose. Of course it does. But the role of persuasion in affecting true progress is indispensable. As we have seen with the recent backlash against sexual freedom, including slipping approval for same-sex relations, the “groomer” moral panic, and a resurgent hostility to Pride events, a growing segment of the public resents what they see as an authoritarian push to jam cultural changes down their throats without any give and take.
The cantor (the person who leads prayers) at my synagogue is an openly gay man. At an LGBT Pride Shabbat, he spoke about the isolation he felt growing up in the closet and what it felt like not to have a sense of community. Despite being religious, he had no congregation to turn to. Now he does. LGBT acceptance has made great strides in recent years, with support for same-sex marriage soaring to 71% in the US. Even support among religious people more than doubled from 2003 to 2019. Projects like Welcoming Shuls, who meet religious people where they are, who build consensus and communal support instead of vilifying others and relying solely on court orders to compel change, and who invite collaboration instead of conflict, are a big reason why.
It is my hope that, moving forward, more people can find true unity as both religious and LGBT people. Those who are religiously inclined should keep knocking on the doors of cathedrals, synagogues, and mosques, and engage with these communities respectfully — not to treat bigotry with kid gloves, but neither to vitriolically denounce entire institutions. Dragging the congregants away from tradition, kicking and screaming, and demanding contrition for every infraction will only create backlash and entrenchment. A better approach, it stands to reason, is working within our congregations, in our homes, and with our families to argue that we are better in spirit together than apart. Many religious communities need a software update for the 21st century. But it’s equally important for religious LGBT activists to listen to congregants and create an open dialogue, not a shouting match. If we want more than tepid or legally mandated acceptance, it will have to happen one open-hearted conversation at a time.
Published Nov 10, 2023
