A Fate Worse than Gay:
Why It’s Harder to Admit the Bible Isn’t My North Star
My Catholic (and former Catholic) friends often talk about the cycle of guilt that their tradition instilled in them as children. Among those who no longer go to confession or say their hail Marys or cross themselves, “guilt fatigue” is – in my anecdotal experience – often cited as a primary cause for defection. Who wants to go through life constantly reminded of how much he sucks?
Having grown up in a Southern, fundamentalist, evangelical culture, I can relate. We didn’t have confession booths, but we certainly had a weekly reminder that the Lord’s Supper – “holy communion” for the uninitiated – was strictly off-limits if you were harboring any unacknowledged errors. If you had a beef with your brethren, best to make amends before 9:30 on Sunday morning, or everyone who sees you pass up the bread & wine grape juice will know the horrifying truth: He’s got sin in his life.
Shudder.
For me, the slow drift from sola scriptura to prima scriptura to scriptura’s great and all, but let’s have a little context, shall we? wasn’t so much the “guilt fatigue” as it was the “fear factor.” There are verses a-plenty referencing the necessity and benefits of the fear of God, and no one is better at taking that concept to its most literal outcomes than evangelicals.
Many of my progressive friends – especially of the LGBT persuasion – are quick to cry “Hate! Prejudice! Bigotry!” when Christians affirm their version of traditional marriage or vote to limit the rights of those who don’t conform to heteronormative standards for love. It’s a logical (and not always untrue) conclusion for someone who has no context for the “fear factor” – the evangelical obsession with the finality and exclusivity of the Bible’s authority to govern our lives.
I use the word “obsession” sincerely – not to belittle. As one of the formerly “obsessed,” I recall all too well how it felt to encounter individuals who had the nerve to question the Bible’s veracity or authority. I genuinely feared for them. For instance, the first time I ever met a fellow Christian in college (let’s call her Janet) who told me she affirmed same-sex relationships, I physically pulled away. (I did the same thing when another student, who is now one of my best friends, told me she could not discount the probability that evolution is how we got here.) As Janet explained how her beliefs had evolved as a result of having gone to a girls-only high school with a handful of lesbians, I cringed and blurted out “I know – KNOW – that being gay is wrong.” (Talk about being in denial.)
It was as though some wires had been disconnected in my head – I just couldn’t process that here, in the cafeteria at my Christian college, was a girl who said she believed in and followed Jesus, and also was thrilled that her lesbian friends had found love… with each other! She was so clearly wrong, because the inerrant, infallible Word of God so clearly differed with her personal opinion on this matter. And how could human opinion ever trump the Bible?
You see, fellow progressive rights-affirming activist, the evangelical antagonism toward same-sex relationships and marriage is not entirely based on hate. It’s not even entirely based on ignorance. It’s based, more often than not, on fear. If you don’t seek to understand this, you will always feel like you are hitting your head against a wall when confronting this issue with a Bible-toting believer.
(The definition of the word “fear” in this context is a whole conversation in and of itself. For a primer from the evangelical perspective, start here.)
There are grave and grievous consequences for the Christian who challenges, doubts, or even wonders at the validity of the Bible. It’s scary as hell – literally, because that’s what’s waiting should you choose to usurp Scriptural authority. And often, it’s that same fear playing out on behalf of those of us who dare suggest alternate interpretations, sources of inspiration, or approaches to how we use the Bible in our lives. Calling the typical fundamentalist evangelical a hateful bigot is, in a way, the equivalent of affirming she is doing the right thing because
- the Bible tells her she will be persecuted for her beliefs (so she must be doing something right), and
- your lifestyle choice is in opposition to the Bible, so it’s easy to discount anything else you might have to say as false.
(Similarly, evangelicals who quote Scripture at left-wing liberals and are flabbergasted when we don’t respond with humble acquiescence need a reality check themselves. To someone doesn’t believe it in the first place, the Bible is merely gobbledy-gook. A tool of the majority that has been misused and misinterpreted to keep straight, white, Protestant men over the age of 50 in power. I generalize, but this is nonetheless a real perception of many non-Christian people.)
The fear factor is a big deal. I simply mean that the process of evolving one’s views of the Bible is, from the perspective of the believer, full of consequences and, ultimately, a slap in God’s face. Christians love God. There’s very little incentive to change.
Unless, and until, you become one of the affected. Until you realize, for instance, that you’re gay. Or your friend is gay. Or your alcoholic, abusive father who takes communion every week is regularly absolved of his sins. Or your priest molests you. Or, or, or… And the bigger the disconnect becomes between your reality and the Scriptures (or more accurately, the Scriptures as interpreted by evangelical Christians), the bigger your sense that maybe, just maybe, we’ve gotten something wrong in the way we’re approaching this journey of faith.
The problem is that the doubt that life’s realities trigger is itself too often mislabeled as sin. The moment it crops up in the church environment, the doubter is put on prayer lists, gossiped about, shunned. So rarely have I ever heard a preacher laud the famed Doubting Thomas for wrestling publicly with the disconnect he felt between what he was told and what he was experiencing. Rather, he is held up as the example of what to avoid.
Meanwhile, Jesus comes to the doubters. Shows us his hands and feet.
This past Christmas season, I was home with my family in North Carolina. I had a series of difficult conversations that were supposed to be about my relationship with my boyfriend. Instead, I found myself sitting across from my Papaw and Mamaw working to explain how I could ever consider rejecting the Bible as the single and final authority for my life. My Mamaw sent me a letter a month later that included, in addition to several of her delicious recipes, a note saying how discouraged she is – not that I am openly gay or that I have a boyfriend – but that I have rejected God’s truth in the Bible. And I do know exactly how she feels.
Saying those words to my grandparents – who helped raise me, sang songs with me, came to my school plays, kept me on weekends, took me on road trips, invested in my education, cosigned on my first car loan – saying that I do not stand sola scriptura… that was, for me, harder than coming out. Because that’s how deep the fear factor runs.
There is no room for doubt, no room for other possibilities. No chance that the Bible is just one of many ways in which God offers guidance for our lives. That the importance of context is regrettably overlooked in contemporary evangelical Biblical study. That there are bad translations. That the sacred “untouchability” of the Book itself is a new concept within faith – that oral tradition, relationships, experience, spirit, and other sources are every bit as valid and vital as are the texts that humans wrote and assembled and canonized. That listening to the love and affirmation that God speaks to my heart about who I am is perhaps the most significant way to encounter truth in this world.
Realistically, my Papaw and Mamaw, my mother and father, and other family and friends will probably pray for my re-introduction to the truth in the Bible until the day they – or I – pass on. When it comes down to it, that they love me enough to pray with earnest conviction for what they truly believe to be the best for me is nothing less than humbling. An honor.
Maybe I am wrong. I have considered it. Maybe I’m a fool for not taking the Bible at face value. For not having the appropriate amount of fear. For relying too heavily on my own experience, on what I sense is God’s voice speaking to me. Maybe I’ve been deceived and now I’m deceiving others. There have been times over the years when I have doubted.
In the end, when humanity has sorted through our evidence, our signs, our hypotheses and proofs – when all is said and done, we each stand on our convictions. What we choose to believe. Our faith. We have nothing else.
My conviction is that God is bigger than we want God to be. That the kingdom has unlimited capacity. That there is “room in the fold” for all of God’s children – not just the ones who take the Bible literally, but those of us who doubt – the ones who don’t conform to the literal interpretation of the Book. My own prayer is that as I share my story, evangelical hearts and minds might be opened to the possibility that these things could be true.
I pray the same for you, and the story you are living.
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Matthew, I’ve read with great interest your recent posts, and this article is well written. All I can say is that I’m so glad that God is who He is, that He is in charge – and I am not. “The Gentle Healer” as Michael Card calls Him (as well as “God’s Own Fool”) be with you! ff
Matthew,
This is very well written! A testament to your natural born intelligence and an excellent education. I, personally can relate to much of what you are saying. The same persons of great faith in God in Asheville, were instrumental in teaching me things in The Word, that I had never been taught in another church I attended previously. I know their hearts meant well, however; I too experienced situations where I felt like certain things were undiscussable ( if that’s a word). Looking back, I don’t think it’s their fault, just that they had nothing else to go on, no life experiences to draw from perhaps. We were there for approximately 22 years, I was grateful for the Bible knowledge my children were exposed to as well as myself. But, during a very trying time in my marriage, in 2002, I felt very alone, as if none would understand. I had witnessed over 18 couple’s marriages become dismantled right before my eyes in those 22 years. The subject was never addressed, there were no sermons or discussions on the subject. It seemed to be something that was reserved for the elders meetings and not to be brought before the flock. I turned away from the meeting then, not because I lost love for any of the believers, but because I felt very strongly that no one there could help me with my situation…things needed to be discussed and dealt with, in my humble opinion. I will always love and respect those folks, but I do feel out of place at times. I believe God’s word, yet I do know there are many things that are not clear yet, only to be revealed when we get there. Praying for you to be at peace…love you like a son.
Eva
Huge shouldered angels all around you, and forever.
Thank you Matthew. You have no idea how much I needed to hear every word of what you just said. It’s been a rough couple months with my family. So rough and emotionally draining, it’s kept me at a distance from church altogether. A lot doubt. A lot of fear. A lot of having to stand up and “come out” a second time (as you put it) about where I stand on Scripture’s role and its interpretation. Like you said, my family will most likely continue to pray that I’ll “see the truth” until the very end. It’s been easy for me to take offense at that gesture. I should look at it as more humbling than anything. You keep writing, I’ll keep reading. Again, thank you.
Hi Matthew,
Great post! I’m a 42-year old heterosexual, married female with four young children who lives in Asheville. I grew up in Clyde in fundamentalist evangelical churches. Other than living in VA for grad school (Liberty University!), I’ve been here most of my life. My grandparents are “Mamaw and Papaw” too. I know–precisely–the messages from the church, the bible belt, and our culture gave you. I found your website through a comment you left on Rachel Held Evans’ site.
I wanted to comment on a couple of things in your post.
“And the bigger the disconnect becomes between your reality and the Scriptures (or more accurately, the Scriptures as interpreted by evangelical Christians), the bigger your sense that maybe, just maybe, we’ve gotten something wrong in the way we’re approaching this journey of faith.
My disconnect began to happen at a very popular megachurch here. I began to question the stewardship of all the money coming into the church, the beautiful campus and buildings, the programs, the number of staff and their enormous salaries. Something didn’t seem right in my spirit about using this money to fund the luxurious lifestyles of the staff and their $400,000 homes. Sure, the church was/is doing some good things in the community and serving the least of these to some extent, but why is it OK to have all of this stuff and for staff to be living this way when there are so many poor and hurting around us? It doesn’t line up.
We ended up leaving that church, because I couldn’t reconcile these issues with what I believe about Jesus and I didn’t have peace. We then joined a smaller church in our neighborhood. After a few years there, my husband and I became aware of an abusive relationship between a minister/deacon/SS teacher and one of the youth who was 15 at the time. We now know that several people (including the abuser’s wife) were aware that at least something inappropriate was going on, but no one stepped up in defense of the girl–until I went to the girl’s mother privately. Everyone who knew something was looking the other way. I stated my observations and what I knew had taken place or had been documented. She immediately confronted the minister/deacon, and all hell broke loose. The mom was cornered by the minister’s father-in-law (also a deacon), and she divulged that it was me who spoke with her about my concerns. The minister/deacon and his entire family and other supporters in the church launched a retaliation campaign against my husband and me for exposing the abuse. The minister-predator even got in my husband’s face and pulled his fists back threatening to assault him on church property–twice. (The predator has since been arrested for assault with a deadly weapon in two other cases.) For several weeks in the aftermath, I talked with the pastor and deacon chairman about the dangers of allowing the predator to continue to attend church with the victim and family present (not to mention the fact that he had threatened my husband and me and was a danger to other children and families there). I also requested that the church provide funds for the girl’s counseling. All of this was done in a sincere manner. I was never rude or demanding to the pastor or deacon chairman. At a deacons’ meeting, the deacons voted NOT to address the abuse or intervene in any way. The predator was allowed to come and go, and nothing was done for the victim. (I have reason to believe that the victim’s mother was given hush money to not to go to the police… there’s much more to the story than I can relate here.) In the end, the pastor asked us to leave the church.
Thus began my spiritual crisis and a questioning of everything. You’re spot on that our own reality (experiences) and the interpretation of scripture by evangelicals can create a huge disconnect.
“Calling the typical fundamentalist evangelical a hateful bigot is, in a way, the equivalent of affirming she is doing the right thing because
1.the Bible tells her she will be persecuted for her beliefs (so she must be doing something right), and
2.your lifestyle choice is in opposition to the Bible, so it’s easy to discount anything else you might have to say as false.”
This is so true! I have been in numerous conversations with evangelicals challenging their beliefs about homosexuals, the poor, the marginalized of society, economic and social justice, and political ideals. When they are confronted about how their beliefs/actions do not line up with biblical mandates or the character of Jesus, they automatically pull out the “I’m being persecuted for the sake of Christ”. They put up their walls pretty quickly and dismiss any valid points, because they think my beliefs are directly opposed to scripture.
Thanks for sharing, Matthew. I have two very gut-level reactions reactions:
- A literal interpretation of an English translation of the Bible is not good hermeneutics.
- Doubt in an English translation of the Bible is not the same thing as doubt in the Bible.
When you say you can’t stand by sola scriptura, do you mean you can’t stand by a literal reading of, say, the NIV but you could stand by the Bible in its original, inerrant manuscripts? Or do you mean that you really reject the Bible as your final authority? If the second, what is your final authority? Where does the Bible rank?
Hi Steve,
My short answer to your questions is this. If “sola scriptura” means that all other sources that inform and guide the spiritual life must be subordinate to the Bible (or must be tested or interpreted through it), then I would definitely not fall in line with that way of thinking. I do indeed reject the Bible as the final authority – whether that be an English translation of it, or the original manuscripts. This is not to say I would divest the Bible of all authority, or that I find it useless – quite the opposite. In the post above, I’m reacting to the overwhelmingly common way that I perceive the Bible to be used in the Christian cultures I have inhabited. By this I mean that a single verse or precept can be removed entirely from its greater context and, without any exploration or deeper study, used as a blanket “rule” that is applied without regard to individual circumstance or present-day conditions.
(My favorite example of this is a recent photo I saw of a man who has Leviticus 18:22 tattooed on his arm – about how lying with a man is an abomination – juxtaposed with verse 28 of the next chapter, which forbids the tattooing of our bodies.)
In regards to your question of “where does the Bible rank,” you’ve got me. I don’t have an immediate answer to that question. I can confess that while I find the Bible to be meaningful, I simply can’t say at this point whether I would rank it any higher or lower than other sources that inform my spiritual journey. Clearly, I would benefit from further exploration in this area.
And so, the long answer to your question is, I hope, forthcoming. I’ve had a great deal of really interesting conversation with people as a result of writing this post, and I have a renewed desire to revisit both the Bible itself and my own perspective on it, which I’m hoping to chronicle over the next three months with continued writing.
Thanks for your inquiry.
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