For instance, in the 2011 Texas Legislative session, dramatic cuts were executed to family planning. Since, extensive efforts have also been made to officially ban Planned Parenthood from the state funded Texas Women’s Health Care program. Long story short, women in Texas, especially those in rural areas and those with low-incomes, are no longer easily able, if able at all, to access basic family planning needs. Along with Governor Rick Perry, many legislators have gladly assisted in the passing of such legislation all too often in the name of religion. In listening to the rhetoric that often comes from the mouths of Texas reps, one would think that all people of faith in Texas share their passion for keeping women from birth control and other health care needs. It turns out, however, these representatives are apparently clueless about the faith of their constituents.

Texas Freedom Network, a local grassroots advocacy organization, recently polled Texas citizens about their views on access to contraception. The poll revealed that 77% of Hispanics, 69% of Republican women, 70% of Catholics, and 66% of self-identified born-again Christians in Texas support access to birth control. This poll makes one thing clear – when it comes to the representation of Texas citizens around issues of contraception, our legislators are getting it wrong across demographics and party lines.

Many Texas religious leaders are tired of our faiths being co-opted by voices creating and supporting legislation which work against basic values of justice, compassion, and the interconnected lives we believe in. In response to this frustration, over 370 religious leaders of various faith backgrounds and a diverse geography signed a letter supporting access to birth control, not in spite of our religious beliefs but because of them. This letter was recently delivered to all the legislators in the capitol. Legislators like Rep. Johnathan Stickland who put forth bills working against access to birth control and in support of corporations like Hobby Lobby who use the language of “religious freedom” to state their moral opposition to providing their employees with insurance coverage of contraception can no longer use the voice of Texas people of faith to support their cause with any hope of maintaining a sense of integrity.

Over 35 of these religious leaders who signed the letter even showed up to the capitol for a gathering of prayer and public witness. It was incredible to stand among Methodists, Unitarian Universalists, Baptists, Jews, Presbyterians and more as we prayed together and participated in a call and response that our legislators may be reminded – people of faith living in Texas, not just in Austin but all over the state, believe in religious freedom, justice, women’s access to contraception, and in a divine source of love and of life who hopes to see all her people flourish.

Sometimes it’s hard to be a person of faith in Texas. It’s painful when it feels like the voice of faith is only used for harm in policy making. But then there are days when the false rhetoric and the co-opting of the religious voices are sidelined. On those days, a faith which lives on the streets where people of many backgrounds rally every day for a more just society is actually heard. They are days where a faith that is working to move Texas up on all those ugly lists of statistics is put to action. And they are days, where instead of shame or embarrassment, I carry pride – I am a religious leader in Texas among an incredible group of others. Our voices are often drowned out by power politics or a corrupt moral agenda, but we are always testifying, always praying, and always workings towards a more just society. I hope that one day, this is the sort of faith that Texas will be known for.

A recently debuted television documentary called “A Church Divided” explores the current state of division in the UMC and highlights the support and opposition for equality at General Conference. As a United Methodist lesbian who desires to be ordained and eventually married, it’s a difficult documentary to watch. Various voices which speak passionately about the “sin of homosexuality” or the support of LGBT inclusion being against “God’s will” are always painful to hear. However, what disturbed me the most about the video was not the homophobia I am sadly accustomed to hearing, but the narrator’s approach to African members of the UMC and their presence at General Conference.

It is an odd thing that the UMC is trying to accomplish as a global church. It is erroneous to believe so many diverse voices and cultures should be squeezed into one legislative mold. Instead of allowing the UMC to bloom and grow wherever it is finding life in whatever ways its context calls for, we are pretending unity means global uniformity around social issues. I do not understand why we expect the gospel to be incarnate in the same way at the same time in America, Nigeria, and Vietnam. Nonetheless, our General Conference voting system is currently set up to support the idea that we can agree on issues of LGBTQ equality. Globally, we make one choice on social issues. I do not find this very hopeful as a lesbian eager for change in the UMC, however, I am also concerned about the way those of us who want change speak about our African sisters and brothers.

Immediately following a progressive American voice for change in the TV documentary, Marie-Louise Kpokpo, a woman from Cote d’Ivoire who is against changing the UMC’s current stance on LGBTQ persons, is introduced as the narrator transitions by saying with a dramatic tone “but then...the African delegates begin to weigh in.” Immediately, Africans from over 50 countries are grouped together as if of one voice and they are simultaneously “othered” from the rest of the UMC body. The narrator goes on to explain “they” refer to scripture for their belief and “they” warn of the impact the change could have on their churches. Fortunately, the next voice interviewed speaks with less generalization by saying “many of the folks of the country of Africa are more culturally conservative around the issues of sexuality.” While it may be true that “many” delegates from Africa are more conservative on this issue given their context, if it were not for the clarification of this man, one might be led to believe all Africans have the same view. Unfortunately, I hear this assumption insinuated far too often by those of us pushing for change. To generalize all Africans' voices into one social belief is offensive in and of itself but it also overlooks the reality that a number of people in Africa actually are lesbian, gay, bisexual, or transgender.

For some, this may seem a small and strange detail to pick up out of everything that is showcased in this documentary, but as American UMC progressives continue to struggle towards a more inclusive church, we must be aware of the ways we vilify voices from contexts outside of our own country. Even as we work towards ending the marginalization of LGBTQ folk, we have to remember that the US has a long history of patronizing, vilifying, or silencing voices in Africa. Just as we American queers in the UMC hate being stereotyped or “othered,” so do our African sisters and brothers. While I may disagree with any voices who spoke against LGBTQ inclusion, and even wish for them to have a change of heart, I will also disagree with my fellow progressives who too easily speak coldly and generally about Africans based on this issue.

I want change in the UMC but I blame its slowness in coming on a legislative system that is unrealistic and disrespectful to contexts. I struggle with patience towards the people in my own country who refuse to open their minds and hearts to the possibility they could be wrong about what God is saying in regards to queer folk. The winds of change are blowing in the US and I wish they would listen to the Spirit’s voice. However, I also wish for change in America’s understanding of people in the various countries of Africa. Their voices and cultures are diverse and they do not speak in once voice as a continent. May all of us in the global UMC begin to respect our various forms of diversity, not by way of forced assimilation or false universality, but by celebrating what makes us different. Whether gay or straight, American or African, or a mixture of both, we each reflect God in a different way and for that, we should give thanks.

1. What, if any, change will happen in regards to private prisons/detention centers? If the private prison industry can look at detained immigrants as profit and Obama is asserting the need for strengthening border control, can we hope to see any justice here? I have little faith that critique of the private prison industry will be a part of the reform. And what about the human rights violations that continue to occur in immigrant detention centers where more than 400,000 are subject to “punitive treatment, inadequate medical care, vulnerable to rape and assault and isolated from any access to legal assistance?” The president has received a letter written by 300 local, national, and international organizations asking for the ten worst immigrant detention centers to be shut down. Some of America’s most shameful treatment of human beings is happening in these detention centers, but do they “count” as a necessary part of immigration reform? 
2. Is there any hope that Obama’s support for same-sex  couples will be shared by Congress, and will the Supreme Court please put DOMA to death?  I couldn't be more thrilled that this new framework provides the much needed reform allowing same-gender partnered immigrants to seek a visa on the basis of a permanent relationship. Currently, the Defense of Marriage Act states that the federal government will not respect any same-gender relationship. This means gay Americans cannot get their loved ones permanent residency unlike their straight counterparts. It’s not hard to imagine all of the problems this creates for LGBT couples who are binational. While immigration issues and gay issues are often talked about as if they inherently separate, it is actually the case that for some immigrants, they are deeply intertwined. I wish we could bring this reality to the surface rather than hiding it under the stereotypes of what the media tells us gay looks like or immigrants look like.
3. Speaking of marriage equality, while the idea of it thrills me, can we start thinking bigger? I plan to get married one day because for me, it is a theological and spiritual ritual that is deeply meaningful.  Honestly, I can still hardly believe I live in a time period where if I want to be married, it won’t be acknowledged by my state, my Methodist denomination, or acknowledged federally. This is hard to grasp sometimes. Nonetheless, it is and there are a number of legal repercussions for acknowledged marriages that relate to adoption, hospital visitations, personal finances, and wills (for example) that I'd really like my future wife and I to have access to. However, as I join others in creating this change, I also keep in mind what I learned from Dr. Mary Hunt while interning at WATER – marriage privileges, at least, those who are “lucky in love.” Though we like to act otherwise as a society, not everyone meets someone they want to spend the rest of their lives with. Not everyone wants to get married at all. Not everyone lives out of a traditional framework of sex, marriage, and a two-person commitment. Given these basic facts, why are we privileging couples with legal perks over single people? Given the current structure of marriage and its legal ramifications, LGBTQ marriage equality is necessary to fight for. But as we do, shouldn't we be working on alternative reforms to deal with permanent residency requests, social security, tax-breaks and the other 1,138 federal rights afforded to those who choose the traditional nuclear family model? Hunt makes a much better articulated and worth reading case for this than I can, but the question is quite simple – isn't it time to think bigger?

There are endless thoughts, questions, areas of concern and celebration that could be discussed given Obama’s speech yesterday, but these are where I start. I am eager to see what changes do occur in the next few months and years. Meanwhile, we do a disservice when we only talk about issues – immigration, LGBTQ equality, racism, poverty, sexism, and violence as separate conversations. The reality is that they are all deeply intertwined with one another and while it may seem odd to move so quickly from questions of private prisons to whether or not we should consider reforming the legal benefits of marriage, it is also necessary.

We need immigration reform, without question, and we need to have a dedicated conversation about it. But immigration is also attached to a number of other issues that also need reform – and one reform affects and is affected by another. For this reason, it is vital that people from all backgrounds are working together for reforms that are just for everyone – for people like us and for those different than us. Every issue of injustice in America belongs to every American. The policies are as intertwined as our lives. 

A wide range of young people from various backgrounds shared their reasons for not voting and outwardly discussed the struggles they encounter when they try to engage. The all too expected words like “cynicism” and “apathy” were mentioned occasionally, but many other reasons were discussed. There was some mention of barriers to voting created by systems like racism, ageism, and classism while other young citizens shared the feeling that their vote just doesn't make a difference, particularly in such a polarized state.

Some expressed frustration with our education system which does not prepare future voting citizens to be well-informed (i.e. how many people are taught how to choose a good Railroad Commissioner?). One young man struggled aloud with his lack of desire to elect either president given that, in his opinion, they’re both working towards the same goals – goals he doesn't agree with. So why vote?

While I understand the frustrations and struggles of many of my peers, I understand my personal context to morally require me to vote. I do not think the political system is the answer to all of our problems nor do I idolize any candidate. I also respect some of the reasons some don't vote and acknowledge and condemn the barriers that keep those who want to from doing so. Yet, as a young American, I hold many identities. I am young, but I am also white, female, lesbian, educated, and Christian. As such, here at the ten reasons I believe I must vote.

1. Because of my faith. As a Christian, I am compelled by my faith claims to do all that is within my power to create a more just society, to contribute to the healing of the world, and to work towards right-relationship with humans, nonhuman animals, and the greater ecosystems. Politics are not the answer to all of the brokenness in the world, but they are one of many systems I affect and am affected by and  can act as one tool I can engage for living out the values of my faith. Even when it feels like my vote doesn't count for anything, to stand true to my values requires me to put forth the effort regardless. This reason runs in and through all of the following.
2. Because my privilege demands it. I’m white. I’m Christian. I’m American. These aspects of my identity, along with some others, come with privilege and thus, power. Where racism, religious intolerance, and unjust foreign policies are intertwined with political options I can choose from, it is my responsibility to use the power of my privilege to vote for a more just society – locally and globally.
3. Because of the suffragettes. It’s been just 92 years since women were granted the right to vote. The struggle many women endured to earn that right – actually, to be given the right that should have been ours from the get go – was full of grief, harassment, energy, violence, time in prison, hunger strikes, etc. The sacrifices which were made so I could vote,  demand, at minimum, I exercise the ability.
4. Because we have created an ecological crisis.  The more I learn about environmental issues, the more I wonder how much things like our national deficit are going to matter in 75 years. When climate scientists are starting to realize that the Arctic sea collapse is exceeding worst case scenarios put out by the UN International Panel on Climate Change, I can’t help but begin to see environmental policy as a top priority. I've contributed to climate change, species loss, abundant waste – I owe it to the whole cosmos to care enough to vote.
5. Because it can make a difference.  Voting isn't only about the final results, though it may feel like it the day after your candidate/legislation doesn't pass. However, the number of people who vote for something has influence beyond the day at the polls. Legislators, party platforms, candidates, other voters etc. will take note if something loses by 5% rather than by 90%. Even if I think what I’m voting for doesn't stand a chance, my vote can still have an influence on the future. More importantly, perhaps, I vote because local legislation can make a drastic difference in individual lives. For example, in Austin, TX we will be voting on seven bond propositions that will, without tax increase, contribute millions of dollars to things like health and human services, parks and recreation, and affordable housing. These are non-partisan issues and, if passed, can change lives for the better. Beyond choosing a presidential candidate, there are many ways voting can have very direct influences on individual lives and cities. These votes make a difference.
6. Because it affects me. I’m a woman. I’m also lesbian. While it’s simple to say that all politicians are corrupt and that everyone is the same, I couldn't disagree more. My life will change in, at least, indirect ways depending on the issues/candidates decided on in November. All views are not equal between local or federal politicians in regards to how women should be treated, on the right to choose an abortion, on access to contraception, or on what constitute things like rape or violence against women. To say everyone is the same is to completely ignore what it means to be a woman in America. Just as obvious are differences between many politicians on LGBT issues. Some will support things like marriage equality, ending job discrimination, and creating policies that appropriately acknowledge the violence towards the LGBT community which is contributing to higher rates of suicide and homelessness in the lives of our young people. Others will support legislation that works against me and the issues I care about. Choices matter.
7. Because legislation that affects me isn't the only thing that matters. There are policies that will have no direct impact on my life. These issues are no less important than the ones that will. To dismiss legislation just because it won’t affect me is to also choose to dismiss those it will affect.
8. Because not everyone can. Last year, a number of new laws were passed which made it harder for many people of color, the elderly, low-income individuals, students, transgender people, and people with disabilities to exercise their right to vote. Under the guise of preventing voter fraud, these new laws are silencing a number of voices and dis-empowering our citizens.  I, on the other hand, can vote with ease. To not vote (and work to change this problem) would be to completely take for granted the privileges I have done nothing to earn.
9. Because others will hold me accountable. When future generations ask what I did about the ecological crisis, the War on Women, or the lack of civil rights for LGBT people, I want to say I did everything I could. This includes voting.
10. Because I refuse to give up my power. One young woman reminded us all at the “Why Bother” taping of some good words by author and activist Alice Walker. Walker once said, “The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don’t have any.” I vote because I think she’s right.

This photo is re-featured here in accordance with its Creative Commons License. It was taken by Theresa Thompson.

When I began reading articles about her likely having created her own attack, I felt such a mix of emotions. I imagined the ways her story will likely be snatched up as a symbol of all the “lies” perpetuated by LGBT people. Somehow, a surface level interpretation of this woman’s story will act as blindfold for all the other violence experienced by queer people. After all, they could be lying too. Even if such words are not expressed, I believe they will be thought. It happens every day in regards to women and rape.

Unfortunately, it seems to be the norm to hear a woman’s story of sexual violation with deep suspicion from the beginning. This is a horrendous norm in our culture which only invites us to ignore the reality of violence against women. For fear that will also become the new normal for the queer community, I wanted to offer a few other things to keep in mind as we digest the possibility that Rogers did indeed fake her attack.

First of all, while Rogers was the example of violence against LGBT people I happened to highlight, the unfortunate thing is I could replace her name with a thousand others. I could have just as easily used the example of the 17 year old that had a pit-bull unleashed on him in Missouri. I could have written about the gay night club that was set on fire in Illinois, the 16 year old who committed suicide, or the lesbian couple found shot in Texas. These are but a few of the cases of violence against LGBT people reported in June 2012 alone. Whether or not Charlie Rogers was attacked, violence against LGBT people is alive and well.In fact, 2011included the highest number of hate violence murders ever recorded by the National Coalition of Anti-Violence Programs. These reports only include the extreme cases. The only way to truly understand the daily violence experienced by LGBT people via unwelcoming spaces, street harassment, vandalism, or homophobic slurs is to talk to a queer person. Everyone holds his or her own stories.

To make a case for a connection between anti-gay organizations and violence against LGBT people, we need not rely on Charlie Rogers’s story alone. There are many others. However, if Charlie Rogers did in fact fake her own attack, she nonetheless has things to teach us. The message posted on her Facebook account just a few days before the alleged attack stated,

“So maybe I am too idealistic, but I believe way deep inside me that we can make things better for everyone. I will be a catalyst. I will do what it takes. I will. Watch me.”

Rogers had recently been a part of a heated debate over a city ordinance that would ban LGBT discrimination. Rogers's City Council passed the ordinance, but it was overturned by groups who gathered enough signatures to force a popular vote. It is possible that the overturning of this ordinance had a strong effect on Rogers’s morale, but it is likely that it was simply the straw that broke the camel’s back.

With such insight, we would be remiss to make a passing judgment about the incident. If she is found guilty, instead of using her as a means of ignoring violence, pretending there are no ugly effects of anti-gay organizations, or even getting frustrated with the perception she is painting of LGBT people, we must ask ourselves what sort of society we are perpetuating when someone feels the need to fake their own attack to gain momentum for a movement. Nothing about such a story suggests “it’s not that bad” for LGBT people – it really only highlights the problem.

Whether or not Charlie Rogers lied about this particular incident, there remains an indisputable truth – violence against LGBT people is happening. Meanwhile, millions of dollars are being invested in various anti-gay organizations that disseminate harmful lies about LGBT people – that we are pedophiles, that we participate in bestiality, or that we can be “changed.” While I certainly condemn the shooting that occurred at the Family Research Council and express sympathies to the injured officer, I do not understand how such organizations continue to receive such mass funds.

Be it through Chik-fil-A, individual bank accounts, or even churches, funding anti-gay organizations perpetuates violence against queers. When they convince others that LGBT people are a threat to society in any form, this will inherently lead some people to believe acting strongly against LGBT persons is a “righteous” or justifiable act. These organizations are not simply sharing a different “opinion,” they are creating unsafe environments for a mass of our population. This should be concerning to anyone, regardless of their “stance” on LGBT rights.

I hope that if the news of Charlie Rogers's alleged lie spreads, we will not criminalize her, dismiss her, or even assume we really know what happened. Instead, let us hear the story that stands even where her account may fall apart - a story of an unsafe culture that leads to various forms of violence, sometimes even against ourselves, and a story begging to be changed.

This photo is re-featured here in accordance with its Creative Commons License. It was taken by Ismael Villafranco.

I am inspired by her bravery to endure such an experience, and within 24 hours, be able to assure the world and her attackers that even such extreme trauma would not keep her from being who she is.

I cannot help but think of Charlie as I read the mass coverage on Chick-fil-A this week. As she begins a long and difficult process of healing, many others are waving flags of support of a restaurant who donates to anti-gay organizations. I am surprised at how many people I know who are proudly passing along digital flyers about the Chik-fil-A Appreciation Day on August 1. As I read through comments on Facebook and comment sections of relevant articles, I came across a few common thoughts that seem to be driving support for the organization by otherwise loving people. I would like to offer a response to much of the reason people feel inclined to support Chick-fil-A.

A lot of the support comes from the notion that Chick-fil-A is being bullied by the LGBT community. There is a feeling that they are being attacked for holding “Christian values” and that the queer response to Chick-fil-A’s “opinion” is limiting free speech. People seem to be confused as to why there is suddenly such an uproar when all along everyone has known Chick-fil-A is a “Christian organization.”

However, most of the people who are upset about Chick-fil-A are not shocked or outraged by the simple idea that the founder of Chick-fil-A holds “traditional Christian values” or even that they are anti-gay. Many of us have assumed this for a long time. Perhaps this knowledge/assumption has kept people from eating there for a while now, but it is not the reason for the mass outrage that is currently taking place. They are not simply holding an opinion or living into their right to free speech. Chick-fil-A is actively supporting groups which are working against the civil rights and emotional well-being of queer people. This is where our problem lies.

In 2010, Chick-fil-A donated over two million dollars to anti-gay groups including Exodus International which is known for their history of trying to “cure” gays. Chick-fil-A doesn’t just have an opinion to which they are entitled. They are funding abuse and hate targeted at a marginalized community – one which suffers from high suicide rates, hidden lives, self-hate and violent attacks.

To those who wonder why LGBT people are so upset, I would ask you consider the connection between anti-gay groups and the hate crime endured by a woman in Nebraska just this week. I am not saying these groups or Chick-fil-A are the direct cause of such crimes, but they certainly feed into and encourage a culture which still reeks of homophobia.

Some Christians continue to make claims that Chick-fil-A is maintaining integrity by standing firm in “biblical values” As a Christian, I have been taught that the Bible speaks of the Kindom of God as a space in which there is no fear, no violence, no hate. Yet, when I read stories about lesbians having gay-slurs etched into their skin, those are the only things I can think of. I get scared – scared because stories like hers are real. Scared because it could be my story, or my best friend’s story, or my congregant’s story. I think of the violence that queers endure everyday – at the hand of others, in the words of the media or religious voices which paint us as degenerates, or at their own hand via self-loathing due to internalized homophobia. I think of hate – for purposeful efforts to make the queer community suffer. So when I hear about Chick-fil-A living into “biblical values” by financially supporting a narrow understanding of family which breeds all of these things, I have a hard time connecting the dots.

Chick-fil-A is not the first or the only company to support anti-gay groups. But it is one. My hope is that the reason the queer community and our allies are responding so harshly is that we are getting sick and tired of fear, of violence, and of hate. There is a wave of courage passing through the queer community and with any luck, together, we can learn from the brave woman in Nebraska and claim for ourselves: “[We are] not going back in the closet. You’re not going to scare me back.”

As we live into this courage, we may choose to no longer give money to Chick-fil-A or other organizations which breed, support, or encourage fear, violence, and hate. As a Christian, I do so on the foundation of biblical values. Some of us will take another step and participate in a “Kiss-in,” a nonviolent protest at Chick-fil-A’s across the nation this Friday. However we respond to Chick-fil-A’s funding of anti-gay organizations, it is not an effort to revoke anyone’s free speech. More than words are at stake in this case and no one is claiming they cannot share their opinion. It is not a case of bullying Chick-fil-A because they “bully” us. They have too much structural power – it would be like David trying to bully Goliath. It is not an act of the LGBT community shoving our “agenda” in anyone’s face – it’s a tired and frustrated demand for a society which no longer breeds fear, violence and hate.

Chick-fil-A can keep their values. They can say whatever they like and no one can legally do a thing about it. But as citizens, we can also choose to boycott, to protest, and to criticize their financial support of organizations which are dangerous to us.

As the “Day of Appreciation” approaches, I know this conversation will continue. I hope, however, that those who choose to support Chick-fil-A will remember their loved ones who are queer - their coworkers, their neighbors, their family members. When I think about those I know who have posted or communicated support of Chick-fil-A, I am confused. I wonder how they can hear about violence towards gays, be in relationship with me or others who are gay, and justify their concern for us, all the while cheering on Chick-fil-A.

Even if you do not share the same perspective as queers (not that we all have the same ones), I imagine many people don't actually wish us harm. However, to see your active efforts to make a statement via patronizing Chick-fil-A feels like you don't care about the harm we endure on a regular basis or that you are not remotely affected by stories such as the woman in Nebraska or the many like hers. I wonder if this is what you intend.

This photo is re-featured here in accordance with its Creative Commons License. It was taken by Christian Bauer.

As a UMC lesbian graduating from seminary in Texas, working in the church didn’t seem like much of a possibility. Who would hire me? Not only am I lesbian but I talk about queer issues…a lot. On top of that, I’m just as bound to bring up other things like racism, sexism, animal rights, etc and expound upon them theologically. Amidst my job search, I thought church wasn’t an option. Fortunately, I was wrong. Not only did a UMC church hire me, but they seem to like me for these very reasons.

I have to admit – after having been out of the church for over two years, it’s a little scary to re-enter in such an intimate and committed way. I now live with both the famous feminist voices of old and the voices of my religious tradition constantly battling one another. While I now understand, more than ever, what feminists mean when they claim you can’t be both religious and feminist, I want to challenge them. It’s not that I disagree with their claims. Participating in religion inherently perpetuates sexism and I think it will for years and years to come. But I also think we need religion. I think it offers something unique that, somehow, also challenges sexism.

And while I hear the passionate cries of those faithful to the Christian tradition, I also want to open their eyes to the truth of feminist and other marginalized voices. So scared to lose what we have, so many religious leaders do all they can to protect the church and the wounds it has caused and continues to cause. I get it, but I also think we need to stop, own up, and consider our past as we move forward.

Both “sides” hold great truths and where I find myself betwixt and between them is a struggle. With this new job opportunity, I am choosing again faith. Faith that the church will be worth the inevitable cost. Faith that I can have more of a positive impact than a negative one on the youth with whom I will talk theology, tradition, and Christ. Faith that I am participating in the healing of the world, more than the harming of it.

On my first day of work, my senior pastor and I met with other clergy from across the central region of Texas at a maximum security prison. We were taken on a tour by the warden with hopes of focusing on the administrative segregation section where inmates are housed alone, 23 hours a day. The cells were disturbingly small with three tiny slits of glass providing incredibly little visual space. Many of us on the tour were concerned, with many others across the country, about such quarters being a form of psychological torture. It was an educational, albeit disturbing, day.

However, on a more abstract level it was also incredibly hopeful. My senior pastor does this sort of activism on a regular basis – and the church encourages it. The other clergy present were also there because they cared about the inmates behind the walls. My job is to be a part of this sort of work, not in spite of being a part of a religious community, but because of it.

This photo is re-featured here in accordance with its Creative Commons License. It was taken by ToastyKen.

Sadly, most of the weariness comes from being a lesbian at a Christian seminary. On any given day it is likely that I will walk into a classroom or through the dining room and overhear students chatting about issues of sexuality. They may be discussing various takes on scripture and homosexuality, or the schism in the Presbyterian church over lesbian and gay ordination, or even general administrative or legislative policies towards queer people. The church's relationship to LGBT issues, I imagine, is a hot topic in more than just my own seminary.

The actual discussion of these various issues is a good thing. I’m glad the conversations are happening and often start them myself. I am grateful to be at a seminary where the majority of the student body is open and accepting of queer people. I would never want these conversations to stop.

Nonetheless, being a part of them as conversation partner or object of conversation often wears me out. Arguing over the nuances of “practical” justice and how to be inclusive while maintaining “unity in the church” can be very hurtful. When it takes you 25 years to finally accept yourself for who you are, “dialoguing” with others about how to “handle” LGBT issues requires serious patience. It takes a lot of energy to constantly vouch for your own place in the church or in the world.

I have struggled with this immensely. I am not anti-church. I think it is a unique and important place which is often doing good work. I owe much of who I am today to people I knew through church who supported me in incredible ways. I wish in no way to mark the church as “good” or “bad” as if things were so simple.

For a while, I believed in the “be the change you want to see” mentality in regards to being a woman and a queer in a Christian community. But such a mindset doesn’t take seriously the odds of power over the powerless. It ignores the seriousness of the push-back and overlooks the isolation of being a voice of contention. A once powerful idea has become a naive cliche used without regard for the power of systemic issues in the church.

Marginalized persons cannot be the ones to create change on our own. We absolutely have to have people in power who are willing to stir the waters of their congregation regardless of the effect it will have on budgets. We need to hear voices that are not tip-toing around LGBT issues in hopes of keeping everyone happy, voices which are boldly declaring the radical inclusivity of the gospel. We need people who recognize that just because something overtly discriminatory wasn’t said doesn’t mean it’s an inclusive church. Until the leaders of the church are living this way, I probably won’t be there.

I think Christianity has much to offer to the world – I’m just not sure many of its congregations are actually living into it. I have heard so many stories from my fellow seminarians about the meaningfulness of their faith when they were engaging with people who live on the street, or with people living in poverty, or with people in a hospital bed. They were inspired by what they thought Christianity had to offer to people who felt isolated or estranged. I have heard these stories enough lately that I have been wondering why this faith seems to only manifest outside of the church.

Where the rubber hits the road, where people are suffering for various reasons, the church has something helpful to say. You are not alone. You are loved. It is not a fragile message. But why, once we step back into the sanctuary, is this same meaning and radicalness so hard to find? Suddenly, practicality, budgets, false unity, being “nice”, and maintaining the status quo take priority over the very meaning of Christianity. Where there should be hope, and rest, and community for marginalized people, there is too often, only another fight.

It seemed in many ways that we had suddenly catapulted back in time a few decades. Are we really having these same conversations all over again? As many of us continue to work for and hope for a day when women’s bodies will be valued and women’s choices trusted, the various efforts to regress were frightening.

The break of 2012, however, has assured us that though the “war” will wage on, we can still make progress. The first of the year brought with it Obama’s effort to provide birth control to all women. The general gist of his initial hope was to require all employers—with the exception of mosques, synagogues, churches, etc—to provide insurance coverage for birth control without co-pays. The dicey part was figuring out what to do with religious institutions such as universities and hospitals. If these religious institutions oppose the use of contraception, does it then become an infringement on religious freedom to require them to cover birth control?

Obama’s first solution was to include these religious institutions in the new plan but to allow them one year before it would take effect. Many people were not happy with this initial plan. Rick Santorum believes the entire effort was unnecessary as "This has nothing to do with access. This is having someone pay for…something that shouldn't even be in an insurance plan anyway because it is not, really an insurable item. This is something that is affordable, available.”

While I adamantly disagree with such a statement, it is not difficult to comprehend (though not excuse) why he might believe it given his personal context.

On the other end of the political spectrum, Sister Carol Keehan who is the head of a Catholic hospital group and seen as a voice of the religious left, also disagreed with the proposal. She stated her belief that Obama’s decision was principally and politically dangerous and could threaten the “the future of health reform.” Again, I may not completely agree, but I can understand her perspective.

What I have a much harder time understanding, however, is the mindset of those like New Hampshire Senator Kelly Ayotte who asserts, “This is not a women’s right issue, this is a religious liberty issue.”

Isn’t it both? Having access to adequate health care is certainly a woman’s right issue. Having to pay for a drug your religion rejects is a question of religious liberty. How can these be extracted from one another?

As Christians, it is incredibly tempting to believe our religious liberty has no negative impact on absolutely any other realm of society. We want to believe that if we are being faithful to our religion, to our God, then we must be doing the “right” thing.

The difficulty arises, however, when we realize that our faith does not take place within a social vacuum. Our individual relationships to God cannot be severed from our social impact on other individuals. There are times when religious liberty will butt heads with women’s rights, or pluralism, or marriage equality—and things get messy.  Often, Christian claims to “religious liberty” are favored over the rights of persons indirectly involved.

In this case, the rights of the women working at various hospitals and universities who do not share the religious values of the institution seem unclear to me. How to handle religious liberty in light of its societal implications remains ambiguous in my own mind.

Fortunately for Obama and for women across the nation, Obama found a way out of the ambiguity while managing to compromise neither women’s rights nor religious liberty. The religious institutions in question will not have to pay for birth control – the issue will be completely out of their hands.

Instead, the insurance companies will be held responsible for the free contraceptive care which works in their financial favor.  As a result, women will have access to the health care they need starting August 1, 2012. I couldn’t be more pleased about this step in the right direction for women’s health. It is a great cause of celebration!

Yet, the ambiguity of religious (particularly Christian) liberty in light of the on-going “War on Women” warrants further exploration. It is not a new question, but it remains an unresolved one. Where do we draw the line on religious liberty? When do we ask those with other values to respect religious beliefs?

I don’t have clear answers. What I do know, however, is that we do not have the luxury of separating women’s, queers’, atheists’, etc. rights from the religious liberty of Christian individuals and institutions.

Photo Source: Monik Markus (Attribution via Flickr)

I enjoyed her post because I share her feelings about result-oriented hope. I too am done with it. As a lesbian ecofeminist, it is far too easy to be disappointed by my own actions, the church’s actions, and society’s action in regards to issues of sexuality, environmental concern, and violence against women to sustain a result-oriented hope. I do not anticipate a day in which all of society’s ills will be mended. I don’t expect racism, sexism, or poverty to disappear no matter how many people are dedicating their time and energy to such causes. However, it is my religious life which sustains my involvement in activism and my belief that the hard work so many people are doing is invaluable.

For many years, my understanding of Christian hope was built upon the idea of progress. I thought that with enough effort and patience, time would inevitably bring good changes. As a Christian, it was my job to contribute in partnership with God as we moved forward to a better day—always better than yesterday.

However, as I was introduced to feminist thought, this understanding of hope began to seem naive. I realized that as much progress as we have made in terms of women’s issues such as the right to vote, the legalization of abortion, and the opportunity to have a career, the chance of ever achieving full equality is slim to none. With each step forward, we take one, if not two, back. Today there are more ways than ever to objectify women’s bodies via technology, violence towards women continues to be a cultural norm, and Christian language about God remains as exclusive as ever. The needs and concerns of women across the world are a millennium away from being heard and met.

Once this reality set in for me, I began to find the same truth in other justice related issues. The result-oriented Christian hope I believed in for many years became nothing more than a disappointment. To work for betterment in the world with motivation built upon success is a guaranteed path to burnout. Here, I share Amanda’s desire for a different sort of perspective – a more honest one.

I have read a wide range of Christian theologians’ perspectives on hope and many of them coincide with the result-oriented hope I can no longer uphold in my own spiritual life. However, when I read feminist theologian Kathryn Tanner’s “Jesus, Humanity, and the Trinity,” I found an understanding of Christian hope that I can get on board with.  Tanner’s explanation is not bound by results or progress but on reflecting the eternal life of God in the present.

Though it has been a long time since I have read her good words, what I remember of her explanation has transformed my daily life and perspective on justice work. Tanner’s theology suggests that in Christ we are invited into the eternal life of God, a life which is free from all social injustices where the earth is cared for, queer teenagers are not bullied, and the hungry are fed. Our hope lies in the opportunity to reflect this paradigm of God in the world. As receivers of God’s gifts, we in turn give to the world - not motivated by success or failure but motivated by the desire to bridge the gap between the life of God and the life of this world.

With this theology, I work towards equality for women—not because I think it will be achieved globally, but because to do so reflects the eternal reality of God on earth. I can advocate for animal rights or inclusive language and not get burnout when tomorrow brings no sign of change. My actions or the actions of my community are founded upon the life of God and the opportunity to reflect it in the world, not founded upon success. This is my hope.

Photo Source: Giulio Menna (Attribution via Creative Commons)