Ben Alley spells the beginning of the end of the Southern Baptist Convention’s condemnation of the LGBT community. Ben is 18, a recent high school graduate from Iowa, and is gay. He is bright, gifted and was temporarily homeless when his father, a Southern Baptist minister, kicked him out of their home two years ago when Ben revealed his sexual orientation. Ben now lives with another family who took him in when his own family turned their backs on him.
I met Ben recently in Phoenix. Several groups fighting religion-based bigotry against the LGBT community formed a coalition and went to Phoenix where the Southern Baptists were having their annual meeting. Faith in America, Truth Wins Out, and the Association of Welcoming and Affirming Baptists sent representatives to the meeting to present a petition with more than 10,000 signatures asking the SBC to apologize for its treatment of the LGBT community.
Ben joined us for this action. We stood on the sidewalk outside the convention center where we engaged SBC delegates as they entered and left the facility. We sang hymns, held signs and had interesting conversations with delegates. Some were friendly, one even supportive, and several were very angry with our presence.
Then it came time for the press conference. When it was Ben’s turn to speak, he told his story with poise and clarity. He spoke for several minutes without notes. When he was finished, all of our hearts were moved by this young man who had lost his family but not his dignity or courage.
What happened next was the big surprise. We had been told that the Southern Baptist leadership was willing to receive our petition, but we didn’t know what that meant. We expected a member of their leadership team would meet with us for a minute or two, accept the petition with signatures, and that would be it. Instead, we were invited to meet with the President of the SBC, Bryant Wright, and he asked us to sit down with him for thirty minutes. Ben joined us in the room with President Wright.
The first part of that conversation was cordial but predictable. I presented the signatures to President Wright and explained we were asking the SBC to apologize to LGBT people in the same manner the convention apologized to African Americans in 1995. Other members of our coalition also spoke about the damage being done to gay and transgender young people specifically because of what they were hearing from religious groups like the Southern Baptists.
President Wright was polite but firm. He repeatedly stated the Bible gave no room for compromise on this subject and that sexual purity demanded that Southern Baptists continue to condemn homosexuality. He compared homosexuality with the sin of fornication and adultery for straight people. When we pointed out the double standard in that the SBC that very day had voted against marriage equality for same-sex couples, he did not see our point.
Just as the meeting was getting a little more tense, one of the members of our team introduced Ben and shared what had happened to him. President Wright turned to Ben with a softened face. He said that what Ben’s father had done was wrong, that it was not what Southern Baptist families should be doing to their gay kids, and he apologized to Ben.
This was not the apology we went to Phoenix seeking from the SBC. Yet, in some ways, it was better. This was the President of the largest Protestant denomination in the United States apologizing to an 18-year-old because he knew what had been done to Ben was shameful. President Wright was comfortable spouting his unfortunate biblical interpretations at us until he was confronted with the real life story of Ben Alley. The atmosphere in the room shifted dramatically as soon as he had to acknowledge the real suffering of this young man.
Ben Alley is obviously just one of millions of LGBT people in this country who suffer deeply because of religion-based bigotry. But his mere presence and story was powerful enough to turn the President of the Southern Baptist Convention from unapologetic defender of the faith into an apologetic human being. And it took about sixty seconds for that change to happen.
The Southern Baptist Convention and the rest of Christendom have no chance in the face of the Ben Alleys of the world.
Showing posts with label Faith in America. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Faith in America. Show all posts
Friday, July 1, 2011
Thursday, June 2, 2011
99 Seconds with Bill
The call came at noon on a Monday. Brent, my boss at Faith in America, had a question for me (Faith in America is an organization that combats religion-based bigotry against LGBTQ people). Would I be willing to go on the Bill O’Reilly show tonight and talk about hell?
I’m not sure if this is a joke or a complicated pun. Some people would consider going on the O’Reilly show to be a form of hell, so I hesitate before responding. Brent quickly explains that an Evangelical minister has written a book calling into question a literal hell, and all hell had now broken loose in Evangelical circles. Time magazine had even done a cover story about it, so now O’Reilly wanted to debate the question with a religious leader who would agree with the author.
In a flash I see myself standing before the congregation of First Baptist Church in Pecos, Texas preaching my first sermon at the age of fifteen. The topic? Hell, of course. Only then I was a big believer in it and insinuated in my best Billy Graham impersonation that all those fine Baptists were in danger of going there. Now, a lifetime later, I have seen the damage done by the church’s insistence that God loves us, but if we don’t love God back correctly, we get to spend eternity in a lake of fire. That’s some kind of conditional love if you ask me.
As I come back to present time I hear myself asking Brent why Faith in America would want to put one of their spokespersons on the O’Reilly show to debate hell. After all, Faith in America’s work is devoted to challenging the church’s anti-LGBTQ bigotry, not engaging in the theological skirmishes on cable television.
Just as I say the words, another flash crosses my mind. I start to see the faces of LGBTQ people I have counseled over the years who believed without question they were going to hell. Dozens of conversations with kind, decent people who lived in the spiritual anguish that comes from having religious leaders tell you that hell is in your future because of an attraction you cannot control, or a gender identity that doesn’t match up with your physical body. As soon as those faces finish their parade through my consciousness, I tell Brent, “I’ll do it.”
And so it was that a few hours later I found myself in a tiny studio in North Raleigh about to tape an interview with Bill O’Reilly on hell. In this small room there is a camera, a camera operator named Johnny, and a chair. There is no monitor for me to see O’Reilly; I can only hear him in my ear. It is a surreal environment to try and have a natural-looking conversation, especially about such an unusual topic.
As I wait for the interview to begin, I recall a conversation a month earlier with a man who works with Faith in America to try and get their spokespersons on these kinds of shows. Peter used to be O’Reilly’s senior producer, so he knows the game well. He was giving me and the other FIA representatives tips about how to do these kinds of interviews, but all I can remember him saying is that in a five minute interview, you will only have 90 seconds of air time. “So,” he said, “be sure and use your 90 seconds wisely to make the points you want to make.”
This is the main thing on my mind as I hear O’Reilly’s voice in my earpiece beginning the interview. He wants to talk about Hitler’s fate; he wants to talk about his Catholic upbringing and why his church’s view of hell is more nuanced than the Evangelical viewpoint; he wants to insist that without a hell there is no basis for the Judeo-Christian tradition.
Each of these remarks feels like bait. I’m tempted to bite on every one of them, but I keep saying to myself, “I’m not here to talk about Hitler; I’m not here to debate theology; I’m here to say one thing.” And finally O’Reilly stops his monologue long enough for me to say it.
If you're talking about eternal damnation for people, that is a very psychologically debilitating thing. I see it all the time in my counseling practice. I see good, committed Christians, for instance, gay people, good, committed gay Christians, who have been told they're abominations; they're going to hell forever. It does enormous damage.
It doesn’t feel eloquent, but it is the one thing I came on the show to say and it has been said. Later, after the interview aired on FOX, a friend of mine timed how much of the six minute interview was actually me speaking. He said I got 99 seconds of air time. I guess that was 9 seconds more than I was expecting.
The aftermath has been interesting. Dozens of ugly letters, emails, and calls from Christians across the country telling me I’m going to hell whether I believe in it or not. Two childhood girlfriends who are very disappointed in me. And one desperate gay man in San Diego who saw the interview and called me looking for support in a time of terrible crisis.
Whether or not there is a hell in my future, the man in San Diego made it all worth it.
I’m not sure if this is a joke or a complicated pun. Some people would consider going on the O’Reilly show to be a form of hell, so I hesitate before responding. Brent quickly explains that an Evangelical minister has written a book calling into question a literal hell, and all hell had now broken loose in Evangelical circles. Time magazine had even done a cover story about it, so now O’Reilly wanted to debate the question with a religious leader who would agree with the author.
In a flash I see myself standing before the congregation of First Baptist Church in Pecos, Texas preaching my first sermon at the age of fifteen. The topic? Hell, of course. Only then I was a big believer in it and insinuated in my best Billy Graham impersonation that all those fine Baptists were in danger of going there. Now, a lifetime later, I have seen the damage done by the church’s insistence that God loves us, but if we don’t love God back correctly, we get to spend eternity in a lake of fire. That’s some kind of conditional love if you ask me.
As I come back to present time I hear myself asking Brent why Faith in America would want to put one of their spokespersons on the O’Reilly show to debate hell. After all, Faith in America’s work is devoted to challenging the church’s anti-LGBTQ bigotry, not engaging in the theological skirmishes on cable television.
Just as I say the words, another flash crosses my mind. I start to see the faces of LGBTQ people I have counseled over the years who believed without question they were going to hell. Dozens of conversations with kind, decent people who lived in the spiritual anguish that comes from having religious leaders tell you that hell is in your future because of an attraction you cannot control, or a gender identity that doesn’t match up with your physical body. As soon as those faces finish their parade through my consciousness, I tell Brent, “I’ll do it.”
And so it was that a few hours later I found myself in a tiny studio in North Raleigh about to tape an interview with Bill O’Reilly on hell. In this small room there is a camera, a camera operator named Johnny, and a chair. There is no monitor for me to see O’Reilly; I can only hear him in my ear. It is a surreal environment to try and have a natural-looking conversation, especially about such an unusual topic.
As I wait for the interview to begin, I recall a conversation a month earlier with a man who works with Faith in America to try and get their spokespersons on these kinds of shows. Peter used to be O’Reilly’s senior producer, so he knows the game well. He was giving me and the other FIA representatives tips about how to do these kinds of interviews, but all I can remember him saying is that in a five minute interview, you will only have 90 seconds of air time. “So,” he said, “be sure and use your 90 seconds wisely to make the points you want to make.”
This is the main thing on my mind as I hear O’Reilly’s voice in my earpiece beginning the interview. He wants to talk about Hitler’s fate; he wants to talk about his Catholic upbringing and why his church’s view of hell is more nuanced than the Evangelical viewpoint; he wants to insist that without a hell there is no basis for the Judeo-Christian tradition.
Each of these remarks feels like bait. I’m tempted to bite on every one of them, but I keep saying to myself, “I’m not here to talk about Hitler; I’m not here to debate theology; I’m here to say one thing.” And finally O’Reilly stops his monologue long enough for me to say it.
If you're talking about eternal damnation for people, that is a very psychologically debilitating thing. I see it all the time in my counseling practice. I see good, committed Christians, for instance, gay people, good, committed gay Christians, who have been told they're abominations; they're going to hell forever. It does enormous damage.
It doesn’t feel eloquent, but it is the one thing I came on the show to say and it has been said. Later, after the interview aired on FOX, a friend of mine timed how much of the six minute interview was actually me speaking. He said I got 99 seconds of air time. I guess that was 9 seconds more than I was expecting.
The aftermath has been interesting. Dozens of ugly letters, emails, and calls from Christians across the country telling me I’m going to hell whether I believe in it or not. Two childhood girlfriends who are very disappointed in me. And one desperate gay man in San Diego who saw the interview and called me looking for support in a time of terrible crisis.
Whether or not there is a hell in my future, the man in San Diego made it all worth it.
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