An Open Letter to My Friends and Family in the LGBTQ+ Community

What brought me here:

To say this has been a long time coming would be an understatement of the year for me. It has been years in the making, one that has been fraught with struggles of identity, values, compassion, and truth. It's a letter that I've longed to share but only now have had the courage to. Many have walked this journey of discovery, wrestling, stretching, testing, and questioning. To those who have been a part of this expedition, I thank you for your grace and patience. 

For those who know me, it would not be shocking to discover that I've struggled with a significant amount of cognitive dissonance over the last several years. My theological tradition has deep roots in the liberation movement. Our history started with a man (John Wesley) who became a voice against the oppression of the impoverished and advocated for his followers' work to alleviate that suffering. He focused his message of personal and social holiness, which caused him to coin a term that modern Christians often misunderstand: Christian Perfection. And how did he define this confounding phrase: As a perfection of love, of a holiness that leads to deeper and deeper levels of care and concern toward those who are burdened, abused, neglected, and unloved by society at large. My theological tradition has deep roots in fighting injustice: from advocating for the abolition of slavery to the full inclusion of women in the life and work of the Church. I felt a powerful sense of camaraderie with this deep and abiding history. 

However, I began to recognize a break from this tradition somewhere along the way. As politics began to dominate American religious discourse, thanks in part to the Moral Majority movement and its spiritual successors, this message of liberation began to subside, replaced with more benign statements focused on personal salvation and private spiritual practices. Even worse, politics’ parasitic nature started to seep deeper into the fabric of the tradition I love so much. Instead of beginning with the person, life, and teachings of Jesus, we would increasingly begin with our political position and attempt to use our sacred Scriptures to defend them. Tragically, countless denominations began to resemble Political Action Committees rather than countercultural communities built on love. These spiritualized political positions became the new dogma of an entire subsect of Christianity. And any questioning or rejection of these teachings were equal to heresy (belief or opinion contrary to orthodox Christian doctrine).

Enter the question that many are likely wondering: how does this relate to my LGBTQ+ friends and family? 

It should surprise precisely nobody to know that one of the defining dogmas of the American fundamentalist church has been its wholesale rejection of any orientations, relationships, or identities that don't conform to a cis-gendered, heteronormative position. While the range of how this position was stated ranged from the extremist (to which I will not subject my readers- you know full well the abuse you’ve suffered) to ones that go out of their way to cloak the severity of their position (such identities are often labeled as “incompatible with God’s plan”). The defense of this position is the “clarity” of the biblical position, a position in which the Bible speaks “clearly with “one voice and opinion.”

Since I was raised within this fundamentalist thinking, I often embraced and even defended its merits. The Bible was "clear"; therefore, we could not question the conclusion. While many compassionate evangelicals and fundamentalists attempt to do what they can to soften their position, the end result remained clear: "to be fully embraced by our tradition, you must reject your identity as [insert non-cis-gendered and/or heteronormative orientation or identity here]." I know of practically no church anywhere that doesn't have some version of "All are welcome!" sign or statement featured prominently on their website. But in reality, the message was sneaky but clear to anyone in the know: "All are welcome… so long as you conform to our ideals of humanity." 

What is confounding to many, however, is that my faith tradition caused me to question the position of my faith tradition and gave me the tools to deconstruct it. Throughout my 37 years as a dedicated participant in the church’s life, I was taught that God is continually moving us to become open to including those who were once outsiders, lift up those previously marginalized, and understand the Scriptures within their cultural context. They gave me the tools to ask tough questions and see how my internal biases may prejudice my understanding of humanity. They helped me see how easy it is to abuse the Bible to force others to conform to my comfort. Instead, they challenged me to embody Christ and choose to see scripture and humanity through the lens of Jesus. 

Over my 15 years as a pastor, I was consistently awed by how many people within the queer community found me to be a safe person to associate with. It might be easy for those still within the depths of fundamentalist thinking on this topic to assume these relationships have "drawn me away from the truth" or "caused me to reject clear biblical truth." While these myriads of relationships have been formative for me, causing me to question a dogmatic stance against their existence, the truth is much more painful. 

As a faithful pastor, I knew that I couldn't just reject Scripture that I found unhelpful or frustrating. But with the tools my tradition had given me, I began to study, dig in, ask questions, and look to our tradition for direction on how to deal with this uncomfortable but all-important question: what would Jesus do with HIS queer children?

I knew all of the so-called clobber passages (a recent term used to show Bible verses that “clobber” any nuanced conversations about LGBTQ+ believers serving and being celebrated within the church). If you're still with me and want to remind me of those passages, save your efforts. I dug into each of them, looking not for absolution but for what is real. Does Jesus really reject all those who are born with same-gender attraction? What about those who identify as transgender? Or somebody whose identity is more nuanced within the spectrum of sexuality and gender? 

I could go through each clobber passage, but I won't. I will land on two core concepts that changed how I approach the Scriptures on this "issue.” First: I looked at other issues on which defenders said the "Bible was clear." Just in the 20th century alone, this includes full personhood for black and brown people, exclusion and mistreatment of "unwanted" immigrants, interracial marriage, unwed mothers and fathers, the divorced, and women's involvement in the life of the church (and society). As each battle was fought, churches across this country stated that “the Bible is clear on this” with similar vigor. Black and brown people were genetically inferior to whites; their full inclusion would be in open defiance to God. Immigrants would taint the purity of a country built on caucasian religious superiority. Interracial marriage would upset the natural order of things. Unwed mothers and fathers were right to be shunned since they had been so foolish as to engage in premarital sex. Jesus hates divorce, so we must reject all those whose marriage has ended. And, of course (and this is far from settled across the religious spectrum), women were clearly told to sit down and shut up in society, in general, and in churches, specifically. 

It shouldn't surprise anybody that defenders of all these positions found their defense within the pages of the Bible. However, it could be noted that taking up arms against the British in the 18th century was condemned by preachers who used the Scriptures as the basis of their objection. The Bible was clear on this issue: we are to submit to the British ruling authority. Most American preachers eventually came around to the idea. 

This leads us back to Jesus. In the list of issues resolved within my faith tradition, we looked at a variety of things: what did the author mean then? How has life changed since then? Is this principle part of an ongoing shift that was meant to be continued, or was it a "for all times in all places" kind of situation? Is the Bible actually clear on this topic, or is something literally lost in translation? Has language, expectations, and understandings shifted drastically from them to now? Does any of this matter? 

My Formal Statement

In the end, the tools my faith tradition gave me caused me to go one step further than they had, which sets me free to fully embrace everybody, regardless of their gender identity or sexual orientation. Because, despite many of our modern traditions appearing to have settled the issue, the reality is that bias and history have done as much to guide our opinions. When you open yourself up to testing each statement against the person of Jesus, to see how this statement lines up with the person and teaching of Jesus, you open yourself up to new possibilities. 

Jesus was the one who closed the issue of LGBTQ+ exclusion for me once and for all. The witness of Jesus showed me that something must be amiss. Jesus continually welcomed those whom society had so freely discarded. He lifted up those who society had trampled on. Regardless of the reason, Jesus stood again and again on the side of the afflicted. And more often than not, this put Jesus at odds with the religious establishment. Because, for them, the Scriptures were clear on that particular topic. They were right, in their eyes, to reject particular types of people, and not even somebody like Jesus could change their point of view. 

A particularly troubling trend within churches is the attempt to "balance" Jesus with other teachings within the Scriptures. "Sure, Jesus says or does this, but Paul, Peter, Abraham, or Moses says this." All Scripture, in this theory, bears equal weight and equal authority. But the Scriptures themselves don't bear this out. Within the Christian tradition, a central (but often overlooked) story is called the Transfiguration, where Jesus is joined by pivotal religious figures throughout history, only to have his disciples told that they were to listen to "My beloved son" by the voice of God (see Matthew 17). Jesus himself tells his followers in John 14 that they've seen God by seeing him. Hebrews goes so far as to say that Jesus is God’s full and final representation. A.M. Ramsey put it well when he said, "God is Christlike, and in Him there is no unchristlikeness at all." 

So if Jesus shows us the ever-widening circle of embrace, if Jesus continually tells us that we are defined by our capacity to love (note that he did not say our capacity to embrace particular doctrines), then I truly and wholeheartedly believe that we must do the same. Jesus embraced those whom the established religious community wholly rejected. Some might say that his ethic of raising up the lowly and casting down the mighty set his execution in motion. Those in positions of power will often do whatever it takes to secure and maintain that power. 

So, with a lengthy preamble, I affirm and explicitly state my support for full inclusion of people in the Kingdom of God, regardless of sexual orientation or gender identity. Truth be told, there should be a period after the "Kingdom of God." I support the full inclusion of all people in the Kingdom of God. Period. Full stop. No asterisks. 

Because isn't that the problem? Often that statement has copious amounts of provisos, exceptions, and limitations. I merely refuse to play that game. I find it so much more freeing to say that the beauty of the Gospel of Jesus is that it affirms the value and beauty of all humans. And I do not believe that deciding who we will and won't embrace is beneficial. 

I borrow from my friend Dustin Sable when he wrote recently: "I am proud to stand with you as an ally in the fight for full inclusion in our society and in the Church. I pray that we might always strive to reveal Christ's kingdom even (or especially) when it comes to us in unexpected places." 

To My Friends and Family in the LGBTQ+ Community: 

I look back with regret that I didn’t have the courage to speak up louder while in positions of authority. I'll admit, while I hoped that my service and witness could change the hearts and minds of people within the religious communities that I intersected with (both my own churches and the many that I connected with in some way), I recognize that I could have done more. For that, I am sorry. While I fought privately against homophobia and transphobia, much more could and should have been done to defend your worth and value. I am committed to doing what it takes to remedy this now. 

To those who religious institutions have victimized, I see decades, perhaps centuries, of abuse in the name of Jesus. Many of you reading this likely have had the Bible yielded like a sword against you. One of the common examples is the story of Sodom and Gomorrah: a story condemning (in the Bible’s own words) those who were hostile to outsiders, used sexual violence to dominate others, and refused to help the poor. Instead of focusing on the clear intent of Scripture, Christians use the story as a condemnation of any queer identity (gay men were often called Soddomites). Words with ambiguous or confounding meanings have become "clear" in many of our modern translations, not because of biblical faithfulness but because they reinforce the long-held biases of those charged with leading the translation. To those who have been profoundly hurt and traumatized by those who value their dogma over your life, I first and foremost want to reiterate the inherent value that you have, to me, to this world, and to Jesus. The history of bigotry toward you undoes me. Your queer identity has been used against you, as the tip of a spear condemning your existence. For that, I am profoundly sorry. I know I was not the source of such pain (at least, I hope it has never been so), but I recognize the pain caused by people who live and look and act like me. I ask for your forgiveness, for either my words or actions, but also for my inaction. 

To those who have born the pain of anger, hatred, bigotry, and disgust from people who claim the name of Jesus, to those who have been told that their very existence was an abomination, that their ability to love was evil, to those who have been implicitly or explicitly told that their life was less than valid or that they would be better off dead, I am grieved, disgusted, and saddened by such conduct. I desperately pray that I have never been the source of such hurt. But even if I was not, I offer my sincerest, deepest apologies to you. Nobody should have to suffer such pain for merely existing.

To those who needed a safe space: thank you to those who saw Jennifer and me as safe spaces. Even as I wrestled with my position on this topic, I always wanted to be a person like Jesus: one who was viewed as a defender of the defenseless, one who would readily identify with the very people demonized by the religious institution of the day. Even though I am no longer actively serving in a pastoral role, I want to reiterate my position as an ally and defender. I know that sometimes our society regretfully still gives an outsized voice to straight, white, cis-gendered men, and I vow to use that voice to fight for your dignity and equity. If you need support, we're here. I have room in my home for you if you need a place to stay. I don't want this to just be a series of words but of actions. I am an ally. I am here for you. 

To all who read this: you are loved. So much. Without reservation. Full stop. 

A word to those with whom I am likely to disagree: 

First of all, thank you for sticking with me until this point (we’re on page 4, so that’s saying something). 

Second, thank you in advance for not descending into ad hominem attacks. It is unsurprisingly easy to attack the character of those with whom we disagree rather than debate the merit of their ideas. Naturally, I’ve heard it all already, including those who would question my salvation. That breaks my heart, of course, but it doesn’t surprise me. We often make our relationships with Jesus to be the result of a series of doctrinal beliefs instead of a vibrant, evolving relationship with Jesus. 

I sincerely hope that even those who disagree with me on this point will at least recognize that there is growing witness within faithful Christianity on the topic, and one does not have to reject Jesus, nor the Bible, in order to come to the decisions we have reached. If you are worried about my salvation, that's probably natural but unnecessary. I feel so at peace with God on this. While I know it may be confusing to many, I don't need a sermon about repentance and hell in response to this post. 

Third, if you want to chat, I'd love to do that- over coffee, a meal, or whatever you'd prefer. I only ask that your questions and comments are genuine and that you are open to a dialogue. Trust me; I know the common positions and talking points within conservative Christianity- I was one for the better part of a decade. But talking about "why's" and "how's,” talking about experiences and revelations, that's a beautiful thing. I'm more than happy to take the time to talk. This isn't an "agenda". I'm not going to try to convince you to agree with me. But I want to engage honestly, openly, and thoughtfully without condemning the other as a heretic or anti-Christ.

Finally, to my denominational leaders who may or may not read this far: I hope you will see this not as an emotional or ill-informed statement. It's an easy rhetorical position to take, but it robs us of the opportunity to understand each other better. I get that we disagree on this, but this isn't the first time in church history there has been significant disagreement on vital issues. I hope we can look more like the early Church and less like the Reformation. I hope we can reflect the love of Christ and not bloody our swords in a battle against those with whom we disagree. 

I recognize you may be forced to break fellowship with me based on denominational bylaws, and I submit to that decision. Despite that, I still see you as my brother or sister in Christ. I love you regardless of our formal relationship. Thank you for forming a denomination that gave me the tools to better love my neighbor and my enemy, to commit to following Jesus even when it inconvenienced me, and to stand with the marginalized and oppressed, even when society refuses to. I owe you an outstanding debt for teaching me how to use these tools, even if you disagree on how I used them or the conclusion to which I have arrived. 

One final word

I don't know what the future holds. I am so grateful for the embrace of so many in this new season of life. I know I won't be out of some spiritual gathering for long. I long to see a Jesus community that is organic and grassroots, that values radical inclusion, justice, and sacrifice for the sake of those who have no voice. I long to put the words of Jesus into practice that seeks to see the Kingdom of God advance. This is a Kingdom defined by love, one where violence has no place, where enemies are family, where power is seen in sacrifice, and where people are embraced because of who they are, not what they've done. 

I love you. I may not know you, but I love you. I may never meet you, but I love you. I hope this letter benefits even one person. I hope it causes one person to feel more comfortable in their identity, to feel loved and valued, to feel seen and heard. 

I don’t do this lightly, but here’s how to contact me: 

-    Email: jordonleblanc@gmail.com

-    Mobile: ‪(607) 542-9657

I’m here if you need to talk. In fact, I look forward to it. 

With all the love I have to give,

Jordon