Why Do They Stay? Queer Voices Share Their UMC Experiences

Part 3: Those Who Continue to Struggle with Staying

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Editor's note: For the past year, sociologists Nancy L. Malcom and A.J. Ramirez have been interviewing LGBTQ United Methodists on why they choose to stay in The United Methodist Church despite the denomination's policy that "homosexual practice is incompatble with Christian teaching." Pseudonyms have been assigned to all interview participants and other uniquely identifying information has been changed or obscured. This research was approved by the Human Subjects Institutional Review Board at Georgia Southern University, research protocol #H22207.

“I shouldn’t have to hide any part of how God made me.”

Matt, a 56-year-old gay man from the South Central Jurisdiction, says “I’m Christian and I’m gay. So it’s just kind of like who I am.”

Like many of the LGBTQ+ interviewees in this study, Matt came to the United Methodist Church after experiencing rejection in other religious spaces.

“I’ve been through deliverances," Matt said. "I’ve been through being Pentecostal. We’ve had prayer lines to cast the gay demon out. I’ve been through fasting. I’ve been through prayer. I’ve done book studies. I’ve done Bible studies. I prayed, I’ve cried, I’ve begged God to take it away, and nothing changed.

"I was raised that it was definitely sin, and people even mentioned to me conversion therapy. This is part of who I am. How God made me. I shouldn’t have to hide any part of how God made me.”

After moving from town to town due to job changes, Matt eventually landed in a place with an open and affirming UMC congregation. Even so, Matt is concerned about the denomination’s stance, in large part because he understands how few options there are for LGBTQ+ Christians living outside of large urban areas.

“If our church excludes the LGBT, I don’t know where I’d go," Matt said. "If I was in a bigger city, then I could pick. If I had a variety of denominations to pick from, I’d probably go to a more affirming denomination, not pay the cost of it. I came to the Methodist Church because of their open stance.”

Since joining the UMC, Matt has become a leader both in his church and the wider community.

 “I try to talk about it and be an advocate," he said. "I take the leadership role, I guess, because no one else is doing it here, and I think it’s my passion.”

Matt leads a Reconciling Bible study group, and states: “My biggest nightmare is that I decided to give up, because our group didn’t have many people coming to it, and that Sunday is when someone shows up that is suicidal and really needs that. So I do it because of all the people who are LGBT and Christian but who think there’s no hope and think they have no place to go.”

“I think they’ve forgotten that we’re whole people.”

In their 50s and living in the Southeastern Jurisdiction, Austin identifies as nonbinary.

“I was baptized as an infant into the United Methodist Church," Austin said. "I have been Methodist, my grandmother was Methodist, my mother was Methodist. It is a part of who I am, and currently I’m having to redefine that. I no longer know what that relationship looks like because I’m having to distance myself. I don’t want to be distanced but at the same time I can’t let it become an unhealthy relationship where I’m silenced.”

Austin’s family were founding members of a new church plant, but as Austin explains, “My son is transgender and that’s when the relationship really started to change. When my son came out, it became very tense, and now every time it’s time to sign up for small group and I ask, ‘where would we fit in?’ I get an answer of, ‘I don’t know, let us think about it.’ Because usually the whole family (goes), they’re multi-generational groups.

"And so every time I say, okay, I’m ready to get in a small group, which small group would be a good fit? They don’t know what to do with us. I think their assumption is that when I go into a small group that pride and transgender issues are all I’m going to talk about.

"I think they’ve forgotten that we’re whole people and that I still explore lots of other topics in spirituality. I don’t walk around just only talking about one subject, but I think they’re afraid that subject will come up and they don’t have a group that’s even close to reconciling.”

Austin observed that their family’s reception changed over time and believes that church finances played a large role in the change.

“It’s easy to say everybody’s welcome when you’re in a school gymnasium and you only have that one monthly bill to pay and you don’t have any other staff. It’s easy to say you’re going to be an affirming place. That was my question before we became a founding member: are we going to have a place? I asked the question – do you want me to stay or leave – and "stay" was the answer.

"Then we got into the building and there’s bills to pay. And more traditional believers came in and were the bill payers, people with money. When you switch who you include for a financial reason only, it stops becoming the Gospel and it then becomes a business.”

The decision to leave might seem easy, but Austin is “still on the rolls” and explains, “I have family members who still go to that church. They need a place to fit in with peers, and I don’t want them to break ties. But it’s awkward for my son and I.”

Even though their family has not yet left the church, Austin states, “I won’t go back into the sanctuary until they welcome us into a small group.”

“I really did want to leave. But I felt like God had other plans for me, so I stayed.”

Sarah is a 50-something lesbian from the Southeastern Jurisdiction who says, “I’m hopeful, because I really do feel like I was called. I am called to be a bridge. I don’t know what that means exactly, but that’s what God has had in my head for the last five years, is that I’m a bridge.”

Sarah spent much of her adult life searching for a church home. “I was asked to leave several churches, because when they found out I was gay, I was asked to leave, or I wasn’t allowed to participate in anything in the church. And so I was out of a church for a while – for years, really. I was estranged from my family around that same time because of the same issues – very conservative family. And so that’s about the same time that I started figuring things out for myself and realizing that it just couldn’t be this way. The way that you’re raised to believe about God, and then for them to tell you [that you’re not welcome], these things just didn’t make sense to me.”

Eventually Sarah learned about an affirming church, and she was surprised to discover that it was United Methodist.

“I’ve heard some things about Methodists and gay people,” she said. Friends assured her that this UMC congregation was different, and she gave it a try.

Sarah says “I knew instinctively within the first few visits that this is where God was calling me to be. But I still waited about a year. I had deep conversations with the pastor to make sure that she knew I couldn’t be part of a church that was not going to allow me to be fully who I was and participate in the life of the church fully. And she was wonderful and assured me that would never happen.”

Sarah describes herself as “a voice for the queer community,” though she emphasizes that she tries to be “a non-threatening voice.” When discussing queer visibility in the church, Sarah explains, “I think it’s important that we make it as normal as possible, and if we keep tiptoeing around it, it’s just not normal. So I think we need to normalize it, which is education, talk about it, have some studies, have some small group discussions, whatever we need to do to get everybody comfortable with who everybody is.”

On a more personal level, Sarah says, “When my wife comes to church with me, I make sure that I am affectionate with her as any other couple would be. I’ll put my arm around her when we’re sitting there, or if she leaves before I do, I’ll give her a kiss. I do things that a normal person would do, without fear of somebody going ‘oh my gosh, what is she doing in the church?’ … Those are the types of things I would like for our younger queer community in the church to be like, okay, that’s cool, I can hold my wife’s hand during service, I can go up to the altar and I can pray with her.”

Sarah’s desire to normalize queer visibility has been shaped by knowing several closeted Christians.

“I’m sad because a lot of these churches actually have a few [LGBTQ+] people in their churches. They just don’t know it, or they won’t recognize it… They’re living this sort of half spiritual life, where they can’t fully be who God is calling them to be because the church that they sit in every Sunday won’t allow it.” For Sarah, the 2019 General Conference “felt like I got kicked in the shins again. Years ago, when somebody found out you were gay you were literally asked to leave the church and that’s happened to me so many times. I was just having déjà vu or flashbacks or something, because I was like, 'I can’t do this again.' I really did want to leave. But I felt like God had other plans for me, so I stayed.”

Returning to her sense of calling, Sarah says, “I really do love the United Methodists. I mean everything’s built on grace. I love the denomination and what the denomination stands for, the (Wesleyan) quadrilateral and how you use tradition, experience and reason to interpret scripture. A lot of things with this denomination specifically resonate with me, and so it aligns really, really well with what I believe.

"I stay because it’s where God’s calling me to be. I still have work to do here.”

Part 1: Those Who Leave

Part 2: Those Who Stay but Disconnect

Dr. Nancy Malcom (she/her) is a sociologist at Georgia Southern University whose research and teaching focuses on gender, childhood, and sports.  Recent publications include “From William’s Doll to Jacob’s New Dress: The Depiction of Gender Non-Conforming Boys in Children’s Books from 1972 to 2014” (Journal of Homosexuality, 2018) and “Negotiating the Funhouse: CrossFit Women and the Looking Glass Athlete” (Women in Sport and Physical Activity Journal, 2021). She is a member of Pittman Park UMC in Statesboro, Ga.

Dr. A. J. Ramirez (she/her) teaches Sociology and Women’s & Gender Studies at Valdosta State University.  Her academic interests include sexism, gender discrimination, racism, LGBTQ issues, and education reform by incorporating systemic approaches. She teaches Race, Class, & Gender, Introduction to Social Problems, Global Feminism, Queer Theory, Feminist Theory, and LGBT Studies.  Dr. Ramirez also practices as a Professional Counselor in Valdosta, Georgia. She is a member of a new Reconciling church start in Valdosta sponsored by Centenary UMC in Macon, Ga.