As a result of reading all the posts in our topic of the month, the thing that’s been on my mind a lot is being more proactive about reconciliation strategies between people of faith and the LGBTQ community.

What prompts this idea is a beautifully written article posted by my good friend, and State of Formation colleague, Oliver Goodrich. The article is titled “Communion Secrets: Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,” and chronicles the painful struggle between the Christian church (specifically here, the Greek Orthodox tradition) and members of the LGBTQ community. If you didn’t already click on that link, do so here. I won’t tell you again.

Ok; I will.

The topic is unsurprisingly difficult, and one of the most emotionally-loaded debates of our generation. So, rather than start up a chain of typical back-and-forth vitriol-slinging, I’m more interested in finding a new way to dialogue about this whole deal. As in, one that puts humanity first, and opinion second. One that seeks not to argue about issues, but save the lives of so many suicidal teens, and the many more who may not be there yet, but are on that path.

In an effort to make it seem more real, and generate some kind of cursory ideas, I’ve been thinking a lot about the possibilities for starting a reconciliation ministry between members of the LGBTQ community and people of faith.

While I certainly believe that honest debate about issues is important, my experiences (and, um, the words/ministry of Jesus, to boot) have taught me that repairing human hurt trumps any kind of topical debate. Lives are being lost around this issue, and too often the installment of religious guilt plays a part in gay-centric bigotry, violence, and suicide. It is not merely a topic at the next panel discussion, and it can no longer be a casual conversation. As James Croft, another SoF contributor, points out: “Nothing less than love will do.”

Sounds like something from the New Testament, no? Well, he’s actually a humanist, and I think it’s time that the nonreligious weren’t the only ones sounding like people of faith. It’d be nice if people of faith sounded like people of faith.

One of the things that has affected me the most on this has been to abolish the non-biblical aphorism “hate the sin, love the sinner.” It suggests that hate will always be part of the equation, and it will always implode the attempt at love. Even if you think that homosexuality is a sin, there’s a pretty good chance that you’ve already let everyone know that. So, the next time you have the opportunity to interact with someone from this community, what if you didn’t start with opinion? What if you, gulp, started with open arms?

At one point during college, a friend of mine–who was gay, but in conflict about it–asked me what I thought about homosexuality. I replied with, “I know it’s wrong, but…” and then it didn’t matter what I said after that. My friend rarely spoke to me about things that weren’t jokes or lighthearted after that. Any chance at real, supportive and restorative relationship was gone. I let my (now outdated) opinions get in the way of humanity, and I’ve paid for it ever since.

In contrast, the first time I surrendered the need to make my opinions known in the face of a hurting friend, I was astounded how freeing it felt, and how ultimately transformative it was for me and the person involved. In other words: a connection was made. I believe that God alone can see what lies in the heart. I can barely see what’s in my own–how can I pretend to make assessments of other’s hearts? Instead, all I did was make myself available to chat, share music, and make meals for my friend. Later that year, this friend gave my wife and I a piece of his art, and inscribed in pencil on the back: “It feels good to be understood.”

And, it still makes my vision blur with tears.

It feels good to be understood. Won’t you make the effort to understand?