On 1st September 2012, I was privileged to attend a whole-day conference titled ‘A Different Conversation’ – a marvelous opportunity to interact with about 60 others to discuss matters of interest/concern to ‘DSG’ (“Diverse Sexuality and Gender”) friends. Here’s a rough copy of an excellent collection of articles distributed on that day:

A collection of writing from Christians
of diverse sexuality and gender,
and their supporters…

Putting this small collection of reflective writing together was motivated by
some questions I, like many, continue to ponder:
What does it mean to be a Christian of diverse sexuality or gender? *
What does it mean to be a ‘straight’ Christian, seeking solidarity with dsg
Christians?
I’m interested in how these different groups can communicate in ways that
comes from a place of peace and solidarity rather than antagonism, and i
think that this project is a microcosm of this sentiment.
Hopefully it goes without saying that the pieces of writing in the following
pages offer just a handful of expressions of dsg life as well as Christianity.
I’m aware that there are several views not represented, such as the direct
perspective of transgender or bisexual christians – not surprisingly due to the
invisibility of these individuals in general society let alone within Christian
communities.
A big thankyou to everyone who took time to contribute to this collection,
the honesty contained in your words is generous and brave.
Fiona

~~

*Out of the multitude of different language and acronyms to describe the broad group
of people who don’ t conform to mainstream sexual orientation or gender expression I
chose to use ‘diverse sexuality and gender’ (dsg) which will be used throughout for
consistency.

~~

A Story
By Matt Glover

I’d like to tell you a story about my
friend Billie.
Billie is a few years younger than me. We
met some years ago when she was
studying at a local university and was
struggling to cope with the senseless
murder of one of her fellow students.
Being the pastor of one of her
housemates, I was invited around to
Billie’s place to simply chat with her and
pray if she wanted to. It was a good night
and in the years since then we’ve
continued to meet to talk about life.
This friendship has been valuable on
many levels. I’ve come to know and
appreciate Billie as a woman searching
for answers to some difficult questions of
life, faith and identity. Like too many
women, her past includes periods of
violence which in turn led to alcohol
abuse and mental health issues. She is
sometimes awkward to be around
socially, and most of the time we meet
for lunch in a café, there are people that
stare at us and whisper under their
breath.
When I first met Billie, she was a man.
Life had been difficult. Relationships
were a source of heartache. And there
was an endless list of appointments with
doctors, psychiatrists and specialists to
help deal with her gender identity. But
really, all she wanted was a place to
belong and people to love her for who
she was.
When Billie joined my church, people
welcomed her at first. As a man, she
presented as a quiet person with a special
gift for music. She would play guitar in
the worship band and all would be

moved by the raw talent and beautiful
sounds that echoed when she touched the
strings. She raised the bar when it came to
the quality of music that my church could
produce.
After a few months, Billie joined a small
Bible study group and shortly after that
began to tell people of her struggles. As she
gathered courage, Billie would send an email
to people describing her gender dysphoria,
the struggles that it has meant for her
through life, and gave people an
opportunity to back away if they no longer
wanted to be friends with her. I was
pleasantly surprised when people from the
group, and the church as a whole, rallied
around her. Billie hadn’t experienced
anything like it before.
Yet over time, Billie began to feel that the
acceptance was conditional. As people
talked in their group about what it means to
be a person of faith, it was clear that most
thought that Billie needed to confess her
‘sin’, hand her struggles over to God and get
on with life as a male. Being created in the
‘image of God’ meant that what you
physically presented as at the time of your
birth, was what God designed you to be.
Any movement from that was stepping
outside of God’s will. Many times Billie said
to me, ‘It’s just not that black and white.’
As I got to know Billie better and saw
firsthand the struggles she was having and
the harm that was slowly being inflicted on
her, I struggled to get my head around what
it all meant. I knew Billie was a sinner, just
like I was, but if she had been diagnosed
with a medically recognized condition then
surely living and dressing as a woman was
no more a sin than having Down’s

syndrome or diabetes. I knew Billie
needed to change, but I wasn’t convinced
that the change required was to decide
once and for all to live as a man.
What I believed was that it was the Spirit
of God that worked change in a person’s
life, and that same Spirit decided what
that change was. And that change always
brought somebody closer to God and
gave a deeper experience of freedom.
Struggling to live as a man was driving
Billie further away from God and deeper
into despair.
Perhaps more strongly than anything
else though, I knew that I was called to
walk with whoever God brought across
my path. As far as I could tell, Jesus
valued unity enough to pray that all that
followed him would be united in the
same way he was united with God.
That meant that my journey was shared
with Billie’s and hers with me; regardless
of whether I had all the answers or not;
regardless of whether my church
accepted her or not; regardless of what
people thought of me.
It’s many years later now and I serve at
another church. Billie lives 100% of the
time as a woman, but has yet to undergo
gender realignment surgery. Cost is the
only thing holding her back. She now
calls herself an atheist, but has said to me
that she feels she was a better person
when she had faith. I think she’s too
spiritual to be an atheist anyway.

We meet up for lunch every couple of
months and chat on the phone regularly.
Our conversations are rich and deep, but it
breaks my heart when she tells me that
nobody from our previous church ever calls
her. When she rings them, they don’t return
her calls. I’m not sure if she will ever set
foot inside a church again, even mine.
But I hope and pray that despite the pain
that continues to characterize her journey,
that the peace of God will fill her every
waking moment. I pray that she will see
herself as God sees her – a beautiful woman
of God. And I pray that the rest of God’s
people can hear the voice of God that
speaks through her and tells of the wonder
and diversity of God’s creation.

~~

Sticking my neck out – and pulling my head in
A straight woman confronts her privilege
By Jess Morrison

‘Privilege is not something I take and which
I therefore have the option ofnot taking. It
is something that society gives me, and
unless I change the institutions which give it
to me, they will continue to give it, and I
will continue to have it, however noble and
egalitarian my intentions. ‘
Harry Brod,
Men’s lives
Living and working alongside Christians
of diverse sexuality and gender has forced
me to notice my own privilege and
challenges me about what I do with it.
So firstly to definitions: Privilege is an
unearned benefit. You don’t get it
because you are kind, or honest or hardworking.
You get it because you belong
to a privileged group. The most obvious
examples are the stark ones – men in
patriarchal societies who get to make all
the decisions, or white people (almost
always white) in apartheid systems who
are always afforded more respected and
given better jobs. Privilege doesn’t only
exist in antiquated societies however – I
believe that it is a deep reality for all of
us.
The more privileged we are, the less likely
we are to notice. Ask any ‘white’ person
what color band-aids are, and we’ll
answer ‘skin color’. Ask a dark skinned
person the same question, and you’ll get a
very different answer. The tricky thing
about privilege is that those who are
served by it often don’t notice it
occurring. As a woman I notice all the
time that it is men that are more likely to
be invited to speak to an audience. But as
a white woman, I’m much less likely to
notice that it’s my ethnic group that holds
most of the power in politics.
It’s a dangerous thing to tune into the
notion of privilege. Suddenly you’ve taken
the pill from ‘The Matrix’ . You have
chosen to have your eyes open to the ways
that our society benefits some people and
exclude others. You’re forced to make a
choice, about whether you enjoy your own
privilege, or try to challenge it.
So, to the point of the story…
I’m a very fortunate Christian woman.
No, let me re-phrase that. I’m a privileged
Christian woman because I’m attracted to
men. I grew up understanding that my
sexuality was normal, right, and affirmed
by God. I got to have a wedding ceremony
that was full of God’s affirmation for my
relationship with this man. The first time
I had sex I was married – which means that
for me sex doesn’t come with a truckload
of guilt baggage. For much of my adult life
I wouldn’t have called myself ‘privileged’, I
would have called myself good. I was a
good Christian girl because I’d done the
‘right’ thing with my sexuality.
I was brought up being told that
homosexuality was wrong. This was as
much cultural as it was religious. As with
many people in this age, this belief was
challenged by meeting people. I became
friends with lesbian women who loved
their partners beautifully. So in my 20’s I
spent a bit of time working through the
theology and determined that God didn’t
condemn homosexuality. That was a big

transition for me. It meant that I could
be affirming of my friends and family
members who were in same-sex
relationships. That was nice for me, but
not life changing – I never had to stick
my neck out.
It was at a Christian Anarchist gathering
a few years ago when for the first time
ever, I was struck by how comfortable
I’d become in my own heterosexual
privilege. I could be kind to individuals,
and affirm their relationships, but do
nothing to challenge the treatment they
faced. I’d even had a close friend
spiritually ‘tazered’ in our church, and
I’d done nothing to challenge the
treatment they suffered. I wasn’t
challenging the system that continued to
call women like me ‘good’ and women
who were attracted to other women
‘bad’.
I realized at that moment that I needed
to use the safety of being part of a
privileged group to challenge the
discrimination that people faced. It was
one thing to support people
individually, but I needed to also focus
on changing the institutions that were
‘tazering’ people with their own
privileged assumptions – often without
knowing it. It was time to stick my
neck out. As a heterosexual woman, I
was both less likely to be attacked for it,
and less vulnerable to be hurt by any
attacks – which is reason enough to
stand up.
So that’s the first part of my journey:
choosing to stick my neck out.
Choosing to question EVERY time that
someone makes a heterosexual
assumption, choosing to march in
support of equal marriage rights and
choosing help organize events that
would invite my Christian brothers and
sisters (and those that didn’t identify as
either) to reconsider their own
theological position.
Of course it’s always easy to be tackling
someone else’s injustice – the proverbial
splinter in the sister’ s/brother’s eye. The
second part of my recent journey with my
dsg friends has been learning to pull my
head in.
Recently I was part of a small working
group which included both queer and
straight Christians. We’d been working
together for many weeks before I realized
that it was the straight people doing most of
the talking, and putting up most of the
ideas. The power dynamic in the rest of
society had been replicated in our group. In
all our hopes and dreams about
transforming the church ‘out there’ we
hadn’t been able to shift things at the most
basic level with ‘one another’.
Us hetero’s were used to taking up airspace,
so of course we need to work on shutting
up. And dsg folk are used to being forced to
defer to the straight crew – so they are less
likely to push to the front straight away. I
realize that for me, as a privileged, confident
heterosexual woman, to support my friends
sometimes I need to pull my head in.
In summary, for those of us who are
straight – privilege means acknowledging
our own unearned benefits in so many
ways.
Firstly we need to acknowledge the privilege
in actually choosing to engage with this
‘issue’. We can walk away from it, our dsg
brothers and sisters can’t.
Secondly we need to acknowledge the
privilege of being accepted and in the
normative group; we know that we can
choose to marry the person we love and any
church will accept this; we can hold hands
with our partner in church without fear; we
can not worry about the questions that
someone in church or a Christian event may
ask us.

Thirdly, we need to remember that we’ll
often assume places of honor at any
banquet. If we truly want to create
equality amongst each other, it will mean
biting our tongues and sitting on our
hands. It will mean inviting our dsg
friends to the places of honor (because
we’re more likely to be in power to do
this), and affirming their spiritual walk. It
will mean being explicit to our dsg
brothers and sisters that we actually want
to hear what they think – because many
don’t listen. It will mean being willing to
ask questions – not assume we have the
answers.
Privilege means acknowledging that we
have the power. If we’re not eternally
vigilant, I think we’ll continue being the
Pharisees.

~~

My Journey
By Becky Bauer

When I was younger if I couldn’ t taste it,
smell it, or touch it didn’ t exist. Even
though I was raised in a Methodist
family and my parents ministered to the
hippies of the 70s I still felt for me
church was just something you do. Your
parents go to church so you go to church
and it was never really personal for me. I
understood the Bible stories but to me
that’s all they were, stories. My parents
helped many outcasts come to know
Christ yet because these folks were not
necessarily cutting their hair and putting
on suits my parents were asked to leave
the church. As a result my parents never
went back to church. None of our
family went back to church.
I always knew about Jesus from what I
had learned but I didn’ t go to church
and I think for me that may have been a
godsend. I didn’ t grow with the
teaching that tells me being a lesbian is
an abomination, so by the time I read
the passages used to condemn
homosexuality I already knew I was
accepted by Christ. That said, however,
my life outside of church up to that
point was very unsettling.
I never felt like I fit in. High school was
a very lonely place. The girls didn’t want
to hang around someone who dressed
like a boy and the guys didn’t want to
hang out with a girl who looked like a
guy. I felt out of place and so I turned,
like a lot of kids do, to hanging out with
what we used to call the burnouts – the
kids that were hanging out and partying
and skipping school. We would hang out
in the woods, out of sight.
I didn’t like myself, didn’t know how to
relate. I and would go home at night,
relate. I would go home at night, look at
myself in the mirror and punch myself in the
face. I remember that all I really wanted to do
was just to get away to find somewhere I
could fit in. So in my senior year I enlisted in
the Marine Corps. Just after graduation I was
on my way out of town and I would never live
there again.
I loved the Marine Corp. I felt like I had
found a place where I could be myself. I found
discipline from camaraderie and I really
enjoyed the experience. I would have stayed
20 years and retired but…. back then they
didn’ t have anything known as ‘Don’ t Ask
Don’ t Tell’ . In the 80’s if you were discovered
to be dsg you would be dishonorably
discharged. So I left something I dearly loved
because I was afraid of being found out and
being discharged. I stayed in California
however (where I had been stationed) and I
went to school and I worked. I was very
determined not to go back home. I loved my
parents but there was nothing there for me so
I climbed the corporate ladder. I put myself
through school and plunged fully into my
work
I made friends and would go and hang out at
the local lesbian bar. Yes, I even played
softball!
I met a wonderful woman who I thought I
would spend the rest of my life loving. That
dream however died when she needed to
break things off to care for her aging parents
and I was informed that there was simply not
enough of her to go around. I was devastated.
I remember on Christmas morning, alone in
my apartment, I cried. I received a letter from
two very close friends and rather than
supporting me during my time of sadness the
letter indicated that I should get over my pity
party.

I started to clean my apartment for lack of
anything else to do, scrubbing my
bathroom and kitchen floors and then I sat
to take a break. I opened the door to let
some air in and I sat back and closed my
eyes. The sun came in and literally
wrapped itself around me and comforted
me and I felt such a sense of love.
Now what I haven’ t told you yet is that 30
days beforehand while going through the
breakup and once again feeling alone, I
wanted to take my life. Thankfully
however I’m a bit of a right brain thinker
so of course I had to apply some logic. I
said to myself “if you still feel like taking
your life in 30 days then I give you
permission”. Sitting in that chair feeling
the warmth of the sun (Son) I knew that it
was God and that he loved and accepted
me. This changed the course of my life. I
remember writing in my journal day…
“today is the day I was going to kill myself
but now I have hope”.
I really felt like I wanted to go back to
church. You see even though my parents
stopped going to church every now and
then I would sneak into a local church and
just sit and listen. There was a Calvary
Chapel Church just around the corner
from my apartment, so I started to visit on
Sunday’s.
I began dating a woman and she had been
going to a different church and so I
thought well, let’ s go to each other’ s
churches and see which one we like. I went
to her church and it was a Church of
Religious Science. I really didn’ t like it. I
felt like there was no mention of Jesus and
I didn’ t feel the presence that I remember
feeling on those occasions when I would
sit and listen in those local churches. My
girlfriend then came along to my church.
Interestingly enough during that service
the pastor talked about everyone being
welcome at Christ’ s table including the
murderers and homosexuals. Well that
was it for that church and for church in
general for a while.
During the Long Beach Gay Pride
celebration (of all places) there were several
churches that had booths set up. My
girlfriend and I thought we’d go have a look
and ended up giving a couple churches our
information. A few days later I received a
phone call from someone and her voice
sounded very familiar. Lo and behold it
was a friend I’d known from the bars and
she said to me “I found this church and its a
wonderful church why don’ t you come
along and see how you go?” I remember
thinking there’ s no such thing as a gay
church and I took my Bible and I was going
to test everything that the pastor would say.
Sure enough she spoke the truth from
scripture and I felt the presence of God in
that place. I said to myself well I’m not
going to raise my hand like they do, yet
before I knew it I was raising my hands
worshiping God. I never felt closer to God.
I started to attend their Bible studies, which
they called cell groups and it was during the
Bible studies that I truly understood what it
meant to be in relationship with God.
They had been teaching about how if a
friend calls you you’ll know their voice
because you spend time with them and how
if you were going to buy a friend a gift you
would know what to buy them because you
know their likes and dislikes and that it was
the same way with God. As we spend time
with God we get to know God and we get
to know what he likes and what he doesn’ t
like and we recognize the sound of his
voice. Simple as this sounds it was lifechanging
for me. I truly understood that I
could have dialogue with God. The
clincher for me was when I was doing
laundry one day and I turned around
because I heard a voice say to me ‘I love you
Becky’ and yet there was no one there: God
was there. I continued to attend Glory
Tabernacle Christian Center and attended
Bible study and life cell groups and I grew
not only in my knowledge of Christ but I

grew in my relationship with Christ.
This is where my journey truly begins.
I was asked some time later to lead a Bible
study group for the church. By now
Glory Tabernacle had become an
inclusive but primarily dsg church.
I thought to myself, ‘Well, if I’m going to
lead a Bible study group, then I should get
more training.’ I entered the ACTS Bible
Institute that is run by Glory Tabernacles
Mission arm; Encounter Missions
International and I got hooked. I loved
the teachings, especially the life
application tools, and found myself
transformed from a rather shy intellectual,
simply trying to gain knowledge, to a
person with a new understanding that I
could actually be equipped and used by
God to effectively share the Gospel
message.
After graduating from ACTS, things
began to accelerate for me. I visited Israel
in 2006 and experienced Christ in a very
present and powerful way on the Mount
of Olives. It was during this visit to Israel
that I committed my life to be used by
God.
Soon after my trip to Israel I was asked to
teach in the ACTS school, to preach in
several churches and to lead a weekend
retreat in Utah. I began to pray, ‘Lord,
please give me direction for this next
season of my life,’ and the Lord confirmed
my call to missions. In 2008 I began to
build a plan with Janet Robertson,
Director of Encounter Missions even
declaring specifically that ‘by October
2009 I will be leaving for (blank) to start a
Bible Study.’ Two weeks later a comment
from Pastor Sandy Turnbull about
starting a ministry on the continent of
Australia filled in that ‘blank,’ when I
heard myself saying, ‘Send me. I’ll go!’
The Lord reminded me of my burden for
this continent even from a young age,
putting a seal on this decision.
In March 2009 I visited Australia with
Pastor Sandy, receiving an assuring
embrace from the Lord. I returned home,
not to resume life as I knew it, but to
prepare by faith for my return to Australia.
God had given me the timeline, now I
needed the provision. The Lord went to
work for me, giving me an understanding
that my current employer of 17 years
would provide the means for me to move
to Australia. The CEO accepted my offer
to work abroad, even beyond what I’d
expected, requesting that I research the
possibility of opening an office there. No
visa requirements or restrictions were a
hindrance, as God was fully involved in the
process, and I stand amazed at what God
can and will do when we step out by faith.
God deserves all the glory for being
faithful throughout this journey.
Through all the miracles, everything that
had to fall into place from the time I was
born and adopted into my parent’s
household, to this very day, my faith in
God could not be stronger. No one can tell
me that I am not accepted and loved by
God. No one can tell me that being a
lesbian is a sin. God said to me “you were
destined for such a time as this, remember
Esther” and no one can tell me that I’m
not.
God’s word says in Mark 3: 24-25:
“24 If a kingdom is divided against itself,
that kingdom cannot stand. 25 If a house is
divided against itself, that house cannot
stand.”
God would not send a sinner to do a saints
work. I have been saved by grace (not from
being a lesbian) and it is only by his grace I
can do anything I’m called to do. God does
not oppose himself.

The Vision given me by the Lord for
Australia:
The Lord is saying: Help my children
return to their first love. I think about all
the people, who once enjoyed such a rich
relationship with Jesus, who now for one
reason or another feel cast out or
marginalized because of what they were
told or may have misunderstood. So
many stories, so much hurt, so many
tears…but Jesus does not reject them. I
believe that Jesus is calling all people back
unto himself through the ministry of
healing, love and acceptance. People
reached for Jesus by touching those who
have at one time tasted and known that
he is good. I see in many cities of
Australia inclusive churches reaching out,
loving people just as Jesus reached out
while he walked on the earth.
Jesus is the hope of every heart!

~~

Reflections of a Gen Y Churchgoer

As a ‘Gen Y’ woman, who has been part
of the church my whole thirty years, my
emotional response to questions about
whether dsg people should be part of the
church or clergy is always somewhere
between bemusement and despair.
This is because, throughout my church
attendance, they have always been there.
For me the issue is about how we relate to
each other as fellow Christians and
human beings. This is where I feel the
church has a long way to go. I find it
interesting that in sermons homosexuals
are often talked about as if they are some
population ‘out there’ that has to be
reached, when in actual fact they are
sitting in the pews, in our families, or
even giving the sermon. As someone who
grew up in the church, I would like to
share some reflections about how the
church treats the fellow Christians and
church leaders who I grew up with, who I
also know are of dsg.
I have always attended an Anglican church
of some description. Most have been
Anglo-catholic with a liberal theology
based on the Oxford school, and for a
short time I attended an evangelical
church. Church culture naturally reflects
mainstream culture and what sexual
relationships and dynamics are considered
acceptable. Whilst ‘evangelicals’ are more
often stereotyped as applying morals as
blunt instruments, in my experience the
hypocrisy is fairly evenly spread. From
my own observations, in both traditions,
someone who is of dsg would need to be
very brave to be open about their
sexuality. Despite the presumption that
church is a loving community for all
people, all the people I know who have
come out have not done so without
consequence. In the liberal church they
were conveniently hidden, and in the
evangelical church, actively repelled.
At different periods throughout my life I
have either come to know or been told by
people at church that they are gay. This
always happens in confidence, and one of
two things happen: They continue going to
church but put up a carapace – stop
engaging with people the same way and
their sexuality is never overtly discussed.
Or, they leave – fearing at best
discrimination and judgment, or at worst
threats to their personal safety.
I can’t speak for other denominations, but
within the Anglican Church in Queensland
I have also noticed one or two typical
institutional responses. The first is the
tiresomely clichéd but very real ‘don’t ask,
don’t tell’ approach. I know of two lesbians
who have openly asked if they could enroll
to study theology, or join particular church
organizations, and were told that if they
hadn’t disclosed their sexuality it would
have been fine. However since they were
honest, it’s not acceptable and their
attendance/membership is not welcome.
The other equally tiresome response is
where clergy or congregation members
don’t ‘tell’ but live, to varying degrees, an
open secret. In such cases many people
often know or assume the person is gay
and it is just not openly discussed.
However, other church members who
don’t know and find out unexpectedly
often feel hurt and betrayed.
As a young person who sees little stigma
attached to homosexuality in life outside of
the church, such as my workplace, I have
always found these passive, quietly

discriminatory institutional responses
particularly unimpressive. This is mainly
because it appears the church leadership
is so uncomfortable and divisive about
this issue they would rather foster a
culture of dishonesty than allow people
to be transparent about who they are
and their journey. Until we can share
with each other authentically, how can
we support and care for each other as a
community?
I guess what I have learned from all this
is that apparently whilst God wants us to
come to him with an honest heart, the
church and many Christians don’ t.
I vividly remember meeting up with
some of my school friends a few years
into university, one of them had come
out to me, the rest were involved in a
church I had previously attended. His
whole demeanour, manner in
conversation and even smile were
completely different to when I had seen
him at a party with no ‘visible’
Christians present two weeks earlier.
This time he was guarded, cautious and
contained conversation to mere
pleasantries. I went away deeply
saddened. What have we done when
someone we have known since
childhood can’t even be themselves
around people he has known his whole
life. How was a long friendship reduced
to cardboard small talk and good
manners where he can’t feel free to share
with us what he has really been
experiencing and thinking about?
As a mere ‘pew warmer’ I don’t think
any theological insights I bring would be
particularly profound. Some of the
debates I hear from sympathetic straight
Christians often start from the premise
of ‘how can we minister to them’ or
serve them. I think this is more in the
spirit of how Jesus walked than the hardline
moralistic debates that openly
encourage exclusion. However, if this is
where the conversation stops, it risks
positioning those in the mainstream church
as the ‘giver’ where dsg Christians are
supposed to gratefully receive whatever
‘ministry’ is seen fit to give to them. This is
also incredibly patronizing if does not allow
real engagement in Christian conversations
and relationships. It also essentially just
lengthens the road to exclusion unless active
participation in all church activities is
allowed and encouraged.
If we think about other lifestyles the bible
mentions such as divorce, the same brush is
not applied. Just think about how empty our
churches would be all divorcees were
suddenly subtly or overtly excluded!
However, I’d be lying if I said my motives in
wanting to serve others were that pure.
Whilst I do wish to serve my dsg brothers
and sisters, the truth of the matter is I need
them in my Christian community and my
life. I am enriched as a person by my
relationships with them, and it hurts me that
their attrition means I no longer spend time
with many of them in church. I cherish the
good times we spend together and the
conversations we have. I want to be there for
the important times in their lives, but most
of all, selfishly, I want them in mine. If my
church ever made me have to choose I would
walk away. I would rather pray at home than
be part something so stifled and incomplete.
To stay would be too lonely.

~~

Mardi Gras
By Fiona Murray
I’m picked up before dawn for a road
trip to Sydney. I’ve been generously
invited to join a group marching in
Mardi Gras under the banner of ‘LGBT
people from Christian backgrounds,’ by
some straight Christian friends who are
marching in solidarity. Like chocolate,
cute baby kittens and sex,* everyone
loves a road trip. So while I naturally
agreed, it had been a while since I’d
done a ‘Christian road trip.’ What if we
have to hold hands and pray? What if
we start debating biblical reference to
homosexuality? Worse, what if we have
to listen to Christian pop music? I ask
God to protect me and get in the car.
I know some of the passengers, but
some are strangers to me who I’ll be
sharing a whirlwind interstate trip
with. So apart from my friends, I don’t
know how everyone identifies their
sexual orientation. This is a good thing
– it slows my immediate judgement of
Christians as being heterosexual and
homophobic. I know this is unfair, and
of course ironically full of assumption
and judgement, but it is an automatic,
almost subconscious reflex that has
developed over years of homophobia
ranging from subtle and unintentional
to overt and hurtful.
Despite being a devout believer in the
gospel, my aversion to Christians has
developed into a full-blown allergy,
whereby lengthy exposure to Christians
leads to outbreaks of cynicism,
defensiveness, foul language, alternate
fits of mania and exhaustion and in
extreme cases or environmental
exposure (eg. Church) anaphylaxis.
But so far things are going fine, I have no
signs of allergic reaction, we think we’re on
the right highway, and there is a thermos of
hot coffee to accompany the long stretch of
road.
Suddenly, something is wrong with the
vehicle, and it rolls to a stop in Gundagai to
dribble the last of its fuel onto the hot
cement. While a mechanic is organised
there’s not much we can do, so we wander
over to the tourist centre.
I feel like a fair trade designer latte, but we’re
not in north Fitzroy anymore Dorothy, and
I get a cheese and pineapple toasted sandwich
and sit in the sun. Being stuck in the middle
of nowhere is inconvenient for this
particular journey, but a convenient
metaphor for the narrative arc of this piece
of writing…
The middle of nowhere is a place I inhabit
peacefully and comfortably. Holding a dual
identity as proudly dsg, and proudly
Christian, makes it hard to find a place. I’ve
never felt accepted or content in either
world, but I have come to relish the
perspective that not belonging gives. I get to
understand where both ‘sides’ are coming
from, occasionally get to translate, but
mostly (and sadly) get to experience the
distrust and confusion, as well as the (often
justified) outrage the dsg community and
Christian community have towards each
other.
The sandwich is delicious while I chat to my
fellow travellers, here a bit about where
they’re coming from and why they’re here.
A replacement car is organised, and soon
we’re back on the road towards Sydney.
It’s my first Mardi Gras. I’m not really
drawn to the more sparkly expressions of

Queer culture. Glitter freaks me out.
I’m more Bob Dylan than Lady Gaga. As
a vegetarian I’m opposed to leather. As
an introvert I’m opposed to massive
public parades. Perhaps I should have
thought this through more.. .
We get to Sydney by nightfall, eat, beer,
sleep.
The next day I wander around the city
before we gather for the parade. I’m
loving the warm weather. I get another
coffee and nap lightly on a park bench
overlooking the towering shiny buildings
in the city centre. I am exhausted. As
mentioned earlier, I tend to have a strong
physical reaction around either Christians
or people of dsg. So around both its like
watching a double episode of ‘Antique
Road Show’ while knocking back some
temazepan: the effect is coma-like.
While a light breeze pleasantly cools my
face, I wonder what exactly it is that sucks
out my energy. Maybe it’s explaining to
Christians that I don’t have a problem
with being gay, or explaining to gay
people that I identify as Christian, or
explaining to both that I really don’t need
to explain myself. I sympathise with the
depleted car we left in Gundagai.
It’s time to meet up with the group, and
before long I’m in the surreal place of premarch
gathering. The energy of the
group of LGBT people from Christian
backgrounds is delicious. I get a snack, sit
on the grass surrounded by giant leatherclad
men, and a whole lot of people with
very pretty angel wings, and think about
my reason for marching. I’ve been out
for about 12 years, so it’s not some kind
of triumphant coming out statement, and
it’s really not about my appreciation of
body paint, though I am partial to glowsticks.
I decide I’m marching in solidarity
and celebration of a unique group of
individuals.
The march is worth the trip, it is both
tiring and energy giving, and despite the
environmental hazards I have no allergic
response. Surrounded by dancing bubbly
happy people I fleetingly wonder about
why each one is here, what depth of
individual struggle or spiritual persecution
they have emerged from, and I’m reminded
why freedom is often described as ‘sweet.’
There is a peaceful atmosphere. I seem to
be building a tolerance for glitter, masses of
gay people and Christians.
A curious thing I notice is that some of the
most joyous people marching are those who
I know are straight ‘reformed’ Christians,
eager to understand the blessings and
struggles of being a dsg Christian. I’m
learning something from these straight
Christians about compassion and humility.
I’m feeling challenged about my own
prejudice, and considering whether to
reassess my blanket suspicion of all
Christians. Maybe everyone should be
open to change. What would be like for me
to not be so ‘black and white’ in my
thinking about Christians and churches?
What would it be like to try to understand
the complex dynamics of how straight
Christians become homophobic… and
unhomophobic?
I’m wondering if this march is liberating,
not only for the Christians of dsg, but also
for my straight Christian sister and
brothers?
After a few hours of sleep we’re on the road
back to Melbourne, and we stop in
Gundagai again, this time by choice. I
decide three things: Firstly, I decide to only
ever drink coffee in Fitzroy.** Secondly, I
decide not all straight Christians are bad.
I’m impressed by my own generosity.

My friends drink bad coffee and try to
stay awake. I think we all have bad pop
music reverberating in our heads, and sore
feet – we’ve marched a long way together.
It’s still hours back to Melbourne, back to
normal lives, probably (but not
necessarily) involving less body paint and
public nudity.
Thirdly, as we leave Gundagai, I decide it’s
especially fine being in the middle of
nowhere if you have the right company.

~~

Scaling Homophobia

By Matt Pearce

Sometimes when you look up, or when you’ve had a bad day, the mountain of
homophobia can seem overwhelming. Whether it’s the raised eye brow when you
mention that your partner is of the same sex, or flicking through the TV channels to
see the footage of the Westboro Baptist Church picketing another funeral for a young
teen who has completed suicide. It starts to get a little depressing. Looking at how far
we’ve got to go can be terribly overwhelming.
But it’s important to remember that homophobia isn’t an either/or. You don’t one day
meet a nice homosexual and suddenly your homophobia is gone and you start sending
letters to your local MP for marriage equality. Whatever your sexual orientation,
overcoming homophobia is a long process: from slowly removing those behaviours that
are explicitly homophobic and then adding behaviours to become more homoaffirming.
Many people aren’t aware that a scale has been created for homophobic attitudes and
behaviours. Dorothy Riddle came up with the scale in the early 1970’s while overseeing
research for the American Psychological Association. The great thing about the scale is
that it can measure where we’ve been, and possibly put a better perspective on where
we have to go.

The Riddle scale goes something like this:

Repulsion

Homosexuality is seen as a “crime against nature.” Gays/lesbians are considered sick,
crazy, immoral, sinful, wicked, etc. Anything is justified to change them: prison,
hospitalization, behavior therapy, electroshock therapy, etc.
Pity
Represents heterosexual chauvinism. Heterosexuality is considered more mature and
certainly to be preferred. It is believed that any possibility of “becoming straight”
should be reinforced, and those who seem to be born ” that way” should be pitied as less
fortunate (” the poor dears” ).

Tolerance

Homosexuality is viewed as a phase of adolescent development that many people go
through and most people “grow out of” . Thus, lesbians/gays are less mature than
” straights” and should be treated with the protectiveness and indulgence one uses with
children who are still maturing. It is believed that lesbians/gays should not be given
positions of authority because they are still working through their adolescent behavior.

Acceptance

Still implies that there is something to accept; the existing climate of discrimination is
ignored. Characterized by such statements as “You’re not lesbian to me, you’re a
person!” or “What you do in bed is your own business.” or “That’ s fine with me as long as you don’ t flaunt it!”

Support

People at this level may be uncomfortable themselves, but they are aware of the
homophobic climate and the irrational unfairness, and work to safeguard the rights of
lesbians and gays.

Admiration

It is acknowledged that being lesbian/gay in our society takes strength. People at this
level are willing to truly examine their homophobic attitudes, values, and behaviors.

Appreciation

The diversity of people is considered valuable and lesbians/gays are seen as a valid part
of that diversity. People on this level are willing to combat homophobia in themselves
and others.

Nurturance

Assumes that gay/lesbian people are indispensable in our society. People on this level
view lesbians/gays with genuine affection and delight, and are willing to be their allies
and advocates.

(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Riddle_scale)

I definitely started at the repulsion stage. I couldn’t believe that I was attracted to men. I
was ashamed of it. I spoke to myself violently, feeling that it was deserved because I was
sinful.

It wasn’t until I started meeting homosexual young people in my work that I started to
move through pity & tolerance to acceptance. It was at acceptance that I realized that I
couldn’t treat other homosexuals with respect when I was revolted and shameful of
myself. That was when I came out.
I started to support myself and talk to myself more kindly. I volunteered at a youth
group for dsg young people and helped support them in their journey. As I got more
involved in the Queer community I was amazed by the stories of strength and
perseverance I heard, and I started to really admire and appreciate the contribution that
dsg people made to Australian society.
Within myself, I truly started to believe that God wasn’t repulsed by my sexuality. This
whole time, this being of love was nurturing me to be wholly the person I was, same-sex
attractions and all.
Even though I look at the mountain of homophobia that we still have yet to overcome
in the Church, when I look behind me I see how far we’ve come and think ‘we’re
getting there!’ I don’t feel quite so overwhelmed.

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