
There are currently 73 comments on a post celebrating a recent Pride Church service in Leeds. Five remain visible. The rest have been hidden because they were homophobic, judgemental or simply unpleasant. Almost all came from people identifying themselves as Christians.
And I’m struggling with it. I’m aware that I’m writing as an ally. These comments aren’t attacking my sexuality or gender identity, and I don’t want to claim hurt that isn’t mine. But I also can’t simply shrug it off. Part of my ADHD seems to be a fairly fierce sensitivity to injustice, combined with an empathy that sometimes makes other people’s hurt very difficult to put down. I can hide a comment. I can’t quite hide from the knowledge that somebody thought it was an appropriate thing to say, particularly when they said it in the name of Jesus.
It has left me thinking again about what Methodists often call living with “contradictory convictions”. I think we have to be able to disagree. I don’t expect everyone I worship alongside to share my theology or my understanding of the Bible. There are plenty of things I believe differently about now than I did twenty years ago, so I probably ought to leave room for the possibility that I’m wrong about some things now as well.
But how far does that go? For me, there has to be a limit when someone’s theology is actively harming other people. When it makes church somewhere people are frightened to enter. When it convinces people that there is something fundamentally wrong with them. When people leave because being part of church has simply become too costly. And, at its worst, when rejection in the name of God contributes to despair or self-harm.
At that point I struggle to describe what is happening as simply two Christians holding different theological opinions. We also have to ask what our theology actually does. Who does it enable to encounter God? Who gets to belong? Who quietly disappears?
I spend time with LGBTQ+ Christians who love God, pray, worship, serve their communities and are trying, like the rest of us, to work out what following Jesus looks like. Some have already been badly hurt by churches. Some are cautiously finding their way back. Then Christians arrive under a post celebrating their worship to tell them that they are wrong, and I find myself wondering what we think we are achieving.
I know some Christians will disagree with me about sexuality, gender and Scripture. I can live with disagreement. What I find much harder to live with is harm being done in the name of Jesus and then dismissed as simply a matter of contradictory convictions.
If I get this wrong, I would sooner be judged for including someone than discover that I had excluded someone Jesus was trying to welcome.

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