Gay and celibate
In the early 2000s, the gay Christian Network in the US developed various terms to depict the different positions that gay Christians take toward the complex subject of how they should live and identify.
Over the past ten years, every major denomination or tradition of Christianity has ruled mainly in favour of two groups of LGBT/same-sex attracted (SSA) people. The first is called Side A, or the gradual group who watch gay marriage as compatible with God’s will and purposes.
The second is Side Y, which believes that gay individuality and same-sex attraction are innately sinful or disordered. Some of these groups would embrace the idea of sexual orientation change as the norm for Christian discipleship.
What we are seeing today is the undoing of the Reformation in the Church of England
At the centre of this centrifuge of tradition war positions is a small, beleaguered-but-brave group called Side B (represented by a bee emoticon on social media). We believe that gay identity, while fallen like all identities, is not essentially sinful and is to be celebrated, but that same-sex sexual lust and activity is sinful, and same-sex attracted marriage is clearly unbiblical and misaligned with t
What Christians Don’t Want to Acknowledge About Celibacy and Homosexuality
In my last post, I discussed the loss of physical touch in American culture and the role it’s played in stripping same-sex attracted people (and everyone else) of access to non-sexual affection. Today, I want to talk about an even deeper trend. The decline of social capital.
There’s an elephant in the room when it comes to LGBT+ issues, and many Christians will never admit it. It’s like there’s this collective fear that if we let the secret slip, then all the hordes of gay people who were going to live a celibate lifestyle won’t buy it anymore. News flash — most of them don’t buy it already.
So I’m just gonna say it: The social landscape of modern America is making celibacy practically unfeasible.
There. I said it. Celibacy is next-to-impossible. It’s not like queer people don’t know it already. It’s not like everyone doesn’t know it already. And it’s time we came to terms with it. We’ve got to admit the truth before we can change it.
So I’ll say it again. Celibacy is becoming impossible thanks to our weakening social reality. And it’s hour we did s
I want you to see a rather unique couple. Their names are Sarah and Lindsey, but don’t form your opinions too quickly. Yes, Sarah and Lindsey are partners. Yes, they are attracted to the same sex. But no, they are not married nor are they engaging in sexual relations. They are celibate. Now, before you race to declare where you “stand” on this situation—Is it sin?! Is it not a sin!? Why are they partners and not just roommates?!—why don’t you get to know them first? If you’re an evangelical Christian, and you’re heterosexual, and you are wrestling with the scrutinize of homosexuality, the top advice I can donate you is to end and listen. To hear is to love and to learn—few people ever learn anything while they are talking or racing to form opinions with ear plugs in.
So let’s listen to the story of Sarah and Lindsey.
PS: Thanks Sarah Lindsey for sharing your story with us. Why don’t you begin by telling us a little about yourselves. Who you are, what you do, and how long you’ve been together?
S&L: Thanks, Preston, for interviewing us. It’s a minute weird to introduce ourselves as a couple. We are both Christians, we work as teachers, and we love sharing experience.
*The following post is written by Greg Coles. Greg is a Ph.D. trainee at Penn Mention and is part of the collaborative team for The Center. Greg is also the author of the recently released book Single, Gay, Christian, which is published by InterVarsity Press.
I’ve always been poor at blending in. I grew up in Indonesia, where I was six inches too high and seventeen shades too white to pass for a genetic Indonesian. At college in upstate New York, I was the guy from 10,000 miles away, the one who sang as he walked and edited the academy newspaper and wore the same leafy hoodie every night for two years. I’m abysmal at video games (which made me the black sheep of countless middle academy birthday parties), but I’ve had Hamlet’s soliloquy memorized since I was eight. I know what it feels prefer to get a few funny looks. I’m accustomed to being weird.
Still, I’ve never felt more conspicuous than I did when I came out as a celibate homosexual Christian.
For one thing, a lot of people just don’t expect the words “celibate gay Christian” to go together. They react as if I’ve called myself an “Olympic toenail consultant” or a “vegan lumberjack ballerina.” Any one word makes perception, even if it