This past week (August 2017), the Council for Biblical Manhood and Womanhood released the Nashville Statement, a summary of the common Evangelical position on sexuality and gender. The statement contains all of Evangelicalism’s greatest hits: men and women are only mostly equal, same-sex relationships are sinful, transgender people are illegitimate, the usual. The statement’s preamble even contains the standard Evangelical jargon of standing firm against an evil and sinful culture. The biggest controversy seems to come from Article 10 of the statement, which says “it is sinful to approve of homosexual immorality or transgenderism and that such approval constitutes an essential departure from Christian faithfulness and witness.”

You know, I’ve never been more okay with being called a sinner. I’m an LGBT ally because I’m convinced Jesus would be too, and this statement from the Evangelical community actually says a lot more about them than about me and my friends.

The Baptist faith —and, by proxy, American Evangelicalism— prides itself on being confessional rather than creedal. Here’s the difference: creeds are often used as a measuring stick for what is and is not Christian. In the early days of the Church, when Christian doctrine was still young and fluid, creeds were essential in determining which teachings were legitimate. In later years, as different creeds introduced stricter guidelines, early Baptists resisted their use entirely, preferring instead to use confessions (commonly agreed-upon statements of belief from individual communities). While my beliefs tend to align more with Methodism nowadays, this idea of being a confessional people rather than a creedal people still resonates strongly with me. It conjures up images of people sitting around an open bible and discussing what they have in common rather than what divides them. Such a mindset seems like it would lead to inclusivity, but sadly, “seems like” would be the operative phrase there.

I gave up on Evangelicalism quite some time ago, but when I look at the Nashville Statement, I see the ugliest side of the subculture. In my idealized view of Evangelicalism, there was at least a veneer of cooperation and mutual respect. We used to at least pretend everyone was welcome, but the Nashville Statement is a new and unwelcome turn, and the timing of it is bizarre.
Is it intended to support President Trump’s proposed “transgender ban”?
Is it a delayed reaction to nationwide marriage equality?
Did they start drafting it back when we thought the next President would be a woman?
I may never understand, and I’m reluctantly okay with that.

Here’s what gets me though:
Evangelicalism has always had this attitude toward the LGBT community. Always. None of the statements about sexual orientation or gender identity should surprise anyone, but Article 10 is scary. Article 10 is where Evangelicals officially abandon their confessional identity in favor of a rigid creed: “If you even think homosexuality is acceptable, you’re out of the club.”

I used to really admire it when Evangelicals said the only thing determining “in” and “out” was the love of Christ, but the Nashville Statement reveals what they really think.

There are many Evangelicals I still deeply respect. For example, I continue to find great insight in Francis Chan’s books, and while I don’t agree with Russell Moore on everything, I appreciated his consistency during the 2016 election. Unfortunately, Evangelicalism on the whole is a power-hungry political movement masquerading as bible-believing Christianity (and they’re not even trying that hard to masquerade anymore). The Nashville Statement showed that Jesus is no longer the most important factor in Evangelicals’ definition of Christianity; your views on human sexuality are.

Evangelicalism is rapidly losing influence in the court of public opinion, and as I look at the culture of suspicion and othering they’ve built, I’m happy to help show this movement the door. I don’t believe in tearing things down without building new things up though, and I’m pleased at the number of counter-statements I see flooding the internet. Christians all over the country seem to be saying:
This is not us.
This is not how our Jesus acts.
This is not all our Bible says.
This is not the kind of church we want.
This is not us.

But we can’t stop there.
We have to say who we are,
how our Jesus did act,
what else our Bible does say,
and what kind of church we do want.

I used to want a pastor who was slightly more conservative than me–
someone who would challenge me to a higher personal moral standard,
someone unafraid to talk about sin.
Now I want pastors who follow their convictions regardless of political party–
people who will challenge me to love even when it’s uncomfortable,
people overjoyed to talk about grace.

I used to want a church that was active in the community with plenty of programs to draw people in.
Now I want a church that’s in the community and looking to love and serve people wherever they are.

I used to want teachers who prized sound doctrine above all else and could help me form answers to deep questions.
Now I want teachers willing to err on the side of loving others even if it means choosing doctrinal tension over answers.

Buildings have never been especially important to me,
but building people up is more important than ever.

I still think personal relationship with God is crucial,
but I think mending our interpersonal relationships can’t be overlooked either.

I want to give special attention to people who feel weak, shunned, and isolated.
I want to aid those who feel persecuted, underprivileged, and impoverished.
And when I say I want “a conversation,” I mean actual conversation—
not just you listening to me.

And I don’t know if we’ll ever reach this ideal, but that’s okay too,
because all of this is bigger than me,
and it’s bigger than us.

Jesus came to open gates
and tear down walls
and to extend the invite to everyone–
every gender, sex, orientation, race, nationality, income level, you name it.
All are equal. All are welcome.
Not because of who we are,
but because of who Jesus is.
That’s what the Gospel is about.

That’s my statement.