But many Christians have a long way to go before they can truly live out the full “Love thy neighbour as thyself” thing. I wish I could promise that queer people would be accepted if they went to a church. It remains prohibited for same-sex couples to get married in Anglican places of worship, and a lot of churches won’t let openly queer people so much as serve the coffee. Still, “feeling welcome” is a pretty low bar. Now, my girlfriend and I go to an affirming church in London where I feel, for the first time in a long time, welcome. Meeting Christians who were happily in same-sex relationships – even married with children – showed me that the model of Christian marriage drummed into me throughout my childhood was not the only option. Becoming part of Facebook groups such as Diverse Church, Queer Christian Collective and No Fear in Love showed me there was a future for people like me.
Most of the time, however, the only way to navigate the world as a queer Christian is to find support. I can work up the stamina to do this from time to time, but it can be incredibly draining to constantly place yourself in an environment where you’re not really welcome. There’s a time and a place for what I call “activist church-going”: going to a church where you know you won’t be accepted just to remind them that queer Christians do exist. During my undergraduate degree, I basically gave up going to church altogether because it felt like all the Christian students were hardened anti-gay evangelicals. “Go to hell” placards at Pride parades, “ conversion therapy” and politicians such as Tim Farron haven’t exactly given Christians a good reputation among the queer community. Plenty of queer people have been hurt by the church. I don’t necessarily expect non-Christians to understand that. So why do we bother going back to these places and people that have hurt us? The simple answer is that I still believe in a loving God, and I still have faith that views will change, and things will get better. Most LGBT+ Christians I’ve come across have similar stories to tell, if not worse. There was also the church member who arranged to meet me for coffee in order to say I needed to repent and the friend who bought me a book on “conversion therapy” for Christmas. He politely informed me that my feelings were from the devil, and went on to share our conversation – which I had believed to be confidential – with the church the following Sunday as part of his sermon on “sexual immorality”. The ultimate lowlight was confiding in a pastor about my sexuality when I was 18. Growing up in the church has played quite a big part in these insecurities. Yet even when I’m 90% sure the person I’m addressing will be accepting, I still get that little jerky stomach-knot right before I say the words “gay” or “girlfriend” to someone new. My family and friends adore my girlfriend, and I no longer have personal qualms about my sexual identity. I came out almost five years ago, and the majority of people I interact with couldn’t care less about the gender of the person I’m dating. He politely informed me my feelings were from the devil A lowlight was confiding in a pastor when I was 18. But any gay person who has experienced that niggle of anxiety before announcing their queerness will understand. And in theory, I’m a strong, independent lesbian who doesn’t care what anyone thinks.
Mae Martin is a queer performer, after all. Granted, that doesn’t really sound like a stop-the-press moment.