If you are anywhere near the leadership of a place I like to call “church world,” you’ve heard about the unwelcoming attitudes of many of our communities of faith. And this attitude isn’t limited to the intolerance of theologically conservative groups toward LGBT or other liberally minded folk; nor is it limited to the intolerance of theologically liberal groups toward conservative folks, either. Sometimes, apparently, we just plain aren’t welcoming–regardless of our theological persuasion.
Now, people like me take these criticisms seriously. After all, I’m considered a leader in this place called “church world.” And since the church I pastor is far left of traditional Christianity and just oh-so-slightly right of Unitarian Universalism, we really want to make sure everyone knows they are welcome in our community–whether you are a “believer” or not. I take care to make sure new people are introduced to at least one other person–preferably a board member–who in turn knows I expect them to introduce new folks to other congregants. Still, we aren’t perfect; and I’ve heard comments about the cliquishness of our church (apparently we’re a lesbian feminist congregation who just happened to call a middle-aged white guy as their pastor). Like many leaders in church world, I just didn’t get why people thought we’re not welcoming.
Until tonight, that is…
When I moved to Virginia, Richard and I made the conscious decision to develop friendships outside of our church. Of course we love the folks at MCC NoVA; at the same time, there are times when I don’t want to be seen as “Pastor;” and for that to happen, we have to develop friendships where I’m not seen in that role.
With that goal in mind, we found a social group for middle-aged (and beyond) gay and bisexual men in the D.C. area. There are special activities for members; yet there are weekly dinner gatherings at a neighborhood bar and restaurant that are open to everyone. Just before Lent, Richard and I attended one of these weekly gatherings. Because we were too early, however, we decided to have dinner at the bar area and join the group for drinks before they headed to the dining room. The president of the group was very friendly and introduced us to a couple of men. The rest of the group, however, was focused on their own internal smaller groups. We returned later in the month for a Sunday afternoon gathering, which was much smaller. The two or three nice men we met before were there, and we enjoyed a good conversation with them.
Lent meant our Wednesday nights were taken; and the two most recent Wednesday nights included stormy weather. So tonight was our first night back in D.C. The president of the group was out; yet the social director was present and–as always–was very welcoming. When it came time for everyone to move to the dining room, however, it was every man for himself. Members selected their seats and saved others for their partners and friends. By the time I made it into the dining room, there was one seat left, which meant Richard and I had nowhere to sit together.
No one offered to move. No one said, “Let’s ask the waiter for another few chairs and make some room.” The attitude was more or less, “Sorry, there’s no room for you.” I quietly left the dining room and explained to Richard (who was at the bar ordering a drink) that the room was full. We sat alone at a table just outside the dining room and enjoyed a great dinner before heading home. And even though a few men came out to order drinks to take back into the dining room, no one invited us to join them. After all, the dining room doors were now closed–literally.
Now, I want to be perfectly clear here: Not one person was rude to us.
That said, however, I had an epiphany. Perhaps we in church world are equating being polite with being welcoming. I can tell you that tonight Richard and I felt anything but welcome at this public gathering. Again, no one was rude. A few people spoke to us. Yet when it was time to come together around the table–so to speak–there was no room at the inn. Not only that, no one seemed especially concerned with making room (and this is a group whose mission it is to provide welcome and social opportunities for older gay and bisexual men).
We aren’t angry at anyone, either. We have no reason to be angry; after all, no one was rude to us or otherwise mistreated us. We just felt invisible. And when you’re new to a group and wanting to make friends, invisible is not a good feeling.
Oh, and while no one was rude to us, we don’t plan on joining this group, either. Not only that, we don’t plan on making time in our schedules for their weekly or monthly open gatherings. If we have nothing better to do, perhaps. Then again, we’re blessed to live in the D.C. metro area. Chances are we’ll find something better to do.
Now, what ever could this have to do with church world?
Blessings on your journeys!