Sexuality, Religion and the Sacred

Bisexual, Pansexual and Polysexual Perspectives

Loraine Hutchins, H. Sharif Williams, Loraine Hutchins, H. Sharif Williams

• Publisher: Taylor & Francis
• Year: 2018
• eBook ISBN: 9781317977056
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Social Sciences
• Subtopic: Sociology
• Index: Social Sciences

Sexuality, Religion and the Sacred is a thoughtful collection of bisexual, polysexual and pansexual scholarship on religion and spirituality. It examines how religious and spiritual traditions address sexuality, whilst also exploring the ways in which bisexually-, polysexually-, and pansexually-active people embrace religious and spiritual practice. The volume offers a comprehensive analysis of these prevalent themes by focusing on five main areas of discussion: Christian and Unitarian Discourses; Indigenous and Decolonizing Spiritual Discourses; Feminist Spiritual Discourses; Buddhist Discourses; and Neo/Pagan Discourses.

Sexuality, Religion and the Sacred offers an accessible yet scholarly treatment of these topics through a collection of critical essays by academics of theology, humanities, cultural studies and social sciences, as well as sexology professionals and clergy from various faith and spiritual traditions. It gives readers an insight into the intersection of sexualities and spiritualities, and attempts to disrupt this very dichotomy through its careful consideration of a wide variety of discourses.

This book was originally published as a special issue of the Journal of Bisexuality.

Part I
Christian and Unitarian Discourses

1
Not Even on the Page: Freeing God From Heterocentrism

REV. MARTHA DANIELS

Pastor, Metropolitan Community Church of Windsor, Windsor, Ontario, Canada

The author shares her journey from closeted United Methodist Church pastor-to-be through the assumptions of the United Methodist Church and the Universal Fellowship of Metropolitan Community Churches about homosexuality and bisexuality to an out bisexual pastor with the Universal Fellowship of Metropolitan Community Churches. She examines how the similar assumptions of modern Christians about God (male, White, heterosexual) distort images of God and the ways in which bisexual theologians, clergy and laity can offer other images and different ways to think about God, reflective of a more inclusive vision of God and of humankind.

Triquetra

I have a tattoo. That’s not exactly shocking or amazing these days, even for a member of the Christian clergy. Three interlocking circles in a Celtic knot pattern, it is called a “triquetra” and is often used to symbolize the Christian trinity of Creator, Redeemer and Sustainer (or God, Christ and Holy Spirit). Mine is in the colors of the rainbow. Taken together, the symbol, the colors and the placement (over my heart) represent my calling to Christian ministry and the diversity to which I am called and within which I serve. These three rings stand for integrity (which I define as consistency between action and belief), transparency (honesty, openness) and truth (the deeper truths of faith)—the standards by which I have come to live.

I first saw the rainbow triquetra and claimed it for my own while serving as a seminary intern in a United Methodist church just outside Washington, D.C. It took many years to be able to wear it permanently and proudly—I had a journey to begin first. At the time I found the triquetra, I was married (to a man), closeted, a mother, and a seminary student. I was also committed to diversity: supportive of the various groups on my seminary campus, working with the ethnic groups in our culturally diverse congregation and using inclusive language. I saw myself in the future continuing to work within the United Methodist Church (UMC) with culturally diverse congregations, with the HIV/AIDS ministry of the UMC, and supporting various groups working for human rights, all from the secure position of an assumed (by others) heterosexuality, confirmed by my marriage to a man. I recognized something of myself in that triquetra symbol seen on the cover of a now-forgotten book, but I could not fit it into the image of myself that I was presenting to the world: straight, pastor-to-be, wife and mother.

Several events changed that comfortable image. My father, with whom I had a difficult relationship, died in late 2000. In May of 2001, I visited Poland on a study trip, a pilgrimage to places of the Shoah (or the Holocaust, the murder of millions of Jews, gay men, Roma and others by the Nazis during World War II). In September, terror came very near when the World Trade Center fell, a plane flew into the Pentagon and Flight 93 crashed in Pennsylvania. By some cosmic confluence, I had friends and family involved in all three events—as almost losses or as witnesses. In January 2002, a member of the congregation I was serving, with whom I worked very closely, passed away suddenly. In February, I underwent a gruelling 3-day interview for probationary status prior to ordination, was narrowly approved and caught hints that I was thought a bit extreme in my views on inclusivity. In July, having graduated from seminary and been consecrated a probationary elder (a sort of pastor-elect), I began serving two small churches in rural Maryland, which were recovering from bitter conflict between them.

Taken together, these events brought me to the understanding that now is the time to be who I am; that there will always be those who view me as different and will not want my presence, my input or my gifts; and that the truth is what I am called to speak and to show, in spite of the (possible) consequences. In addition, I found I could not be effective as a pastor, as a leader, as a counselor as a model of a Christian in the community, unless I was authentic, honest and open. Most prominent among those things I needed to be open about was my sexual orientation. Integrity, transparency and truth all required me to be open, out and clear about my identity—a bisexual woman, who might be partnered with a man or with a woman; who was (nonetheless) called by God and a Christian.

I could not do that where I was at the time. The United Methodist Book of Discipline (the “rule book” for the denomination) states that “self-avowed homosexuals” will not be ordained.¹ I had not yet been ordained but consecrated as a probationary elder, a position I was meant to hold for 3 years before undergoing more interviews and final approval, at which time I could be ordained. Supportive friends pointed out that bisexual wasn’t mentioned in the Book of Discipline; as a practicing bisexual, it didn’t really apply to me—I could fight this and set a precedent. I saw the logic of this—bisexuals weren’t even on the page, nor were transgendered individuals. I was not, am not, lesbian—I am bisexual. But I had seen the struggle of a transgendered pastor in my area to be appointed to a church and what it had done to her and to her family. My son was 14 at the time and already dealing with my imminent divorce from his father. I did not feel it was in my son’s best interest to contest the Book of Discipline, with the inevitable publicity and furor. I put my mother’s instincts above those of the activist and simply resigned my credentials in the UMC.

Where to go, then? I knew I had a call to minister—but within what framework, what denomination, what church? Although there were several options to choose from (at that time, these options included the Unity Church, Unitarian Universalist Church, or United Church of Christ, these being the only churches that ordained out gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgendered clergy), I had known of the Universal Fellowship of Metropolitan Community Churches (MCC) from seminary—many of my friends were preparing to serve in MCCs, and I knew there was a large one nearby.² Armed with an introduction from a close friend who was in the clergy formation process in the MCC, I contacted the pastor of that large church—and found myself welcomed, regardless of my orientation. So I began the transfer process to MCC—a church founded in and for the lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) community, which has more recently begun to actively reach beyond that community as well.

Not Even on the Page

As I went through the training and approval process, however, I found that though there was no overt bi phobia, little undercurrents kept brushing my legs like minnows in a creek. A comment at a conference or a look in a worship service when I was preaching—the tone seemed to be, “OK, we accept that you identify as bi. We accept you. Now let’s move on.” Except that I couldn’t, because it was too clear that some people felt I perhaps needed some counselling to “find my true identity.” I also got a more general sense that I emphasized my bisexuality “too much,” that I was constantly on a soapbox, had to bring in my sexuality at every turn. To the latter I can only say that my sexuality is as much a part of me as it is a part of my lesbian friends, my gay friends and my heterosexual friends—and if referring to males and females as attractive is dragging in my sexuality, if mentioning my male partners and my female partners is bringing it in at every turn—then so too does anyone who mentions a partner or an attraction at all. My mention draws their attention because it is not what they are used to, are familiar with or are expecting—and so it often makes them uncomfortable. In all fairness, however, I have to say that when the issue came up in a particularly difficult way for me, I had the unqualified support of my transition support team (the support group formed to guide and assist clergy transferring to MCC), the pastoral staff and the board of the teaching church, as well as leaders at the denominational level. Since that time the attitude of skepticism in MCC toward bisexuality has faded (though it is not quite gone), at least in my experience, and the church can hardly be faulted for individuals within it having the same assumptions that the society within which it exists does. If the church were not working to combat those assumptions, then it should be held to account. I have found that there are attempts to work against these assumptions, toward the full acceptance of bisexuality, although more could and should be done. Attitudes toward different-gender couples (of whatever orientation) need to become more accepting, and there should be no assumptions about relationships (two people coming to church together may or may not partnered—they may be friends or relatives, regardless of gender identity). Allowing self-disclosure as bisexual should be accepted at face value, without argument, as being lesbian, gay or transgendered is accepted. Finally, acceptance of polyamory as a part of a covenantal relationship must be a part of full acceptance of bisexual members. Although not all bisexual people participate in polyamory (or, indeed, are comfortable with it), it is nonetheless an aspect of bisexuality—and of homosexuality and heterosexuality. Polyamory is the (largely) unspoken taboo in the discussions around same-sex marriage. Supporters of same-sex marriage seem to feel compelled to assure opponents that they do not support polyamory, polygamy or polyandry. It’s a delicate and complicated subject, and beyond the scope of this article. Nonetheless, it is true that polyamory is not practiced only by bisexual individuals but by same-gender loving individuals and heterosexual individuals as well. Bisexual activists are often reluctant to discuss the topic because it is such a source of controversy. However, if polyamory could be accepted as a potential part of everyone’s sexual repertoire, we would see that full acceptance of one group (those who practice polyamory) potentially leads to acceptance of all (all sexual orientations) (King, n.d.).³

In my conversations with other individuals who identify as bisexual within MCC, certain topics have come up repeatedly, many of them mirrored in larger society and on college campuses (Rankin, 2003)—the need to change the church’s bylaws to recognize multiple-partner relationships, the subtle pressures (as in any LGBT organization) to “choose” same-gender loving over different-gender loving, the reluctance on the part of many (clergy and laity) to identify as bisexual and the resulting lack of visibility (“how many of us are there really, if we were all out about our bisexuality?”) and therefore support for others coming out as bisexual, and role models for youth and others; the assumption that if you are in a same-sex relationship then you are gay or lesbian (Rust, 2002)⁴ and perhaps most painful from a clergy member’s perspective, the assumption that if your partner is differently gendered, then you cannot serve a predominantly LGBT congregation as well as a clergy member who is in a same-gender relationship. We as bisexuals have not been fully integrated into MCC “culture,” if you will. Transgendered individuals have not either, but great strides have been made in recent years to include the T in GLBT in MCCs. For example, the denomination has created resources to help nontransgendered people understand the issues transgendered people face and to help transgendered people feel welcome in worship and in the congregation. This has not happened for bisexual people; we are still barely acknowledged, and often simply another letter in the alphabet soup of inclusion.

The fact is our sexuality makes people uncomfortable, because we represent ambiguity. Most people don’t like ambiguity, they want a yes or no, right or wrong, up or down answer. They are very uncomfortable with “both,” or “neither,” or “maybe.” The Catholic Church says of many things “It is a great mystery.” I cannot agree with the Roman Catholic church in most things, but in this I think there is truth. We cannot explain, pin down or make clear everything—and why would we want to? This is part of the awe of the Divine—that which cannot be clearly defined, but simply is.

We bisexual people upset the binary—the either/or of sexuality—homosexual or heterosexual. Ironically, some of our gay and lesbian brothers and sisters want us to do what they are told to do by homophobic people—choose a more “correct” sexuality. In the case of the homophobes, gay men, lesbians, and bisexual people are all expected to choose different-gender partners, to “choose” heterosexuality. In the case of our biphobic gay brothers and lesbian sisters, bisexuals are expected to “choose” only same-gender partners, to have credibility within the LGBT community. Neither the homophobic straight people nor the biphobic lesbians and gay men can understand or accept someone who does not choose one gender over another, but who follows her or his instinct and attraction to another person. It is unsettling and disturbing to them to be unable to “slot” us as either straight or same-gender-loving, much less straight and same-gender-loving. However, in the service of integrity, transparency, and truth, we must continue to speak our truth, to maintain our place as the bridge, the both/and of the LGBT community, that which speaks to, mediates between, same-gender-loving and different-gender-loving people and groups (Kolodny, 2000).

And speaking personally, I have found that my own attraction to women who cross-dress, cut their hair short, act in ways that are read as “masculine” and who are often read as men (i.e., the stereotypical “butch” or “stud”) tends to disturb some individuals in the gay and lesbian community. It is as if others can accept two self-identified lesbians taking on traditional “butch-femme” roles, but when I, a feminine-appearing bisexual woman, partner with a butch, I am seen as “lapsing” back into heterosexuality. The assumption seems to be that I am attracted to such women because they read as masculine and therefore may be seen as “substitute” males. It is the old canard about bisexual people—having our cake and eating it too—as if I were with a man and a woman at the same time when I am with a butch. This is their projection, however, and certainly not my understanding of my attraction.

Transparency, Truth and Integrity

When I applied to the church I now serve I made my sexual orientation clear—I spoke of my bisexuality in the sermon I preached as a candidate, well before the congregational vote that resulted in my being called here. Again—transparency, truth and integrity—I spoke my truth, knowing it had to be told and better that it be in the beginning. It has not been an issue in the church. It has been a factor in dating, however; many ads on the Internet dating sites specify “no bisexual women” and when I have practiced integrity and am transparent in the first conversations, identifying as bisexual, I have been told more than once that the other person is no longer interested in pursuing a relationship, because of my identification. That said, it was not an issue in my last intimate relationship, and in fact, I have been told more than once that my willingness to speak my truth, to identify openly as bisexual, not only in church and community settings but in the media, has allowed others in the community to speak their truth as bisexual women and men. It’s always easier to stand up if you know you’re part of a group, if there’s someone at your back. One reason I was intentional about my identity as a bisexual woman was that the relationships I have been in most recently have been with women—and therefore it is assumed by many that I am lesbian, a misapprehension I had to correct, in the interest of integrity and transparency.

So much for personal experience. What has it shown me about No...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title
• Copyright
• Contents
• Notes on Contributors
• Foreword
• Our Hearts Still Hold These Intimate Connections: An Introduction
• Part I: Christian and Unitarian Discourses
• Part II: Indigenous and Decolonizing Spiritual Discourses
• Part III: Feminist Spiritual Discourses
• Part IV: Buddhist Discourses
• Part V: Neo/Pagan Discourses
• Index