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Pray the Gay Away – Part 2

In Part I of our discussion of Pray the Gay Away by Bernadette Barton, I discussed her basic approach to researching the experiences of sexual minorities in the Bible belt. I shared that there is a lot of important information and experiences to appreciate here, particularly for those who identify as Christians. I did note, however, that her book was limited in important ways by her approach to data analysis that drew so heavily on Foucault and theories of power and domination. Let’s pick up our discussion.

gayawayIn reading Pray the Gay Away, I was reminded at times of Michelle Wolkomir’s ethnographic study that was published in book form as Be Not Deceived. It was a study of gay and ex-gay Christians. In that study, Wolkomir offered an analysis of how both groups of men had to make a maneuver that allowed themselves to remain Christians. She described how gay Christians who were part of the Metropolitan Community Church utilized a hermeneutic of inclusivity and love to facilitate a way to retain a Christian identity. In contrast, ex-gay Christians who were part of Exodus International affiliated ministries followed a hermeneutic of righteousness–denying themselves same-sex intimacy/behavior–in order to retain a Christian identity. According to Wolkomir, both groups utilized similar strategies, such as small groups, to create the necessary emotional atmospheres that fostered the kind of identity and community needed to make the transition.

In some regards, Wolkomir critiques both groups of men out of a comparable lens (drawing on elements of queer theory). But the steps she took to critique both ways of navigating being a sexual minority and a Christian offered important insights. Neither group was demonized, though she pointed out concerns that she had for both strategies and clearly held to a different worldview altogether.

This reader ended Pray the Gay Away wondering if Barton understands the faith and belief structure of Christians. She seems to understand, identify, and articulate ways in which abuses of sexual minorities can result from specific beliefs held by some Christians and encounters with those who identify as Christian. These stories are powerful and sobering. They need to be heard. But it is unclear the extent to which she understands the beliefs themselves and why they might matter in the life of a Christian or of a church – apart from an a priori commitment to a theory that asserts Christians sustain and protect existing power structures that allow a segment of the population to dominate and control others. I think that would be the result from a different way of conducting the research and analyzing the data, of engaging a region, of participating in the lived experiences of those who identify as Christians, even those who identify as fundamentalist Christians.

Most of you who read this blog know that I am a Christian. After all, this blog is about the integration of Christianity and psychology. I am not a fundamentalist Christian, however. I do know several fundamentalist Christians, some of whom (at least in certain beliefs and assumptions) can be seen in the folks Barton encounters in her book. Others would not recognize themselves in some of the exchanges.So there is likely more diversity and complexity in that region and among even this kind of Christian than is offered, and the reader gets the sense that Barton is aware of that.

Early on in the book, Barton recognizes there are difficulties in defining what she is targeting. There is fundamentalism. There is the Religious Right. There are evangelicals. There are conservative Christians. All of these terms are brought into the discussion from time to time. The problem with this is that by sampling certain experiences with fundamentalists but then muddying the water with all of these other designations, the reader is left with can be a bias against all forms of Christianity that are not explicitly gay affirmative in the way Barton envisions. That is, if a Christian does not view same-sex behavior as a morally good, natural expression of a person’s identity–a person whose very well-being is predicated on such expressions, one is the kind of Christian reflected in the stories of abuse documented here. Yet there are Christian who hold those beliefs and values (that is, a traditional Christian sexual ethic) who are not abusive to sexual minorities. Some may be fundamentalists; many others are not.

“…I now understand that a certain percentage of conservative Christians are unlikely to change their belief systems to accommodate homosexuality no matter what arguments or evidence is offered” (p. 226). Are we speaking, then, of fundamentalist Christians or conservative Christians? Is it the Religious Right? Evangelicals? Conservative Catholics? Well, it’s all of those at this point–but the case is made compelling because of the examples of abuse from some fundamentalists.

A more helpful engagement would have taken the time to reflect on this question: if there are those who adhere to a traditional Christian sexual ethic, why is that? Can the reasons be reduced to power/domination? Is that a true assertion? In other words, it is not an assertion that is argued for; it is assumed, and this leaves the reader with a truncated view of any form of Christianity that is, again, not committed to a gay affirmative position as held by the researcher. The encounters and experiences Barton identifies and (rightly) challenges are those that are abusive to sexual minorities. However, what is ultimately being challenged is not a narrow strip of fundamentalism but a broader expression of Christianity (historic and global) that reaches a different conclusion than Barton about sexual ethics. If we define as abuse any disagreement about complex issues that are tied to broader worldview considerations (such as sexual ethics), then we are not going to have as meaningful an exchange of ideas. That discussion does not occur in this book.

bartonBarton writes: “….some individual and institutions are unlikely to ever embrace homosexuality as part of God’s design…” (p. 227). The focus, then, is not, “What is a Christian sexual ethic and how can we better understand why that matters in the lives of Christians, including gay Christians (e.g., Wes Hill, Ron Belgau, Eve Tushnet). Nor is the focus on coexistence in a society with diverse view of a complex matter in which people may reach different conclusions (matters of ethics and morality). Rather, the impression I had was that any lack of movement toward Barton’s perspective is the result of a kind of fundamentalism associated with a literal reading of the Bible, belief in Creationism, and violence toward sexual minorities. It is one conclusion that can be reached from the kind of analysis Barton relies upon–an analysis of power and domination–but it is not the only analysis available, nor is it the only conclusion that can be drawn from an intimate knowledge of both the mainstream gay community and conservative Christianity.

This may seem like an aside, but let me also comment on one of the more memorable chapters. It was the one on creationism, which seemed out of place in the book, but I think I understand why it was included. I think it was meant to illustrate the kind of mindset that fuels the very abuses documented in the book. It was fascinating to read the visceral reaction of Barton’s students to the Creation Museum. (I have to say I’ve never visited it, so maybe I would also have a strong reaction.) This was probably the most difficult chapter for me to fully appreciate, and I cannot quite put my finger on the issue. It seemed that the very exposure of the students to this way of thinking (fundamentalist Christianity) was a significant threat to their well-being. (I have witnessed this with other sexual minorities who were not from the Bible belt and were actually in significant positions of influence.) I don’t think there is any one explanation for this; I suspect there could be many contributing factors. The obvious one presented in the book is the power/domination of the form of Christianity on display. I think that is definitely part of the explanation. If a person believes they are condemned in the eyes of those around them, exposure to institutions that represent that power will draw a strong, negative response.

I also wondered if the response is in any way primed when students are taught out of a worldview that frames these exchanges in power and domination rather than other explanatory frameworks. (Yes, I recognize that from the power/domination framework, I will be viewed as simply defending and justifying the power structures under scrutiny, but then there is no possible critique–the power simply shifts to those who keep others silent.) I don’t know, but if there is any possibility of moving forward as a culture, there might be something here worth exploring further. Can we be cued to interpret data as a threat in ways that actually gives that person/institution more power to do greater emotional damage to sexual minorities? Take this as me thinking out loud here. Again, I’m struggling to understand. What I do know is that we are left an important need that has not yet been met: how to talk with one another about these differences, as well as how we create better atmospheres for substantive diversity. I recall one author sharing that substantive diversity will have elements in it that are really difficult for us, sometimes so much so that we experience it as offensive. The way forward, it seems to me, is not to excuse, minimize, or defend abusive actions toward those who are in the minority; nor is it to reduce the diversity by demanding consensus on matters reflecting formed judgments about complex issues such as morality and ethics.

I will close with this: I am frequently exposed to people  who believe that by virtue of being a Christian, I am a bigot. I have seen Christians equated with Nazis (this happens in Barton’s book). I have seen Christians equated with the KKK (also in this book). These are not ways to move society toward greater mutual understanding and respect. Christians would do well to study if there are changes that can be made so as not to contribute to that emotional experience. But critics of Christianity would do well to understand a sexual ethic out of that religion (and many other world religions) rather than reduce it to caricature. We need to find ways to foster the kinds of relationships that can sustain extended discussions of genuine differences in a diverse society. I doubt that drawing on theories of oppression to “unpack the mechanisms of domination” will aid in that process, if that is the only step taken, and if all of our recommendations are derived from that without any consideration for other perspectives. I suspect such a maneuver will do the opposite, that is, it will contribute to the culture wars in ways that have real consequences, such as when religious liberties are curtailed in the name of the tolerance that is being asserted.

That is another topic altogether. It is one worthy of its own post or two. For now, let me bring this to a close by saying I genuinely appreciated reading Barton’s book. It is thought-provoking to say the least. As in any similar endeavor, it is important to identify what can be learned from these kinds of analyses. To reject these experiences out of hand would be a mistake for the church. At the same time, there is much that needs to be done to foster mutual respect and understanding, and everyone is going to need to contribute toward that end if we hope to move forward on these complex matters.

 

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Pray the Gay Away – Part I

gayawayThere is a new book out titled, Pray the Gay Away: The Extraordinary Lives of Bible Belt Gays, by Bernadette Barton. Barton is Professor of Sociology and Women’s Studies at Morehead State University. The book is the result of a six year ethnographic study of 59 sexual minorities in the Bible belt. This alone had me quite interested in what she would learn about their experiences with conservative Christianity, as I think there is much the church could do differently in this area. At the same time, Barton  acknowledges that she may have oversampled activists in conducting her research, which may be a concern. I think studies of more mainstream (is that the right word?) sexual minorities might have “thickened the plot” a little more.

“…most of the people I interviewed attended conservative Christian churches–i.e., Baptist, Pentecostal, and Church of Christ–and grew up in families in which homosexuality was frequently denounced. Consequently, participants’ identity struggles more often took place under the shadow of a preacher’s voice thundering floridly about ‘homosexuals’ and parents proclaiming that ‘any child of mind that is gay is dead to me’ at the dinner table than in an LGBT center.”

In the Introduction Barton opens the book by recounting an exchange with a neighbor who introduced her to some of the regional flavor by referring to homosexuality as an “abomination” in the eyes of God. This after just learning that Barton was in a lesbian relationship. This sets the context for the lived experiences of those she interviewed.

Some of the most fascinating observations of the region come early on in the book and rely heavily on Foucault and what are “theories of domination and oppression” (p. 20). For example, Barton’s introduces and develops the image of the Bible Belt panopticon, which refers to the late 18th c. design of an institution in which a central office would allow for the constant observation of inmates in the surrounding (circular) structure.

panopticon“…The Bible Belt panopticon, an important element of Bible Belt Christianity, manifests through tight social networks of family, neighbors, church, and community members, and a plethora of Christian signs and symbols sprinkled throughout the region.” (p. 24)

Barton argues that the panopticon is supported by personalism, the willingness to appear to concur with others, to give the impression one agrees even when one does not. In Barton’s view of the Bible Belt, even if a person disagreed with a more conservative sexual ethic, such disagreement is likely to go unspoken, further giving the impression of regional consensus.

It is an interesting take on the experience of sexual minorities in the Bible belt, and one I think is important for people to understand. I disagree with the lens through which Barton conducts her analysis, but I do appreciate how upfront she is about it. I have a fair amount of exposure to scholars who use essentially the same lens but want me and others to believe that they are offering an objective, dispassionate analysis of a topic.

There are painful stories recounted throughout the book. Some of the most painful were experiences with family and with the local church. So while some readers may disagree with many aspects of the book, I think it is important to identify what can be understood from the data, what might help shape how Christians respond to the experiences of sexual minorities.

In discussing some of the consequences of sharing her gay identity with her mother, one woman shared: “I am cut off. I am disowned. My family wants nothing to do with me. I’m dead to them” (p. 54). Another mother broke dishes, “locked herself in the bathroom, and left [her son] to sweep up the racked plates and explain” to their Thanksgiving guests that dinner was off (p. 57). Still another parent reportedly shouted, “had you walked in here and told us you’d murdered someone we would have handled that better than we can do with this!” This is so beyond the experience of most readers, and it offers an important look into the lives of some sexual minorities.

In the church context the stories were also painful. One woman recalled: “The preacher would preach on homosexuality. He would always group us in with the so-called perverts, like child molesters and just awful people” (p. 66).

Can you imagine how it would be for a young teen – say 13 or 14 – who finds himself experiencing same-sex attraction to hear someone in leadership talk about what this teen has questions about in a way that associates it with these other concerns? I doubt most of us can imagine that. So it is important to glean lessons from these stories that will help Christians respond in better ways when they learn that their teen or young adult is either questioning their sexual identity or is disclosing or announcing a sexual identity. Christians could certainly respond in more constructive and compassionate ways.

The challenges that arise in reading books like this have to do with what to do with this information. Solutions offered are often simplistic: have parents affirm their loved one. In some ways, this is absolutely right. Affirm and love without conditions. Speak life into young people. Pour into them.

At the same time, what are parents to do with their conventionally religious beliefs and values about sexual morality? The more simple suggestions often fail to appreciate the importance of those beliefs and how they hang together with worldview considerations. If recommendations are not offered with those worldview and value considerations in view, constructive solutions will often be dismissed out of hand. Nothing changes.

I experienced this awhile ago when I was consulting with a group on how to help religious corrections officers work with sexual minorities in corrections facilities. Many people felt strongly that they should have corrections officers change their religious beliefs/values about moral issues. This is one strategy. However, I think that what happens when those beliefs/values are directly challenged is that people reject out of hand any recommendations from the source that challenged their values. Another option is to demonstrate cognitive complexity and perspective-taking, to understand the experiences of conventionally religious people, why they believe as they do, to value what you can in it, and to draw forward elements of those beliefs that will improve the atmosphere for sexual minorities in corrections. So, for example, things like valuing the worth of all people is inherent in Christian theology (the idea that people bear the image of God). Draw this forward in a way that helps a staff member respond to issues in a better, more professional manner. In any case, there is a lot I could say about that, but you get the idea.

I think it could be helpful to find language for parents who want to demonstrate love and support but who do not believe they can or should change their values as they pertain to sexual morality. In other words, are there resources that meet conventionally religious parents where they are and help them parent better in those moments (rather than materials that are more readily dismissed because the recommendations seem incompatible with their worldview)?

That question may go unanswered for now. Back to the book: there were a couple of missed opportunities in Barton’s approach to the topic, and this may be due to her overall commitment to Foucault et al. For example, early in the book she shares that she attended a large church that holds to a traditional Christian sexual ethic. In an exchange with someone there, she asks if sexual minorities would be welcomed. She is told that the would be, and the church member references another woman who had attended a small group and announced herself to be a lesbian. That same woman apparently had some kind of experience in which “Jesus worked on her heart” (the language of the church member). I thought Barton would have tracked that woman (the self-identified lesbian) down and asked to hear more about her story, where she was today, and so on. Perhaps she did and it’s just not in the book, but I thought that would have been irresistible to a researcher.

In that sense there is not the kind of balance that I was expecting to see in a research study. It is true that Barton recounts her time visiting a faith-based, ex-gay ministry conference in the Chicago suburbs, but that was less about the Bible belt and more about the ex-gay movement, which she then discusses as a part of the fabric of the region. I thought it would have been helpful to reflect more on the theological position that informs the decision by those who attend such ministries–for example, what is a traditional Christian sexual ethic? Why is does that sexual ethic matter in the lives of people who identify themselves as followers of Christ? Why is that sense of morality subscribed to by many Christians across the globe and throughout history? I think that was where I was hoping for more cognitive complexity and perspective-taking.

There is a lot more than can be said. Let’s bring this to a close by calling it Part I. I will continue a discussion of Pray Away the Gay in another post.

 

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Sexual Minorities in Faith-Based Higher Ed

jpt-coverUpdate: The study is now available at the JPT website.

A new study has just been published on the experiences of sexual minorities in faith-based colleges and universities. This is a study I conducted with Stephen Stratton, Janet Dean and Michael Lastoria. Here is the abstract:

Studies on faith-based campuses are beginning to offer a glimpse into the real experience of sexual minority students in these unique settings. This study adds to this growing body of information by surveying 247 undergraduates, who describe themselves as sexual minorities at 19 Christian schools across the United States. They responded to questions related to attitudes regarding sexuality, sexual identity, religiosity, and sexual milestone events. The results from this sample suggst those who attend higher education at faith-based institutions are a distinct group within Western culture when it comes tot he development of religious/spiritual identity and sexual identity. Although diversity with regard to same-sex and opposite-sex attraction is present among those surveyed, common themes exist for this unique sample of undergraduates. Implications for mainstream culture and Christian educational institutions are discussed.

I’ve been presenting these findings in consultations and workshops for awhile now, but here is the gist of what we found. We reported different degrees of sexual attraction to the same- and opposite-sex, which is in keeping with some of the most recent research on sexual minorities and actually harkens back to Kinsey’s observation of a continuum of attraction rather than a simple either/or dichotomy.

There was also diversity in terms of religiosity. Although likely a highly religious sample compared to the general population, we did see diversity here and it was associated with degree of same-sex attraction. Those with no or little same-sex attraction were higher on intrinsic religiosity (in which religion is an end to itself; valuing religion for its own sake)–and the more same-sex attraction reported, the more likely to score lower on intrinsic religiosity. But, again, as a whole, Christian sexual minorities were likely more religious than the general population.

When asked about milestone events in the development of one’s sexual identity, as in our previous study, we saw that fewer participants had (1) engaged in same-sex behavior, (2) initially attributed their attraction to a gay identity, or (3) adopted a gay identity label.

In terms of public/private sexual identity, it was rare for participants to have a public identity as anything other than straight. We wrote,

This may be associated with the influence of the campus culture, religious conviction, or persona. choice, but it may also reflect a distinctive of those seeking to develop an identity that engages both the religious and the sexual. (p. 19)

In terms of private identification, about 4% thought of themselves as gay/lesbian, 10% bisexual, and about 9% questioning. Labeling here was associated with strength of same-sex attraction: the less same-sex attraction, the more likely to identify as straight; those who did privately identify as gay/lesbian were high on same-sex attraction.

This finding may represent a distinct trajectory insofar as the sample tended to not gravitate toward identity labels common to the mainstream LGBT community. It could be a result of heterosexism and homophobia; or it could be evidence that there is a group of sexual minorities that “engages in identity formation in a way that contrasts with mainstream culture” (p. 19), perhaps due to the salience of their religious faith.

The last major area we asked about were attitudes/values around sexuality and same-sex behavior. When people reported less same-sex attraction, they tended to be more conservative than those who reported more same-sex attraction. Folks who were more intrinsically religious were also more often conservative in their sexual attitudes/values.

As a group, though, these sexual minority students were more alike than different in many ways. They agreed that their campuses hold a negative view of sexual minorities and that there are few resources to support sexual minorities. (This is an area I think Christian institutions would do well to respond to in earnest.) They also tended to see sexual chastity as an attainable goal.

When I look at this data as a whole, I tend to think that it speaks to not just one experience that holds true for everybody. Rather, I think there are many ways to be a sexual minority on a Christian college campus. There is no doubt in my mind that some sexual minorities experience their sexuality in much the same way that the mainstream LGBT community talks about it, and this group may hide their experiences or sense of who they are in order to “get through” college.They may very well hold to beliefs and values that are more commonly expressed by members of the mainstream LGBT community.

But I think it is a mistake to see this sample as doing that as a whole. I think other Christian sexual minorities  represent a more distinct identity development model in which their faith is given such weight that they make different choices in areas in which volition is in play, such as choosing not to engage in sexual behavior (to the same- or opposite-sex). Their religious beliefs, values and identity may also keep them from attributing their attractions to a gay identity (as is the normative experience within the LGBT community). They might be more likely to attribute their same-sex attractions to the Fall (original sin that taints creation in some way) or draw upon some other explanatory framework that makes sense to them but does not lend itself to a LGBT identity.They might view their same-sex sexuality in a more positive light than that and as much larger than their impulses; they might experience their sexuality in the temperament and personality, as well as their creativity and ways of relating to others. They might just choose not to enter into same-sex relationships by virtue of their formed judgments about sexual ethics.

Where will they be in a few years? I don’t know. That is a question for another study altogether. Some may eventually end up using the word “gay” as an adjective to name the reality of the same-sex sexuality while making similar decision about behavioral chastity; others may choose to make different choices about sexual behavior in the years to come, but those choices do not appear to be common at this age, at least not with the sample we surveyed.

Stay tuned. We are currently analyzing data from a smaller study of Christian sexual minorities who are  enrolled in a Christian college or university, as well as sexual minority alumni from those institutions. We are also planning to launch a larger longitudinal study to see if there are changes in behavior, identity, and attitudes/values among Christian sexual minorities over time.

 

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What is Integration?

A reader of the blog asked me the following question:

I don’t understand why we need an integration of psychology and Christianity. Can’t a Christian psychologist help non-Christians? Can’t a non-Christian psychologist help Christians? Are you talking about the necessity of a psychologist to be Christian to understand Christians? Then are you advocating that psychologist should only work with patients that match his/her religious background? What about other background characteristics, like wealth, race, gender, etc?

Here was my reply:

I agree with you that a Christian psychologist can help a nonChristian. I hope I’ve done that several times over the years. And, yes, nonChristian psychologists can help Christians. In fact, I recommend competence (in providing mental health services) over religious identification every time. But I do think that Christians in the field of psychology (beyond clinical psychology, but also including clinical/applied) ask different questions than do nonChristians. In other words, they have concerns that come out of being a part of the Christian community that might not be the same concerns that nonChristians have. So a benefit to having Christians in the field of psychology is that they might conduct research on topics that are important to that community. A good example might be research on forgiveness. Forgiveness is one of those key Christian concepts. It is central to Christianity, although nonChristians can certainly appreciate it, research it, and benefit from it in their own lives. But even if no one else was interested in forgiveness (or grace or humility or patience), the Christian psychologist might be interested in it anyway, by virtue of how central it is to Christianity, and how potentially helpful it could be in clinical practice.

Let me elaborate on the question about integration. Part of my reply was to clarify why we benefit from having Christians in psychology. I reached this conclusion over many years but was personally deeply influenced by the Christian philosopher Alvin Plantiga, who had written about Christian philosophy in the following manner:

Christian philosophers … are the philosophers of the Christian community; and it is part of their task as Christian philosophers to serve the Christian community. But the Christian community has its own questions, its own concerns, its own topics for investigation, its own agenda and its own research programs. (p. 6)

What I did in my page on integration is substitute “psychologist” for “philosopher” and we have the following:

Christian [psychologists] … are the [psychologists] of the Christian community; and it is part of their task as Christian [psychologists] to serve the Christian community. But the Christian community has its own questions, its own concerns, its own topics for investigation, its own agenda and its own research programs. (p. 6)

By substituting psychologist for philosopher, I want to make the point that Christians in the field of psychology often have our own research interests that may not be shared by the broader field, just as other groups may have their own research agendas. You can think about this by nearly any other demographic characteristic: age, gender, race, sexual orientation, disability, and so on.

Those who are disabled, for instance, will think about research questions (and design, methods, interpretation of data, etc.) in ways that are not identical to the way those who are not disabled will think about these things. We benefit from having psychologists with disabilities insofar as they help the field think about ability/disability in ways we would not if we did not glean from their experience. I think the same is true for race, age, gender, sexual orientation, and so on.

So… I am a Christian. What I read in the quote from Plantinga is that Christians will have their own questions to ask. Of course, most Christians in the field of psychology are interested in a lot of the same issues nonChristians are interested in. They research cognitive science, motivation, affect, parenting, and so on. But there will be other areas that might be of particular interest to the Christian but not that interesting to nonChristians. I gave the example of the construct of forgiveness. That might be of interest to both Christians and nonChristians, sure, but it is especially relevant to the Christian community as it is a central construct within the Christian religion. Other key constructs included grace, love, joy, peace, faithfulness, humility, and so on.

Of course, a psychologist can have more than one relevant demographic variable as a central part of their identity. An African-American Christian psychologist, for example, or a gay Jewish psychologist. A biblical feminist psychologist; an older adult psychologist with a disability. The multiple aspects of diversity are sometimes referred to as intersectionality, a concept that might be interesting to blog about at some point in the future.

For now, let me write more about being a Christian in psychology. Not only are their key constructs, such as forgiveness or grace to consider. But there are also key topics. For example, my primary research area has been sexual identity. I tend to study how sexual identity develops and synthesizes over time, particularly in the lives of Christians who experience same-sex attractions. In a cultural setting in which the primary script for making meaning out of same-sex sexuality is to form an identity around attractions (e.g., “I am gay”), I am interested in studying the process by which some people form a gay identity while others do not.

I don’t think many of my peers in the mainstream LGBT community of psychologists are particularly interested in studying those who do not form a gay identity. I could be wrong about that, but that is my impression so far. Most are interested in protecting and advancing the interests of the LGBT community.

I can understand that. I feel similarly when I think about the Christian community. But in the overlap between the LGBT community and the religious community, we see the potential for misunderstanding and miscommunication, particularly if you study something of interest to the religious community, such as whether a person can ever experience change in his or her sexual orientation, that might be experienced as threatening to the LGBT community. This, too, is a good topic for a future blog post. Remind me to get back to it.

In the meantime, I hope this elaboration on the question about integration provides some insight into what integration means and has meant to me as a Christian (in general), and as a Christian who conducts research on sexual identity (in particular).

 

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