By Kara Ammon
The Methodist Book of Discipline propelled me from my 46-year closet like nothing else could.
I grew up in a Presbyterian church where my Dad was the minister, my Mom was a Sunday school teacher, and I was a wiseass. Pastors’ kids are known for that – you can Google it. Youth leaders, seeing my name on the incoming class list, thought about resigning their posts.
My parents supported the gay youth in our church, and I am pretty sure that my Dad talked more than one family off the ledge when their child came out of the closet. In spite of this, I was not ready to admit to myself (or anyone else) that I was anything other than straight.
I attended a conservative Christian college that now has the dubious distinction of being ranked No. 1 by the Princeton Review as the leastLGBTQ friendly campus for 2013-2014. It probably goes without saying but I did not explore my not-so-straight sexuality there. Looking back, when I’m feeling charitable I wonder if I was not very self-aware, but more likely I was just a coward. Either way it wasn’t until three years ago that I started to come to terms with my bottled up bi-ness. I was 46-year-old, married, a mother of three and Coordinator of Education for the local Methodist Church. Up to this point I had experienced my faith community as a loving, albeit somewhat dysfunctional, extended family.
Methodists follow a rulebook called the Book of Discipline (BOD). The average Methodist has no idea what is in it and neither did I until my church began discussing the issue of LGBTQ inclusion. Someone in the crowd cited a section of the BOD that states: “The practice of homosexuality is incompatible with Christian teaching.” This means that if you are queer, you cannot be ordained as a minister or be married in the church to your same-gender partner.
I’d been chafing at the confines of the church since my youth, but when a handful of people defended this archaic stance, I thought my head was going to explode. After a couple orbits around the ceiling I decided to do some solid research so I could respond, in an educated way, to this nonsense. I began reading theological arguments, medical opinions, case studies and personal stories. All of these were helpful, but it was the personal stories that haunted me. They were essays of coming out, of growing up queer and struggling without role models. I was seeing myself again and again as I read, each story an indictment of my own cowardice, which had me pinned down for the better part of 46 years.
In a very real sense the Book of Discipline propelled me from my closet like nothing else could. I came out to my husband, then some friends, the rest of my family, and my children, the burden getting lighter with each confession. It is funny how you don’t feel the mountain on your shoulders until it is lifted off. Today I am an out bisexual member of the Reconciling Ministries Network working for LGBTQ inclusion/acceptance in my local church. It is our ultimate goal to change the Book of Discipline, which is voted on every four years, but in the meantime, work continues in local congregations and real progress is being made.
Kara Ammon lives in New Hampshire and is a commuting member of the Boston bisexual community.