Where have all the good men gone?

By Sean Quinn

Sean Quinn (he/him/his) is a senior digital strategist for data and analytics at Stand Up America, an advocacy organization fighting for a more just and equitable democracy. He serves on the AV, Data and Marketing teams at Forefront Brooklyn and helps to lead the Astoria/Queens small group. He enjoys politics, sports, music, pop culture, and the roller-coaster ride that is being a fan of the New York Mets.

And where are all the gods? 

Back in Oc­to­ber of 2020, Fore­front’s com­mu­ni­ty di­rec­tor Sarah Ngu asked a provocative ques­tion on Twit­ter: why are there few cis­gen­der, het­ero­sex­u­al men in pro­gres­sive church­es? 

I know, I know. The last per­son most folks want to hear from is yet an­oth­er cis­gender, het­ero­sex­u­al, white male, but as one of those — Sarah’s ques­tion got me think­ing. What was it that got me to come to leave a neigh­bor­ing church in Brook­lyn and come  to Fore­front, and why haven’t more of my broth­ers in faith fol­lowed suit?  

So, as one does, I grabbed an iced cof­fee and penned the let­ter be­low to my  brethren: oth­er cis­gen­der and het­ero­sex­u­al men—who in cramped church din­ner parties and off to the side in larg­er event spa­ces—have told me that their per­son­al faith  doesn’t match up with what their church pro­fess­es, but haven’t made the jump to a  pro­gres­sive church just yet. This one’s for you. 

Hey y’all: Where are you?  

I know we’ve had con­ver­sa­tions about how you don’t have any is­sue with members of the LGBTQ+ com­mu­ni­ty, but you’re still at a church that re­fus­es to mar­ry them  — not to men­tion let them serve in roles of lead­er­ship if they de­cide to live their lives  open­ly.  

I get it — you’re one of the good ones. But as long as you keep show­ing up on  Sun­day, your pri­vate af­fir­ma­tion is turn­ing into pub­lic harm. I know your church says  that all are wel­come, but their pol­i­cy on the “Bib­li­cal view of mar­riage” hid­den deep  on the web­site is singing a dif­fer­ent tune, and it’s show­ing our queer friends and fam­ily that they re­al­ly didn’t mean that whole “all are wel­come” thing. 

Trust me, I’ve been there. I grew up Catholic, af­ter all. I’d be­come a pro at say­ing  “well, yeah, the church be­lieves that — but for me…” but some­thing snapped this  spring. My part­ner told me she want­ed to raise our (fu­ture) kids in an af­firm­ing church,  and had long been reg­is­ter­ing some very valid com­plaints about where I was spending my Sun­days (and my Wednes­day nights). It all came to a head when I was asked to sign a lead­er­ship con­tract, promis­ing not to live with my part­ner be­fore mar­riage despite a glob­al pan­dem­ic putting our co­hab­i­ta­tion plan into ef­fect a few months ear­li­er.  Oh, and I had to put pen to pa­per to say I af­firmed church pol­i­cy against gay mar­riage  and sex be­fore mar­riage. I was asked this by some of the same peo­ple who had assured me in hushed tones that they too were al­lies, and that it was fine to hold dif­fering be­liefs from the church. 

That con­tract was a deal­break­er not just for my fu­ture as a leader at that church, but  for my fu­ture at that church. It might not be for you — you might still be able to preserve the wall you have be­tween what you be­lieve and what your church does, but —  in the spir­it of cis-white-male stereo­types — I’m here to punch a hole in that wall. I’m not here to say I have all the right an­swers — and Fore­front will tell you they value good ques­tions ver­sus hav­ing the right an­swers. But the de­ci­sion not to sign that  con­tract was a kairos mo­ment for me. I re­al­ized that my dis­agree­ment with that church  wasn’t just about queer af­fir­ma­tion, but that was a real-life ex­am­ple of a broad­er is­sue  that I held with it, with life and death con­se­quences. 

I be­lieved Scrip­ture was God-in­spired but not in­errant, and they held firm that it  was meant to be taken lit­er­al­ly. I be­lieved that we were made good, they didn’t. I  strug­gled with the idea of eter­nal damna­tion, it was a core be­lief of theirs. And last  but not least, I be­lieved that the church should be a force for good in the world and  should be ac­tive in fights for so­cial jus­tice, but they liked to avoid talk­ing about “so­cial  is­sues” and would piv­ot back to thoughts and prayers.

That was the start of my jour­ney, but it might not be what yours looks like. You  might not agree with me on some of the points above, but you’re open to hear­ing  more or ques­tion­ing what you’ve been told or been taught, and I want to in­vite you to  act on that. 

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Hon­est­ly, as a fel­low cis­gen­der straight man, our in­cli­na­tion is to not take that step.  The church you’re go­ing to has pas­tors that look like you, sound like you, and will  preach the Gospel the same way you’ve al­ways heard it. You know queer folks can’t  get mar­ried at your church, but you can. Well, at least if you’re mar­ry­ing an­oth­er Christ­ian, who is self-iden­ti­fy­ing in a way that also con­forms with your church’s be­liefs. Why  sac­ri­fice the com­mu­ni­ty you’ve built and a cool, hip pres­ence on so­cial me­dia when  you’re not be­ing per­son­al­ly af­fect­ed by your church’s pol­i­cy? 

All I can say is for me: it’s be­cause it was the right thing to do. As Fore­front’s  teach­ing pas­tor Jonathan Williams said re­cent­ly: “Same is safe, dif­fer­ent is dan­gerous.” I wasn’t be­ing di­rect­ly mar­gin­al­ized by the church I used to call home, and I miss  some of the friends — some of you, like­ly! — that I made there. But no flashy pres­ence  on In­sta­gram or lights-and-big-drums wor­ship is enough for me to con­tin­ue go­ing  some place where I know that I’m hurt­ing peo­ple I gen­uine­ly care about. 

If you need some­one to talk to, I’ve been there. I’ve done it. I’ve told my sto­ry here  and I’ll glad­ly tell it again. If this feels scary, imag­ine what it must feel like for some­one who isn’t a cishet man to go to your church on Sun­day. And armed with that knowledge, make a de­ci­sion to step out in faith. This might be your own kairos mo­ment. 

So I’ll ask again: where are you? Be­cause I’m here, and I’ll be right here be­side you  to help along the way, in­stead of or­ga­niz­ing or tak­ing  ac­tion. 

Follow Sean on IG and Twitter @sdquinn

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