I have found myself searching for a church that feels filled with the holy spirit and truly exemplifies the Jesus I have come to know the past couple years. I am in quest of a church that is not so entrenched in religion, tradition, power, and piety that it entirely misses Jesus and his message of love, inclusion, and justice for all people.

Jesus, before he hung on the cross because he loved us, hung out with the sick, the needy, and those on the margins that the religious leaders considered outcasts. We are taught that Jesus had to die because of our sinful nature and depravity, but the cross is the demonstration of love and forgiving others because Jesus said, “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.” Luke 23:34 (NIV) Forgiveness had nothing to do with what these people did for Jesus and everything about what Jesus had done on the cross. 

We read scripture as rules and admonitions instead of an invitation to an unconditional love that we can receive from God and offer our fellow humans by being the hands and feet of Jesus. Genesis 1:31 “God saw all that he had made, and it was very good…” (NIV) God called mankind, part of his creation, “very good.” He doesn’t say and it was sinful, awful and depraved, very depraved, but this is what I was taught from the very beginning of my spiritual life. Not realizing the impact that this theology has on self-image, I brought my children up on the same tradition. 

I am not sure when I began to acknowledge the sands of my foundation shifting in my soul as my spirit pressed on me from the inside out. Was it the moment my pastor told me that God would never bless my gay son? I had felt the internal struggle of questioning and doubting my faith of certainty by proxy for years, but this judgment and pronouncement over my son grieved my spirit and I believed it grieved Jesus.  

I volunteered as a peer counselor for a women’s center in Cincinnati where I enjoyed walking women through their journeys of similar suffering and heartache that I had experienced. I believed 100% that God had called me to this work. I was so sure that this was a calling on my life that I, knowing my son was gay and I was affirming, signed a declaration of faith stating that homosexuality was right up there with incest in the eyes of God. I had begun to do a deep dive into the scriptures and knew that the word homosexuality wasn’t even used in the scriptures until the 1940’s, and yet I signed it. I did promise my director that I would never condemn a sister in Christ for who she loves, nor would I “pray the gay away.”  

One day in conversation with another volunteer she quoted the ever popular “Love the sinner, hate the sin,” to me.  Looking back into her eyes with an icy stare, so my tears could not thaw, slipping down my cheeks. I whispered, “I happen to believe that my son was created in the image of God and being gay isn’t a “sin.” She and the church would have me believe my son, who led us as a family to be baptized, was not truly a child of God or at least one that wouldn’t be blessed unless he chose a straight lifestyle.  

No one chooses a lifestyle that is different from the cultural norm. No one wants to love God with all their heart, mind, and soul, only to be told he is being punished for the way God Created them. I think a lot about the trauma thrust upon my son and the LBGQT community by a religion that claims to “speak the truth in love.” “There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out all fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.” 1 John 4:18 (NIV) And yet as Christians we have taught our LBGQT brothers and sisters to live in fear, fear of being cast out by their families, the church or being gunned down in a bar, or beat up on the streets and bullied at school all in the name of Jesus, and then they throw in the fear of hell and damnation. 

Nearly half of the LGBTQ youth seriously considered suicide in the past year, according to a survey from The Trevor Project. I wonder if it is because hell and damnation is better than the hell on earth for the precious souls of the LGBTQ community “Christians” have created. 

I believe as human beings we gravitate to belonging and community. I suppose this is why I found myself in the church weekend after weekend. I loved the community, and I loved belonging until I realized that…I didn’t belong, nor did I desire to belong anymore to an organization that taught; “Jesus loves the little children, all the little children of the world, Red and yellow, black or white, all are precious in his sight. Jesus loves the little children of the world…” All the children… except my child who is created in God’s image because, according to Genesis 1:27 we are all created in his image. I believe that anyone can love Jesus and Jesus can and does love everyone. 

Keep in mind that the same bible that has been used as a sword against the LGBTQ, was also used to justify slavery, slaughter the Native Americans, keep women in a subordinate position, and blame those suffering of mental illness or unconfessed sin, or the lack of letting go and letting God…  Jesus came and challenged the religious leaders of his time because they had made religion about power and social positioning, and the God of unconditional love for all his children was lost in legalism, doctrine and power.  And I, by sitting in the pew, left side, four rows back, felt the shame of complicity coursing through my soul. 

By sitting there pretending that this community loved me and my son…. just not his queerness, became heavy. I may as well be preaching in agreement from the pulpit. My spirit grieves the wounds I overtly and covertly sliced into innocent hearts and souls by my presence and silence. 

So, here I am questioning, doubting, and grieving my faith, or rather the faith of my family and their tradition. I think we all sort of develop a faith by proxy. We are malleable creatures being pressed into a mold prepared for us by our families. We are told what to believe and how to believe it. We are taught, we are right, and they are wrong, leaving little if any room for the space in between. The foundation of my faith and my image of who I’ve been told God is crumbles beneath me and the bricks of certainty fall away one by one. What felt like a firm foundation feels more like a sandcastle at the mercies of the sea. The sandcastle built on evangelical doctrine and certainty no longer holds water but dissolves into it. My foundation isn’t shaken, it has been washed out to sea. 

I am becoming more assured by the Holy Spirit that this is not a bad thing, but it is terrifying to become untethered in the sea of uncertainty. I can hear the echo of my grandmother warning me that if I_______, then God will_________… I can earn His love, or I can deserve His discipline/punishment, only the sum of her equation often didn’t seem to add up. I was a good child that was abused and neglected so there must be something wrong with me. My son led people to the Lord but was rejected as a leader for the Christian outreach organization, Young Life, because of who he loved. This organization taught me in my youth, “they will know we are Christians by our love,” demonstrating anything but love to my child.    

There isn’t one thing inherently wrong or evil about him. Remember all of God’s creation is not just good, but very good. In my quiet time with Jesus, he tells me that my son is his beloved child made in his image and my job is to love him and love him well. 

My parents were of the same evangelical tradition, love was earned, punishment deserved. The punishment at home rarely fit the breach of the rules, and I was terrified of a God that held the same rules. I was raised on “God said it; I believe it, and that settles it.” This became woven into the fabric of my being, but now I find my edges are frayed as I pull out the thread of lies, I have believed about the Trinity. I believe they began fraying long before my son came out of the closet he was forced into by the church. 

Deconstructing is a painful, lonely process as I tug on the threads of toxic theology that must be removed. My questions and doubt, and my sorrow tugs at the loose threads, as my faith, doctrine and certainty unravel. There are gaping holes left in my being waiting to be filled and I am okay with this just as I am okay with the hole and scar on my leg because of removing melanoma. The hole has healed and filled in leaving a faint line as a reminder that this malignancy didn’t kill me. A malignancy left unchecked in a body will kill it. If we continue to believe the toxic theology the church compels us to believe out of fear, it is our souls that wither and die. 

Lisabeth Kaeser, June 2024