by Rachel Gipson

Having been raised in the church by two United Methodist pastors, the depth and breadth of Methodist connection has been a cherished value since my childhood. So imagine my joy and excitement looking around the convention center and thinking, “I’ve never seen so many Methodists in one place before!” I immediately started telling stories of my parents’ missionary travels, and introducing myself with their names to make additional connections.

I have always felt interest and responsibility in the direction of the church. I was born into a church whose official stance was one of exclusion toward gay people. However, because my parents were always my pastors, I was raised in churches that were affirming of all people, and celebrated the beauty and gifts found in every person. I have memories of picnics under rainbows as a small child in the 80’s, listening to the adults reassure each other that the church is on the verge of transformation. That with advocacy and time, policy and language change is inevitable, and in fact just around the corner. 

As we know, this has not turned out to be true. The church’s stance on sexuality has been a painful and enduring reality. When the United Methodist Church voted to strengthen its language condemning diverse human sexuality in 2019, it caused enormous harm to countless people whose last bit of hope in the church was lost at that moment. I felt that this was the final blow for my participation with the church, as I could no longer reasonably believe the promise I was given as a child: that change was just around the corner…advocacy and time will bring transformation. I was ready to leave the church for good.

It turns out, this was much harder for a double PK with a son named Wesley to do than I expected, and I really grappled with what it means to be an ally and advocate. Do I keep trying to fight for change from the inside, or leave the church in protest, abandoning it to the conservatives for them to decide who gets to feel that God loves and accepts them? I don’t know what the right answer is, and I understand why folks might choose either direction. But I decided that if I was going to walk away from the church, I wanted to do so knowing I had done absolutely everything in my power to correct this injustice before I went. I didn’t know at the time this would lead to joining this neverending delegation, however it was a meaningful vote of trust and an opportunity to see what I could do. 

So, although I’m excited to finally be here, I will be away from home and my kids longer than I ever have before. I have spent hundreds of hours writing, reading, and studying intricacies of church policy at a level of detail I have never imagined I would tolerate. I am giving up income for multiple weeks this summer to attend three different conferences. I have had weeks where I’ve had evening meetings every single night. And I admit I am left trying to answer what my kids (and my inner voice) keep asking me: why are you doing this? And this question continues to persist, even in my joy and excitement at being surrounded by Methodists.

I am doing this because the church I was raised in is doing harm, and, because I feel so connected to it as an institution, I am doing harm as well. And I want to know I have done what I can to make it right. I am also doing this to use my clinical care skills to offer on-the-ground support to participants who are hurting from the historical damage done by the church, as well as the ongoing harm perpetuated by the continued public debate about the validity and value of a group of people. I am grateful to have been able to offer strategy, resources, and care training to support the queer delegate caucus and others who are subjecting themselves to personal pain to fight for justice. I am also doing it for me, and my wish to witness what I was told almost four decades ago: that with time and advocacy, change is right around the corner. There have been so many good people pushing for change since this idea was first planted in mind. When my mom was my age, she was one of those people, at this very conference, fighting for this very thing. And although I never expected that this was a fight that would be passed down to me (naively assuming it would have been corrected and resolved long ago), it has been handed to the next generation for us to carry it forward. How could I receive this gift of hope, faithfully carried for so long, only to set it down and walk away?

My relationship with religion, my ideas about God, and my future participation in the church has been on unsteady ground for much of my life; I don’t feel certainty about my beliefs or even religion in general. But I feel certainty about my values of acceptance, human connection, compassion, and the inherent value of every person; values shaped, in part, by being raised in the United Methodist connection. It is my hope that these values can be mirrored back to this church, who, it seems, has abandoned them. And if the church chooses to continue its abandonment of these values, I will still be grateful I could be present, knowing I tried, showing I care, and carrying forward the gift of hope long enough to hand to the next generation.