Going from a conservative religious sect to progressive politics in eighteen years.
By Nathan Dickerson, University of Kentucky
Wednesday November 9, 2005
It felt good to be in on God’s truth. The Christadelphian community in which I grew up painted a sensational vision of the world, for it was they—we—who fully understood the teachings of the original apostles and the true will of God. The Christadelphians I knew even casually referred to their religious beliefs as “The Truth.” Holding such ideas gave me, especially at a young age, a sense of gravitas. Perhaps too much so, because I can still remember my 2nd grade frustration at being unable to induce religious conversions in my classmates over chicken rings at the cafeteria during lunch. The tension caused by my unsuccessful attempts at saving my public school classmates were obviously less pronounced at the Christadelphian bible schools that occurred yearly and attracted Christadelphians from across the country.
I remember these events in particular because they presented Christadelphianism, or “The Truth,” in its most pure form. Bible school presented a rare week-long opportunity to escape from the “worldly” individuals around us and to indulge in a community of like-minded Christadelphians. In the grandiose atmosphere of bible school, there would occasionally be a doomsday prediction made by Christadelphian brethren, usually based on some calculus incorporating current events and the book of Revelation. Even though Armageddon never actually occurred in the late 80’s, the exhilaration of being privy to such ideas was slow to lose its appeal. I also remember the exhortations, given twice a day, by brethren during the course of the week on any range of topics from why evolution was wrong, the reasons Christadelphians should not own guns, the importance of not joining unions, or the rationale for exempting ourselves from the political process including voting. Christadelphianism taught me quite a lot in my first 18 years, but probably the most important lesson was expressed, somewhat ironically, by Bill Clinton at the 2005 Campus Progress National Student Conference.
How can you have shared values in a world as diverse as ours? You can’t if you believe you have the absolute truth… Then all possibility of shared values vanishes because somebody who doesn’t agree with you on something is by definition outside the family of humanity.
My initial qualms with Christadelphians centered on the presumption that we would be the only people God would save. The older I got the more I began to badger my parents with any number of questions on the complex applications of these ideas. Why wouldn’t people in the Third World, who never got to hear the Truth, be saved? What made us so confident that our faith was different in kind and superior to the religious beliefs of others? Eventually, the typical deus ex machina answer “God works in mysterious ways” became unsatisfying for my growing concerns.
Not only that, but I became increasingly uncomfortable with the tense and caustic atmosphere that accompanied the group’s urge to define itself negatively in relation to outsiders, a perception that has been noted by others as well. Most striking was the reaction of my church – or ecclesia as Christadelphian congregations prefer to be called – to another similar group from St. Louis that wished to discuss uniting the various factions of Christadelphians within an increasingly conflicting version of the “Truth.” The details of the differences between the groups can be found at this site, which takes a similar perspective on the conflict as my ecclesia in Kentucky did. This looming threat of collaborative discussion, even though it would be with fellow Christadelphians, unhinged my ecclesia. What followed was a round of tears, shouting, and the oft-dwelled-upon fear that discussion with other groups would lead to our ecclesia’s weakness and eventual dissolution. A discussion never occurred.
At the same time as I was witnessing this spectacle, I was also beginning to more assertively identify as gay and get involved with the advocacy group Tri-State Alliance. Yet despite my growing awareness and the conflicts it presented, I had still tried to hold onto the idea that there would be some place for me in the Christadelphian community. This hope was soon to be severely dampened when I was given the October 2002 issue of Keeping the Faith: Thoughts for Christadelphian Young People in a Post-Biblical Era, a booklet with articles about considerations for college-bound Christadelphians, the state of modern entertainment, and a quaint little article discussing the viability of theories about life on Mars. It was the second item in the list that proved most disturbing.
That article, titled “NBC’s Will & Grace,” contained some information that cleared up any ambiguity I hoped to find in the line dividing Christadelphianism from gays and lesbians. To quote the article:
This ‘comedy’ [Will & Grace] is about a homosexual man living with a woman. Nothing could be more filthy or revolting. More importantly, few things could be further from the righteousness which God is seeking to fill the earth with.
Furthermore, I learned that
Watching these shows has the potential to endanger ones’ eternal salvation, and as a result this writer begs the Christadelphian young people to distance themselves from these forms of ‘entertainment.’ What a tragedy it would be to be rejected at the judgement because you loved the world more than the things of God—which you demonstrated by what you watched on your television.
And so, the pamphlet I received from my parents to prepare me for college yielded quite a different result—I became aware that the community I had spent the first 18 years of my life with would have no part of me. If watching Will & Grace would be too much of a strain on their values, incorporating me into the community would certainly be inconceivable.
My hope that my sexual orientation would not exclude me from the community in which I had been raised was finally deflated during the Kentucky Bible School that I attended the summer before my freshman year of college. That year, a class was offered for Christadelphian youth on relationships and dating. The teacher had encouraged all of us to be open and honest about our thoughts and concerns on these issues of intimacy. I certainly was not, and neither was anybody else, for that matter. Instead, the stale conversations took a sadistic turn into fag-bashing that became progressively worse throughout the week.
Having by this time firmly identified as gay and having worked with the gay community in the “outside world,” I was appalled to see the people I had grown up with channel the tension into insults aimed at what they saw as the politically correct lightning rod of gays and lesbians. By the end of the week the teacher himself was telling gay jokes. It was after this encounter that I decided to preemptively reject Christadelphians before they rejected me.
Probably the hardest part of growing up gay and Christadelphian was realizing that the community of people with whom I had shared so many memories harbored ideas and a culture that thrived off distinguishing themselves from others. And that, for them, I was the other. This need for “specialness” could border on hubris and xenophobia. Despite my ecclesia’s commitment to each other, their commitment to the larger community was non-existent. Never in my 18 years in the “Truth” did our ecclesia ever do a community service project or even try to “save” anyone not already in the clique. It seemed far easier to vilify the rest of the world than to roll up your sleeves and get to know it.
I wish there were an easy solution, but I realize there is no way to both be myself and be accepted by the Christadelphian community. Now that I’m in college and away from them, I find myself wanting only to return and lash out at the ignorance and arrogance I’ve observed. But I know that returning in bitterness would solve nothing. During Bill Clinton’s speech last summer, he emphasized a simple Rwandan greeting meaning “I see you,” a phrase that encourages the recognition of our shared humanity even when we disagree. And as much as I would like to return to the Christadelphian community brimming with self-righteous anger, I fear indulging my disdain would keep me from truly engaging with them and it might make casting me as the typical outsider even easier.
So, I think, when I am ready, approaching my former brethren sincerely is at least worth a try. I recognize that this community will probably always remain too closed to accept me, but, if I can see them, then, perhaps, at least a few Christadelphians may see me too.