“Unqueer”: The Curious Case of Matthew Vines
by Vikki Randall, Dmin
God’s wild and uncontrolling love constantly draws us outward
The words shattered across the internet. Matthew Vines once brought hope to thousands of gay Christians who had been told they were shameful, outcasts, rejected by God. His message of hope and inclusion told them they didn’t have to hide their authentic selves to hold onto their faith.
Which is why Vines’ essay, “I’m Gay, Not Queer. It Matters” published in The New York Times the last day of Pride Month, punched so hard.
The debate over the word “queer” isn’t new. As Vines notes, it went from being a dirty slur to being a triumphal word of inclusion in a mere 15 years. It can still be uncomfortable for many older members of the LGBTQ+ community. It has been uncomfortable at times for me, as a straight cis ally, even though it is the word my children embrace.
But that’s not the argument Vines is making.
“I’m Gay, Not Queer” opened old wounds as it sought to draw new lines, new ways of “othering” among those who thought they’d found a safe haven. Vines wants to draw a line between gay Christians like himself and the array of other sexual and gender non-conforming folks that might fall under the umbrella of “queer.” Vines doesn’t specify which are the “good gays” and who are the “dirty queers” so it’s up to the reader to decide who belongs, and who is not just out but really out. Other.
And we get it. Those of us who are older have the predictable generation gap of watching the world and sexual mores of younger generations rapidly evolve in ways that can feel alarming. My denomination (PCUSA) affirmed gay ordination and inclusion back in 2011, but as recently as this month, has struggled with issues like polyamory and the broader implications of inclusion we never imagined 15 years ago.
And so Vines does something curious. He might have followed the path of his best selling book, God and the Gay Christian, looking at Scripture carefully and thoughtfully, to ask what does it mean to follow Christ in this particular moment. He might have done the hard work of beginning an honest conversation about sexual ethics. But that’s not what Vines does. Instead, he falls back on a familiar argument: slippery slope. Moving beyond gay and lesbian to include unspecified but apparently undeserving “others” will threaten the movement by scaring the masses. Much better to take our wins, sit down, be quiet.
Vines writes: “the broader trend of casting the queer net ever wider has muddled a once-clear public message about who gay people are. Being gay begins to look less like an inborn trait and more like a chosen ideology or aesthetic... In a time of backlash, this is not a confusion that gay people can afford.”
It’s reminiscent in many ways to the argument Martin Luther King was countering in his Letter from a Birmingham Jail, when he writes that the biggest obstacle to civil
rights was not the KKK but the white moderate “more devoted to ‘order’ than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice... who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man's freedom.”
Certainly there are slippery slopes that lead to very bad ends. A slippery slope of criticism can lead to bitterness, and chronic doubt can lead to cynicism or passivity. Bad habits can become slippery slopes that lead to worse habits or addiction. And yes, there is a slippery slope of sexual ethics that can lead to careless and loveless actions that harm others.
But the emotion behind the slippery slope argument is fear. And fear is the oxygen that fuels every movement of exclusion. The real dangerous slippery slope is when we allow fear to divide us and lead to exclusion and othering.
And there are also good slippery slopes. Acts of generosity can become habits. Listening to diverse voices and experiences can be a slippery slope to understanding. Perhaps its a good thing if the slippery slope of questioning past interpretations of Scripture leads to greater authenticity, deeper engagement with the text. Perhaps it’s good if reconsidering comfortable dogma leads us to take more seriously others’ experiences that differ from our own.
If we get on the slippery slope of compassion, generosity, intellectual curiosity and inclusion, who knows where it might lead? First we welcome neighbors whose families don’t look like ours. Next thing you know, we are including people who love differently than us, then we might begin accepting people who pray differently.
MLK reminds us “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” We can have conversations about sexual ethics that are intense, painful, and honest. We can risk being misunderstood. We can risk not agreeing. We can admit we don’t have all the answers.
We can have hard conversations that are disruptive—but also joyful. Because the beauty of queerness is not unanimity, but diversity. It is the joyful union of people who are completely unlike one another, who have no other possible reason to join together other than the powerful unity of love.
Maybe we don’t need to be so afraid that this grace thing will get out of hand, and maybe God is big enough to embrace our hard questions. Maybe a slippery slope of grace and inclusion will only lead to a tsunami of goodness and loving kindness. Because God’s wild and uncontrolling love is constantly drawing us outward, not in fearful, guarded exclusion but in scary, joyful expansion.
God of endless wonder,
The world you created is incredible. The vastness of the universe, the diversity of life itself. We are amazed. And of all the complex and wonderful things you have created, perhaps people are the most incredible.
Forgive us for the urge to tame all this overwhelming complexity into bite-size pieces. Forgive us for thinking we can create artificial barriers between "us" and
"them". Help us instead to simply marvel at the wildness and beauty of all you have created.
Amen.
Which is why Vines’ essay, “I’m Gay, Not Queer. It Matters” published in The New York Times the last day of Pride Month, punched so hard.
The debate over the word “queer” isn’t new. As Vines notes, it went from being a dirty slur to being a triumphal word of inclusion in a mere 15 years. It can still be uncomfortable for many older members of the LGBTQ+ community. It has been uncomfortable at times for me, as a straight cis ally, even though it is the word my children embrace.
But that’s not the argument Vines is making.
“I’m Gay, Not Queer” opened old wounds as it sought to draw new lines, new ways of “othering” among those who thought they’d found a safe haven. Vines wants to draw a line between gay Christians like himself and the array of other sexual and gender non-conforming folks that might fall under the umbrella of “queer.” Vines doesn’t specify which are the “good gays” and who are the “dirty queers” so it’s up to the reader to decide who belongs, and who is not just out but really out. Other.
And we get it. Those of us who are older have the predictable generation gap of watching the world and sexual mores of younger generations rapidly evolve in ways that can feel alarming. My denomination (PCUSA) affirmed gay ordination and inclusion back in 2011, but as recently as this month, has struggled with issues like polyamory and the broader implications of inclusion we never imagined 15 years ago.
And so Vines does something curious. He might have followed the path of his best selling book, God and the Gay Christian, looking at Scripture carefully and thoughtfully, to ask what does it mean to follow Christ in this particular moment. He might have done the hard work of beginning an honest conversation about sexual ethics. But that’s not what Vines does. Instead, he falls back on a familiar argument: slippery slope. Moving beyond gay and lesbian to include unspecified but apparently undeserving “others” will threaten the movement by scaring the masses. Much better to take our wins, sit down, be quiet.
Vines writes: “the broader trend of casting the queer net ever wider has muddled a once-clear public message about who gay people are. Being gay begins to look less like an inborn trait and more like a chosen ideology or aesthetic... In a time of backlash, this is not a confusion that gay people can afford.”
It’s reminiscent in many ways to the argument Martin Luther King was countering in his Letter from a Birmingham Jail, when he writes that the biggest obstacle to civil
rights was not the KKK but the white moderate “more devoted to ‘order’ than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice... who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man's freedom.”
Certainly there are slippery slopes that lead to very bad ends. A slippery slope of criticism can lead to bitterness, and chronic doubt can lead to cynicism or passivity. Bad habits can become slippery slopes that lead to worse habits or addiction. And yes, there is a slippery slope of sexual ethics that can lead to careless and loveless actions that harm others.
But the emotion behind the slippery slope argument is fear. And fear is the oxygen that fuels every movement of exclusion. The real dangerous slippery slope is when we allow fear to divide us and lead to exclusion and othering.
And there are also good slippery slopes. Acts of generosity can become habits. Listening to diverse voices and experiences can be a slippery slope to understanding. Perhaps its a good thing if the slippery slope of questioning past interpretations of Scripture leads to greater authenticity, deeper engagement with the text. Perhaps it’s good if reconsidering comfortable dogma leads us to take more seriously others’ experiences that differ from our own.
If we get on the slippery slope of compassion, generosity, intellectual curiosity and inclusion, who knows where it might lead? First we welcome neighbors whose families don’t look like ours. Next thing you know, we are including people who love differently than us, then we might begin accepting people who pray differently.
MLK reminds us “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” We can have conversations about sexual ethics that are intense, painful, and honest. We can risk being misunderstood. We can risk not agreeing. We can admit we don’t have all the answers.
We can have hard conversations that are disruptive—but also joyful. Because the beauty of queerness is not unanimity, but diversity. It is the joyful union of people who are completely unlike one another, who have no other possible reason to join together other than the powerful unity of love.
Maybe we don’t need to be so afraid that this grace thing will get out of hand, and maybe God is big enough to embrace our hard questions. Maybe a slippery slope of grace and inclusion will only lead to a tsunami of goodness and loving kindness. Because God’s wild and uncontrolling love is constantly drawing us outward, not in fearful, guarded exclusion but in scary, joyful expansion.
God of endless wonder,
The world you created is incredible. The vastness of the universe, the diversity of life itself. We are amazed. And of all the complex and wonderful things you have created, perhaps people are the most incredible.
Forgive us for the urge to tame all this overwhelming complexity into bite-size pieces. Forgive us for thinking we can create artificial barriers between "us" and
"them". Help us instead to simply marvel at the wildness and beauty of all you have created.
Amen.