FOND DU LAC, Wis. (AP) -- Craig Dull was studying to be a Lutheran minister when he came out during his junior year of college.
It wasn't planned. At the time, he said, he believed he could somehow pray away his innermost feelings.
Maybe if he prayed hard enough, he thought, God would intervene and make him straight.
When that didn't work, he made the decision to come out as a gay man while enrolled in the pre-seminary program at Concordia University in Mequon -- a Christian campus.
It forever changed the course of his life.
"It was the end of my career," Dull told the Fond du Lac Reporter. "My adviser, a pastor and head of the lay ministry program, told me in no uncertain terms I had no future in the church."
Dull's deep Christian faith and the Lutheran church in his hometown of Janesville were a source of strength when, at age 16, he lost his father.
But ever since he left college in 2006 without completing his degree, Dull hasn't been able to find his way back to church.
"The experience didn't hurt my faith in God, but it left me apprehensive about seeking a faith community," Dull said. "What I've found in organized religion is a lot of hypocrisy around being gay."
Many members of the LGBTQ community say they long for a church family with whom to worship, but religious divisions over same-sex marriage and other LGBTQ issues have left them feeling conflicted and sometimes unwelcome.
According to a report from the Pew Research Center, many feel unwelcome within most major religions and are much less likely to identify as Christian compared to the general public.
The Lutheran Missouri synod, of which Dull was a follower, is upfront in its doctrine that urges members "to give public witness from scripture against the social acceptance and legal recognition of homosexual marriage," according to its website.
The synod's message denounces the gay rights movement, and the church recommends organizations that help homosexuals turn away from the lifestyle through prayer and often celibacy.
In contrast, the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America -- the denomination's liberal synod -- gives individual ministers and their congregations the freedom to celebrate same-sex marriages. In larger cities, church programs include summer camps and homeless shelters for LGBTQ youth.
Like the Lutherans, other mainline Protestant churches remain split over societal changes related to marriage, gender and gender identity that some say go against cultural norms and specific interpretations of Scripture these institutions have historically embraced.
Churches struggle to find common ground
A deep division over same sex marriage has developed among The United Methodists -- one that threatens to splinter the nation's largest Protestant group of more than 12.6 million members.
In February 2019, the church's decision-making body, the General Conference, reaffirmed its ban on marriage equality, causing some congregations to consider breaking away.
As Bishop of the United Methodist Church in Wisconsin, Hee Soo Jung of Sun Prairie straddles that divide. He must both uphold the church's policy while also supporting the whole community of pastors -- whether or not they agree with the church's stance. His position is one of extending grace, he said, without judgment.
"I would never force a person who opposes same-sex unions to perform a ceremony, but I am not comfortable that we do not extend the same grace to those who believe it is right and proper to preside at same-sex marriages," he said.
Traditionalist Pastor Rom Pegram from Trinity United Methodist Church in Lomira said the denomination was founded by John Wesley, who stood behind Scripture as the direct word of God
His congregation of 400 is predominantly conservative, he said, and in line with the majority of Methodist clergy in the U.S. who voted in February to uphold the ban on same-sex marriage and LGBTQ clergy. The vote was 438-384.
"If progressive theology means change, then there are no absolutes," Pegram said. "To me that's scary and leaves us nothing to really stand on."
He thinks a split within the Methodist church could bring positive change, because the unrest is causing members to turn away.
"If we can't do this together, let's do this separately and still be able to share the gospel and remain friends," he said.
Similarly, not all Episcopalians agree with the church's nationwide stance that same-sex unions can be blessed under the same expectations as marriage between a man and a woman.
Within the Episcopal Diocese of Fond du Lac, which covers the northeastern third of the state, about one-third of the 36 churches choose not to perform same-sex marriages, even though they might welcome LGBTQ persons, said Bishop Matt Gunter.
"I have gay and lesbian couples who happily attend more conservative congregations because they line up with the theology more generally," he said. "But I know others who have found such congregations less than hospitable."
As the head of the diocese, Gunter said he believes same-sex marriage can serve "as a means of drawing people deeper into the heart of God, leading to spiritual transformation and holiness," he said.
Mixed messages muddle meaning
These divides within Christian denominations result in mixed messages and can discourage LGBTQ persons who seek an accepting church community, says Grace Moone of Wauwatosa.
She and her husband have attended at least 20 churches, but can't seem to find the right fit, says Moone, who is vocal about her bisexual identity.
While some churches tout an open and affirming message, congregation members often have opposing views, she's found.
"It was completely exhausting and heartbreaking to gear ourselves up emotionally, even going back to church a third and fourth week, and then encountering homophobia," Moone said. "People would assume we were a straight cisgender couple and make negative comments about gay people and untrue statements about Christian teachings and what the Bible says."
Raised in a small town in New York and brought up in the Dutch Reformed Church, Moone says her search was compelled by a longing for the sense of community that comes from church fellowship.
"Yes, I can pray on my own, read the Bible on my own, but still, something feels missing," she said.
A truly welcoming congregation would perform same sex marriages, ordain queer and transgender clergy, and integrate people of all orientations and gender identities into leadership positions, says Misty Gedlinske, founder of Fond du Lac Pride Alliance.
"Some churches who claim to be affirming or welcoming have an organizational culture that doesn't match that ethic," Gedlinske said. "Either LGBTQ member participation in leadership or clerical roles is restricted or absent, or there is doctrinal or social pressure for us to remain closeted, celibate and silent."
The true culture of a church isn't always obvious right away, and that can be damaging to someone looking for a spiritual home centered in unconditional love, Gedlinske said. Behavior is a choice, she points out, while sexual orientation and gender identity aren't.
"A person can choose celibacy or marry a same-gender partner but doing so will not change their sexual orientation. A person can dress in a prescribed style of clothing but this only changes their appearance, not their gender identity," she said.
Can total inclusion exist within church doctrines?
Pilgrim United Church of Christ accepts "God's children just the way they are," Pastor Ted Drewson said in a media release sent out earlier this year.
The Fond du Lac congregation of about 300 was announcing its certification with the Open and Affirming Coalition of the United Church of Christ, which calls itself the world's fastest growing LGBTQ-welcoming church movement, with more than 1,100 congregations and 275,000 members.
Drewson, who has been at Pilgrim United for 18 years, said it's a different world today, and the congregation wants everyone to know there is a safe place "to grow in your love for God."
For more than a year, the congregation discussed the idea of taking a stand in favor of inclusion. What opened church member's minds, he believes, are the personal relationships they have with friends and family members who are LGBTQ.
"I think for some of us there is that voice deep down inside that tells you when something's wrong, and shutting people out is wrong," he said. "We know these people and they want what we want, to live a moral life. That's humanizing, and that makes a difference."
Catholicism rejects same-sex marriage, supporting only sex between a man and a woman, joined under its sacrament of marriage, for procreation and to express the couple's unity.
Catholicism rejects same-sex marriage, supporting only sex between a man and a woman, joined under its sacrament of marriage, for procreation and to express the couple's unity.
"Any Christian denomination that claims to welcome everyone is either going to become a random group of people throwing conflicting teachings around, or, they are going to draw a line somewhere, by necessity, to maintain a community," he said.
Reesman serves as the main chaplain to the archdiocese' Courage and En Courage groups, the church's only officially recognized ministry for men and women who experience same sex attraction. The groups promote living a chaste life.
Many Catholic communities reach out to LGBTQ members to offer as full a welcome as possible, Reesman said, within the limits of a church policy that does not approve of same-sex relationships.
However, the Catholic laity has been increasingly vocal in calling on the church to change its stance. A Pew Research Center survey from 2017 indicates 67% of Catholics interviewed support same-sex marriage.
Many people who embrace new definitions of gender and gender identity are, at the same time, intolerant of individuals and institutions that value "classical norms," Reesman said.
"Those of us who understand the grave harm to persons and to the world that such newly imagined cultural realities can bring are made to suffer for holding firm to the teachings of the Gospel," he said.
A movement based on transformation
In Kaukauna, the lay-led Angels of Hope Metropolitan Community Church caters to the LGBTQ community. Member Chuck Erickson said they came together in secret some 25 years ago -- meeting in storefronts and bars -- as a reaction to the HIV/AIDS movement.
They made the move from Appleton to Kaukauna after several LGBTQ young people in the community died by suicide, Erickson said.
"We have lots of new faces coming in -- people who have been rejected by their family church, or have recently come out and they are exploring their spirituality," Erickson said.
The Metropolitan Community Church is a nationwide movement, founded in 1968 to promote civil and human rights movements. MCC was the first church to perform same-gender marriages, according to its website, and has been on the forefront of the struggle toward marriage equality.
During their service, members of Angels of Hope sit in a circle with an altar and share readings, followed by conversation about connecting spiritual meanings to their lives. Communion is given to anyone who wants to partake.
Erickson was attending college at Lawrence University in Appleton and struggling with his own identity when he first got involved with the church as a piano player and organist. He now leads Angels of Hope as moderator, an elected position.
"I think the biggest thing is our mission, based on Psalm 118, verse 22. It says the stone which the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone," Erickson said. "We are the place where everyone is welcome and that has become our energy."
While churches across Wisconsin like to use the slogan "All Are Welcome," they don't always practice what they preach. In such a rural state, not all communities have churches like Metropolitan Community, or a United Church of Christ in their neighborhood.
Moone said she doesn't know if she will keep trying to find a church. Her search has left her discouraged.
"It hurt me that people felt comfortable casually remarking that God doesn't like gay people, but what really stood out was I can't ever recall a time that others in the church challenged them, or backed me up if I challenged that narrative," she said. "Now I live with a great deal of wariness and feel pretty badly burned."
Dull says he is reasonably content and at peace with his life. His work as a barista at a Milwaukee coffee shop -- a neighborhood gathering place -- unexpectedly provided him opportunities for ministering.
"One day I started talking to a young man after his father died who was considering self-harm," Dull said. "He'd stop in every day for a few months and we kept talking. Now he is engaged, has a job and totally turned his life around."
That moment back in college, when two roads diverged and he followed his authentic self, made all the difference, he said. Now he can reach out one-on-one to people who need someone to listen and care.
"When you stop and think about it, lying about who I am would have been the worst sin of all," he said.
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Information from: The Reporter Media, http://www.fdlreporter.com
AP-WF-09-12-19 2053GMT
