Leadingchurch.com

Salon

Pride begins first and foremost with the ability to see oneself. Self-perception can be challenging for any human being. If you carry inside of you an identity or an experience that is disparaged or shamed by others, the challenge is magnified. Many people, not just queer people, know a lot about these dynamics. But not seeing your true self creates a problem. If being seen by others is a prerequisite for a relationship of trust, being able to see yourself is certainly a prerequisite for self-trust, which is fundamental to a consciously chosen ethical life.

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 This is not a minor declaration of the patently obvious. There are entire theologies dedicated to the idea that we do not exist as a people. The whole “love the sinner; hate the sin” trope is based on the premise that queerness is about what you do, and that it flies in the face of who you actually are. That’s why it matters to conceive of queerness as an identity marker: it is essential that we refuse to capitulate to queerphobic attempts to treat our relational lives and our sexual encounters as something separate from our deepest knowledge of ourselves.

I exist; I am queer; my queer self exists.

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Evangelicals will recognize this gesture as one in which a person lost in the ecstasy of communal worship instinctively lifts up her hands to invite the sacred into her body and soul. Lifting up one’s hands can be a way to connect to something bigger than oneself, something that might even be transcendent. Whether Hedwig intentionally invokes the religious aspect of the gesture or intentionally subverts it, it is no surprise that a show so thoroughly queer would grab people’s hearts (and, yes, our souls) with such power. In that moment, the audience members become the people to whom Hedwig is singing: me, you, all of us acknowledging our brokenness, each of us called to know ourselves, know our self-worth, and help each other to know it, too.

Pride is exactly like that. Pride is a statement of personal affirmation that extends out to others. Pride calls us together. In this way, Pride becomes a posture that makes ethical living possible. In fact, it makes ethical living not only important, but often riveting, substantive, worth the price of admission.

Reaching deep inside the individual soul/psyche, reaching out to connect us to each other, Pride is very like what Paul describes in 1 Corinthians 13 when he writes about love as the glue that binds a community together. That’s what Pride does for LGBTQ community. It binds us to one another. And true to Paul’s description, Pride is very like—and may in fact be—love enacted.

http://everydayfeminism.com/2016/06/science-doesnt-support-sex-binary/

Salon

https://twitter.com/133760D/status/739160618448609284

NYTimes

RNS Jewish Perspective

The Guardian

And nowhere is that more true than within the millennial generation. Last week asurvey of 33,728 Americans published in the journal Archives of Sexual Behaviourstated that there had been a huge increase in the number of people reporting same-sex experiences, and alongside this, a greater acceptance of people’s sexuality. The study concluded that 49% of all adults and 63% of millennials “expressed tolerance of these relationships”.

“It’s clear that people under a certain age are much more comfortable not just with same-sex relationships but with bisexuality, gender-fluidity and all sorts of other ways of living that fall outside the traditional binaries of straight and gay, male and female,” says journalist Laurie Penny, who describes herself as bisexual and genderqueer.

“That’s partially down to the internet and the way it’s allowed more visibility for people who have life experiences outside the norm. It provides a way for people to congregate and talk about issues that matter to them.”

Penny adds that the growing number of celebrities either in same-sex relationships or willing to discuss their gender in non-binary terms is helping to change attitudes. “I didn’t talk about being bisexual or genderqueer much in public before last year, because I was facing so much online harassment as it was that I just didn’t have the energy to have that conversation as well.

The Guardian

As new research shows, what are sometimes dismissed as hook-up apps provide a lifeline and community for those of us far from the bright lights of the big city

A drag queen poked her head out the door. She pointed an acrylic nail at us. “Y’all quit looking at that!” We giggled and scampered back into the bar. Being “in” on this joke was the first time I really felt like I was gay. Not in the sexual sense, but in a cultural one. I was a holder of secret knowledge. I went home that night feeling like I had completed an initiation ritual.

I gave little thought to who those men were. Over time, I learned they were truckers, fathers, husbands to wives, and out, older gay men. Most of them, though, were in the closet. I still had a lot of internalized homophobia at the time, and I’m sorry to say that I judged these men and saw them as freaks. I still believed, albeit on a subconscious level, that gay sex made you dirty, and cruising for it made you pathetic.

It’s the same internalized homophobia that makes gay men shame other gay men for using dating apps today. Read up on your queer history and you understand that, in fact, these apps can be a godsend for those have experienced violence and those of us who grew up in areas without any LGB resources. They have provided us with a means of connecting with each other that simply never existed before.

Today, we gay men are enjoying an unprecedented level of acceptance. I say we gay men, because bisexual men and transgender men are not as fortunate, and gay men of color often aren’t able to find acceptance within our own communities. Things are better, though we’re still far from equality.

Gay men slut-shaming other gay men is nothing new. I see it every day. I see gay men lamenting that romance is dead (when was it alive for us – during the 80s?) and that dating apps are turning us all into sluts.

Personally, I don’t think having a lot of sex makes you a bad person, nor that anyone should have to justify using an app for hookups. But I am especially happy that these apps exist for men who live in often-overlooked parts of the country. I don’t see it as a negative thing. I see it as the continuation of a legacy of survival against societal shame. Be it an earring or a strategically placed handkerchief, gay men have always invented clever ways to find each other. And recently, they’ve just got a whole lot better at it.

http://religionnews.com/2016/06/03/the-minister-who-taught-donald-trump-to-think-positive/

http://reflections.yale.edu/article/seeking-light-new-generation/young-souls-transition-interview-christian-smith