When I began discerning a call to the priesthood, I spent three years meeting annually with the bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of Dallas. Each year, he affirmed my call. Each year, I hoped it would be the year he gave me permission to begin the formal discernment process.
Each year, he said no.
And finally, in our third meeting, he said it out loud: “You do not fit the strategy for my diocese.”
What was the problem? My support for gay marriage. That’s it. That’s the list.
Eventually, because of a move by General Convention, he “allowed” me to discern in the Episcopal Diocese of Texas, where they welcomed me, approved me, sponsored me for seminary, ordained me, and have invested thousands of dollars in my education and ministry. All because Dallas wouldn’t ordain me for believing that LGBTQ+ people deserve the blessing of marriage.
Here’s the thing: I could have hidden my views. I could have told myself that silence was just “being strategic.” I could have softened my stand in order to get ordained in Dallas. I could have played the game.
But if I had hidden my views to get ordained, I’d have been hiding the very heart of the priest I was called to be. My ministry would have gotten its start based on a lie.
And right now—in this country, in this moment—is no time for hiding. We’ve got a former county clerk, Kim Davis, back in the news, still defending her refusal to issue marriage licenses to same-sex couples, shamelessly disregarding her own multiple failed marriages. We’ve got anti-trans laws multiplying by the week. We’ve got school boards policing bathrooms and bookshelves. And I’ve got two gay daughters who have left Texas because they don’t feel safe—one who left the country altogether.
I believe in blessing the love between two people, no matter their gender. I believe this because Jesus told us we would know what is good by the fruit it bears. I have seen the fruit of marriages between two men, two women, and nonbinary partners: faithfulness, joy, care, perseverance, and love that endures. And if that is the fruit, then anything that seeks to uproot it—any theology that calls harm holy, or cloaks exclusion in the name of Christ—is already far from the Gospel it claims to defend.
This isn’t just about one bishop’s words to me years ago. It’s about a pattern that keeps repeating itself. The same logic that told me I didn’t “fit the strategy” shows up in the lawsuits against LGBTQ+ rights, in the bathroom bans and book bans, in the drumbeat of anti-trans rhetoric. Different decade, different stage, same script.
And it’s not abstract for me. It’s my own children building their lives far from the home they grew up in because they don’t feel safe here.
That’s why, back in 2020, I wrote a ten-day series after George Floyd’s murder, exposing the racism and privilege in my own life. And it’s why I’m writing this now. Because silence is never neutral. And the Church can’t sit this one out.
We’re seeing the wreckage of a failed movement—one that would rather tear down than build up, one that protects abusers and insurrectionists while tearing families apart and driving them into exile. And all the while daring to call it moral.
But the Gospel is not a strategy. The Holy Spirit will not be managed. God will not be mocked. Which means the only real question is where we will stand. With the wreckage, or with the love that outlasts it.
This is why I’m beginning to tell stories again, like I did after George Floyd. This is why I will again refuse to be silent, to hide my views in order to keep the peace, protect my position, or make myself more acceptable.
Because silence is complicity. And because the Church cannot sit this one out. Each of us has a choice to make—whether we will bless love, or betray it.
~ Dana+
To read more in this series, click here: https://invisibleleftovers.com/category/the-intersection-of-faith-politics/
P.S. If you are engaged and would like to talk about the possibility of being married by an Episcopal priest, I would be honored to walk with you. If you are already married and would like to have your marriage blessed, or if you would like a blessing for a new name, I would be glad to do that too. Love deserves blessing, and I would be grateful to share that joy with you.
Invisible Leftovers 