I’m probably not going to say everything just right. I wasn’t going to say anything at all until I got a text a few days ago from my favorite former congregant (IYKYK LA). It’s been an emotional day.
To those who were here for it, it will always be known as “the Letter”. On this day in 2015, City Church San Francisco, the church I founded in my living room in 1996, publicly announced its change in how we would welcome our LGBTQ siblings after our elders and staff had spent 8 months studying, praying, and deliberating about one of the most contentious issues facing the church today. This is not a post to re-hash all the details of how “the Letter” came to be. Whatever ways I remember it will not always be how everyone else remembers it, and who wants to argue about that 10 years later?
Perhaps the greatest privilege of being a pastor is listening to the stories of so many people’s lives. In 2022 I wrote an article for The Reformed Journal that told a bit of my story. In it I said the following:
Those stories included not only rejection from family and ministries, but also harmful stories of trying to “repair” their sexual orientation. When therapists and religious leaders seek to change the sexual orientation of LGBTQ youth, those young people are two to three times more likely to attempt suicide. This is why many former “ex-gay” leaders have not only renounced their former beliefs, but apologized to the LGBTQ community for the damage they have caused.
According to a landmark 2009 study, when families reject their LGBTQ children, their children are 8.4 times more likely to attempt suicide, 5.9 times more likely to have high levels of depression, and 3.4 times more likely to use illegal drugs than LGBTQ children who have supportive families. Suicide rates are highest among transgender people; 41% of transgender adults in the United States have attempted suicide in their lifetime, compared to only 1.6% of the overall population. Read more on this here.
When people ask me why we changed our mind in 2015 and became an affirming church, I say this: stories and statistics. Through listening and loving, I saw that my theology was demonstrably and unquestionably harming people. This kind of discovery is nothing new, the church has been answering the question “Who is the gospel for?” throughout its checkered past and has a long history of “we were wrong” discoveries followed by repentance. One way to understand the New Testament is as a product of asking this question while it wrestled with the inclusion of Gentiles in the movement Jesus started.
The cost of doing such a thing was immense. Hundreds vanished from my life never to speak to me again. Many left quietly, others, out of their unresolved inner conflicts, saw fit to scapegoat, slander, lie, and try to bring our church down, often doing so as they believed every half truth and rumor that surfaced about our process.
Others were just sad. The City Church they had come to love was going to be much smaller and much different, and that was a legitimate loss to grieve. Sometimes, our grief comes out sideways.
It would have been so easy to do nothing. Our church’s financial future—along with my own, to be honest—would have been secure for decades if we had just changed nothing. A departing church leader told me, “This move is just bad for business.” The moment he said it, I think he knew it was wrong. I simply replied, “We are not a business; we are a church.” He nodded.
The Sunday after the letter went out—the last Sunday at City Church for hundreds—I stood before the congregation, inviting them into a process of discovery and conversation. Few accepted. During my presentation, I shared the sobering statistics I mentioned earlier. Afterward, a longtime congregant—someone I had walked with through life’s highs and lows—approached me and said, “You’re causing this much trouble for just 3% to 5% of the population?”
I replied, “You know, Jesus tells a parable about a shepherd who leaves 99 sheep to find the lost one.”
He simply raised his hand, turned, and walked away. I haven’t seen him since.
Gospel work is seldom easy.
Perhaps the lowest point came a month or so later, when the editor of World Magazine, recruited by disgruntled former congregants, claimed to be investigating City Church’s process. During our interview, he suddenly asked, “Isn’t this really about your son?” My heart sank. My son, my precious boy, who had courageously come out to me in 2010, surely he wasn’t going to be dragged into this? I told him, “Do not make this about my son.” He replied, “The journalist in me wants to get all the facts straight.” I countered, “I hope the Jesus in you wants to be charitable.” Months later, he publicly outed my son by quoting one of his tweets in the article. I’m guessing, in the frenzy of culture war logic, his tweet was seen as fair game. I never imagined parenthood would mean calling my son to tell him a deeply personal part of his life was in a magazine that would be on the coffee table of every member of his extended family.
The church would never be the same. It would never be as large. It would never be as rich. It would never command the respect and accolades of the evangelical world again.
And.
It would never be complicit in harming our beloved LGBTQ siblings again. It would never, even if passively, make them feel less than. It would never be part of the death dealing harm that non-affirming churches bring, intended or not, to a group of people who simply want to live in peace and follow Jesus. Our church became one of the lucky ones who got to welcome fully, without conditions, some of the finest Jesus followers I’ve ever been around.
About that text.
It read, “I’m sure I'm not the first to text you about the testimony shared at City Church yesterday. I really want you to watch it because this man’s story is the fruit of your labor.” It starts at minute 38:10.
The only edit I’d make to her text: it was the fruit of OUR labor…the courageous staff, elders, and congregants who weathered the storm.
People ask me if I have regrets. I do. One big one. I regret we waited so long.
Thanks Fred. I remember this well. It was the moment that I realized that my good friend Fred was a great man.
Fred, you continue to be a faith leader I I can follow, and someone who helps bolster my faith in Christ, and in the potential of the church to do good in the world.
We left our previous church in early 2021, after finally accepting that our church was nowhere near becoming affirming and would not fully welcome our friends and loved ones in the LGBTQ community. What a relief and breath of fresh air to land at City Church for a time, even if “virtually”. We will always be grateful to you and City Church.