This week, I’m visiting an “open and affirming” church in Chattanooga. And to be honest, I’ve gone back and forth for weeks about how to share this experience—not because I’m unsure of my thoughts, but because I understand how layered and deeply personal this topic is for so many. Talking about LGBTQ+ inclusion in the church isn’t just a theological discussion; it’s a conversation that cuts straight to people’s sense of belonging, identity, and worth.
It’s also one of the most divisive topics in the modern church. Lines have been drawn, congregations have split, and entire denominations have redefined themselves around it. But I believe that if we’re going to talk about the church being a place of love, grace, and welcome, we can’t ignore the people who have often felt the most excluded.
So this week’s post is simply an invitation—to listen, to sit with my story, and maybe even to reflect on your own, especially if you were raised in a conservative Christian church. Over the past seven years, my theology has shifted—not because I was looking for a loophole, not to accommodate culture, and not because one of my children identifies as a member of the LGBTQ+ community. They don’t. (It’s honestly surprising how often that question comes up whenever I share about the evolution of my beliefs.)
The truth is, my theology changed because I started asking deeper questions. I began listening—really listening—to the lived experiences of others. I paid attention to the fruit in their lives, to their love for Jesus, and to the way they embodied grace, even when the church withheld it. My faith didn’t unravel—it expanded. And in that expansion, I’ve discovered a deeper, more compassionate, more Christlike understanding of both God and humanity.
What I’ve come to realize is that theology isn’t static—it grows and it deepens when we let it be shaped by love and lived experience… and, yes, a deeper understanding of scripture. My journey hasn’t always been neat or easy, and I still have questions. So many questions. But one thing I’m certain of: real love doesn’t require someone to change who they are in order to belong. It welcomes them as they are and walks with them from there.
So if you’re curious, skeptical, or somewhere in between, I hope you’ll stick around—not for a debate to win, but for honest conversation to better understand one another, hold space for nuance, and make room for the kind of faith that wrestles, listens, and grows.
Rather than rambling, I want to share a few key moments—specific, personal experiences—that challenged me to pause and reevaluate what I had been taught about the LGBTQ+ community. These stories aren’t abstract or hypothetical; they’re deeply personal, and they’ve significantly shaped how I follow Jesus.
And I want to be clear about this: I absolutely believe in the conviction of the Holy Spirit. But I also believe the Spirit—while never contradicting the nature of God—can lead sincere, faithful people to different understandings, different convictions, and different journeys. That’s not a sign of compromise. Sometimes, it’s a sign of humility and growth and, from my experience, it has been an indicator of purpose and calling.
- About seven years ago, I was introduced to a transgender man who spoke openly and passionately about his deep faith in Jesus and his experience with gender dysmorphia. I remember feeling deeply conflicted. Up until that point, everything I had been taught—both directly and indirectly—had convinced me that someone’s gender identity and a sincere relationship with Christ couldn’t coexist. That moment shook something in me. It didn’t just make me uncomfortable—it forced me to confront the fact that I hadn’t been thinking critically or asking meaningful questions. I had been blindly following a narrative handed down by voices who, in most cases, were less informed than I was—and who showed little interest in truly listening, learning, or understanding. That conversation marked the beginning of a long, uncomfortable, but necessary unraveling.
- After this conversation, I sat down with a friend in Maine, who’s also a doctor, to see if there were medical explanations for what this transgender man shared with me. And while I don’t have the time to outline that entire conversation, here are a few points that caused me to start asking more questions. Please note, I have linked citations:
- Brain structure and function: Some studies using MRI scans have found that certain brain regions in transgender individuals more closely resemble the structure or function of the gender they identify with, rather than their assigned sex at birth. This is particularly observed in areas involved in body perception and self-identity.
- Hormonal influences in utero: During fetal development, sex hormones (like testosterone and estrogen) play a major role in shaping the brain. If there’s an atypical exposure or sensitivity to these hormones during critical periods of brain development, it may result in a brain-gender mismatch—where the brain develops traits more typical of the opposite sex.
- Timing matters: The development of the genitalia and the brain occurs at different stages in fetal growth. It’s possible for these to diverge if hormone exposure isn’t typical during those critical windows, potentially leading to a mismatch between biological sex and experienced gender.
- When we lived on the road, our family visited a different church almost every Sunday. One of those churches was Austin New Church, in Austin, Texas. (If you’re interested in reading about that particular visit, you can scroll WAY DOWN on this blog! But, I think it’s important to note that I initially didn’t want to go and I ACTIVELY looked for every reason to call them heretical. Confirmation bias is very real.) In yet another irony, Sydney and Brayden wrote a song with the worship leader of ANC, who has actually become a dear friend. And he connected us with the pastor who took me and my husband out to breakfast one morning, where we had a long conversation about the church’s outreach to the immigrant community at the border in Texas. Listening to Jason (the pastor) talk about their work, it was undeniable that they were truly being the hands and feet of Jesus to the people the Lord calls us to uplift. And, honestly, I was having a hard time reconciling what I was seeing and hearing with what I had been taught for so many years.
- At the tail end of our breakfast, Jason made what was probably meant as a flippant comment, saying that people from Dallas Theological Seminary, where I received my Masters, and leaders at Dallas Bible Church, constantly called him a heretic because of his views on homosexuality and gay marriage. (Also, important to note, our family was spending the night with leaders at Dallas Bible Church that night!) When I told him my connection to both institutions, I literally saw the blood drain from his face as his mouth dropped open. He then asked why I would even want to sit down and talk with him.
Soon after this experience, we were notified by several friends back home that a young man who was a part of my discipleship group was on the front page of the Portland Press Herald, our local newspaper—wearing all black, holding a Bible, and yelling at participants of a PRIDE parade… telling them to repent or they were going to hell.
I was physically ill. It was a visceral reaction.
And even with my conservative theological views, I never would have condoned that kind of behavior. I had taught him about the love of Jesus, about compassion, about grace—but I was not the only voice in his life. For whatever reason, he had come to believe that standing on a street corner and shouting condemnation was righteous. And he’s not alone.
It shook me to my core. Because if someone I had poured into could so completely miss the heart of Christ, I had to ask—what had I missed? What had I modeled? What had I allowed to go unquestioned?
That moment wasn’t just about him—it was a mirror held up to my own faith journey. And I didn’t like what I saw.
Here’s one of the biggest lessons I learned during that season: It’s easy to label someone a heretic when you live in a bubble, intentionally creating distance, and only listening to certain voices. It’s a lot harder when they’re a person, sitting across from you, sharing stories about pain and rejection and a GENUINE faith that has been tested in fire and testifies to Jesus.
And the mental gymnastics you go through when you SEE the spiritual fruit of someone’s faith, but can’t fathom the possibility of them being “real” Christians because of their “sexual ethics”… it shakes you. It forces you to confront the uncomfortable truth that maybe your theology was built more on fear and tradition than on the actual life and teachings of Jesus. (And, yes, I will get to what the Bible says, and doesn’t say about homosexuality.) It challenges the categories you were handed—categories that can’t account for the grace, humility, and integrity you see in someone you were taught to dismiss, or outright hate.
Jesus didn’t shy away from messy conversations or complicated people. And if I truly believe in the transformative power of grace, then maybe the most Christlike thing I can do isn’t debating theology—but listening, learning, and staying at the table.
I stayed at the table for the entirety of our cross country adventure. I’m still at the table now… asking hard questions.
Searching for Jesus in A̶m̶e̶r̶i̶c̶a̶ Chattanooga 