On 19th November 2020, Million Minutes hosted a webinar, attended by around 300 participants, including priests, teachers, chaplains, young people, deacons, and more. Our speakers included Daniel Hale, Maria Yoo, George White, Sophie Stanes, and Fr Dominic Robinson.
The full recording is available on our YouTube channel here - and transcripts of each speaker’s opening remarks can be found below.
Maria Yoo, aged 29, was born in South Korea, and moved to the UK when she was 13 years old. She went on from her Catholic secondary school in South London to study Law at the University of Oxford, where she graduated in 2014. After further studies at BPP Law School, Maria qualified as a solicitor and now works in construction law. Maria identifies as lesbian and is active in the Korean Catholic community in London.
This is so exciting - so much so that when I was asked to join this webinar, I said yes straight away. I think I saw the ‘LGBTQ’ plus ‘Catholic’ and I was like “yes, I'll do it!”. There is such a lack of platform to talk about this intersection of identities. It feels so meaningful and exciting that I get to share my story today as a queer Catholic.
That said, 5 minutes is not nearly enough to even scratch the surface of my journey, and the wider experiences within the LGBTQ+ community, so I hope that this story I get to share today is a beginning many, many meaningful conversations.
I have had to hold various labels and identities. I'm a cis-gendered woman; I am Korean; Korean-British; I'm an immigrant; I come from a working-class family; I identify as lesbian / gay / queer; and I am also Catholic. It is often assumed that these identities contradict each other and that I can't possibly hold onto one part of this identity without compromising or even harming the other parts of my identity.
That certainly was the message I internalized for a long time. It took me awhile to come out to myself. It was only about three years ago that I did, and when I eventually did I think one of the first emotions I felt was fear. I felt fear because I already knew what it meant to be othered in this country, as a woman, as a person of colour and as an immigrant.
I was scared and very sad, to think that that I would now have to repeat this journey - except that I also feared that I may lose, in the process, the Korean community, my family, my friends, and more widely, the Korean community a whole.
So the last three years have been quite a journey, but a journey toward self-acceptance, and integration. And I can say now that I'm at a place where I am grateful for all the identities that I do get to hold and embrace. What has been central to that journey has been my identity as queer Catholic. It's this intersection of identity that I actually feel most safe, most integrated, and most at home in. I think that surprises a lot of people, but let me explain.
My Catholic faith, the Catholic faith that I have come to have, tells me that I am exactly the person that God had in mind when He first created me, that I am created in His image and that I am good. So the more I step into my identity as a queer person the closer I get to living out my truth as a gay person, the closer I get to being the person God created me to be - and it can only be good.
But it's also my queer identity that leads me to see God in places that traditionally I've been taught that I would not find God. I keep finding Him in places and other areas of my life that have been deemed for a long time by society and by the church as the ‘other’. But He's already quite comfortable there, and that helps me to be comfortable in my identity.
So I am quite at home with my identity as queer Catholic.
That said, I'm not out to the Korean Catholic community on a community level. I have pockets of friends and also my family that I'm out to who are here tonight (hello!). But being Korean, and being an immigrant in this country comes with another set of expectations and a layer to this journey.
The relationship I have with the Church as an institution is another story – one that is slightly trickier for me to navigate through.
So, it matters, that we are having this conversation. It matters particularly, that I get to share this story as a person of colour and a woman. Even within the Church spaces, even within the LGBTQ+ spaces, they have predominantly been white, male-dominated and often middle-class. I hope that me being here tonight shows that our experiences are so much wider, often more complicated and layered, but just as beautiful - and that they are worthy of being told.
I will wrap up here, but just to reiterate what I started with: I really hope that this is a beginning of something very important. And I hope that this story becomes one many because I truly believe that these stories tell different faces of God, different faces of the humanity that God already so loves but the ones that just haven't been heard by society and the Church.
George White, aged 27, is transgender and is a Catholic Teacher of Religious Education at a Catholic secondary school in Leicester. He holds a BA in Philosophy and Theology from Heythrop College, an MA in Global Ethics and Human Values from King's College London and a PGCE in Secondary Religious Studies from the University of Cambridge. In his spare time, George volunteers with various Catholic organisations specialising in youth work, education, and campaigning.
It's my pleasure share be here this evening especially as it’s anti-bullying week and also Transgender Awareness Week. I'm going to share a little bit about my journey to faith and my journey from Miss to Mr in the classroom.
As a transgender person, I am often asked when I was first aware that there was some discomfort with my gender. I'd like to think that I've always felt it. I've always had an awareness, but never the words or the confidence to talk to someone about it. My mother asked me roughly when I was about the age of 10 whether I'd prefer to have been born a boy. I told her that I didn't know, but in my heart I did. Of course, at this point much of my life experience was only understood within the boundaries of stereotypes. The rest of my life experiences were valued certainly when I made the decision to transition at the age of 23.
Despite not coming from a religious family, I've always been in Catholic education. When the time came to go to secondary school, girls and boys naturally separated and all of my previous best friends disappeared. I was lost for some time, navigating my way with a problem that I simply did not know how to describe. I became rude, disruptive, and quite the class clown. The school that I went to was a real community with a diverse range of people with many different religions, ethnicities and cultures. We could almost suggest that everyone was represented. That is, everyone except for openly LGBT staff or pupils.
I continued disrupting lessons and became angry throughout puberty. Fortunately (and I am very fortunate, I remember this every day in my job) I had some exceptional teachers that never ever lost faith in me. They shaped my life in a way that I will be eternally grateful for. I decided, because of them and the experience that I had, that I too wanted to become a teacher in order to make a difference to young people like myself.
At the time there was a real sense of longing in my heart to belong properly to that community. I'd experienced God in those merciful members of staff, so I decided at the age of 16 that I would be baptized in the school Chapel. I even chose some of the most inspiring educators to be my baptism and confirmation sponsors. As a result of this experience, I went on to study philosophy and theology at a Catholic University in London. As I went to university I fortunately began to encounter transgender people whilst learning about my faith. After my degrees, I moved to work in a retreat centre with a male religious order and lay volunteers. I couldn't shake off the notion of being called to live as one of these priests - with one very obvious problem.
I became devastated as I tried to balance my gender identity and faith. I eventually moved on to Cambridge to begin my teacher training, which felt the closest I could get to fulfilling my vocation of service. This is where I first blurted out to another LGBT Catholic that I wanted to transition. I was absolutely terrified of what this would mean, having seen several articles about LGBT teachers being fired from Catholic schools in the USA. So, I decided to keep quiet for a little bit longer.
I started a job at a Catholic all-girls school in west London. Whilst I was at this school, two of our pupils came out as transgender. Our head teacher wrote a letter that went out to parents stating that the school recognized their dignity and would choose to support them by using their chosen names and pronouns. This, however, was not well received by some parents, one of whom decided to remove their daughter from the school. It also ended up in national Catholic News outlets and the school was slammed by parents and journalists for their decision to support these transgender children.
It would have been a really big fight if I were to stay there and transition, especially as a teacher of RE, and that simply was not a fight I was ready for. As if by divine providence there was an opening at my beloved secondary school. I came to an interview where we spoke openly about transition and what that would mean for time off with appointments and surgeries which have been honoured ever since. We discussed the fact that I did not have to answer pupils who asked about my transition, as of course no other teachers will be expected to answer questions about their personal lives. I was told that I was a normal appointment to the job, and the school wanted to show that I was a normal appointment to the job. In hindsight, I think honesty and openness would have been the way forward as many pupils questioned whether I could in fact be transgender and a teacher of religious education: the answer of course being yes.
There have been many positives and a few negatives during my two years of working in the current school that I'm at. For many pupils and staff, I am the first openly transgender person that they have met, and perhaps also the first LGBTQ Catholic. The more open I have been with the pupils, the more respectful and educated they have become about LGBTQ people. The more open I have been with staff, the more confident they have been in understanding me and challenging negative comments and behaviour directed towards myself under the LGBTQ identities.
I'd like to share two particular positives which are fairly recent. Many people have told me that they appreciate the pride flag that is hanging in my classroom as of the beginning of this year - also there is also one visible on my face mask. One particular people thanked me for wearing this mask as she identified as LGBTQ and she said it made her feel, seen, heard, and respected. Another pupil wrote me a note very recently thanking me for my visibility and the courage I'd given him to express himself as he wanted by wearing nail varnish (I joined him in doing so).
Still, there is much more that can be done to affirm LGBT Catholic people in our Catholic spaces. It takes the work of leaders, staff, and pupils.
I will offer some thoughts I'm starting to explore in my current place of work, which may help some of you working in schools:
1. Make use of visible LGBTQ identities and allies in prayer, lesson plans, displays and libraries, (eg Alan Turing in Maths Marsha P. Johnson in PHSE, Freddie Mercury in Music, Oscar Wilde in English, and so on).
2. Ensure that relationships and sex education is as inclusive as it possibly can be – and that it includes all identities
3. Respect pronouns, and name changes.
4. Make sure behaviour policies are clear on discriminatory behaviour towards LGBTQ people, as it would be in the real world.
5. And, beyond those who work on the ground like myself as a teacher, I ask leaders to visit some of these suggestions
I also believe that we must stop talking about LGBTQ people as the ‘other’. Many members of RE departments in their interviews are asked how they would respond to a question on homosexuality from a pupil. The generally expected answer is that we would stick to church teaching and not divulge our own or other opinions. Other aspects which may conflict with church teaching are not questioned in this way eg abortion, divorce, IVF, female ordination, who can receive the Eucharist and so on.
These questions, in my opinion, need to be reconsidered as they give an impression that we must be silent on LGBTQ issues - and that is not explicitly same for all difficult topics within RE.
There is also a document approved by many dioceses for use in schools as to which candidates constitute a practicing Catholic. It suggests several violations which deem person unworthy of applying for a particular role as a practicing Catholic - same sex relationships being just one of them. This document simply does not reflect the lived reality of many schools in the UK. I've always worked with many people who would in theory be excluded by this document, but there are some of the most patient and well-rounded educators I have encountered. This document seems to forget that the leaders Jesus chose were not perfect and he was aware of that. I think it's important we remember humility when selecting suitable candidates for roles.
I understand that there is a fear for leaders to discuss LGBTQ rights in the context of education but choosing to remain silent about us does a great disservice to both LGBT and non-LGBT people. There is no conflict between church teaching and respecting the human dignity of each person - supporting them, pastorally and including them proudly in the community. These are the gospel values that are at the heart of the Catholic education system. Learning about others is one of the ways in which Catholic schools embody that call to love their neighbour.
All that is left is to say thank you to you all for being here, for Million Minutes for organising this event, and to my wonderfully supportive family, friends, colleagues, counsellors, confidants, and, most importantly my students – without whom I could not fulfil my vocation.
Fr Dominic Robinson SJ is the parish priest at the Immaculate Conception, better known as Farm Street. The parish is the Jesuit’s flagship London Church welcoming large and diverse groups of people, and is home to the LGBT Catholics Younger Adults Group (YAG). Fr Dominic is also Director of Landings, the programme for returning Catholics, in the UK, whose base is in the Parish. He also teaches Theology at Allen Hall Seminary, is the ecclesiastical assistant to Aid to the Church in Need and is Chair of the Justice & Peace Network in the Diocese of Westminster.
Thank you to Million Minutes for inviting me – it’s truly very humbling to be part of this panel, and to hear these testimonies which feel very powerful. One of the things which I feel that the Church is really called to do is to address the way in which the church is often perceived. A very good example of working with perceptions was the BBC program from Easter 2019 called Pilgrimage. The programme showed a group of celebrities walking the Camino to Rome from the Swiss Alps.
One of the celebrities was the comedian Stephen Amos who identifies as gay. He said, “I'm not going to have an audience with the Pope when we get to Rome, unless I can ask him what he thinks about LGBT issues”. As a gay person he felt totally excluded by the Catholic Church. The audience was granted, and the Vatican said that Stephen Amos could ask whatever question he wanted. Stephen Amos asked his question, and the Pope gave this answer: [paraphrased] “never speak in terms of adjectives (gay, straight woman, man, transgender). What's most important is the noun, that is that we're all human beings. Most of you aren’t necessarily religious but you’re talking about being stirred to faith from the walk that you’ve done, from the Camino. You’re all good people, and if you're Christian, I invite you to pray with me and if you're not, I just ask you to be in solidarity with me in trying to show something of compassion to the world.” That was his position.
That speaks volumes to me of what I think should be going on in the Catholic Church, and what we try and do at Farm Street. The keynote in in our ministry here is the acceptance of each individual and I think that is the Catholic approach. Everyone is made in the image and likeness of God. We are all made with an innate human dignity and goodness. This is something which comes from Genesis 1. It's such an important Christian doctrine we share with Judaism, and indeed I think with many in society at large. In the human condition there is something undeniably good about each person. We want to show compassion to those who feel that they are on the margins.
However this is often not what's reported about the Catholic Church. Often we focus on issues which aren't good for the perception of the Catholic Church. We focus on issues too much to do with sex, too much to do with morality and we don't focus on other important issues as a result - and the Church gets stuck there. Pope Francis said this himself, that when Catholics and Church leaders speak they aren’t listened to because the perception is that the Church is only interested in issues of sexuality and morality.
One of the roles I have is the Chair Justice and Peace in the Diocese of Westminster, where we're trying to do is to help those who are on the margins and that is everybody. This includes those who are the poorest and weakest, especially at this time of the pandemic; the homeless; the new precariat; refugees waiting so long for papers and reunification. Against this background, LGBT+ people know also about injustice and the Church recognizes that, and that's why the church wants to show compassion and wants to walk alongside LGBT+ people.
When the Admiral Duncan Pub on Compton Street in Soho was bombed on April 30th 1999, the Soho masses were formed. It was an act of solidarity for those who wanted to support the LGBT Catholic community who were being so appallingly targeted in this way. In 2013, Cardinal Vincent Nichols invited the LGBT Catholics, who held the Soho masses, to be integrated into what I hope and pray everyday, is a welcoming, vibrant, caring Catholic community. That is the parish which I had the great privilege of being parish priest of. That is what I hope that we have been doing for the last seven years, and what we continue to do.
Why integration into the parish community? Because I think this is a vision of what the Church should be: a Church, which is inclusive and welcoming. A Church which humbly knows it has been sinful in itself. We know that especially at the moment, after the IICSA report. A Church which doesn't simply want to tell people how to behave, but wants to put it a different way round. Some people refer to the Church in terms of the three “B”s: Believe, Behave and Belong. Do we Believe and Behave in order to Belong? Or do we give the message: you Belong, and then you're called in to an experience of what we Believe and an experience of where we understand the moral life of the Church to be. It's that way round. The church is a ‘field hospital’, Pope Francis says.
Our experience at Farm St has been so positive of welcoming the LGBTQ+ community in. They contribute to the life of the parish in so many ways. Music ministry, reading, involvement in our homeless services, fundraising, and they're also very much a support group for themselves. They are a group that have been beleaguered, that have been marginalized, who've been unfairly treated, who haven't been given opportunities that should have been given in the past - so they also need a support group for themselves. They meet for the occasional retreat, for pilgrimages which focus on LGBT themes.
Most important to me is that we come together as one Church. And that when we come together at the mass, of the Eucharist, we do so as together as one Church, as a parish community, which says everyone is made in the image and likeness of God. We do that humbly knowing that the Church is sinful herself, and yet is also full of Saints, in different communities, in a diversity of different vocations, a diversity of different people from all corners, all walks of life. This is the vision I think of the Church, to gather together united and not divided around the altar to which Christ calls for all of us.
Thank you.
Sophie Stanes has worked in the faith-based voluntary sector for over 25 years. She has a passion for social justice and a commitment to faith formation. Her work has spanned informal education, campaigning, theology, event management and fundraising. She is an experienced retreat and workshop facilitator. She has an MA in pastoral theology from Heythrop College and is a trained spiritual director. Sophie is currently the first Social Justice and Christian Ethics Engagement Officer at St Paul's Cathedral.
My name is Sophie: I'm a Catholic by culture and by choice; I'm in a civil partnership, which means that my partner and I are legal spouses. We are Godparents to five children between us. We are parents to two babies in heaven and parents to a feisty and lively 5 year-old daughter. I see human sexuality as a gift, not as a burden. My sexual orientation is as much part of who I am as my faith. It's who I am as a child of God and I shouldn't have to choose. My partner and I entered into a civil partnership in 2009. We wanted the protection that was offered to us in UK law and we wanted to formalize our relationship in the way that was open to us. As well as the short legal ceremony attended by both sets of parents, we also celebrated a mass of thanksgiving with a wide selection of families and friends. That liturgy means more to us than the registry office ceremony.
In Catholic-speak, the sacrament of marriage is conferred by the couple on each other and witnessed by the Church – so by that definition we might understand ourselves to already be married. However, as two women at church is very easy for our relationship to remain invisible. There's something of a ‘don't ask, don't tell’ culture. It can feel like a double standard. Our talents and gifts and money are welcomed up to the point where we ask the Church to celebrate and recognize our relationship. If we were to ask for a blessing then the official answer would be no.
Maybe you're wondering what else discrimination looks like in our lives. In our experience, it means: being invited to be a school governor by the parish priest, but being refused by the diocese: being denied communion in hospital by the Catholic chaplain: it being unlikely that our daughter would be offered a place at a Church school; or being asked to suggest others for a diocesan role which you know you're equally qualified and suitable for.
I'd like to think for a moment about the context of Pope Francis’s recent comments. On the one hand, the LGBTQ+ community are sometimes caricatured and vilified by the conservative wing of the church and media as hedonists, depraved people out destroy family values. That extreme view is both wildly inaccurate, offensive, but it also assumes that there are no LGBT people in the Catholic Church. I presume it also makes it easier to scapegoat us, to turn a blind eye to injustice or dismiss our humanity.
What is actually happening is that those of us who are LGBT+ Catholics are trying to live out our Christian values in families, in partnerships, as single people - but often without the spiritual and pastoral support of the Church. Even with Pope Francis comments, and pockets of very good pastoral ministry, a reality gap remains.
The origin of Pope Francis’s comments followed an exchange with an Italian same-sex couple who wished to be a part of parish life with their three adopted children. Apparently he was supportive of them, but warned them to expect opposition. For his subsequent reported comments to focus solely on the status of same sex couples in law, but not within the Church, leaves the question mark for me, and that conversation has not been concluded.
I'd now like to share some thoughts on my experience of good pastoral ministry. There was a fortnightly mass called the ‘Soho masses’ in London and in my 20s and 30s I was fortunate enough to find my way there. Here are some of the characteristics that I have pondered on and reflected on. That space was a space of collaboration. Lay people participated in preparing liturgy and music alongside a rota of pastorally-sensitive priests. We had a real sense of ownership and responsibility. We paid attention to our language. We used an inclusive language lectionary and the homilies addressed us.
Hearing one’s own identity acknowledged directly in a church is incredibly powerful. Rather than having to pick up on subtle hints of acceptance in code or subtext. We had opportunities to grow in faith. We planned and facilitated retreats. We helped pastoral planning days to discern our community’s future direction and engaged in social justice activity to put our faith into action. We were involved in peer ministry and outreach. We were a visible presence at events within the LGBT calendar, such as Pride parades. We advocated on behalf of LGBT asylum seekers. We've taken part in LGBT History Month events. I particularly value the intergenerational and international nature of that group. Our Eucharistic community was enriched by the presence of young and old, black, Brown, and white, those living with HIV or with mental ill health, and it helped me to understand the wider global and historic context to our particular community’s story.
I'd really like to address a few comments specifically to any young people with us tonight. Hold onto your personal faith. It's precious and it is yours. Your relationship with God is unique to you and God is always there drawing you closer. Pay attention to the things that are life-giving that help you to experience God. Whether that's in nature, in sport, in dancing, gaming, in music, with friends and family. But ask yourself, does this space, do these people lead to an increase of my faith, hope and love? It's OK to leave a place that you find toxic or where your dignity is diminished or where you are made to feel small or not OK.
Finally, I'd like to tell you a bit about what good Parish pastoral ministry looks like to me now. We attend Mass as a family, two mums and a daughter, and nobody bats an eyelash. Our daughter was baptised in the parish without fuss. We are eucharistic ministers. We take up the offertory gifts together. We take part in liturgy planning meetings. We bake cakes and bring in warm socks for the homeless shelter. We give of our professional experience. Can you spot any differences yet?
The only difference, sadly, is that if our wonderful Parish priest retired tomorrow, our position would feel very precarious. And that's not right, because welcome and inclusion should never be conditional.
Thank you.
Daniel Hale works as Campaigns Director at a social movement incubator and was previously Head of Campaigns at the Catholic Agency for Overseas Development. Daniel has worked extensively within the faith sector and was a co-founder and Trustee of Million Minutes. He holds an MBA from the Open University, and a PHD in from the University of Leeds. Daniel is particularly committed to supporting young people and those from diaspora communities to act for the world they want.
Thank you everyone for your fantastic witness and words this evening – I’m absolutely bowled over by the interest this conversation has had. As a white, gay man I am perhaps among the most privileged groups within the queer community. But nevertheless it's been a challenge, a difficult process and a long journey for me.
I want to talk about the optimism and the life that this journey has given me and I think the first thing that I'd love to talk about is how coming out and realizing who I was and living who I was allowed me to find my vocation. Doing so has allowed me to find my faith in a very deep and profound way – something that’s been echoed by a lot of speakers this evening.
I think coming out forces you to confront a set of expectations that you had and those around you had. All the things that you expected from your life are thrown out of a window: not getting married, having children etc (I thought at the time). But wise people around me suggested that this wasn’t actually the case. Nevertheless I did have to re-think my future as scary and terrifying as the may seem.
I had a wonderful but very conventional Catholic upbringing: baptised as a baby, my dad’s Catholic and my mum’s Anglican, but I was brought up in the Church, Catholic primary school and Catholic Secondary school. Throughout all of these, there weren’t really any people who were openly gay, or any cultural touch points for me.
As a result I didn’t come out until I was 19 – which was probably a good thing for me. Coming out in a culturally homogeneous Catholic community may have been a really challenging thing to do as a young teenager. At university I entered a a new Catholic context that was a bit more supportive, with Catholic lay leaders and priests around me. That meant what I had what I saw as a catastrophic life crisis, there were people that I could talk to and help me through the emotional carnage. I feel I was really very lucky.
Being thrown into the periphery (to use Pope Francis’s language) was an amazingly formative experience. It was an experience that allowed me to look at the Church, its injustices and my faith in a radically new way. I wasn’t just inheriting the catechism as a young Catholic – I was now having to really understand and having to defend and see what was going on in a profound way. That’s why being on this ‘periphery’ really helped me find my faith and to really value my faith. This had been my lodestar throughout my entire life – and it may not have been as precious to me, as it is now, if I hadn’t found myself on this ‘periphery’.
In terms of vocation, recognising my otherness, my ‘outsider-ness’ and the injustice that I was now surrounded with (that I was only just recognising), all of this allowed me to see the world in a radically different way and helped me to find the bonds of solidarity that I don’t think I would have seen otherwise. From a social justice perspective it allowed me to understand in a new way the discrimination and prejudice that affects our society and our Church, and be moved to do something about it. My experiences also allowed me to recognise my ability and the fact that I had something to say and something to offer into that space. As a result, I’ve found myself doing amazing things in my career, working where I work now, working in the Church, working at CAFOD, campaigning on climate change, and much more. It’s all part of a bigger piece for me.
I’d like to also touch on the importance of parish life. Having a very supportive parish at home (St Austin’s Stafford) comprised of people who have known me and accepted me all my life meant that when I came out it wasn’t really a big deal. Those people know and accept me for who I am, for which I am so grateful. At university too there were priests and lay leaders who were particularly supportive and there are so many welcoming and open spaces. Other parishes can be more challenging – and I really identify with experiences that other speakers have expressed tonight about the difficulties of being accepted in some parishes.
My boyfriend (of ten years!) isn’t religious and doesn’t come to mass - so it’s almost a ‘don’t ask don’t tell’ situation when I go to a parish. I love my current inner London parish and I love the people who I practice my faith with and really getting to know them well. I love being a eucharistic minister and a reader – and both of these things are profoundly life-giving for me. However, it makes me really nervous to think that it all might be taken away from me if I mentioned who I was, so I just don’t. At the same time, I really agree with other speakers who’ve talked about the importance of openness and honesty, as part of this conversation.
Sometimes it can feel like I am living a double life and living a bit of a lie, which can be profoundly difficult. I feel like on the one hand we need to be open and honest and inclusive but on the other hand I do recognise that there are people like me who do not yet feel able to live that good practice themselves.
In conclusion, living at the intersection between being gay and being Catholic is a bit of a wild ride! I find that my Catholic friends, especially those from diverse cultures, often can’t really compute being gay, but they are always interested in understanding my experience. At the same time, the gay people in my life are always very interested in faith - and I have had countless conversations with them about Church and what it means, what the Pope has said. I find both a really important opportunity for evangelism, upending people’s assumptions about what it means to be gay in the Church.
When I find gay Catholics and people who have moved away from the church but who have an identity as gay who have been brought up in the Church, I do my best to walk along side them and I try to bring the invitation to come back to Church to them.
I love being a gay Catholic – and if there are people listening who are perhaps themselves gay Catholics, and who are struggling to understand how these two things fit, hopefully us speakers collectively have been able to articulate a vision of how good life can be as a gay, or LGBT+, Catholic.
Thank you.
Here are a list of resources of potential support panelists referred to in the Q&A:
Books:
‘Transgender. Christian. Human.’ By Alex Clare-Young
‘The Book of Queer Prophets’ curated by Ruth Hunt
‘Dazzling Darkness’ by Rev Dr Rachel Mann
‘Building a Bridge’ by Fr. James Martin SJ.
Articles:
Online spaces / podcasts / organisations:
Ozanne Foundation (Ecumenical)
Catholic Organisations: