How homosexuality went from being an ‘issue’ to a ‘person’
By Yena K. Hwang
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Photo by Martin Walls
I was eight years old, at Hoo Am Catholic Church in South Korea, when I first witnessed the sharing of the Eucharist. The sunlight was coming through the stained glass windows, making a kaleidoscope of colors to dance on the white lace head coverings and faces of the communion receivers.
It was my first worship experience in a church and I was mesmerized by the mystery of the rituals being carried out before me. I watched with curiosity, as people walked up to the priest and knelt as the priest placed a communion wafer on their tongues. They bowed with their hands together in prayer form and then made the sign of the cross before returning to their seats. I had no clue what was going on, but I felt like I was missing out on something magical and important. I wanted to be part of that special group of people receiving the bread of heaven.
Fast forward eight years… by this time, our family had moved to the United States. We were active members of a Korean PCUSA church. I was sixteen years old and I was excited to receive baptism. I memorized the essential creeds, the Ten Commandments, and whatever else was required to receive baptism, with excitement. Finally, I thought, I will taste the bread of heaven.
Communion was a sacred event at my church. Elders served flat wafers or cubed white bread with careful reverence, sharing the sacrament with the baptized and confirmed, with those who were truly penitent in heart, and with those who were deemed worthy. As if to enhance the solemnity and importance of the act, the church celebrated communion only on special occasions like Easter and Christmas.
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As I received the communion elements—bread from heaven, cup of the new covenant—I suddenly saw my friend for what she was: a child of God, whose identity included both a call to ministry by God and a sexuality that brought her into committed relationship
with a loving partner and woman.
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So, imagine my disappointment, when I finally tasted one of those wafers. It tasted like cardboard. More importantly, I did not feel anything. I did not see angels, hear heavenly music, or feel the irruption of the Holy Ghost, snatching my body away to make me more holy. Good thing our church celebrated communion only three to four times a year.
Fast forward fourteen years… I was thirty years old, going back to graduate school for a Master of Arts in Marriage and Family Therapy (MAMFT) at Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary in Kentucky. During the orientation weekend, I met a young woman who was entering the Master of Divinity (M. Div.) program. During the various (and dreaded) icebreaker activities, the two of us were paired so that we could get to know each other. We shared where we had lived prior to coming to Louisville, what schools we attended, and our family backgrounds. I noticed a gold band on her left hand ring finger and asked, “So, are you married?” She had been very articulate up to this point, but she began to stumble over her words. “Well, no…but I have someone…” She became visibly flustered and I felt her discomfort and we just left it at that.
The next day, she came up to me and explained the reason behind her difficulties with my question. She said she was gay and she wore a wedding band because she had been with her partner for 10 years and they were as committed to each other as any other married couples. She had hesitated to share her relationship status with me, not knowing if I was a “friend” or a “foe,” not knowing where I stood on the “issue.” I don’t recall what I said in response, but I do remember feeling confused.
I had been living under a rock, insulated by a Korean-American community that did not want to deal with issues related to homosexuality. Homosexuality was not an issue that needed to be studied or discussed, because “the Bible is clear on this subject,” period. Even as a Master of Divinity student at Princeton Seminary, I did not know what to make of the issue. There were diverse theological perspectives on campus, as with anything else. My senior year, the faculty of Princeton Seminary had published a book titled, Homosexuality and Christian Community. I thought I would get a clear answer through that book. I didn’t. As this was not a pressing matter for me personally, I didn’t give it much more thought… until I encountered my new friend at Louisville Seminary. All of sudden, this became an important issue that I needed to figure out. I needed to know what to make of this new friend, who loved the Lord, loved the church, and loved the people of God and was going to spend her life sharing that love through her ministry—and with her partner, a woman.
There was much going on those early weeks of my first semester at Louisville Seminary. The reason for the recent resignation of the President of LPTS was revealed: sexual misconduct and abuse. Then they announced the resignation of the Director of MAMFT, a week before classes were to begin. She had been one of the victims. These were disturbing news. The pain was palpable on campus. Although I was new to the school, I also shared the sting and pain of betrayal. And on top of all that, I was confused about what was the right Biblical understanding of homosexuality. So, I sought comfort and solace through chapel services.
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I pray that the power of the Holy Spirit, which transforms those earthly elements into heavenly elements, will transform us from secular beings into holy beings, worthy to be called
ambassadors for Christ, heirs with Christ, as beloved children of God.
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It was still in the first month of the academic year. It was a Communion Friday. I don’t know who led the worship or who preached that day. I just remember sitting in the pews looking around at those who had gathered to worship. There were students, professors, faculty members, supporting staff members, grounds keepers—a fairly diverse group of people, all gathered for worship and communion. Muffled sounds of people walking down the aisle toward the communion table caught my attention. Then the faces of the people caught my attention. One of them was my new friend. And then I knew.
As I received the communion elements—bread from heaven, cup of the new covenant—I suddenly saw my friend for what she was: a child of God, whose identity included both a call to ministry by God and a sexuality that brought her into committed relationship with a loving partner and woman. Before, homosexuality had been an “issue,” an abstraction debated and parsed, or simply ignored. Now, homosexuality was a person. As we ate of the same bread and drank of the same cup, I felt the presence of God and I felt the presence of this friend; everything else just fell away.
We are all children of God. We are all broken people who have experienced God’s grace and mercy. We are people made whole by Jesus’ body, broken for us, Jesus’ blood, spilled for us. It was through that communion service, that I heard the voice of God saying, we are loved by God, all of us, equally. There was no distinction between the highly educated professor and the first year student, no distinction between who was straight and who was gay… In God’s eyes, we are all precious beloved children PERIOD.
There was no confusion. There was no doubt. It was a transformative moment.
Jesus commanded us to have table fellowship in remembrance of him—his teachings, his vision, his mission, his heart for all people, his pursuit of justice and truth. For so many years, I was going through the motions of communion, without truly experiencing it. Communion had become a ritualistic practice, void of the transformative power until that day. I repented. I went and sought out my friend and thanked her for her courage to speak honestly with me. I cannot forget what that moment of clarity felt like for me. My eyes, ears, and heart opened up to receive God’s truth, in broken pieces of bread dipped in wine. Since then, I have not forgotten the transformative power in the act of breaking bread and sharing the cup.
Every time I participate in communion, whether it is at the local congregation or at the presbytery or at a retreat, I pray that the Words of Institution, the prayers, and the elements of bread and wine will do their mysterious work… that the power of the Holy Spirit that transforms those earthly elements into heavenly elements will transform us from secular beings into holy beings, worthy to be called ambassadors for Christ, heirs with Christ, as beloved children of God.
If you would like to learn how to become a welcoming congregation, Unbound is pleased to share these resources with you:
- “Believe Out Loud: How To Be Welcoming” video
- Building An Inclusive Church Training Event
- Becoming a More Light Presbyterian Congregation
- Covenant Network Congregations, PC(USA)
- Open and Affirming through the UCC Coalition of LGBT Concerns
Yena Hwang is a clergy member of National Capital Presbytery and recently served the presbytery as moderator. She is also a Licensed Graduate Marriage and Family Therapist in Maryland. She received her M.Div. from Princeton Theological Seminary and went on to serve a congregation in Dallas, TX. She studied at Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary to receive an MA in Marriage and Family Therapy, where she was able to integrate the spiritual and theological world to the world of behavioral science.
Banner photo by Zsuzsanna Kilian.
Links,
I give thanks to God for Rev. Yena Hwang’s reflection. I appreciate her open heart and her candor. I will look at the experience of communion differently because of her insights and this reflection. My hope and prayer is that all of us may be transformed as we gather around God’s table at Christ’s invitation with no one left out. A place at the table for all.
First of all, I have to say that I truly appreciate the gentle and personal nature that Yena shares her experience of communion and her own journey of transformation on the meaning of communion. Being a Korean-American woman myself and a daughter of immigrants, I am familiar with two things: 1) what it is like to feel accepted, normal, and appreciated for who God created me to be as I grew up in a Korean Presbyterian church. It was a safe place for me to be in a city that was predominantly white; 2) what it is like to be stared at, misunderstood, discriminated, and ostracized for who God created me to be. As immigrants, my parents had to endure so much.
Yena reminds us that at Christ’s table, it is a place where we all should be reminded of how special and welcomed we are for who we are. Yena reminds us that at Christ’s table, it is a place where we all should be convicted, reminded, and challenged to ensure that all are welcomed to the table. And if not, how is God calling us to participate in making that happen?
How is God calling you? What are ways of hospitality and welcoming the other that you can share?
I will never forget the day.
It was my first time at the Cathedral of Hope – an aptly named place. With 52,000 world wide constituents and 4,000 local covenant members, it is the largest LGBT-welcoming congregation on the planet.
Their worship was very similar to many Episcopal churches I had visited. Quite a bit different from my familiar Presbyterianism. It came with smells and bells and ribbons and vestments an orchestra and what felt like a thousand smiling faces.
As a stressed out, closeted gay man, trying to live faithfully in another church tradition, I noticed the smiling faces. The wedding rings on fingers. The rainbow in the stained glass. The kids. The tolling bells. But, mostly, it was the smiling faces contrasting against my high-strung, anxious, angst-ridden fear. It was the smiling faces.
The worship was good. And we came to the table (we Presbyterians don’t call it an altar, for the sacrificing is over and done). And the lay ministers – at least a dozen of them – swarmed onto the chancel preparing the elements in their rhythmic ritual. They took the elements to the floor of the sanctuary and people began filing up to them.
I looked up.
Look, there…a gay couple taking communion, their arms wrapped around each other in an embrace. The priest placed a wafer on their tongues.
Look, there…two lesbian women, their inside hands holding each other, their outside hands resting on the shoulder of their daughter. The priest placed a wafer on their tongues.
Look, there…a young man holding another young man’s hand, and two who looked like his parents standing behind. The priest placed a wafer on their tongues.
Here they were. Families. Showing love and affection. Sharing the bread and the cup. Living life. Smiling.
It brought angst-ridden, stressed-out, tired-of-hiding me to tears. Tears I could barely see through to make my way towards the chancel where I took the wafer on my tongue…alone. That is where I encountered a priest who reached out his hand, wrapped it around my shoulder, prayed a prayer and stood with me. And smiled.
I left the Cathedral of Hope that day. Hopeful. Smiling.
On the drive home, I wondered how I had missed it for so long. So many times I had shared that meal. So many times I had eaten that bread and sipped from that cup.
Smiling.
Yena offers a powerful and personal testimony of the transformative power of the Holy Spirit in this vulnerable reflection. She offers an excellent reminder that the “issue” of sexuality is not just a political or ecclesiastical topic for wrangling, but it is the real lives of real children of God.
What is most striking in this reflection was the contrast of two of the Eucharistic experiences Yena detailed. One event shared on limited occasions with those deemed “worthy” and the other of a diverse group of people who gathered to receive communion on a weekly basis. It is interesting to note in which of these experiences a transformational encounter with the Triune God took place. Grace freely offered to all, not because we are worthy, but because Christ invites us to be transformed at his table.
This story shows how worshiping and receiving communion with people who are different from us can have a powerful effect on our daily lives. When Rev. Yena K. Hwang had a transformative experience of the Eucharist, she was moved to seek out and thank her friend, someone she had initially struggled to understand. I think that our theologies of the Eucharist and Baptism have much to offer as we work toward full inclusion and affirmation of people of all sexual orientations and gender identities in the church.
Rev. Hwang,
What an amazing story of the power of Christ and Christ’s love! As first and foremost a Christian – but also as a gay man from Kentucky – there are so many ways in which I can relate to both you and your friend: I know all too well from past experiences and those of some of my friends what it’s like to search for Biblical answers to questions about sexual orientation and gender identity; I also know what it’s like to search for the courage to come out to friends and loved ones. While my own coming out story and it’s relation to my fait is complex, I too had my own revelations of God’s truth. I wish that my “ah ha” moment was as clear as Rev. Hwang’s, but it is not. What is clear to me, however, is that somewhere along the way I realized what God already knew: that I am who I am for a reason and that God has exciting plans for me. I know all too well that for many people being oneself is not easy, but also that at God’s table is a spot for all – Lesbian, Gay, Bi, Transgender, Straight, etc. My faith is deeper today because of this journey and I hope that no matter what exactly lies ahead for me, I can help others arrive at their own “ah ha” moment and show them the love and grace God has to offer.
Thank you for sharing this; it is truly moving!
David
I am moved by all the powerful stories and thoughts being shared here. I want to thank each respondent for giving us (and these are gifts) what can only be described as vulnerable, insightful windows into God’s love for us at God’s table, destabilizing social constructions that attempt to other-ize and determine who is “in” and who is “out” – pulling us beyond binaries into the queer places of identity where we are Christian, Korean, American, heterosexual, homosexual, male, female, transgender, and… children of God. I am reminded of a closing worship service for the LGBTQQI and allies student organization at Princeton Theological Seminary. The new co-moderators were so enthused that they accidentally knocked over the Communion cup, spilling grape juice everywhere. Instead of being an awkward moment, it was a sudden moment of revelation: Jesus was going EVERYWHERE, touching everyone. Nothing was excluded. What cups do we establish in our lives and in our faith to contain and limit the Spirit, Jesus, God’s love? When those cups tip and spill over, as they inevitably do, will we freak out and try to contain the breach, or will we become witnesses to an ever-expanding reach of God, an ever-growing community that tolerates no cup, no human-made barrier?
I am grateful for all the comments and responses to this article. It seems like such a simple concept: be open to the workings of the Spirit, so that we can be moved and transformed, so that we can be renewed to do God’s work. However, we find ourselves in situations where it is not at all easy to actually live into this simple concept of being open to God’s ways – radically welcoming, utterly inclusive, always grace filled, and completely different from our ways. I feel blessed to have a community that reminds me of this importance of being open to God and being open to new things God is doing all around us, through us, in spite of us. I feel blessed to have a place where we can encourage this kind of vulnerable conversations to take place, a place where we can practice God’s openness. Again, thank you for your responses. May God continue to nudge us to find extraordinary grace in ordinary practices of our faith.
“Then I knew,” Yena writes. Such knowing doesn’t come very frequently. Such knowing comes only when one is open to the Spirit who is “all knowing.”
To be free, we unfortunately spend so much energy unlearning what we were made to learn in our growing up years.
To be whole, we unfortunately spend so much energy doing away with the walls that we have constructed inside and outside ourselves in our growing up years in the name of ‘decency,’ ‘propriety,’ and ‘ethical living.’
To be safe, we create social distances from those who are considered ‘outsiders.’
Yena invites me to the domain of the Spirit.
In the domain of the Spirit, God’s blessing is indeed shared in common.
In the domain of the Spirit, God’s blessing is indeed free.
In the domain of the Spirit, we are indeed free, safe, and connected.
In the domain of the Spirit, fear loses its power.
Thank you for your courage.