What Rosaria Butterfield got wrong (and right) about sexual orientation and ontology

In a recent article on Clear Truth Media, Rosaria Butterfield argues that none of us have LGBT+/queer neighbors because LGBT+ people do not exist. She goes on to explain that God did not intend for anyone to be queer (no one is ontologically a sexual or gender minority); therefore a Christian who concedes to their neighbor being an LGBT+ person is complicit in a lie that will lead them further away from Jesus.

Many (including me) have found some of Butterfield’s writing helpful, including The Gospel Comes with a House Key, where she encourages believers to open the doors to their homes as spaces of radically ordinary hospitality where non-believers might experience the love of Jesus through His people. At the same time, many (including me) have been alarmed by comments from Butterfield about eagerly wanting to throw a brick at a gay Christian who (accurately) described her marriage as a mixed-orientation marriage.* At another time, Butterfield claimed that Christians who identify as gay Christians are not genuinely Christians.**

So, what did Rosaria Butterfield get right (and wrong) in her recent article about sexual orientation and ontology?

First, I think she's right that I am not ontologically gay. Let me explain.

When a person answers the question, "Who am I?" by examining who the person is innately or by design, they're giving the ontological answer. When a person seeks to describe who they are ontologically, they share who they understand God intended them to be fundamentally or essentially (particularly if the person had never been impacted by the Fall).

So I think Butterfield is right: When God first imagined me in a perfect world, He did not intend for me to develop same-sex attraction. He did not intend for me to be gay. I believe that same-sex attraction is a result of the Fall, a brokenness, a temptation.

Second, I agree with Butterfield that we must all repent of sin, resist sinful temptations, and be honest with ourselves (and others) about who we truly are. I agree that we must all submit to Christ, His wisdom, and His authorship of our personhood. Jesus knows each of us better than we do. He knows what's best for us better than we do. I agree that we should not compromise with lust of any kind. Instead, we must vigilantly resist temptation and address roots of temptation to the extent possible on this side of heaven.

Third, I agree with Butterfield that it's not helpful for Christians to think of an LGBT+ neighbor as a fundamentally different kind of person. We don't need special skills to befriend a queer neighbor. We don't need to offer an gay or trans neighbor a different kind of gospel.

On these three, we agree.

Rosaria’s counterproductive advice

But if Christians fully apply Butterfield’s advice and attempt to communicate to their LGBT+ neighbor in subtle (or not so subtle) ways that the neighbor isn't actually LGBT+, believers will end up making it harder for people to experience the love of Jesus. They’ll accomplish the opposite of Butterfield’s goals.

Many of our queer neighbors (Christian or not) believe that they are ontologically gay. They are convinced that God (or the universe) intended for them to be a sexual or gender minority. If Christians spend their time trying to stealthily challenge the self-conception of LGBT+ neighbors they are more likely to have their efforts blow up in their face, and less likely to draw their neighbors to Jesus. Have you ever sat across the table from a well-meaning Christian who thinks they're subtly "planting a seed" but are, in fact, judging and insulting in a ham-fisted manner? How did that feel?

In contrast to Butterfield’s advice, Paul in 1 Corinthians 9:20-22 recommends that we meet people where they’re at, so to speak:

"To the Jews I became like a Jew, to win the Jews. To those under the law I became like one under the law (though I myself am not under the law), so as to win those under the law. To those not having the law I became like one not having the law (though I am not free from God’s law but am under Christ’s law), so as to win those not having the law. To the weak I became weak, to win the weak. I have become all things to all people so that by all possible means I might save some."

Paul isn't suggesting that we take the broken ideas and circumstances of not-yet-Christians and throw it back in their faces to force them to see the poverty of their worldview. Nor does Paul suggest that believers agree with or adopt the false ideas of a surrounding culture. Instead, he urges each of us to be students of the stories and philosophies of our non-Christian neighbors. Paul urges us to respectfully work with the cultural elements that matter to our neighbors and engage with them in intellectually honest ways. 

Paul's advice for a Christian with an LGBT+ non-Christian neighbor might be this: "It makes sense that being queer feels like one of the most central aspects of their personhood. Don't be a jerk. Be hospitable. Respect their requests around labels and names. Be curious about their culture. Notice the ways that the best parts of their worldview are actually echoes of the character of God. Maybe even name those curious similarities. But most importantly, be a genuine friend. Get to know them and let them get to know you. Be honest about your joys and sorrows. Particularly when the seemingly chaotic brokenness and pain of this world burdens you, let them see how Jesus steps in to make sense of the mess. Perhaps next time they're in a mess, they'll invite you (and Jesus) in."

LGBT-identifying Christians exist, too

Finally, I want to point out a peculiar yet glaring assumption Butterfield seems to make: that LGBT-identifying neighbors couldn't possibly be faithful Christians. I'm reminded of her past comments about how Christians who identify as gay are not genuinely Christians, even if those gay Christians are stewarding their sexualities according to historic Christian sexual ethics.

Butterfield seems to miss that there are many ways to use words like "gay." Yes, it can be used ontologically, and many queer people do mean to communicate that they were meant to be gay. But the word "gay" can also be used phenomenologically.

When a person answers that who-am-I question phenomenologically, the person describes themselves based on one’s experience or who they appear to be. For example, when you see a decorative bowl of fruit on a friend's dining room table and think, "Looks like an apple to me," you aren't claiming to know whether or not it's styrofoam on the inside. You're just naming it phenomenologically.

Many same-sex attracted Christians like me who are stewarding our sexualities according to historic sexual ethics don’t believe God intended for us to be gay but use the word "gay" phenomenologically. We're merely noticing that we are attracted to people of the same-sex and labeling our experience using the word most people would use to describe us.

There's even plenty of LGBT+ non-christians who don't want to see themselves as a fundamentally different kind of person and use various sexual identity labels phenomenologically. Scientists, too, reserve questions of ontology for philosophy/theology and instead use narrowly phenomenological definitions of sexual orientation to categorize people of similar experience and study the impact of their shared experiences.

Nevertheless, this leaves those who identify phenomenologically (but not ontologically) as gay Christians in a precarious position. How can something be antithetical to God's intentions yet persist in the lives of faithful Christians? How can enduring brokenness be both contrary to God's design yet impact how we experience and engage in the world in seemingly fundamental ways?

Wrestling with the mystery of our already-but-not-yet-ness is not new to Christians. For centuries, believers have read 2 Corinthians 12, seen that some enduring brokenness plagued even Paul, and resolved to learn from the Lord how He intends to use each of the thorns in our flesh to sanctify us. 

For me, this has looked like praying, "God, if my same-sex attractions endure, how do You want me to steward that persisting brokenness for Your glory and my good? In addition to resisting temptation, are there ways you want to use my story of intermittent faithfulness and failure?"

In response, I choose to identify as a “gay Christian” to testify to Christ’s worthiness. It’s particularly in contrast to my broken sexuality that God’s goodness is brilliantly apparent. Submitting my broken same-sex attractions to God and collaborating with Him to steward my brokenness in redemptive ways has been the greatest source of purpose and joy and community in my life. I cannot tell of the fullness of God’s grace and power in my life without mentioning that I am gay.

Instead of hindering the gospel, identifying (phenomenologically) as gay might be particularly what allows me to start conversation with LGBT+ neighbors about the love of Jesus.

*“The first time Nate Collins met me at a conference and he asked me what it’s like to be in a mixed-orientation marriage, if I’d had a brick in my hand, I would’ve probably thrown it at him…And I really do mean this.”

**“Gay Christianity is a different religion. I’m not standing in the same forest with Greg Johnson and Wes Hill and Nate Collins looking at different angles of the trees, I’m in a different forest altogether.”