Scripture-Based Response Guide on Marriage, Celibacy, and LGBTQ+ Inclusion

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God’s design for human flourishing is broader than traditional marriage. Some are called to celibacy, honored for their devotion, while others are called to covenantal love outside male/female norms. Just as eunuchs were blessed and included by God despite societal exclusion (Isaiah 56:3-5), faithful LGBTQ+ relationships reflect God’s purposes for love and relational flourishing. Spiritual vocation is measured by faithfulness and commitment, not conformity to tradition or social expectations.

Key Scriptures

  1. Matthew 19:11-12 – “Not everyone can receive this saying, but only those to whom it is given. For there are eunuchs who have been so from birth… and there are eunuchs who have made themselves eunuchs for the sake of the kingdom of heaven.”
    • Principle: God honors diverse vocations — marriage, celibacy, and kingdom-focused singleness.
  2. Isaiah 56:3-5 – “Let not the eunuch say, ‘Behold, I am a dry tree.’ For thus says the Lord… I will give them an everlasting name that shall not be cut off.”
    • Principle: God includes those marginalized or excluded by society, offering full blessing and honor.
  3. Galatians 3:28 – “There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is neither male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”
    • Principle: Inclusion and equality in God’s covenant transcend societal distinctions.

Foundational Principles

  • Faithfulness & Love: God values commitment and covenantal love above conformity to social norms.
  • Diversity of Callings: Marriage, celibacy, and nontraditional relational vocations are all valid paths to God’s blessing.
  • Inclusion Over Exclusion: Those historically marginalized (eunuchs, foreigners, LGBTQ+ individuals) are fully honored in God’s kingdom.
  • Civil vs. Religious Marriage: Legal recognition of marriage protects families and affirms love without conflicting with personal faith.

Order in Mind, Life, and Dress

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When I was a freshman at Free Will Baptist Bible College (now Welch College), Dr. Judy Simpson, my English professor, taught me a lesson that has never left me. She graded our essays not only on grammar but on our ability to organize our thoughts around a theme. She often reminded us, “A messy mind means a messy person, and a messy person means someone who will sweep the dirt in a room under a rug rather than into a dustpan.”

At the time, it seemed like a clever way to encourage her students to write carefully. But in truth, she was pointing to something much deeper: the way we think and the way we live are inseparably connected. Disorder in the mind leads to disorder in the life. Carelessness in thought easily becomes carelessness in action. And dishonesty in small things—like sweeping dirt under a rug—can point to a pattern of avoiding the hard work of living with integrity.

Over the years, I have come to see that this same principle extends into many parts of life, even into how a person dresses. Clothes may seem superficial compared to grammar or moral character, but they, too, reflect something about the state of the mind and the heart.

Dressing well does not mean dressing expensively. It does not require the latest fashions or brand names. What it does require is care. A clean shirt, pressed slacks, a modest dress, polished shoes—these simple acts of order and attention say something about who we are. They say, “I value myself. I respect others. I take seriously the life I have been given.”

On the other hand, when someone constantly presents themselves as sloppy, careless, or indifferent in appearance, it often points to an inward disorder as well. Just as an essay with no structure reveals a wandering mind, and a floor with dust swept under the rug reveals a lack of honesty, so a disheveled and neglected appearance may reveal neglect within.

Of course, clothing alone cannot measure the worth of a person. Some of the poorest have dressed with the greatest dignity, while some of the richest dress with the least respect. The point is not wealth, but intention. Our outward dress can be, in its own way, an essay of the soul. Each day, as we put on our clothing, we are also putting forth a statement: This is how I choose to carry myself in the world.

Dr. Simpson was right—discipline of mind shows itself in every corner of life. In our writing, in our homes, in our work, and even in how we dress, order and care reflect the deeper truth of who we are. To live with honesty, integrity, and clarity is to refuse to sweep life’s dust under the rug, but instead to face it, clean it, and carry ourselves with respect.

A Biblical Reflection

Scripture often uses clothing as a symbol for character. Paul writes, “Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience” (Colossians 3:12). Peter exhorts believers not to rely merely on outward adornment but to cultivate “the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight” (1 Peter 3:4).

These words remind us that while outward neatness and order matter, they are ultimately signs of an inward clothing that is far more important. Each morning, as we put on our garments, we are also invited to put on Christ—to let His character cover us and shape us. Clean clothes can reflect a clean conscience, but only when we live truthfully before God.

So whether in our essays, our homes, our dress, or our relationships, the call is the same: to live as people of integrity, who do not hide life’s dust under the rug but who face it with honesty, humility, and the grace of Christ.

A Lesson Beyond Grammar

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When I was a freshman at Free Will Baptist Bible College (now Welch College), Dr. Judy Simpson, my English professor, taught us far more than the rules of grammar and essay structure. She had a favorite saying: “A messy mind means a messy person, and a messy person means someone who will sweep the dirt in a room under a rug rather than into a dustpan.”

At first, it seemed like just a sharp little warning about grammar and organization, but in time I realized she was teaching something much deeper. She meant that how we think shapes who we are. A sloppy mind produces sloppy work, just as a careless person hides problems rather than facing them. To write clearly, you must think clearly. To live honestly, you must deal with the dust and dirt of life directly, not hide it away where no one can see.

Dr. Simpson showed us that grammar was not just about commas and sentence structure—it was about character. Her words remain with me to this day: to be organized in mind and spirit is to live with integrity, responsibility, and truth.

A Prophetic Cry for Our Time

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The world is on fire. Ukraine bleeds. Gaza and Israel groan. Nations rage while leaders cling to power. At home, extremism poisons hearts and fear divides neighbors.

God is not silent. The Spirit still cries out: “What you do to the least of these, you do to Me.”

Every child buried, every refugee displaced, every act of hatred is an offense against the image of God. Violence will not save us. Fear will not protect us. Power will not redeem us.

The church must rise with a prophetic voice:

  • Name the truth—stop pretending peace can be built on injustice.
  • Reject idols of nationalism, violence, and false religion.
  • Live as peacemakers, bridge-builders, and truth-tellers.

The time for silence is over. God’s kingdom is not built by bombs or ballots but by justice, mercy, and love.

Repent. Speak. Act. Hope.

Empathy Is Not a Sin: A Biblical Response

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In recent years, a curious argument has emerged in certain Christian circles: that empathy itself may be a kind of sin. Voices like Allie Beth Stuckey, Joe Rigney, Pete Hegseth, and J. D. Vance warn that empathy can cloud our judgment, compromise our convictions, and even lead us into affirming sin. They argue that empathy must be subordinated to truth and law, lest it pull us away from obedience to God.

But is empathy really the problem? Or have we misunderstood how sin, law, and grace actually work in the Christian life?

Sin, Law, and Grace

The critics of empathy define sin primarily as a failure to obey God’s law. By that reasoning, even sympathizing with someone’s struggle could become sinful if it risks validating their choices. The law becomes the unbending measure of truth, and grace is allowed only insofar as it calls people back to that law.

Yet when we turn to Scripture, we see something richer. The law itself is summed up in love: “Love your neighbor as yourself” (Lev. 19:18, Gal. 5:14). Sin, in biblical terms, is not just rule-breaking—it is hardness of heart, a failure to love God and neighbor. And grace is God’s unmerited love, which meets us in our weakness and transforms us.

Empathy—truly entering another’s joys and sorrows—is not opposed to law or truth. It is one of the ways grace takes on flesh in human life.

Jesus and Empathy

Jesus did not fear empathy. He wept at the tomb of Lazarus (John 11:35). He felt compassion on the crowds who were hungry and lost (Mark 6:34). He told the parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25–37), showing that true obedience to God’s commands is found not in avoiding the broken, but in drawing near with compassion. On the cross, He entered fully into human suffering—the ultimate act of empathy.

When Jesus said to the woman caught in adultery, “Neither do I condemn you. Go and sin no more” (John 8:11), He offered both empathy and truth. Grace came first; the call to transformation followed.

Paul and the Early Church

Paul commands Christians: “Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep” (Rom. 12:15). “Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ” (Gal. 6:2). The law of Christ is not detached from empathy—it is fulfilled through it. Truth matters, yes, but Paul insists it must always be spoken “in love” (Eph. 4:15).

The Prophets and Compassion

The prophets consistently warn against legalism without compassion. Amos thundered: “I hate, I despise your feasts … let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream” (Amos 5:21, 24). Micah sums it up: “Do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God” (Mic. 6:8). Empathy is written into the DNA of biblical justice.

Where the Critics Go Wrong

The modern fear of empathy rests on a half-truth: yes, compassion can be manipulated if it is divorced from discernment. But to brand empathy itself as sinful is to cut the heart out of the gospel. It risks making us like the Pharisees—so protective of the law that we miss the law’s fulfillment in love.

Jesus shows us that empathy is not indulgence; it is incarnation. It is how grace meets sin, how law is fulfilled in love, how truth is spoken in tears as well as words.

Conclusion: The Power of Christlike Empathy

Empathy is not a sin. It is the way of Christ. It is how we live out the command to love our neighbors, how we embody grace, and how we witness to the world that God’s truth is never cold and distant but always warm with compassion.

As Paul reminds us: “The entire law is fulfilled in keeping this one command: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’” (Gal. 5:14). To love as Jesus loved is to enter into the lives of others with empathy, grace, and truth held together.

Pilgrim Reflection: On this winding path of faith, may we resist the temptation to trade compassion for control. Empathy is not our enemy—it is the very heart of Christ beating within us.

Facing Reality with Eyes of Faith

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“Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” — John 8:32

Jesus never asked us to close our eyes to the pain of the world. In fact, in three powerful passages of Scripture, we are reminded again and again that the Christian life is not about painting a rosy picture, but about seeing reality clearly and living faithfully in it.

In Matthew 25:31–46, Jesus speaks of the final judgment, not in terms of appearances or how good we made things look, but in how we treated “the least of these.” The hungry, the stranger, the sick, and the imprisoned—these are the true measures of faith. To ignore them is to ignore Christ himself.

In Matthew 5:38–48, Jesus calls us beyond the easy way of retaliation and into radical love—loving our enemies, praying for those who harm us, choosing mercy instead of comfort. That kind of love is not possible if we keep pretending the world is better than it really is. It demands we see the wounds of the world and dare to respond with compassion.

In Galatians 5:22–23, Paul tells us that the Spirit produces fruit—love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. These fruits grow best not in denial, but in the rich soil of honesty, where we acknowledge suffering and injustice yet choose to live in hope.

To paint a rosy picture is tempting. It shields us from discomfort, spares us from grief, and makes us feel in control. But the gospel calls us to more. Christian hope is not about rose-colored glasses. It is about seeing the world as it truly is—the good, the bad, and the broken—and daring to believe that God is with us in the midst of it.

The rosy picture denies the cross. The real picture sees the cross—and the resurrection beyond it.

A Prayer

God of truth and mercy,
give us courage to see the world as it is,
to face its wounds and its beauty with open eyes.
Keep us from the false comfort of denial,
and fill us instead with the Spirit’s fruit,
so that our love may be real,
our compassion deep,
and our hope unshakable in Christ.
Amen.

A Pilgrim’s Reflection

A pilgrim does not walk only through gardens in bloom. The road winds through shadow and sunlight, across barren places and fertile fields. To follow Christ is to keep walking with eyes open, heart awake, and hands ready to serve—trusting that even in the hardest landscapes, God is leading us toward resurrection.

Truth and Brightness: Telling the Whole Story of America

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Recently, President Trump criticized the Smithsonian museums for putting “too much emphasis” on slavery and not enough on the brightness of America. His words made me pause, because they touch on something I’ve wrestled with for a long time.

When I was in school, we were never really taught the full ugliness of slavery or the genocide of Native Americans. The story was simplified, scrubbed clean, and made to look like progress was always smooth and triumphant. Only later in life did I begin to see how much had been left out.

Just the other night, I watched the film Glory—the story of the first Black regiment to fight in the Civil War. I was amazed and deeply moved. Their courage, sacrifice, and dignity were part of the fight not only to preserve the Union but also to expand the meaning of freedom itself. Yet I realized I had gone most of my life without ever knowing that story.

The truth is this: we cannot hide what we have done. To tell the story of America is to tell both the light and the darkness. If we only celebrate the “bright side,” we are not telling the truth. And without truth, there can be no healing, no reconciliation, and no deeper greatness.

Scripture reminds us:

“You will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.” (John 8:32)

Jesus’ words point us to a freedom that is rooted in honesty. Truth may hurt, but it heals. Truth may unsettle, but it sets us free. If we want America to be strong, hopeful, and bright, we must be willing to face the shadows as well as the light.

A Prayer for Truth and Healing

Lord of light and truth,
We give you thanks for the blessings of this land and for the people who dreamed, built, and sacrificed for freedom.
We confess that our history is scarred with slavery, injustice, and violence against the vulnerable.
Give us courage to face these truths without fear.
Give us wisdom to teach the next generation both the brightness and the brokenness of our past.
And give us hope that, by your grace, honesty will lead us to healing, and truth will make us free.
In the name of Jesus, who is the Truth. Amen.

Pilgrim’s Reflection: The pilgrim’s path is always walked in truth—for only by facing the shadows can we see the fullness of the light.

Being a Bridge Builder in Springfield: Living as Salt, Light, and Temperate Spirit

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In a world that often feels divided and hurried, it can be easy to feel powerless to make a difference in our own communities. Yet, Scripture offers timeless guidance on how each of us can have a meaningful impact. Jesus calls his followers to be the salt of the earth and the light of the world (Matthew 5:13–16). Salt preserves, seasons, and enhances the goodness around it. Light illuminates the darkness, making the way clear and showing what is true. Both metaphors speak to a life lived in active, positive engagement with the world.

Paul adds another layer in Galatians 5, describing temperance—self-control—as a fruit of the Spirit. Temperance is more than personal discipline; it is the spiritual steadiness that allows us to engage others with patience, compassion, and calm. It gives us the ability to stand in the midst of disagreement or tension without being swept away by anger or fear.

Taken together, these teachings offer a blueprint for being a bridge builder in Springfield—or anywhere.

  • Salt: Preserve what is good in our city—our relationships, civic trust, and traditions—while gently addressing what needs healing.
  • Light: Shine clarity, understanding, and hope where confusion, fear, or prejudice may lurk.
  • Temperance: Approach every conversation and interaction with balance and self-control, creating space for others to be heard and understood.

Being a bridge builder is not about taking sides or dominating conversations. It’s about embodying the presence of Christ in the community—someone who can hold space between divides, restore dialogue, and help build a more harmonious city.

In Springfield, we are each called to preserve the good, illuminate the path forward, and practice the Spirit’s fruit of temperance. Every act of kindness, every thoughtful conversation, every effort to understand someone different from ourselves adds a layer of light and salt to the life of our community.

Together, we can make Springfield a place where bridges are built, divisions are softened, and the fruits of the Spirit are visible in daily life.

Becoming a Bridge Builder in Springfield, Missouri

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In a time when America feels increasingly divided, it’s tempting to think that the only choices are to take sides or to withdraw altogether. But I believe there is another path—one that we can walk right here in Springfield, Missouri. It’s the path of being a bridge builder.

At its heart, bridge building means working to connect people who might otherwise remain apart. It’s about creating space for respect, conversation, and common purpose—even when we don’t see eye to eye.

Recently, I came across a pledge that captures this calling beautifully:

“I commit to resist political extremes. I will think humbly, speak respectfully, seek common good, and live as a bridge-builder in my community. I will not let anger or fear decide my politics, but will work for fairness, dignity, and shared humanity.”

Those words resonate with me, because Springfield—like much of our country—is home to people with very different views on politics, faith, culture, and the future. We don’t have to agree on everything, but we do have to live alongside each other.

So how can we live out this pledge right here in Springfield?

1. Practice Respectful Conversations

Whether it’s talking with neighbors in the grocery store, coworkers at lunch, or family around the table, I want to replace “winning arguments” with listening. Respectful conversations open doors that debates slam shut.

2. Support Local Solutions

Springfield faces real challenges—affordable housing, mental health care, food insecurity, and public safety among them. These issues don’t have “conservative” or “liberal” labels; they have human faces. By volunteering at places like Ozarks Food Harvest or The Kitchen, Inc., I can connect with others who may not share my politics but who share my care for the community.

3. Show Up Across Divides

Springfield is blessed with diverse faith communities, civic groups, and service organizations. Attending interfaith events, community forums, or neighborhood meetings means I get to hear voices beyond my usual circle. That’s how bridges are built—by showing up where divides exist.

4. Celebrate Shared Values

At the end of the day, most of us want the same things: safe neighborhoods, opportunities for our kids, fairness, and dignity for all. If I start my conversations with these shared values, we’ll find more common ground than we expect.

5. Model the Spirit of Fairness and Compassion

I can’t change Springfield overnight, but I can change how I show up in it. When I refuse to use insults, when I listen first, when I give people the benefit of the doubt, I am quietly shifting the atmosphere. That may sound small—but small acts of compassion ripple outward.

Springfield has long been called the “Queen City of the Ozarks.” I like to think that means we can also lead by example. What if Springfield became known as a place where people disagree without tearing each other down, where common good comes before political points, where neighbors build bridges instead of walls?

That’s the Springfield I want to be part of. And that’s why I take the pledge—not as a lofty ideal, but as a daily practice, right here where I live.

A Scholarly Reflection on My Theological Progression

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Introduction

Religious identity is never static; it evolves in conversation with scripture, tradition, personal experience, and the cultural context of one’s life. My own pilgrimage has carried me through three distinct traditions—Free Will Baptist, United Methodist, and Episcopal—each contributing to the shaping of my theological outlook. This progression illustrates a movement from a biblicist foundation, to a more holistic engagement of multiple sources of truth, to a sacramental and inclusive vision of the gospel.

Free Will Baptist Foundations

The Free Will Baptist tradition, in which I was nurtured and ordained, emphasizes sola scriptura—Scripture as the sole and sufficient authority in matters of faith. Its theology is Arminian, stressing human free will, the universal offer of salvation, and the possibility of apostasy. The ecclesial life of Free Will Baptists is marked by simplicity of worship, believer’s baptism by immersion, and a memorialist understanding of the Lord’s Supper.

This tradition provided me with a profound respect for Scripture and the importance of personal holiness. Yet its reliance on biblical literalism often curtailed theological inquiry and left limited space for the integration of broader human experience or historical tradition. My decades of ministry within this framework laid a firm foundation but also raised questions that could not be resolved within its narrow interpretive boundaries.

United Methodist Engagement

In 1997, I transitioned into the United Methodist Church, a move that corresponded to my growing appreciation for a more expansive theological method. The Wesleyan Quadrilateral—Scripture, tradition, reason, and experience—presented a more nuanced epistemology of faith. While Scripture retained primacy, Wesley’s framework acknowledged the essential role of history, rational reflection, and lived human experience in discerning God’s truth.

This broadened hermeneutic was complemented by the United Methodist commitment to both personal holiness and social holiness, balancing evangelical piety with social justice concerns. My studies at Memphis Theological Seminary (M.Div., 2003) reinforced this synthesis, exposing me to ecumenical theology and constructive dialogue with modern thought.

The United Methodist Church thus expanded my theological horizon, allowing me to embrace both the authority of Scripture and the legitimacy of critical reflection. Yet ongoing denominational tensions, particularly around human sexuality and inclusivity, left unresolved questions about the nature of the church as a fully hospitable community.

Episcopal Inclusivity and Sacramentality

In 2025, I formally entered the Episcopal Church, drawn by its sacramental depth and theological openness. The Anglican “three-legged stool” of Scripture, tradition, and reason offered a similar balance to Wesley’s Quadrilateral, yet with a stronger ecclesiological and sacramental grounding. Worship rooted in the Book of Common Prayer reoriented my spirituality toward liturgy and the Eucharist as the center of Christian life.

Perhaps most decisive was the Episcopal Church’s commitment to inclusivity, particularly in the ordination and affirmation of LGBT persons. This stance was not merely a social accommodation but a theological conviction: that the image of God is borne equally in all persons, and that baptism confers a full and irrevocable dignity. By embracing such inclusivity, the Episcopal Church embodied what I had come to believe about the wideness of God’s mercy and the radical hospitality of the gospel.

Conclusion

The progression from Free Will Baptist to United Methodist to Episcopal reflects a theological trajectory that mirrors broader currents in modern Christianity: from biblicism, to holistic hermeneutics, to inclusive sacramentality. Each step represented not a rejection of the previous tradition but an expansion of vision:

  • From a faith grounded in Scripture alone,
  • To a faith enriched by reason, tradition, and experience,
  • To a faith embodied in sacrament and radical inclusivity.

My journey underscores the truth that Christian identity is best understood as pilgrimage—ever faithful to the gospel of Jesus Christ, yet always seeking deeper and wider expressions of God’s love in the world.