Appreciating the Samaritans of today: how LGBT+ people can be the “wounded healers” of the church

The following Sermon was delivered by Susanne Andrea Birke at the rainbow service of the European Forum of LGBT Christian groups in Rome on 12 May, 2018. It formed part of the European Forum’s 37th Annual Conference, which took place 9–13 May. Learn more about the European Forum’s work here.

By Susanne Andrea Birke

I have remembered this parable since my very early days, kindergarten actually. Probably many of you do, too — rightfully so, because it challenges us to look at whom we take care of. In the supposedly safe white German upper middle-class surroundings I grew up in, it was taken metaphorically. Violence was something happening in other places. But reading it today, things look different. Belonging to the rainbow community reminds me that safety can never be taken for granted. Violence, spiritual abuse and trauma are likely to be part of our lives, whether we or our loved ones have been going through it or we read and hear about it. Fortunately, there are Samaritans today too!

I met my Samaritans during my time in Johannesburg at the ILGA conference in 1999. Two friends of mine and I had been attacked in the streets. I did not try to get comfort or support from the Roman Catholic Church. It felt like no place to go to.

Instead we were helped and supported by the South African police, who instantly took us out of danger, by the organisers of the conference, who asked about our wellbeing and how they could help, as well as our hosts who made sure we were safe and doing well. We had lots of caring and supportive people — all of them showing so much more love for their neighbours than those in power in my church ever did for people like us.

People may have hidden stories of violence and discrimination they do not trust me with — precisely because I am part of the church

This was all the more moving since most of these South Africans were black. They came out of a terrible history of violence done to them by white people. But they did not care about my skin colour, nor about me coming from a country where state, companies, army and banks had collaborated with South Africa’s former racist regime. They only cared about our wellbeing. They made sure we were ok and then trusted us to get back to our own lives again, just like the Samaritan in the story.

There are Samaritans in the churches, too. I am deeply grateful for all the people who are working for change. In the Roman Catholic dioceses of Basel, we have an official working group for rainbow pastoral. So, I asked myself, what can I learn from stories like these for our work?

As wounded healers we need to take care of each other and ourselves too

It teaches me to open my eyes to see all the pain, wounds and discrimination, which can have so many faces, to look beyond my own experience to forms of discrimination I have been fortunate enough to have been spared. It teaches me that physical safety and wellbeing and emotional and spiritual wellbeing cannot be separated and are all important. It also teaches me to open my eyes to see the many Samaritans at work, who might not belong to the church or my community, and to tell their stories. Just like Pope Francis did, when he visited a student in France, who was injured defending a gay couple. They can inspire us, so we make sure people are safe and get what they need. And yes, Samaritans can be attacked too.

It also teaches me to trust that those in need of help will get on their feet again, so there is no need for any paternalising pastoral care. Once their wounds are taken care of and they are safe, they can get on with their own life. They will not need me to tell them what is best for them. It also teaches me not to believe I know everything. People may have hidden stories of violence and discrimination they do not trust me with — precisely because I am part of the church.

It also reminds me that as gays, lesbians, bisexuals and trans* people working in rainbow pastoral care, we have become “wounded healers” of sorts. While we are trying to pave a new way, we have to learn to deal with contradictions and ambiguities: acknowledging our own wounds. All women, trans* people and those who do not want to live celibate lives or hide their relationships are completely excluded from decision-making in the Vatican. So, in one way or another, all of us who are Roman Catholic are rejected by our church for being who we are, denied loving partnerships and a fulfilling sexuality. As wounded healers we need to take care of each other and ourselves too. So, we reach out, while dealing with our own pain: an experience I believe that we, as LGBT Christians, share across denominations.

An affirming Roman Catholic church feels like a utopia now, but one we have to insist on

Finally, we have to deal with the differences between us: differences in power and resources; the chance to be heard by those in power, and gain access to their networks. And we need to remember that it could be that they themselves would like to support us, but don’t dare to. Honestly this sometimes feels crazy. But I do believe it is exactly these things, which seem to drive us crazy, that we need to address; to talk about openly in order to find a way to become inclusive.

An affirming Roman Catholic church feels like a utopia now, but one we have to insist on. We all are on our way with our churches, some further ahead, some still with a very long way to go. In a way we are the Samaritans, the Levite and robbers and robbed and wounded, too. Continuing to make our way towards becoming a place where everybody can rest and heal, be clothed and fed, so that we will finally make this world a place of life in fullness for everybody: the promised reign of divine love is here amongst us and yet to come!