By Ilana Newman for The Daily Yonder.
Broadcast version by Eric Galatas for Colorado News Connection for the Public News Service/Daily Yonder Collaboration
A new group in Montezuma County, Colorado, aims to provide an inclusive outdoor space for biking. Queer Byke Brigade, started by Clara Moulton and Kit Jones, was inspired by an LGBTQ+ group ride at Roam Fest, a bike festival for women, marginalized riders, and genderqueer femme people in Sedona, Arizona.
LGBTQ+ culture has historically centered around bars, clubs, and cities. However, there are many LGBTQ+ identifying people in rural areas who love to spend their free time outdoors. But finding community in these rural areas, away from many of the LGBTQ+ hubs of urban centers, can be challenging.
“We were like, how do we get more of this?” Moulton said about Roam Fest. “We wanted the ride part, but we also wanted the social networking, because it’s rural out here and there’s a lot more queer folks than there used to be, but there’s still not a lot of queer folks. So just creating a really inclusive supportive network was a priority.”
Justin Yoder, founder of LGBT Outdoors, a national nonprofit with the mission to get more LGBTQ+ people outside, said that many people don’t understand why queer people can’t go outside and go hiking or do whatever they want.
“I remember one person, in particular, was like, ‘the outdoors is fine for everybody. The squirrels aren’t going to judge you.’ No, the squirrels won’t, but the stories we hear are horrifying and can be scary,” said Yoder.
“Not everyone feels that safety in outdoor spaces,” said Moulton. “Maybe it’s super scary for like a trans masc [masculine] human to go bike by themselves in a rural space. But if they’re doing it with like 15 other queers that are hooting and hollering and being weird, it feels a little bit better and a little safer. And the hope is that one day that won’t be necessary. But until then, creating the opportunity to feel safety in numbers is huge, and also getting others used to seeing people that don’t look like them in outdoor spaces and being ok with it.”
Being LGBTQ+ in rural areas might not be always easy, but there are also more LGBTQ+ people than people may assume. Approximately 3 million LGBTQ+ people live in rural America. While it can sometimes feel unsafe to walk down the street in a rural area as an openly LGBTQ+ person, there are also moments of connection that may not happen in an urban setting.
“There have been times where we would be holding hands and taking our dog for a walk on the shoulder of the highway, and I had thoughts where it was like all it takes is for one really hateful person to just swerve and that’s it. It’s scary to have to constantly have the awareness of whether am I safe here,” said Moulton.
“But also, this community surprises me. There have been times when I’m sitting down with someone very much the political opposite of me, and they don’t bat an eye around queerness. When we get on that human level, they just see me as a human, and I see them, and we can shed the political bullshit. Which is why I like this community.”
Yoder, who grew up in rural Missouri, never thought he would come out when he was living in a conservative, rural area. Now he said that a lot has changed regarding the visibility of LGBTQ+ people. “Having something like LGBT Outdoors can make a huge difference in helping connect to other people that are like them and letting them know they aren’t alone,” he said. “Finding something like LGBT Outdoors could have saved a lot of hurt for me because when I was a kid I didn’t know anyone that was gay. [The outdoors] is a powerful setting that could really change lives and save lives too.”
Historically centered around bars, clubs, and other spaces that often prioritize alcohol and drugs, queer culture has developed a strong attachment to these environments.
“When people are coming out, especially if their friends or family aren’t supportive, the easiest place to get connected is gay bars. A lot of times it’s very easy to go down a slippery slope with alcohol and drugs. There are not a lot of places that are easy to find to get plugged in [to the LGBTQ+ community] outside of that world,” said Yoder.
“Another aspect of what we do is let people know there is a healthier option to this. A lot of times those people have never been involved in the outdoors, but they also know the bar scene isn’t a good scene for them, and they’re willing to give the outdoors a shot.”
Moulton wants Queer Byke Brigade to be a space separated from alcohol, but drinking is also deeply entwined with both outdoor culture and rural areas. Moulton say that it can be hard to find places to host non-biking meetups that aren’t alcohol centered, like the local brewery or cidery. While there are often non-alcoholic choices, Moulton wonders who the group is excluding simply by holding an event at an alcohol-centered location.
“We believe that way more people in the [LGBTQ+] community love the outdoors than what people think,” said Yoder. “A lot of times when they think of gay people, they think of people that love the city and love going to the bars and love going to clubs and are not outdoorsy, but there’s a ton of us that do love the outdoors.”
Other barriers like cost, and time, also stand in the way of getting into outdoor activities.
“Biking is a predominantly white affluent sport,” said Moulton, “It’s rapidly changing, which is amazing, but it could change faster and there’s way more to change.”
Queer Byke Brigade and LGBT Outdoors both try to offer resources like bikes to borrow and places to find more affordable gear so that getting into the outdoors doesn’t feel so hard. “Don’t feel like you have to go for something brand new if you’re going kayaking or camping. Facebook marketplace is a great place to be able to go and try to find used kayaks or used bicycles or used tents,” said Yoder.
“Don’t feel like you have to go with the top-of-the-line to get started. Find friends you can go with and figure out if you like it before dropping a lot of money on it.”
Ilana Newman wrote this article for The Daily Yonder.
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By Sarah Melotte for The Daily Yonder.
Broadcast version by Shanteya Hudson for North Carolina News Service Service for the Public News Service/Daily Yonder Collaboration
Reverend Katie Black had been serving her United Methodist Church (UMC) congregation for less than a year when a member knocked on her office door and told her the congregation had been praying about withdrawing from the denomination.
“I had heard a lot of stories about churches [disaffiliating] in bigger cities and it becoming a very contentious and ugly fight,” Reverend Black said in an interview with the Daily Yonder. “But this is a small town. There is no room for us to be breaking up friendships and families.”
Reverend Black serves a church in Winnfield, Louisiana, a small town in the northern part of the state, about 100 miles southeast of Shreveport. When the topic of leaving the United Methodist denomination first came up during a meeting, Reverend Black could tell things might get too heated. Instead of stoking the flames of the debate, Reverend Black’s congregation stepped back from the fire to pray.
“We set off on a 90 day discernment period.” Reverend Black said.
Disaffiliation, the complex process a congregation may use to leave the United Methodist denomination, is a sore topic. Most churches that recently split from the UMC did so over concerns that the denomination may adopt a more affirming position on homosexuality. But everyone hurts when a church disaffiliates, even the people who voted for it, Reverend Black said. That pain can be particularly acute in a small town, where a church may be more likely to be the center of community activity, she said.
“I kept saying over and over, ‘Do not say something that is going to hurt your witness or that is going to hurt your relationship with your neighbor. Do not say something that you might regret,’ ” Reverend Black said.
When a pastor is ordained into the UMC denomination, they take vows to uphold UMC doctrine, and Reverend Black took those vows very seriously. Though she has always been committed to the UMC, not everyone in her church felt like it was best to stay with the denomination.
On March 12, 2023, when Reverend Black’s church in Louisiana held their vote to request disaffiliation, 60% of the congregation voted to stay with the UMC. Although Reverend Black and the members who voted to stay were relieved at the outcome, she said it was a humble moment.
“That’s a heavy room to be in,” she said. “There certainly wasn’t clapping, there wasn’t celebrating. It was just a very stoic and sobering moment.”
Since 2019, thousands of congregations have disaffiliated from the United Methodist Church (UMC) over predictions that the denomination might become accepting of homosexuality, but many rural churches found hope by offering refuge and reconciliation.
When a church splits in a tight-knit rural community, the pain can ripple throughout the entire town.
Leaving the UMC: Neither Cheap Nor Easy
Congregations in the UMC tradition don’t act independently. They are a part of a large international network of churches that elect representatives to the larger governing body of the denomination.
The church’s structure is set up similarly to that of the American federal government, with a representative democracy and checks and balances to power. The UMC has its own court systems and legislative bodies.
The General Conference is both a meeting that occurs every four years and a comprehensive governing body similar to Congress. Every four years, delegates elected by the annual conferences (geographic regions akin to states) from around the world represent their constituents at the General Conference to update legislation like the Book of Discipline. The Book of Discipline is a document that outlines official UMC policy, administration, organization, and doctrine.
Since 1972, there have been debates at the General Conference about whether the Book of Discipline should allow the ordination of homosexual clergy and the blessing of same-sex marriage. While the Book of Discipline currently states that “self avowed and practicing homosexuals” cannot be ordained or get married in a UMC ceremony, queer people can, however, attend worship, volunteer, and become members of the church.
Fearing what change might be coming in the church’s stance on homosexuality, over 2,000 UMC congregations have disaffiliated since 2019 when delegates at the General Conference voted by a slim majority (53%) to uphold the Traditional Plan, which affirms marriage as being between one man and one woman. But the margin of victory for the Traditional Plan was so slim that many conservative congregations worry it might be voted down at the 2024 General Conference in Charlotte, North Carolina.
In response, the UMC allowed disagreeing churches to preemptively disaffiliate from the denomination. Under paragraph 2553 of the Book of Discipline, the UMC states that “a local church shall have a limited right… to disaffiliate from the denomination for reasons of conscience regarding … the practice of homosexuality.”
To disaffiliate, a congregation has to do a number of things. It’s not a cheap or easy process. The first step is to facilitate a meeting in which every member of the church votes on whether they want to request the UMC to disaffiliate. To send an official request to disaffiliate to the UMC, 65% of the congregation must vote in favor of disaffiliation.
If a two thirds majority is reached during a disaffiliation vote, the congregation has to present other legal documents and proof of insurance to the UMC to officially start the process of disaffiliation. If all is in order, the UMC will allow the congregation to buy back the church property from the denomination.
Since the disaffiliation process began, about 6,240 UMC congregations have left the denomination, according to reports by UM News.
“More of the churches that are disaffiliating tend to be rural,” said Ken Carter, bishop of the Western North Carolina Conference.
Bishop Carter said that disaffiliation skews rural because of the cumulative effects of the pandemic and political polarization. Polarization worsened, for example, when debates flared about whether masks should be worn in church and how the church should respond to racism, if it should respond at all.
Lighthouse Congregations
“We’re a family,” Reverend Julie Wilburn said of her congregation in Boonville, North Carolina. “One of the hallmarks of the United Methodist Church is that, sitting in a pew, you have people who are going to agree to disagree. We’re making a choice to say, yeah, we don’t agree on all things, but that’s OK. We’re Christian. We love Jesus, and because we love Jesus, you are my sister.”
Reverend Wilburn’s church did not vote to request disaffiliation because there wasn’t any interest among the members. Instead, Boonville United Methodist was approved as one of many Lighthouse Congregations, which are churches in North Carolina that are dedicated to remaining UMC.
Lighthouse Congregations serve individuals or groups of people “who have become displaced or churchless because of closing or disaffiliation,” according to the lighthouse statement. People who move from a disaffiliated congregation to a Lighthouse Congregation don’t have to worry they are joining another church that is going to split.
“When they come into our church, they are not going to have to dive into the trauma they experienced,” Reverend Wilburn said. “This is a safe place. But becoming a lighthouse church is more than just about affiliation for us. It’s putting a stake in the ground and saying, this is who we are. We are welcoming.”
Churches that prioritize unity and cohesion are important in rural towns, where other civic and community centers might be limited. Rural congregations can fulfill multiple roles for their community in a single day. In addition to running their preschool during the school year, Boonville UMC hosts a summer literacy program sponsored by the Duke Endowment. And Bishop Carter once pastored a church that was responsible for establishing the first hospice service in their small town.
The disaffiliation debate can affect a church’s ability to service community needs.
“The division of those [rural] churches puts initiatives that are for the common good in jeopardy,” Bishop Carter said.
Rural churches provide services that hold the “community together in a kind of holistic way,” Bishop Carter said.
“I’ve seen rural churches be the community in ways that big churches can’t,” said Reverend Truman Stagg, a UMC minister in Louisiana. ”When I was at my previous church in Jena, Louisiana, a hurricane came through. And for five days, there was no electricity in our town except for our church because one person donated a generator.”
Jena is a town of about 3,300 in LaSalle Parish, Louisiana. It’s only a 45 minute drive down Interstate 84 from Reverend Black’s church in Winnfield.
“We started handing out bags of ice by the side of the road,” Reverend Stagg said. “People would come in to cool off or come in to charge their cell phones. We welcomed people. We didn’t care if they were Black or white, gay or straight, or how they stood on same gender marriage, or any of that. We were just taking care of God’s people.”
Like their urban counterparts, rural churches try to meet the needs of their community any way they can. But Reverend Stagg said there’s more at stake during a conflict in a rural church. The people you cut ties with in a rural church are also likely the people “you’re going to see in the grocery store, or that you’re in the garden club with, or whatever group you belong to,” according to Reverend Stagg.
In a smaller, tight-knit community, those ties carry a lot of weight. Someone who causes conflict in a big city church might have lots of other congregations to choose from. But that’s not always the case in a small town. When a church splits in a rural community, “it’s a loss to the whole town,” Reverend Stagg said.
“We should just stop it and just realize that it’s all about loving people,” He said. “Whoever you are, your sin might be the same as mine or your sin might be different from mine or what I call a sin. You might not. But that’s for God to straighten out.”
Bishop Carter said those ties in rural churches could be strengthened by fully including their LGBTQ members.
“Inclusion of everyone is what contributes to a healthy church,” Bishop Carter said. “I am for a church that includes everyone. As difficult as this [disaffiliation process] is, I do see it as a moment of justice. We’ve done an injustice to our own people who were gay and lesbian and transgender. We’ve singled them out. And that’s changing.”
Sarah Melotte wrote this article for The Daily Yonder.
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