In Christ, "there is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female," the Apostle Paul wrote to the Galatians nearly 2,000 years ago. Upon further reflection, might he have added, "neither straight nor gay?"The question is nonsensical, of course, because in his time the concept of "sexual orientation" had yet to be invented.
And yet modern-day anti-gay church activists love to quote the handful of his statements about "unnatural" sexual acts as definitive — indeed, divinely inspired — condemnations of same-sex love.
The same goes for Martin Luther, the father of the Protestant Reformation. Lutheran anti-gay activists routinely, and correctly, point out that Luther had plenty of bad things to say about the scourge of "Sodomites" in 16th century Germany.
Like his role model Paul, Luther was a product of the social prejudices of his time and culture: a time when the concepts of homosexuality as an "orientation" or a "lifestyle" were still unheard of.
But would the man whose break from Roman Catholicism involved a revolutionary rethinking of the role of sexuality in human relationships take such a negative view of homosexuality today? Most probably, given the way his theological mind worked, he would not.
His views of physical sex
A major feature of Luther's split from Catholic thinking involved the celebration of physical sex. In his Catechism — written in 1529, and the Lutheran standard book of religious instruction still in use in the USA today — he held marriage to be a "blessed estate," superior to celibacy.
He elevated "the natural inclination and excitement" that brings two people together in physical attraction to a sacred state.
In the context of the current debate over same-sex love in a number of Christian churches, therefore, the question is well worth posing: What would Luther do — what would he think — were he alive today?
Luther would certainly still find himself at odds with the Catholic Church's rigidity on sexual matters and its intolerance of principled dissent.
For example, the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops, which takes a dim view of what it calls the "homosexual inclination," in March publicly censured theologian Daniel Maguire of Marquette University for venturing the suggestion that Catholic sexual theology might make room for same-sex marriage.
The movement Luther himself spawned presents a more mixed picture. Among the "mainstream" — that is, non-fundamentalist — Protestant churches, only the United Church of Christ maintains an unambiguously pro-gay stance.
In most other denominations, the questions of how to deal with gay marriage, as well as with the ordination of non-celibate gays to the ministry, are bubbling more or less continually on ecclesiastical back burners.
In at least two churches — the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA) and the Episcopal Church USA — those pots have lately threatened to boil over.
In these cases, the issue is not the mere membership of gays in the church, or indeed in the ministry, as long as they remain sexually inactive.
But what happens when a gay minister openly enters into a committed relationship, as did the Rev. Bradley Schmeling of St. John's Lutheran Church in Atlanta and Bishop Gene Robinson of the Episcopal Diocese of New Hampshire?
In February, Schmeling was notified that a disciplinary committee had voted to expel him from the clergy. (On Thursday, he was removed from the denomination's list of approved ministers.)
Also in February, the worldwide Anglican Communion issued what amounted to an ultimatum to the Episcopal Church, threatening negative "consequences" should it consecrate another openly gay bishop.
At stake in both cases is the question not simply of the ordination of gays and lesbians, but also of same-sex marriage: In effect, because these clergy cannot marry in their respective denominations, their openly committed same-sex relationships amount, for their critics, to "living in sin."
Writing for the online magazine Blogcritics in December, Richard Rothstein likened the struggle between pro- and anti-gay factions in the churches to "a Second Protestant Reformation."
He was onto something important.
The New Testament trump card
In the Augsburg Confession of 1530 (a conciliatory statement of faith intended to unite Lutherans with other Protestants), Luther publicly agreed with other reformers of his day that biblical references that depart from New Testament inclusiveness — abstaining from eating pork, for example, or requiring male circumcision — not only can but should be set aside.
A 21st century Luther would surely recognize that the few biblical proscriptions against "sodomy" — shaky in themselves as condemnations of same-sex love and rooted in a worldview vastly different from our own — should not bar the loving union of two gay or lesbian persons.
Equally, a 21st century Luther would affirm the ordination of such persons, as in line with his theology of the "priesthood of all believers."
The American church that bears his name will have an opportunity to revisit the question when its Churchwide Assembly (the ELCA's highest legislative body) convenes Aug. 6-12.
Schmeling may yet get a reprieve, should the church revisit what the disciplinary board itself called "bad policy" regarding sexually active gay pastors. The ELCA has until Aug. 15 to act on his case.
Meanwhile, The Episcopal Church USA has until the end of September to respond to the Anglican Communion's ultimatum.
The American bishops have, so far, roundly repudiated the pressure coming from Canterbury.
The extent of the potential rift remains to be seen.
One thing seems clear, however. In working through these issues in the months to come, Protestants in both American denominations would best begin by asking, "What would Luther do?"
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