Garrett Seminary launches digital resource library for churches

There’s a stereotype about rural churches — that folks who worship there aren’t open to new perspectives, that they won’t engage diverse theologies or biblical scholarship. Anyone who’s lived and worked in those communities knows this simply isn’t true. 

Sure, there may be challenges in translating materials to address those churches’ particular needs and lived experiences, but that’s true of any worshiping community. And it’s true that those communities may have fewer queer folks, that their congregation may be whiter, but people still engage in the same discernment about how to best love their neighbors and live a virtuous life; questions raised by theologians who labor on the margins are also ones they’re asking. 

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What is true is that rural congregations are significantly less likely to be exposed to a wide range of theological resources. Given their typically smaller budgets, they’re less likely to bring in a subject-matter expert, or to purchase often-pricey Christian education curriculums. As a result, many churches don’t feature diverse perspectives, but that’s often a function of access, not interest. To change the religious landscape, we must broaden the theological waters.

For the past five years, I’ve lived in coastal Maine and have brought queer theology sermons and trainings into more than two dozen churches across the state. I’m on the board of OUTMaine, the largest service provider for queer youth in the state, and we frequently receive requests from churches for someone to preach, guide Bible studies, and answer basic questions about LGBTQIA+ people. Many of these congregations are in towns with less than 1,000 people, but a hunger to know more and do better is not determined by a community’s population. From fishing villages on the Canadian border to industrial rust belt towns that dot the state’s interior, I’ve brought unabashedly progressive queer theology — delivered in a spirit of love and understanding — and watched communities wrestle with these truths.

One representative congregation invited me to lead Bible studies as they discerned whether to become an open and affirming congregation; the community was evenly split. Many of the folks who struggled with this choice did so because they believed the Bible expressly forbade homosexuality and expansive gender identities. 

I led two Bible studies: The first engaged so-called “texts of terror,” offering different interpretations for those habitually misunderstood passages. The second offered a queer reading of the Joseph text, inviting congregants to experience how queer people are present in the Bible and ways LGBTQIA+ people have found ourselves in its pages. 

Our conversation was rich; tender reflections from queer congregants swirled alongside honest confessions from people who still struggled to move beyond the theologies they’d long held. But we held each other together in dialogue, opening space for the Holy Spirit to move through our midst. Last fall, the seeds we planted blossomed: The congregation voted unanimously to become an open and affirming church.

I share this anecdote not because this community is unique but because they are typical. Many rural churches contain myriad perspectives, and a palpable yearning for ways to know God that knit love across difference. Cis heterosexual elders want better ways to understand and interact with queer grandchildren. People are hungry to move beyond the polarization and alienation that afflict public conversation.

But to nurture growth in ways that are honest, compassionate, and wise instead of ones that are rooted in shame, we need different stories — we must bring the revolutionary biblical scholarship that liberated my own moral imagination into forms that are accessible to laypeople. And what is somewhat unique about the congregations I serve is that they have ready access to an experienced queer theologian and facilitator who happens to live nearby, and who will work for a fraction of my normal speaking fee because I believe in this ministry. That’s not a service many churches can expect.

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That’s why I’m so excited about Garrett Seminary’s new online platform, The Garrett Collective. A digital library of free and low-cost theological resources, the Collective offers videos, prayers, liturgies, Bible studies, and more, created by dozens of ministers, scholars, and subject-matter experts. The resources are housed in a beautiful, Netflix-style display and can be downloaded onto a device so people can access them offline — especially useful in rural parts of the U.S. where internet can be limited. More than just static resources, the Collective also has classes and cohorts where people can study and engage these materials alongside other Christians. 

As Garrett’s Director of Communications, I’ve had a front-row seat to watch the incredible passion our development team has poured into this platform and even contributed a few resources of my own. It’s a stunning gift, one that holds the potential to bridge the gap between the theological academy and the kinds of communities I serve.

So many panicked words have been written and spoken about rural Christianity, especially from progressive clergy and denominations who lament the ways our national politics have produced poisonous theologies, but who often don’t have relationships with rural churches. I’m under no delusion that a new online platform will magically mend our cultural fractures, nor that every church who might benefit will engage more liberative theology. But for the kinds of churches I’m describing —ones for whom access is a higher barrier than ideology — better theological tools can spark meaningful conversation that leads to change. And it’s a gift to rural clergy, who often shoulder incredible demands on their time and energy, with far fewer resources than their peers enjoy. 

When all of us come together, we can better nurture people who are often treated as an afterthought or punchline, but who deserve the same robust theologies that helped other folks expand how we think about God and neighbor. The good news is meant for all.