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Former antigay theologian gives 3 reasons why he came to love and accept LGBTQ people

If he can change, anyone can.

via Duke University and Canva/Photos

LGBTQ parishioners and Richard Hays.

Richard Hays, an ordained Methodist minister and the 27-year dean of the Duke Divinity School, passed away on January 4, 2025, from pancreatic cancer. Hays was known for his 1996 book, “The Moral Vision of the New Testament,” which was taught in seminary schools and embraced by conservative evangelical Christians for its repudiation of same-sex marriage. “Homosexuality is one among many tragic signs that we are a broken people, alienated from God’s loving purpose,” Hays asserted in his book.

However, in his final months, Hays dramatically shifted his public views about LGBTQ people and their place in the Christian faith. In September 2024, Hays and his son, Chris, released their book “The Widening of God’s Mercy,” which claims God continually extends his mercy to those who are outcasts in the Bible and that LGBTQ people should be accepted in the church.

“The biblical narratives throughout the Old Testament and the New trace a trajectory of mercy that leads us to welcome sexual minorities no longer as ‘strangers and aliens’ but as ‘fellow citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God,’” the authors wrote, quoting the Book of Ephesians.

Hays’ theological change of heart was controversial in some evangelical circles.


3 Reasons Why Richard Hays believes the church should accept same-sex marriages

In a speech given at CenterPeace Conference 2 months before his death, Hays shared 3 reasons why he believes the church should accept LGBTQ people and that same-sex marriage should be blessed.

1. His experience with LGBTQ Christians

Hays argues that we don’t know what the word of God means until we see it “embodied” by others, and he saw terrific examples of LGBTQ Christians with his students and at a Methodist church in Durham, North Carolina. “I was, of course, encountering students both from my time teaching at Yale and time at Duke students who were of alternative sexualities minority sexualities who were there to learn and to seek to serve in the church they were smart, they were committed, and they were gay and lesbian,” Hays said in his speech.

- YouTubeyoutu.be

2. Reading books

Hays read accounts of life as an LGBTQ Christian by Wesley Hill (“Washed and Waiting”) and “Scripture and Ethics” by Karen R. Keen. “That book led to a series of extended conversations between Karen and me. We would go get coffee and sit and talk for a long time about what both what Karen had written and about her own experience, and it just helped me to move off the place where I had been stuck,” Hays said. He also read theological books that defended traditional Christian marriage and found their positions “unconvincing.”

rainbow book art Photo by Edson Rosas on Unsplash

3. His mother’s death

Hays says that the tipping point was “nearly 5 years ago” when his mother died, and his family wanted to have her funeral at a Methodist church where she was the organist. However, the church was a reconciling congregation accepting of LGBTQ people and flew a rainbow Pride banner out front. Hays’ brother refused to attend a service in the church, so the family decided to move the funeral elsewhere. The family disagreement made Hays wonder why LGBTQ issues, which aren’t central to Christian doctrine, held such a firm grip on believers’ hearts. “I thought, why is this such an issue, you know? This is not about a dispute about the doctrine of the Trinity. It's not about justification by faith,” Hays said. “This is not a matter that stands at the heart of Christian doctrine. Why can't we agree to disagree about something like this? But [his brother] couldn't; he felt it would compromise his principles. So for me, that was the personal tipping point where I said damn, I've got to write something to set the record straight.”

Ultimately, Hays’ dramatic final proclamation was a brave act that will be a big part of his legacy. The man who justified antigay policies in the church later came to believe that LGBTQ people deserve to be accepted and their marriages blessed. Let’s hope his change inspires others to rethink their anti-LGBTQ views and create real change within the church.

woman holding baby Photo by Margaux Bellott on Unsplash

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Joy

What exactly were Mister Rogers' views towards the LGBTQ community?

In many ways, Rogers was well ahead of his time, boldly pushing boundaries in the right directions.

Screenshot via YouTube official trailer, "Won't You Be My Neighbor?"

Mister Rogers consistently shared love and kindness.

A few nights ago, I was sitting in a dark theater — popcorn in hand and tears leaking down my face — embarrassingly bent out of a shape from a movie trailer. Fred Rogers was to blame.

The whimsical theme song to "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood" concluded a short but powerfully nostalgic preview for the new documentary about the soft-spoken star, "Won't You Be My Neighbor?" And yeah, I'd morphed into a teary-eyed hot mess in a matter of seconds.


A question popped into my queer little brain right then, though, and I'm not entirely sure why:

Could Rogers have quietly been a homophobe?

He was a religious dude who grew up in a wildly different era than today. It's a toxic combination that, if we're overgeneralizing and I reflect on my personal experience, tends to produce the worst kinds of homophobes. Had the former Presbyterian minister been as saintly to queers like me as he'd been to seemingly everyone else?

I needed answers! So I went searching.

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History suggests Rogers saw humanity in LGBTQ community.

Photo pulled from YouTube official trailer, "Won't You Be My Neighbor?"


But first, let it be known that I respect Rogers and cherish the mark his big-hearted series left on me and generations past; I certainly wasn't looking for justifications to write a "Mister Rogers" hit piece. In a dark and dreary world, Rogers was a reliably bright light, and I wanted whatever I discovered to confirm my suspicions that the beloved children's advocate was a benevolent force for good — and nothing else.

But one thing I've come to learn as a jaded gay man is that the more flawless a fave of mine seems to be, the harder they fall from the high pedestal I've placed them on once their shortcomings inevitably air. Rogers could very well be the latest victim of my hero-worshipping, I warned myself, opening a Google tab with a preemptive cringe.

Here are the two big things I discovered:

1. Rogers' unfaltering kindness and compassion certainly extended to the LGBTQ community.

Rogers didn't go on the record with specific opinions about LGBTQ people or the matters that affect them (at least from what I could find). But others have reported their experiences with him on the topic. By putting those puzzle pieces together, I would confidently argue that Rogers saw the humanity in LGBTQ people.

He didn't let his faith box him into any certain ideology regarding gay people or their rights. Michael G. Long, who authored the biographical "Peaceful Neighbor: Discovering the Countercultural Mister Rogers," noted Rogers' church in Pittsburgh was and continues to be inclusive to the LGBTQ community. Rogers' widow, Joanne, has said her husband had close friends who were gay, according to Slate.

He also stood strong against outside pressures to use his platform to condemn same-gender relationships, according to Vox's Todd VanDerWerff. Panning homosexuality likely would have been applauded by many parents tuning in, as mainstream America widely embraced homophobic attitudes throughout much of Rogers' reign.

But doing such a thing on-air never felt right to the sweater-loving saint. "He felt everybody was, in some way, a reflection of God," VanDerWerff wrote.


2. But Rogers wasn't immune to the backward views society has held of queer people.

While Rogers hired and befriended Francois Clemmons — a gay man who played Officer Clemmons in the series for 25 years — he didn't necessarily want the show associated with Clemmons' sexual orientation, either.

After word got back to Rogers that Clemmons had been spotted in a gay bar, Rogers asked the actor to avoid such venues, fearful Clemmons' sexuality would bring negative attention to the show.

"It was not a personal statement of how he felt about me," Clemmons assured UU World in 2016, noting the two remained close friends. "It had to do with the economics of the show."

Rogers urged him to stay in the closet, believing Clemmons' sexuality may alienate viewers. He encouraged him to marry a woman, too. Clemmons did — and the relationship ended in divorce a few years later.

It's difficult to reconcile the harmful actions of an icon who lived in a different time.

I wish Rogers had addressed Clemmons' predicament differently, of course. I wish he'd celebrated Clemmons' queerness on screen and off and allowed the actor to sashay his way on stage one trailblazing episode, rainbow flag held high.

But that's the thing: The rainbow flag wasn't associated with LGBTQ pride when Clemmons considered leaving the closet, because LGBTQ pride wasn't even a thing in those pre-Stonewall days (at least in the mainstream). It's not reasonable for me to expect a straight, cisgender man — even a superhero like Rogers — to possess a visionary moral compass and will to champion queer rights half a century before same-gender marriage even became normalized.

Rogers was extraordinary — but he wasn't a social justice clairvoyant.

Mister Rogers' empathetic nature pushed him, and his viewers, to be bold and continually grow in wonderful ways.

It's what has helped enshrine my appreciation for him and his show.

He adored kids and relentlessly fought for their wellbeing. His show regularly took on important and tough topics, like racism, the messiness of divorce, and the importance of inclusion. In many ways, Rogers was well ahead of his time, boldly pushing boundaries in the right directions.

Even on queer issues, Rogers evolved as time went on.


As Long wrote for HuffPost in 2014, Rogers' perspective on Clemmons' sexuality shifted throughout the years:

"Rogers evidently believed Clemmons would tank his career had he come out as a gay man in the late 1960s. But — and this is a crucial point — Rogers later revised his counsel to his younger friend. As countless gays came out more publicly following the Stonewall uprising, Rogers even urged Clemmons to enter into a longterm and stable gay relationship. And he always warmly welcomed Clemmons’ gay friends whenever they visited the television set in Pittsburgh."

I can't speak for Mister Rogers, of course. But he was the one who always told me, "I like you just the way you are."

If he were around today, I'd like to think queer kids would feel right at home in his neighborhood, too.

Watch the trailer (that made me cry) for "Won't You Be My Neightbor?" below:

This article was written by Robbie Couch and originally appeared on 06.07.18


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Women shared how they make sexist men explain their nasty jokes, and it's so satisfying

Making them sit in the discomfort of their own filth is an excellent way to shut that garbage down.

Twitter—Heather Thompson Day/Naomi Savolainen/Chess Pearson

Women share the times they've mad men explain their sexist jokes


Ask almost any woman about a time a man said or did something sexually inappropriate to them, and she'll have a story or four to tell. According to a survey NPR published last year, 81% of women report having experienced sexual harassment, with verbal harassment being the most common. (By contrast, 43% of men report being sexually harassed. Naturally harassment toward anyone of any sex or gender is not okay, but women have been putting up with this ish unchecked for centuries.)

One form of verbal sexual harassment is the all too common sexist or sexual "joke." Ha ha ha, I'm going to say something explicit or demeaning about you and then we can all laugh about how hilarious it is. And I'll probably get away with it because you'll be too embarrassed to say anything, and if you do you'll be accused of being overly sensitive. Ha! Won't that be a hoot?

Perhaps women's familiarity with such episodes is why writer Heather Thompson Day's tweet about asking her male boss to explain a sexual joke to her has had such an enormous response. Day told a story of working at a radio station when she was 19 when her boss, who was in his mid-40s, made an inappropriate comment:

"When I was 19 my boss said I should be a phone sex operator & laughed.

I said 'I don't get it'

He said 'it's a joke'

I said 'explain it to me'

& that's how I learned that once sexual harrassers have to explain why their inappropriate jokes are funny, they stop laughing."

Day's tweet has been shared more than 130K times. Other women also chimed in with similar stories of stopping sexist men in their tracks with their responses to inappropriate jokes.

What's baffling is that some men may think that women actually might respond positively to such jokes. One woman simply responds to random harassers with "Please tell me about the last time this worked on an actual woman for you." Works every time.

Of course, sometimes it takes more than just a no nonsense response to get some dudes to back off.

RELATED: Emma Watson launches hotline that provides women legal advice on workplace sexual harassment

Sometimes it simply takes repeatedly being called out, especially if a man holds a position of power.


As one woman pointed out, it might take the threat of being documented to put an end to it. (Or, you know, actually documenting it can do wonders as well.)

Several men jumped into the conversation with words of support. Because of course plenty of men are bothered by sexist "jokes" as well and understand that genuine jokes can be explained without hesitation or embarrassment.

Men can also use a similar approach when confronting their friends, acquaintances, and colleagues when inappropriate comments or jokes come up.

In fact, Heather Thompson Day said it was her dad who originally instructed her on how to respond to men's inappropriate comments. "Don't laugh," he told her. "Ask them to explain the joke. They will stop making them." Well done, Dad.

It was also pointed out that this approach works with "jokes" that are racist, homophobic, or otherwise harmful as well. When people have to explain their prejudice and bigotry, they usually can't.

And then there's always the next level "You remind me of someone heinous" response, which may be a bit brutal, but is sometimes necessary to drive home the point.

People in marginalized groups have had to put up with hurtful jokes for far too long. Asking people to explain them and making them sit in the discomfort of their own filth is an excellent way to shut that garbage down.

This article originally appeared on 11.13.19







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Identity

Meet 'Fanny and Stella'—two 'sisters' who were actually male lovers in Victorian England

Their story shows that LGBTQ life has always existed.

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Frederick William Park and Thomas Ernest Boulon, aka Fanny and Stella.

Officially, there were no homosexual men in Victorian England.

But that's just because the word "homosexual" didn't enter the language until the mid-to-late 1890s. ("Transsexual" and "transgender" would catch on even later.)

There were, however, men who engaged in sexual and/or romantic relationships with each other. They just didn't identify with the same words we use today; in fact, many of them used a special cant-like, crypto-language called Polari in order to communicate without exposing themselves in public.

While the rest of society was struggling to define and understand them, they went about with their usual business, living their lives regardless of words.

Consider the case of Frederick William Park and Thomas Ernest Boulton — also known as Fanny and Stella, respectively.

The duo met while working as actors around London, where there was a longstanding tradition in the theater of men cross-dressing to perform as women. Fanny and Stella appeared onstage as sisters, but Park and Boulton carried these identities offstage as well, cavorting at parties and in public.

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Fredrick and Thomas pose in an embrace as Fanny and Stella.

Photo via Frederick Spalding/Wikimedia Commons.

Boulton, whose affinity for women's clothing and dreams of femme stardom stretched back to childhood, had a live-in relationship with Lord Arthur Clinton, a naval officer and the son of the 5th duke of Newcastle. Park, on the other hand, was the son of a judge. While it's not clear whether he was involved sexually with either Boulton or Clinton, he was known to have a written correspondence with Clinton in character as Fanny.

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Clinton, Boulton, and Park pose for a photograph.

Clinton, Boulton, and Park. Photo via Frederick Spalding/Wikimedia Commons.

Things started to get messy when Fanny and Stella were arrested outside of London's Royal Strand Theatre on April 28, 1870.

Their alleged crime? "Conspiring and inciting persons to commit an unnatural offense" with the other men they were accompanying. Lord Clinton was also indicted in the scandal but tragically died before it went to trial, possibly by suicide.

When the case reached the court, the prosecution faced a difficult challenge. There was nothing technically illegal about a man wearing a dress in public, and it was impossible to prove someone guilty of "being gay or transgender" when the words didn't yet exist. Thus, the only potentially punishable offense for which Fanny and Stella could be tried was sodomy.

Fanny and Stella stood before a judge in their best evening gowns while doctors presented physical evidence of sodomy. Even the public at the time thought the spectacle was ridiculous, and the two were ultimately acquitted by a jury.

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A drawing depicting both Fredrick and Thomas being arrested in 1870.

Image via The Illustrated Police News/Wikimedia Commons.

In 1880, Victorian values were once again scandalized by the "disgraceful proceedings" of a so-called "drag ball" in Manchester.

The private event on Sept. 24, 1880, at the city's Temperance Hall was organized by a group calling themselves the Pawnbrokers' Assistants' Association. They took numerous precautions to protect the guests' identities, including a bouncer at the door dressed as a nun, black paper on the windows, and a blind accordion player to provide the party's music with plausible deniability.

Somehow, Detective Jerome Caminada, who's believed to be the inspiration for Sherlock Holmes, caught wind of the occasion. The sneaky sleuth reportedly observed "men dressed in the most fantastic fashion, and eight of them in the garb of women."

The police waited until the early hours of the morning to raid the party and ended up arresting nearly 50 people for the crime of "having solicited and incited each other to commit an unnameable offense" — again, because there was nothing explicitly illegal about "being queer and dancing the can-can."

In the end, most of the defendants were forced to pay a bond in a promise to the court for 12 months of "good behavior."

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A cartoon published in the Police News talking about the incident.

Image via Wikimedia Commons.

Five years later, the U.K. passed the Criminal Law Amendment Act of 1885, which made "gross indecency" punishable by prison time.

Member of Parliament Henry Labouchère realized that if they were ever going to bring charges against queer men, trying to legally prove they engaged in sodomy wasn't the answer.

Labouchère came up with the vaguely defined term gross indecency, which basically meant any kind of physical sexual contact between two people with penises that the court deemed "gross." (There was no comparable law against queer women.) The new law was tacked onto an amendment about the age of consent.

Perhaps the most famous charge of gross indecency was against Oscar Wilde, who served two years hard labor in Reading prison, from which he never quite recovered. The British codebreaker and computer science progenitor Alan Turing was also charged with gross indecency in 1952. As punishment, he was chemically castrated; 50 years later, the British government acknowledged the action was grossly inhumane.

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Statues made in honor of mathematician Alan touring and writer Oscar Wilde respectively.

Photos via Lmno/Wikimedia Commons and Sandro Schachner/Wikimedia Commons.

(Left) The Alan Turing memorial in Sackville Park, Manchester, and the Oscar Wilde memorial in Merrion Square, Dublin.

Sex between two consenting British males was finally decriminalized in 1967 — but anti-gay laws stayed on the books in Scotland and Northern Ireland until the 1980s.

It still took until 2010 for the U.K. to secure most other rights for LGBTQ people, including adoption, marriage, and protection from discrimination.

The fight for sexual and gender equality has been long and arduous, but one thing is certain: Queer people have always been here, regardless of what they were called at various times in history.

Naming things is how we give them power. The words we use today make it easier for us to see and to accept identities that have always been present for what they truly are: essential parts of the human experience.

This article originally appeared on 12.21.16

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