Death threats and toxic theology - How does church handle hate crime?
How should churches deal with situations in which one member commits a serious offence against another?
PRIDE MONTH is over, but the struggle for equity and justice for all LGBTQIA+ people everywhere continues, particularly in faith communities.
This powerful testimony from an Open Table member who experienced threats from a member of another church based on negative beliefs about sexuality shows that we still have much to do to make our faith communities safer spaces for all of us, without exception.
In June 2020 I received a text message from someone I knew well, who is a Christian and member of the same church denomination as myself. They offered a challenge to my ‘homosexual ideas’, which they claimed were ‘evil’ and ‘ungodly’. They accused me of turning my local church ‘against God and what is right’.
I thought little of it; after all, although this individual had ‘previous form’ for anti-LGBT outbursts, they usually apologised a few days later. I had become accustomed to years of this cycle of behaviour. It could often be upsetting, but it was generally predictable.
They would often phone me and indulge in conspiracy theories, invariably wandering off into the realm of ‘demons’, which left me very uncomfortable. They would peddle the hackneyed anti-LGBT arguments, citing Sodom and Gomorrah or the opening chapter of St Paul’s epistle to the Romans - and I would give the usual answers. They saw me as uniquely responsible for the ‘wickedly liberal’ theology of my own local church, (and, sometimes, the whole of our denomination) which I found moderately amusing.
What was unusual on this occasion was that the initial message was followed up by something altogether more sinister. In a string of texts, threats were made to my life, and to those of my partner and children. I was told that a ‘final solution’ was necessary, since I was ‘a demon-possessed homosexual’. My partner and my children, then aged 5 and 7, apparently also deserved to die. The abuser stated that they ‘know where [we] live’ and would ‘finish this once and for all’. These messages were also sent to my partner.
Until then, I had tended, perhaps unwisely, to tolerate the abuse. My partner, however, has a lower tolerance threshold for bigotry. Since the situation had escalated to the point of explicit, chilling threats, it was time to act. It was difficult to know whether these messages represented merely a homophobic rant or whether there was a genuine intention to kill us. Either way, things had become unacceptable.
At this time we discovered that someone else we knew had been receiving similar messages from the same person; although their threats dealt more graphically, with detailed descriptions of how killings would be carried out. We spoke together and agreed to contact the police.
I didn’t know what to expect from the police: how seriously would they take a few text messages? I had heard that the police are not always as supportive of victims of hate crime as they should be. However this ongoing abuse had crossed a line and our persecutor needed to know that I was no longer tolerating it.
Within a few hours, police officers arrived at our house, took statements and gathered what evidence they needed. They also attended the home of my friend, who had received similar abuse. Within days, an arrest was made. The individual concerned didn’t help themselves by quoting the old ‘supporting theological arguments’.
Within a couple of weeks, we received notification that the Crown Prosecution Service (CPS) was going ahead and charging on two counts. The first related to the threats, and the second to hate crime on the basis of sexual orientation and religious belief. I found it reassuring that my belief that LGBT+ people should be affirmed by the church could be protected under the law.
I felt both understood and supported by the police and the CPS. Both reinforced the idea that the offences were serious, and that I had done the right thing in coming forward. The police also put us into contact with Victim Support Services, which helped us to deal with the shock of receiving such horrific messages. An officer from the Witness Care Unit, (a part of the CPS that supports all witnesses), was very understanding about my feelings of uncertainty about giving evidence in open court. Their support and guidance were influential in convincing me that I needed to do so. My friend, who had also received threats, did not feel they could face that ordeal. I felt a duty to everyone who may have received hateful threats to make a stand. It would have been irresponsible of me not to give evidence simply because I wouldn’t enjoy the experience.
A trial date was set for early April 2021, which I was advised by the Witness Care Unit was ‘quite quick’. This was eventually pushed back to later April for pandemic-related reasons.
While I felt supported by the police and CPS, the picture was more complicated with the church. Part of this was due to the suspension of ‘normal’ church life, due to the pandemic, and a vacancy in a senior leadership position. I advised key people in the church of the situation. They seemed to take it on board in a matter-of-fact kind of way. I shared more with some people I knew well in the church, who are either LGBT+ themselves or committed allies, and they were concerned and sympathetic. Kieran from the Open Table Network offered to help in whatever way he could.
To be honest, though, at a time when antagonism towards LGBT+ people is increasingly becoming normalised, what I needed most was for church members to affirm that making death threats to fellow Christians is unacceptable. It’s reassuring when people say ‘this is not OK’. Even more so when Christians stand up to religious homophobia with a simple ‘not in my name’.
Our abuser is part of the same denomination (in a church a fair distance away both geographically and theologically). I discovered that they were getting support from others in their church. A quick glance at social media showed that they were claiming persecution and victimisation for ‘standing up for God’s word’. They were, so they said, being denied ‘free speech’ (‘Hate speech’ as the law calls it).
It was hard to read sympathetic and supportive comments from fellow church members, including ‘you’ve done nothing wrong’. One person went so far as to say ‘God will reward you for this’. Perhaps these people didn’t know the precise nature of the abuse; but it was still concerning that these Christians were participating in overtly homophobic rhetoric.
Our denomination has no official standpoint on same-sex relationships. It has opted instead to allow local churches to determine their own position. But in cases where a ‘position’ has developed into pernicious persecution, the denomination has no mechanism of rebuke. This felt to me, and still feels, an abandonment of responsibility and a dereliction of Christian duty. By taking no official stand, my denomination permits the emergence of a ‘theology of abuse’. By insisting that opposing views should be ‘respected’, it risks legitimising theology which dehumanises us.
My case eventually came to court, but I was not called to give evidence. Upon hearing that I had arrived, the abuser changed their pleas to guilty on both counts. They had clearly not expected me to turn up. Sentencing was adjourned for three weeks to allow time for a report from the Probation Service to inform the decision. I then received notification advising me that the individual had been given a custodial sentence of 8 weeks, suspended for 12 months, and a fine of £425.
Pleading guilty does not necessarily amount to an acknowledgement of wrongdoing. Shortly afterwards I was made aware, by friends, that my abuser’s social media posts were not repentant. It shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did.
I won’t comment on the appropriateness of the sentence. Just the fact that we got a conviction gave me some confidence that ‘the system’ works. I felt vindicated. I hoped this person, who previously felt entitled to make threats against LGBT+ people, (all ‘in Christian love’) would think twice before again expressing their hatred.
For me, the court verdict is not the end of the matter. The court was able to prevent this person contacting me or my partner, or entering the street where we live, for five years. But it is unable to prevent them visiting my local church. It can’t stop this person, who has threatened the lives of myself and my family, taking communion at the same table. It can’t stop homophobia in churches.
I’d like to thank everyone who has helped us through a difficult year. I have felt supported by most of those who matter: the Police, the CPS, the Witness Care Team, Victim Support, the Open Table Network and, indeed, some members of my local church. On the basis of this experience, I would suggest that anyone who is the victim of a hate crime should report it. I tolerated the inexcusable for too long. But now my abuser knows that the law won’t tolerate homophobic threats. I haven’t changed the world, but I no longer get unwelcome phone calls and messages. My mental well-being has improved as a result. I got help. But not from my denomination.
How should denominations deal with situations in which one member commits a serious offence against another? I don’t know what the answer is. But surely a ‘church line’ should be drawn? Surely things should not be allowed to continue as if nothing had happened?
Yet it appears that, in my denomination, congregations can support homophobic hate crime and go unrebuked. A criminal conviction should mean something!
