For the modern-day Catholic looking for guidance and inspiration, the religious side of the internet offers a plethora of social media accounts to follow. Do you need tips on making time to pray the Rosary? Are you looking for ideas to decorate your home in a way that represents your faith? Do you want to learn more about early church history or better understand the reason behind traditions observed on holy days? Catholic influencers post all of that and more.
At best, social media is a useful tool for building community and furthering education. At worst, it is a wasteland of hostility and aggression by those emboldened by the anonymity of their screens. The truth is, when you’re not face to face with somebody it’s very easy to forget that there is another living, breathing human on the other end, a human created in God’s image. LGBTQ Catholics know this all too well, as we often find ourselves caught in the crosshairs of online vitriol by those who don’t seem to really know us personally at all.
Last autumn, dozens of bishops and other lay delegates gathered in Rome in observance of the Synod on Synodality. The Synod is a three-year assembly set to conclude in 2024, in which Catholics around the world have gathered at both a national and international level to discern its theme “Communion, Participation and Mission.” One of the topics given special attention was how exactly the church might be able to better minister to LGBTQ Catholics.
The fact that the LGBTQ community was even on the table of conversation at all is a huge step forward, as the unique needs of LGBTQ members of the Church tend to be ignored or denied entirely. The call to integrate rather than ostracize is in no small part due to Pope Francis, who famously broke taboo in 2013 when he remarked “If someone is gay and he searches for the Lord and has good will, who am I to judge?” Still, a mere glance into the comment sections on social media reveal everything from anger to disgust. Compassionate tones and cries for mercy are few and far between.
If somebody that is struggling with either their sexuality or their spiritual life reads my comments online, will my words push them closer to or farther away from God?
Although I have thicker skin now than in previous years, my stomach fills with knots when I read what Catholics online have to say. I make the decision to proceed with caution for the sake of my own mental health; one can only read so many comments that compare LGBTQ people to pedophiles or accuse us of being demon-possessed before it’s time to unfollow and look away. I find myself asking the same old question I’ve pondered for years: Does the religion I love so much love me back? Am I even wanted in the pews on Sunday morning? Is there anybody out there who will treat me with Christ’s love, or am I destined for a lifetime of rejection in the very community that raised me?
To be an LGBTQ Catholic is to be fundamentally misperceived all the time. We are misconceived by church leaders and church goers as an invasive threat, rather than members who have existed in the shadows and suffered in silence all along. Simultaneously, we are on the receiving end of pity or even mockery from non-religious peers who simply cannot understand the loyalty we maintain to our Catholic faith. (If only I had a dollar for every time somebody has asked me why I don’t just switch to a more contemporary non-denominational church, as if it were that easy to trade rosary beads and incense for big screens and loudspeakers.)
As we move forward and the emotionally charged debates continue, I would like to challenge all Catholics on the internet who find themselves up in arms over the matter to reflect on the following questions before commenting:
If somebody that is struggling with either their sexuality or their spiritual life reads my comments online, will my words push them closer to or farther away from God? Are my words consistent with my Christian identity? Do I speak with kindness, understanding, and love? Or am I further alienating others in their time of need?
What can the LGBTQ faithful teach their heterosexual peers about encountering Christ while living life on the margins? What can they teach us about pursuing God despite adversity? What can they teach us about carrying a cross?
Last but certainly not least: Regardless of whatever personal opinions I hold regarding homosexuality, am I capable of viewing the LGBTQ person as my brother and sister in Christ, and treating them as such during any interaction we may have both online and offline? If not, what does that say about my own walk with the Lord?
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