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What is one to make of all this? Before going further, I should say that, as a celibate gay Christian myself, I am happy to see a book urging Christians to take Christ's commands to love others seriously. If as a result of reading Marin's, more Christians make costly efforts to demonstrate kindness and a humble openness to learn from GLBT persons, I will be glad.
Despite Marin's intentions, though, it's hard not to see his book as embodying some of the more regrettable tendencies of the evangelicalism he's out to elevate. Take this sentence, for example: "[I]f a GLBT person says that God has indicated that it's OK to be gay, the Christian community has to deeply trust and rely on the knowledge that we can never know the end to God's best journey for someone else's life." At one level, a statement like this shows an admirable reticence to pontificate. There's a teachable spirit here and a reluctance to place any hindrance in the way of a person coming to a place of personal faith and repentance. On the other hand, this neatly encapsulates the chief vulnerability of evangelical faith and practice: Just how would God indicate to someone what he thinks is "OK"? And by what criteria—Scripture (but which interpretation)? ecclesiastical tradition (but which one)? the Holy Spirit's inner promptings? charismatic experience?—can one determine whether it's actually God who's indicating it?
Or consider this paragraph, which comes in the middle of Marin's attempt to explain the relevance of Romans 1:18-32 for his project:
Romans 1:18-32 draws on the Christian community's responsibility to learn about gays and lesbians and their firsthand thoughts, feelings and religious belief systems to translate an already existing knowledge of God into a personal, close, intimate, one-on-one relationship with him. As gays and lesbians choose for God, they begin the process of integrating their faith with a daily life that is permeated by God. God meets them, speaks to them and hears them, personally and individually telling each of his beloved children what he feels is best for their life.
Leaving aside the stylistic infelicities (for one, what does it mean that Romans 1 "draws on" the Christian community's responsibility?), it is difficult to avoid seeing here an overemphasis on the role of the individual and a downplaying of the church's collective task of discernment and discipline. Say, for instance, that a gay Christian does hear God's personal, immediate voice telling them he affirms their sexuality, what then? What becomes of this person's identity as a member of a historic community of faith? Suppose a gay Christian who is—oh, I don't know, just hypothetically—Anglican hears God telling her he feels being gay is best for her life. Does it matter for this Christian that the Anglican Communion has not yet heard God's voice to that effect? And if it doesn't, why not?
For Marin, evangelicals' choice to love GLBT people, regardless of the presence or absence of moral and theological clarity on the issues involved, is a mark of elevation. But I wonder if, to many gay and lesbian people, it may seem like the opposite. For those gay Christians who see the affirmation of their sexuality as integral to a genuine commitment to justice and equality, Marin's proposal of simple love may appear as a cheap substitute for costly solidarity. On the other hand, for those gay Christians, like myself, who feel that their efforts to remain abstinent are bound up with their sanctification and growth in godliness, a plea for love without an attendant call for supportive pastoral accountability may sound hollow.
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