I'm on a plane headed to Raleigh to participate in Big Tent Christianity.  What on earth is Big Tent?  A conference dreamed up by Phillip Clayton, Tripp Fuller and  Brian McLaren trying to bring Christians across the theological spectrum together to talk about how we move out of our narrow niches and constant bickering an into the work of Kingdom building.   I've been asked to participate in the Big Tent Sexuality panel to discuss how we can come to some semblance of peace about a very divisive issue.  I am honored, and a tad daunted, to be in conversation with some of today's most exciting Christian thinkers. 

I've been reflecting on the best way to enter the discussion.  One thing I know for sure is that I want to stay away from exegetical acrobatics.  The discussion can easily devolve into a debate over a few pericopes in the Bible but what I think is of more value is narrative.  My story, your story, our story and God's story.

Being raised in a southern Baptist tradition I have been clobbered with a handful of sentences my whole life.  Either with admonishments about hanging around with folks whose skin is a different hue than mine, scathing prescriptions for my place in the home as a woman or with flat-out proclamation by my own mother that I am abomination for loving the woman with whom I've made a life.   It is from these stories and my utter belief that only Jesus loves me through it all that I come to be in dialogue at Big Tent.

But please know this, it is not with an ounce of bitterness that I hope to encounter my Christian sisters and brothers this week, not at all.   I love my mamma and I love the good Christians who are caring for her in her dying days.  I see goodness in them that I strive for but often fall short of.  But I know, from overheard conversation on the back porch what they would think of me if my mamma or daddy had ever been able to speak about me to their friends. But you know what?  I love them - I really do.  I love the way they touch my mother's frail hands, I love the way they sit up all night with her when I can't.  I love the ceaseless prayers and kisses they bestow on her splotchy head.  They love on me, hug me and wipe my tears when I become overwhelmed with it all.  If they really knew me, would they?  I want to believe that they would.

I really want to be in one Big Tent with them, I want them to want me to be in that Tent.    Can we move toward some form of unity that allows us to finally focus on a world in great need?  Can we stop the finger pointing, the superiority complexes across the theological and denominational spectrum in order to work together for our fragile planet and most vulnerable citizens?  The question for me this week is: how do we get there together without ending up in a mushy middle that waters-down our individual, precious, unique lives with God? How do I end up in a Big Tent together with other Christians giving up my own core understanding of God's radical hospitality? What I mean to ask is, are there core elements of my faith, my tradtion that I can never give up, are there elements in the conservative and moderate faithful framework that can never be compromised and if so can we still meet, eat, pray and work together?

I hope to find a clue to these questions while we are together in Raleigh.