By Rev. Dawn Bennett
The only way I can really write this article, in full transparency, is with a little snark. Yes, you heard that: snark. Pastors have snark—or maybe, maybe it’s just this pastor. After all, I live the bi-pan pastor life out loud, smack dab in the middle of the Bible Belt. And sometimes, that “belt” gets mighty tight. To be clear, lots of people suck. Heck, even the national news outlets recently claimed Tennessee to be the worst place in the U.S. to live right now. To that I say, whoa there, that’s not entirely true. We may have a homophobic governor, and we may be living under oppressive political laws, but don’t be fooled: we have a very vibrant LGBTQ+ community here. I live in Nashville, one of only two blue dots in the state. Yet even in rural areas, many LGBTQ+ communities have popped up. I guess you could say we are a small but mighty bunch.
Yes, I’m a pastor, ordained to the ministry of Word and Sacrament in the ELCA (Evangelical Lutheran Church in America). I’m thankful to be serving in this season of public life because ordination wasn’t always possible. In 2009, the national denomination experienced a split (similar to the United Methodist Church split in 2024), offering safe passageway out for more conservative congregations who decided to uphold their narrow-minded view of scripture. Nonetheless, we are still the largest Lutheran denomination in the United States. I am fortunate to be able to serve as an out bi-pan woman. I have the support of my clergy colleagues, my family, and a large contingent of people who have followed my public ministry for years.
And even with all this support—there is still hell to pay. I say that tongue in cheek because I certainly won’t be making a one-way trip to that place anytime soon [besides, it’s empty anyway]. I’ve had to grow a thick skin over the last several years. I’m no longer made of only “sugar, and spice, and everything nice.” I have devoured a heaping serving of “snakes, and snails, and puppy-dog tails.” Suffice it to say, I’m a well-rounded, strong, empowered, confident pastor. I am very clear about what my call is in this world: to create space for hard conversations, and to make space for others who don’t have the privilege to speak up and have their voices heard. As a white woman, I know I walk in privilege. As an out, gay woman (at work and everywhere else!), I know I walk in privilege. I walk in privilege because of my skin tone. But I also walk in privilege because I cannot be fired on the sole basis of my sexual orientation. My gender is protected from discrimination only because I am cisgender. Let me be clear on that. Tennessee is a leader among the worst anti-LGBTQ+ laws in the nation and for years we earned the name “state of hate.”
I have not experienced the degree of spiritual abuse that many people in this part of the country have experienced. Have I been spat on? Yes. Have I been publicly attacked and defamed? Yes. Still, I think I’m too much of a brat to accept the negative nasties that have been said about me to my face and in print. I know my value and I know my worth. It’s not up for grabs. And it’s not up for sale. I too have earned my hashtag: #HolyHellion.
One of the most wonderful and life-giving aspects of being out at work is that it affords me the opportunity to help people, at a core level. I spend my days preparing life-giving messages rooted in scripture, to be delivered from the pulpit, come Sunday. I spend endless hours talking with people on the phone, and in person, who have experienced religious trauma, and whose families have been dismantled by the political landscape here in the Deep South. I write books, give talks, say prayers at civic meetings and bring a fresh air of unconditional love to each space I enter.
I find the most life-giving opportunities happen when I can take off my clergy collar (which I rarely wear, actually) and allow people to see me transparently. I am a grandmother; I am a mother; I am a sister; I am an auntie; I am a lover; I am a friend; I am a fierce advocate; I am a public speaker; I read and write voraciously; and I am a priest.
I have worked hard in my career to gain the trust of the LGBTQ+ community because many of us here have experienced spiritual hurt and harm at the hands of people who stand where I stand and do what I do. I too am one of those who grew up in a faith tradition that did not affirm folks being gay. My current faith tradition not only affirms us and welcomes us, it ordains me to continue my public theological work and to bring hope and healing to others.
Years ago, I developed a pedagogy (teaching method) I call the “3 R’s.” It stands for reframe, reform, reclaim. In my preaching role, I work to reframe harmful and negative messages that have abused sacred texts—to reshape and remold their messages into life-giving, edifying, and empowering life lessons. In my teaching role, I am fortunate to partner with people along their journey of life and sprinkle seeds in the garden of their hearts and minds, to help them reform the narratives that have governed their lived experiences. And finally, in my advocacy role I lead, journey with, and empower LGBTQ+ people of faith to put what they have learned into practice—and to reclaim the space that holds their spirit and strengthens them to stand on their own faith feet. This work is not for sissies, as my mentor likes to tell me. But he’s a crotchety old straight white dude of 86 years, so I give him some grace because I know he means well. He keeps the wind in my sails, a constant need for me.
At the end of the day, well, and at the beginning of the day, and everywhere in between, I am proud to be who I am. Yes, the road has been long and winding and I’ve received lots of bumps and bruises along the way. Still, I wouldn’t change a thing. I wouldn’t give back a single day because I wouldn’t know which one to pick. Every single day thus far has brought me to where I am today. I am not a religious person but I am a very faithful one, and for that I am grateful.
Reverend Dawn Bennett is an author and award-winning preacher living and serving in the buckle of the Bible Belt, Nashville, Tennessee, in the U.S. She hopes you look her up and she admits there is no shortage of true, speculative, sensational, tender, and empowering examples of her public life.