During a recent driving holiday touring Iceland, it slowly dawned on our family that we had arrived during Pride Week. Initially, we bypassed the capital, Reykjavik (the home of 65% of Iceland’s population of 372,000 inhabitants, and potentially, the largest number of balloons). However, our first sight of Icelandic Pride did not come via public notices, balloons, or glitter, but by how at least two churches – perched on hills above local villages – had painted their steps in pride colours.
Granted, this was not the case in every town, but it was nevertheless eye-catching, impossible to ignore, and dominated the view. In some places, Pride was unavoidable; the rainbow was beneath your feet as you followed a walkway to a civic building, or in the case of Reykjavik, a street where the individual pride colours were the width of a running track lane.
Here, by default or deliberate design, the rainbow pointed directly to the iconic Hallgrímskirkja Church tower, stopping at its precincts (which, to be fair had a design of their own). However, just in case you had any doubts as to the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Iceland’s solidarity with the Pride movement, in previous years, the central isle at Hallgrímskirkja drew the eye deliberately and unmistakably towards the Pride carpet laid over the steps that led the way up to the communion table. Sadly, I did not see inside the Church during our visit – because when I arrived they were holding a funeral.
As a superintendent minister serving the Methodist Church here in the UK, I found myself in holiday-humour overdrive. Where did the authorities lie for this to happen in those churches that participated? Was the land owned by the council – and did they simply paint the steps up to the church, leaving the congregation to work out how they would respond? Had a group of Pride carpet-fitters conducted a series of raids, dressed in balaclavas (garishly coloured of course), and installed carpets thinking, ‘No one will see this until it is too late’? (This would be some achievement in the midnight sun). Or dare I believe that pride was truly owned by the people, and church people at that?
One short answer might be gleaned from the events at Glerá Church in Akureyri (Iceland’s second capital – population, 18,000), where the Pride flag is painted on the walkway leading directly to the doors of the church. Here, the council outlined its plans and asked the church if they would finish the job – and the church agreed. Reports highlight that permission from the church’s executive committee, ‘took a while, but was successful’.[1] I discern a measure of realism in that statement. Iceland is not a panacea of Pride, but it is getting the job done.
I have been stirred by Icelandic Pride. Before I say more, I must freely admit I am trying to piece a narrative together from very shaky foundations. We did not attend a Pride march. I could well be romanticising things because of the changes that I yearn to see in my own country, below the surface. I continue to seek clarity from the Church of Iceland about the passage of events. However, I cannot deny that away from the Pride march, where Pride found its way into towns and villages, the Pride movement felt like it was at a different stage compared to us here in the UK. Crucially, in Iceland, it feels as if Pride’s human rights dimension has taken centre stage. The question, if you are in Iceland, is ‘Why would you not be on board?’ All I saw was tolerance, kindness, and respect in all things, and bewilderment that anyone could be wary of Pride or even homophobic.
Embedded Icelandic pride
Icelanders are not the kind of people to throw volcanic rocks at those who disagree with them. There is however, understandably, some derision from within the LGBT+ community towards the conservative evangelicalism that reaches them, particularly from the United States. (And I say this as a proud, liberal evangelical ministering in the UK). For example, the Reykjavik Grapevine featured an article from one of its reporters, Sam O’Donnell, who relayed an account of a heated conversation between an American tourist and a church attendant at Hallgrímskirkja:
“Excuse me. Is that a rainbow flag in the church?” The tourist asked.
(It’s a fair question. The bright colours don’t always give it away.)
“Yes, it is,” responded the attendant, confirming that the tourist’s eyes did not deceive.
“Why would a church have that?”
(Another fair question. Churches have historically been in favour of executing gay people and not flying rainbow flags.)
“Because we believe that God’s love is inclusive for all people, irrespective of their sexuality or background.”
(This church aims to rectify history’s transgressions. Nice.)
“Jesus would never accept that.”
“Yes, he would.”
“No, he would not.”
“I’m afraid we will have to disagree on that.
O’Donnell writes as someone who grew up in what he describes as the ‘Evangelical Christian Church’, and asserts that he, is certain of God’s unconditional love and would ‘tell the haters to leave the judgment to God.’ His closing comment is that most Americans who visit Iceland realise this, and refrain from entering into theological debates with church attendants.[2] Nonetheless, his sideswipes against what has been done in the name of Christianity have significant warrants. More than this, I submit that O’Donnell is being generous in using the word ‘historical’. In 2019, Sky News reported that Detective Grayson Fritts, also a preacher at a small American church in Tennessee called for the execution of homosexuals[3], and in 2020, Newsweek reported that Pastor Dillan Awes stated that “every single” gay person in America should be executed by the government.[4]
We might be tempted to view O’Donnell’s thinking as a generalisation from the particular. Locally, we may well know of Christians and churches that are sympathetic to or even directly engaged with Pride. The argument that the Church Catholic has been complicit in sustaining homophobia, is difficult to refute. (The Church Catholic with all its denominations and congregations is, after all, a large entity),
I take as my definition of homophobia the guidance given by the Methodist Church in Great Britain.[4a]) At its base, homophobia is the denial of the image of God in another person, due to their actual or perceived sexual orientation. A homophobic attitude or action denies someone’s dignity and worth. It can manifest in physical violence and emotional or psychological abuse. It may surface in stereotypes and assumptions based on a person’s active or perceived sexual orientation, or it may include language that is hostile, hurtful and offensive. Most recently it may result in coercive spiritual practice, such as conversion therapy. Significantly, it is not homophobic to hold to the traditional view of sexuality.
Whilst I am tempted to follow this line and cite examples of homophobia within Church institutions, I am more aware and filled with more dread about those periods where as Christians we have been complicit in our silence. This, I feel, is the centre ground for the fight against homophobia today. I suspect that aside from those bold individuals who served the Church and yet felt comfortable asserting their identity and being transparent about their sexuality in the UK, the Church has arrived late to the Pride Party.
My point in highlighting this story is not to shock the reader with visceral examples of where homophobic attitudes exist in church settings – or on its fringes. Calling for gays to be executed is hate speech, and it does indeed serve as a healthy antidote against our complacency, especially when the inhumane views of a protagonist in one part of the world can move from screen to screen and be available on a different continent, in one mouse-click. Neither is it to project the baseless view that all conservative evangelicals think the same. Indeed, I know of countless colleagues who whilst they are against same-sex marriage or undecided, are amongst the most loving, understanding, accepting, and peace-making people I know. They have wrested with their consciences and shed tears over this issue. Moreover, I have yet to meet personally a conservative evangelical who has called for the death of gays.
Rather, I recite O’Donnell’s story as I suspect that it reflects how Pride has become interwoven with certain sections of Icelandic culture. Culture being, ‘The way we do things around here’[5], or the way we do things when we are not consciously thinking about it. We do not know who the tour guide was (although I am assuming that they were not an ordained minister). We do not know their gender or sexual identity. But we do know that they had enough resource at hand, and were confident enough when confronted, to defend the church at some depth – even to the point of, “We believe that God’s love is inclusive for all people, irrespective of their sexuality or background.” That is quite a statement. Not simply ‘The Church believes’, but ‘We believe’. And so there it is – the centre ground in the fight against homophobia. Moreover, note that although O’Donnell is critical of this particular tourist and what they represented, it is he who celebrates the attendant’s response by summing up with, “This church aims to rectify history’s transgressions. Nice.” O’Donnell recognises that ‘This Church’ is different.
The Pride film on the journey back with IcelandAir, The Colourful spirit of Iceland, Celebrating Reykavik Pride) takes care to emphasise how the founders of the first pride parade were astonished by how the people of Reykjavik came out to support. Whilst there was work to be done to establish the legal rights of LGBT+ people, Pride was not an in-your-face, we-are-here-to-stay, protest movement. In fact, there was little protest. Rather, neighbours stood by the roadside to support those who were ‘different’; to affirm them and to assert that they had a right to be true to their own identity rather than living a lie by omission and hiding their sexuality. I am, nonetheless, discerning enough to suspect that at least some of this is the marketing on the part of Pride and IcelandAir to encourage tourism to what would appear to be one of the most gay-friendly cities in the world. However, it felt to me as if there was a difference and that somehow Iceland was further on in its Pride journey. One hypothesis is that Iceland’s unique size, small communities, and familiarity between people in certain regions, accelerated Pride’s growth. For example, Peterborough’s population is around 215,000, whereas the population of Reykyavik is around 131,000 and 233,000 within the wider region. Meanwhile, a city in Iceland comprises anything from 10,000 to 100,000 people. Whilst some rural communities are remote and isolated, if you paint a pride rainbow on a city or village street, everyone will know about it.
Contrasting with Pride in the UK – and changes in the Pride flag
Whilst we have Pride walkways in the UK, they are dwarfed by our civil infrastructure and not always obvious. Certainly not as obvious as a six-lane running track-width pride walkway starting at either end of town and stopping at the entrance to, say, our cathedral. Even so, the painting of steps and walkways by councils is not new. Aberdeen, Bristol, Coventry, Derby, London, Liverpool, Plymouth, and Swindon, among others, have not been shy in their investment in paint. The flag is appearing elsewhere. Cheshire Police have modified the livery of their squad cars. At the Cricketing 100 match held at Manchester between Birmingham Phoenix and the Manchester Originals in August 2022, the base of the stumps were painted with the Pride Flag, and players were invited to wear rainbow laces in support of LGBT+ people – the latter being something that is far from new in sporting circles but now making featuring as part of the closeups and commentary. I even visited my local garden centre this afternoon to find that I could purchase a set of batteries in pride colours. More than this, varieties of the LGBT flag are growing, including the Social Justice Pride Flag by Moulee (2018) with its reference to the Indian self-respect movement, anti-caste and left-wing political movements. Meanwhile the light pink, white and, cyan additions within the Progress Pride Flag and the New Pride Flag (both 2018), emphasising the rights of trans-people, and trans-people of colour, are particularly striking.
Elsewhere in the world though, Pride can struggle to make it on to the pitch. The Pride armband, originally intended to be worn by the England football team in Qatar (along with six other European nations), was never worn by their respective captains in our recent World Cup.
The idea originated in the Netherlands as a direct response and protest towards Qatar’s laws against homosexuality, and the discussion that ensued highlighted clear differences in the human rights stance in other countries. In a bid to ease the tensions, FIFA, football’s governing body, viewed the Pride armband as a political statement – and according to FIFA rules, equipment worn by players must not have any political, religious, or personal slogans. All it took therefore was the threat that participating captains would be served with a yellow card (two yellow cards in two appearances would mean that a player would forfeit the next match), for them to deflate Pride.[6] However, this saga raised significant attention in the UK. I am however questioning how the conflict over Qatar’s human rights record might have been reported elsewhere beyond Europe. It’s a shame that Iceland did not make it to the finals.
A significant twist
Perhaps complementing this discussion over Pride armbands, and hidden from more extensive commentary, was the fact that a ‘senior Qatari official’ alleged to Sky News that its representatives had approached FIFA having made plans before the tournament to suggest that captains be permitted to wear a ‘No place for Islamophobia’ armband. This featured a Palestinian headscarf pattern.[7]
FIFA claimed that it was unaware of such a proposal, and one wonders whether this was official posturing, but for the record, whilst I support LGBT rights, I am also against Islamophobia – the fear, hatred of, or prejudice against Islam or Muslims.[8] My concern is not so much the fact that people from different cultures may find that they hold contrasting world views and values. It is that where we disagree, we should strive to disagree well, and live in peace. It is that we learn to live with contrasting convictions. I recognise that to a degree, some differences seem insurmountable. How does a country that has been so deeply conditioned to reject homosexuals to the point that this is enshrined in law and punishment, undo such attitudes? And thus here we stand at the crunch point of liberation theology; how far should we be prepared to go to support our human brothers and sisters who are living under oppressive regimes and protesting for change? How do we work towards the coming of the Kingdom? What does non-violent protest look like? Let us not forget that whilst a select number of European teams looked to protest with Pride, the Iranian football team (and other high-profile athletes) faced arrest, torture, and death when they returned. And all they did was refuse to sing the national anthem, or if they were a woman, refuse to wear a head covering.
To conclude
Returning to Iceland – and with perhaps insights for elsewhere, what began as a focus on the recognition and rights of LGBT+ communities gains further traction when the focus is on human rights generally. Thus to argue against LGBT+ rights is to argue against human rights – and hence my initial point. The issue beyond this is how as Christians we respond. In my view, this point might be simple, obvious even, but it is an important one. Whilst we may know of people who struggle with anything other than the traditional view of human sexuality, and whilst the proportion of people identifying as lesbian, gay or bisexual (LGB) in 2018 was 2.2% (Office for National Statistics [16]), we can all agree on the need to make progress where human rights are concerned. For the moment, Iceland seems to be heading in the right direction
This article is the first in a series detailing how my experience in Iceland has impacted my ongoing thoughts as a Methodist Minister serving in the UK. My thoughts do not necessarily represent the views of the wider Methodist Church. My intention in writing this article is to be open about my own thinking, in the hope that I can encourage others, and in the hope that I can learn through others as we enter into dialogue.
I am mindful of two further articles that could stem from this:
The second is a focus on how Pride and the decisions of the Icelandic government have influenced the Church of Iceland, which has now adopted gay marriage. In particular, there is the potential to explore how the Icelandic Church is engaging with Pride today in a way of acknowledging its failings in the past, and bringing healing.
The third article is focused on the Pride movement here in the UK, and in particular how the Church in the UK might engage with Pride. One key question is ‘What does Christian Pride look like?’, since whilst the Church may support the human rights dimension of Pride, we also look to retain a particular understanding of what healthy, holy, relationships look like.
As a final note, I would like to thank colleagues and friends who have encouraged me to write about my experiences. Thus far, whilst I have journeyed with congregations as part of our Methodist Church God in Love Unites us discussions, I have been reluctant to put pen to paper. Part of this stems from the fact that I am straight and I would rather that the voices in support of Pride came from within the LGBT+ community. Meanwhile, the tone of the LGBT+ debate in certain circles is deeply unpleasant, with protagonists on both sides of the debate being openly hostile with each other, in a way that I can only describe as unchristian. This is particularly evident on social media, where the sound byte or video clip rules, where all humanity can be lost, and where hatred can surface so easily. As a minister, I strive to balance an openness about what I believe (It is impossible and unhelpful to hide this), whilst being willing to listen and support those who think differently from me. As I shall demonstrate no doubt in a future article, the fact that a church community may have agreed to register their building for same sex-marriages does not mean that they are free from pain over the issue. This will take some time. But crucial to this journey is the calling that is on us to create communities that are open, honest, respectful, and trusting when it comes to discussing difficult issues. Without this, we will make little progress.
[1] https://grapevine.is/news/2022/06/16/glera-church-makes-statement-of-inclusivity/
[2] From Iceland — Tourist Vs. Rainbow Flag: 0-1, Rainbow Flag (grapevine.is)
[3] https://news.sky.com/story/tennessee-detective-calls-for-gay-people-to-be-executed-during-church-sermon-11742169
[4] https://www.newsweek.com/pastor-gay-people-solution-killings-bible-1714037
[4a] homophobia-edi-committee-guidance.pdf (methodist.org.uk)
[5] Widely referenced and originate from Deal and Kennedy in the 1980’s
[6] World Cup 2022: what is the OneLove armband and why did FIFA ban it? | Reuters
[7] Muslim nations proposed World Cup armband to raise awareness of Islamophobia | World News | Sky News
[8] Islamophobia | Muslim Council of Britain (mcb.org.uk)
[9] My Google search terms were ‘Methodist church gay marriage uk’ last checked 020123.
[10] https://www.facebook.com/peterboroughmethodistcircuit/
[11] https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-bristol-61981557
[12] https://www.somersetlive.co.uk/news/somerset-news/first-same-sex-church-weddings-7827532
[13] https://www.chroniclelive.co.uk/news/north-east-news/northumberland-same-sex-weddings-churches-24696986
[14] https://www.theargus.co.uk/news/20145259.hove-methodist-church-host-first-same-sex-marriage-summer/ and https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8YyxUz1LhSE&t=5s
[15] https://www.methodist.org.uk/about-us/the-methodist-church/marriage-and-relationships/archive-marriage-and-relationships-2019/managing-group-conversations-around-marriage-and-relationships/a-model-statement-on-living-with-contradictory-convictions/
Sexual orientation, UK – Office for National Statistics (ons.gov.uk)