Rock Bridge pastor to retire after finding her place as a gay woman in a Christian church
COLUMBIA — Maureen Dickmann always had a heart for ministry.
As a kid, she’d listen closely to the Sunday School teachers at her Catholic church in St. Louis as they talked about Christian values. She wondered why those values were ignored by so many Christians.
She said she would look out the window and wonder, “Why aren't they the most important thing to everyone?”
Dickmann wanted to give herself fully to Christianity, but that wasn't enough to open the path to ministry for her.
As a Catholic, the road was a dead end. As a gay woman, the road was full of potholes. Not many Christian denominations ordain either women or members of the LGBT community.
In the end, Dickmann didn't choose faith or homosexuality. She chose both.
After seminary, she found a place where she could serve and be herself at Rock Bridge Christian Church on Green Meadows Road. Twenty-eight years later, Dickmann will retire in January as one of the few gay clergy in Columbia.
Two worlds colliding
Right now, just seven major denominations ordain lesbian, gay, bisexual or transgender clergy — the Episcopal Church, the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), the Evangelical Lutheran Church, the United Church of Christ, the Disciples of Christ Church, the Metropolitan Community Church and the Unitarian Church.
A Dec. 18 report from the Pew Research Center indicates that homosexuality is becoming more acceptable in the United States across the spectrum of America's religious landscape. A majority of U.S. Christians (54 percent) now say that homosexuality should be accepted, rather than discouraged, by society, according to the Pew survey.
Even among denominations that continue to disapprove, a growing number of members say they accept homosexuality. Among Catholics, the number increased from 58 percent in 2007 to 70 percent in 2014. Among evangelical Protestants, the number grew from 26 percent to 36 percent, and among Mormons, from 24 percent to 36 percent.
Over the course of her life, Dickmann became more candid about her sexuality as she got older, perhaps reflecting the trend in acceptance.
Dickmann's journey
Dickmann grew up Irish Catholic in St. Louis. Even though she’s gay, which is not accepted at many Christian churches, she never let that interfere with her faith.
“I felt like (my sexuality) wasn’t a choice, that God would make me this way and say, 'Well, you’re cast into utter darkness,'" she said. "That’s not the God I know, so it had to be wrong.”
As she grew up and began looking for a career, she didn't initially pursue ministry. She didn't see it as an option in the Catholic Church. So, as a young adult, she pursued a degree in law.
She worked in the Circuit Attorney's Office in St. Louis for four and a half years but found she wasn't happy there. The call to ministry had become undeniable. With encouragement from Christian friends in St. Louis, Dickmann quit her job, moved to Connecticut and enrolled in Yale Divinity School.
“It didn’t feel like a new call," she said. "It was from when I was a kid that I wanted to do this, but now it would be possible.”
With about 40 different denominations represented at Yale Divinity School, Dickmann could choose one that worked for her. She looked for a denomination that resembled a democracy, where a congregation voted on matters at hand and made decisions themselves, rather than rely on a pope or other figurehead.
She narrowed her choice to either the Disciples of Christ or the United Church of Christ. Because the United Church of Christ only serves communion once a month, she decided the Disciples of Christ was a better fit.
Not only did the Disciples of Christ church have a democratic basis, but the denomination had been ordaining women since the 19th century. Within this church, Dickmann saw a way forward.
A church on the edge
Dickmann became pastor at Rock Bridge Christian Church in 1987. The church had been founded in 1981, gathering in what is now Jimmy’s Steakhouse. After a few months, the congregation began meeting in the chapel at Lenoir Woods Senior Living.
In 1984, the church moved into a new building on Green Meadows Road, where it remains today.
Sunday services are traditional, but casual. The music comes from a standard hymnal and congregants recite Bible verses together, but the environment isn’t rigid or formal.
The sanctuary is a large room near the entrance with big glass windows that create a bright, open atmosphere. Abstract art decorates the walls, and a simple lectern stands at the front of the sanctuary where Dickmann speaks to the congregation.
Nearby, a small table holds a candle, a wooden cross and silver communion plates. Throughout the sanctuary, lines of maroon chairs hold hymnals in their seats.
On a typical Sunday, worshipers seem to be a diverse group, some wearing T-shirts, jeans and sneakers, others wearing dresses or khakis. With only about 30 in the room, the group seems intimate, talking among themselves as a family would before the service. When Dickmann walks in, she greets everyone as a fellow worshiper, saying hello and joking with the children. She wears a long tan robe with a green velvet stole over her shoulders.
The service begins with announcements. One by one, the congregants stand and tell the assembly what jobs need to be done and what is happening of note in the community. After singing a series of hymns and reciting passages together, Dickmann takes the stage and delivers a message.
On this day, she talked about Zacchaeus in Luke 19, a despised tax collector in Jericho who had dealings with Jesus. The story ends with a moral proclamation: Followers should stand with everyone Jesus embraced — including the outcasts and others condemned by religious zealots.
Meeting them halfway
When Dickmann arrived at Rock Bridge in 1987, she was not particularly candid about her sexuality.
Within 10 years, gay rights were climbing to the forefront of national news, and they became a topic of discussion in the church, too. In the late '90s, for example, the Defense of Marriage Act became law, limiting the rights of same-sex couples.
“It was gays in the paper every damn day,” Dickmann said.
At that time, Rock Bridge was trying to expand its evangelism efforts. At a meeting one day, someone proposed adding language in church bulletins to welcome members of the gay community. Two men declared that would upset the “old people,” still a significant percentage of the congregation because of its ties to Lenoir Woods.
“Besides, we don’t have any (gay people),” one of the men told Dickmann, to which she thought, “Uh, hello?”
That prompted her to come out to the entire church. She talked first to the elders, then called a church-wide session. By then, most of the church either suspected she was gay or were already OK with it, but some were not.
“There were some people who were like, ‘Oh, this is going to ruin our church. Are we going to become the gay church?’” she said.
Two resistant individuals particularly disapproved, she said.
“They decided they really needed to save the church from me. But we finally got through that and at the end of the year, they turned in their keys and left.”
Socially progressive
Rock Bridge has been an open and affirming church toward the LGBT community for almost 20 years, and Dickmann sees being socially progressive as part of the church mission. In the early 2000s, for example, the congregation joined the Columbia Peace Coalition to protest the war in Iraq.
“We need to be advocates for justice as much as dispensers of charity,” she said. “I don’t think (being a Christian) is all about the afterlife; I think it’s about this life. (It) should mean that those who follow (God) are going to transform this world.”
In her messages to the congregation, Dickmann tries to provide context to the biblical passages she reads. She does the same when she reads verses that appear to reject homosexuality.
When historical context is brought into a Bible lesson, Dickmann says a different picture emerges, one of God as love.
"So if God is love, God is not going to hate certain parts of God’s creation. We’re not getting the Bible right if we’re using it as a weapon,” she said.
She compares the church’s stance on homosexuality to its stance on slavery or the oppression of women — the critics misunderstand a religious text and use that misunderstanding to halt social progress.
“I don’t think you take (the Bible) seriously when you want to freeze it and pin it down. It’s like a butterfly; once you pin it down, it’s dead. I think it’s a living thing,” Dickmann said.
Rock Bridge congregants see love and understanding in Dickmann and her messages.
“She’s friendly, warm and very genuine. She makes you feel like a part of (everything),” said Sandi Gerhart, a member since 1984.
Even those who haven’t been at Rock Bridge very long see the way Dickmann’s messages blend truth with warmth.
“She has this strong confidence," said Jeff Reese, a member for about a year. "She’s going to push a message, and she believes in that message and delivers it with knowledge and context. But at the same time, it doesn’t carry an overbearing tone.”
Both Reese and Gerhart said the church has become more inclusive under Dickmann.
Some members, including Diane Haas, a member for 26 years, attribute that to her ability to understand and accept others.
“She can easily see things from different viewpoints,” Haas said.
Yet, the church has not wavered from its core principles: “Generosity, outreach, social justice, all those things that were important 30-plus years ago, are still important today,” Haas said.
The next chapter
In January, Dickmann, 67, will retire and move back to St. Louis. She believes she is leaving the church in good shape, allowing it to sustain its mission.
The church will continue to welcome the LGBT community and strive for diversity, a mission that may still be unusual across the religious landscape of America.
“It’s still the case that all churches want to grow and want to have new members, but they want them to look like them and act like them,” Dickmann said.
She believes hostility toward the LGBT community is similar to the way the marginalized were rejected during the time of Jesus, and how he called on the church to reach out to those people.
“The irony is that LGBT and Christian ought to go hand in hand, and yet, because of Christians and official church doctrine, it’s exactly the opposite," she said. "We get Jesus in a way that the straight, white, heterosexual male doesn’t. I’d say if your church doesn’t look like a motley crew at some point, maybe you’re not really following Jesus.”
Under Dickmann’s leadership, Rock Bridge has worked toward that kind of democracy. As she leaves, she trusts that the church will continue to move forward as she rediscovers her place in St. Louis.
“I’m not worried about what’s next," she said. "I think I’ll find plenty.”
