Who Wants to Conform?: On Normativities, Pride Flags, and Romans 12:2
This is a meditation that I originally delivered September 1, 2019 to the congregation at Decorah United Church of Christ.
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In my experience, Romans 12:2 is read and quoted often: Do not be conformed to this age, but be transformed by the your mind’s renewal, so that you may examine what God’s will is and what is good and acceptable and perfect.
It’s one of those Pauline phrases that sticks with you, and it is rather quick and applicable in any number of circumstances—as indeed it has been. And, often, the point is not all that bad: don’t conform to this world (and its problems) but instead transform your minds (and presumably, the world) through and to God’s will.
Under such a reading, Paul’s ethical exhortation not to conform but to transform appears as something that would grab the attention and impress his audience, compel them to realize the problems with conformity, and inspire them to transform their minds to something greater.
Yet, as I reflect on this verse more and more, I am reminded of a point biblical scholar Stanley Stowers makes about another passage in Romans, also quoted a lot, and also thought to impress and shock it’s audience: “Ancient readers, however, would have more likely greeted the statement with a yawn than a gasp.”[1] Or, put differently, with this verse, the sentence probably would not have stood out to those listening to Paul’s words.
“I don’t think this suggestion itself said anything the wo/men who assembled in Rome weren’t already saying...and perhaps even already doing.”
It’s not that Paul’s point here is particularly bad—it isn’t. However, the implications of “conforming” – the Greek word here (συσχηματίζω) meaning more literally “to make one’s image along with” weren’t typically positive in its wider usage. For example, according to Plutarch, “vice” looks outside every day and “conforms” with others in order to disguise itself.[2] In Roman society, “conforming” is something bad things do.
Imagining Paul’s audience in Rome—the women and men who assembled together in the ancient church—I suspect that many, or most, of them were already trying not to “conform” to the world, that their communal conversations and perhaps debates were seeking to transform their lives and their world through the renewing of their minds. Though their ideas of how such renewal was to be enacted may have differed, I don’t think this suggestion itself said anything they weren’t already thinking about, discussing and struggling with, and perhaps even already doing.
Similarly today, I think most of us would agree that conformity is not a value we—or even our society—explicitly endorse. We value individuality, we teach about the dangers of peer pressure.
Indeed, with our fairly widespread disdain for conformity, it should come as no surprise that this text and its more typical interpretation is not only widespread in use—but the usages of such an interpretation could be quite contradictory. It can be used for many different and divergent purposes.
One example that comes to my mind in not-so-distant history is how it could be used to discuss two different sides on the issue of gay marriage.
“To be sure, marriage equality represents an important political victory, but we cannot let its passage leave us complacent allowing some of us to blend in and conform with society and then ignore the possibilities for society’s continued transformation. ”
On the one hand, Romans 12:2 could be the rallying cry for recent queer activists’ critiques of normativity. Don’t be conformed to the world—to what we label as hetero- and even homo-normativity. Don’t dull the transformative potential for broader political and social change by focusing our attention and energy only on marriage, an institution that requires some of us to conform our desires with those deemed “proper” for an existing institution. There are other issues of systemic injustice that affect queer folx lives and demand our activism and attention. To be sure, marriage equality represents an important political victory, but we cannot let its passage leave us complacent allowing some of us to blend in and conform with society and then ignore the possibilities for society’s continued transformation.
But while that might be my preferred way to interpret this verse, an eerily similar interpretation has been used in conservative arguments against marriage equality in both state and church. In a very similar way we hear: Don’t be conformed to this world. Just because anti-gay laws are not constitutional, just because the Supreme Court has ruled marriage equality the “law of the land”: this doesn’t mean that the church needs to conform to what society does. Instead—according to this argument—that church is called to transform society by sticking to the prohibitive demands of unchanging and unyielding ancient texts.
So: Though different from the potential “yawn” of ancient audiences accustomed to trying not to “conform,” these contradictory applications of “conformity” of today as seen in Romans 12:2 present a broader sort of apathy, whether as a potential queer anti-normativity slogan or as a conservative cry to resist the comforming of church to culture.
“This verse, Romans 12:2, is a bit too versatile and thus able to (at least somewhat legitimately) mean whatever it needs to. It makes its image along with us—συσχηματίζει—it conforms.”
Even Paul, after saying these words, lays out his ideas of what people should do to “transform” towards God’s will—or, what Paul thinks God’s will is. In the rest of Romans, he occasionally offers some good suggestions, but Paul also concedes to conformity in chapter 13. He states it is God’s will that, in the present, everyone submit to the governing authorities—and we’ve seen this passage put to horrific use in the U.S. today, when former Attorney General Sessions used this verse to defend the dehumanizing detention of migrant children and families.
This verse, Romans 12:2, is a bit too versatile and thus able to (at least somewhat legitimately) mean whatever it needs to. It makes its image along with us—συσχηματίζει—it conforms.
So, where does that leave us?
Okay: it is confession time. This is a “recycled” sermon: although I swear recycling sermons actually takes more work to make relevant to a new audience, it is true that I preached versions of this sermon twice before—actually, a month apart in 2015.
The confession is relevant because the part of the sermon I just preached was the part that stuck with me and that I wanted to resurrect and put to new use today. Except it wasn’t that easy. I first preached on this text at Drew Theological School’s chapel, while I was writing my dissertation (on Romans) there. That chapel—and Drew—was a space where this sermon’s challenge and queer scholarship were encouraged.
But the version I found saved, the section above about homonormativity, marriage, and conforming—it wasn’t there. It was replaced with an analogy to “giving things up for Lent.” And it was bad. Like, that sermon you hear and think “aw, that’s cute, maybe one day they’ll be a real preacher” bad.
“I conformed my ideas to be something less challenging, less authentic, less transforming. At the time, I didn’t even realize how dull it was”
I preached version two at the church where I was working at the time. They were part of a denomination that ordains and marries queer folx, and many people in the church vocally supported LGBTQ rights—at least in word. But this particular church was a moderate church, with members of many political stripes, a place where they actively avoided deciding and making a statement about LGBTQ welcome (or not) because “it would divide the church”—some would feel alienated and would leave, and they were already worried about membership numbers. I did not feel comfortable coming out to most of the congregation—and I was pretty certain coming out—especially coming out through queer politics in the pulpit—would mean losing my job. I conformed my ideas to be something less challenging, less authentic, less transforming. At the time, I didn’t even realize how dull it was.
This is one of the reasons I am so grateful for this community and the work that I’ve been able to do and share here. I have learned something: you cannot write and speak authentically, if you cannot say what you really think about where a text meets the needs of a community—if you cannot be your whole self because your whole self is not clearly and explicitly welcomed.
“Pride flags do not fix everything, but they send a message: we see you, you belong, your work is welcome, even when you face resistance or it is difficult”
It is also why our Pride flags matter—why our rainbow doors matter. They tell a story before people come in the door: they get people in the door—and more importantly, they help people be themselves once they get here, which allows them—and the church—to transform, both our selves and the world around.
Queer folks constantly feel pressured to conform—and when we don’t do so, we often receive messages that we are out of place, that we don’t belong. Sometimes we know our bodies, our appearances, our relationships will disrupt a space, and we proudly transform spaces—when we do, it is work. Sometimes it’s too much work or too unsafe, so we tone our selves down, try to be subtle—we conform. When my nails are painted, there are places here in Decorah I either avoid or where I don gloves to avoid suspicion.
Pride flags do not fix everything, but they send a message: we see you, you belong in Decorah, your work is welcome, even when you face resistance or it is difficult. They point to a complicated, messy history of queer activism, they remind us of the risks folks took to fly those first flags, the risks they took to sew mile-long flags, to raise them in spaces where folks did not want them raised: in San Francisco’s city hall; in front of churches like St. Patrick’s Cathedral in New York.
Ultimately, the phrase “Do not be conformed to this age, but be transformed by the your mind’s renewal” and Pride Flags contain many and usually mixed messages, yet they both point to issues and questions of great importance. They both indicate that transforming the world—the work of justice—takes work, it takes thought—in fact, it takes Pride.
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Notes:
[1] Stanley K. Stowers, A Rereading of Romans: Justice, Jews, and Gentiles (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994), 181.
[2] Pluatarch, “Virtue and Vice” in Moralia II, 100F-101A; LCL 222, trans. Babbitt.