10 July2026
By Loren Seibold | 10 July 2026 |
Back in the late 1980s, I was a new pastor in the San Francisco Bay Area. At a church event I met sociologist Ron Lawson, who was researching a book on Seventh-day Adventists. Ron told us of a still relatively new organization called Kinship, a gathering for gay and lesbian Seventh-day Adventists. (Bisexual, transexual, and intersex people weren’t yet on the category list, though they were surely present in the church.) Kinship’s Kampmeeting (always spelled with a K) was at the Monte Toyon Retreat Center in the Santa Cruz Mountains the next week, Ron said, and would I come and speak to the group?
I did—and I should admit that I was well out of my depth. I tried. But I had just come from being a pastor in rural South Dakota, and though I was liberal in my beliefs, I was inexperienced and unconfident. I wasn’t fully comfortable in my own pastoral role. I was addressing a group of people who I sympathized with, but didn’t really understand.
Although everyone was kind to me, I do remember it as a tense and occasionally angry gathering—and for good reason. Back then, most were young. (The group is older now.) Then there was little Christian fellowship for people who openly identified as L, G, B, T, I, or otherwise Q. Some hoped that they could “come out” and still be Seventh-day Adventists. But most had, by that time, realized that wasn’t going to happen quickly—or possibly ever. A few were church workers who desperately needed reassurance, but were terrified they might be exposed.
The Colin Cook affair—denominational leaders’ continuing support of a gay ex-pastor who sexually abused young men under the cover of changing them into straight people—was very much on their minds. AIDS had emerged just a few years earlier; there had already been fatalities, and everyone knew there were going to be more.
Overshadowing all of this was the realization that their church seemed to despise them for being something that they had no control over.
Early on in Kinship’s existence, some courageous Adventist theologians—people like Larry Geraty, Fritz Guy, Josephine Benton and James Cox—had already begun the process of deconstructing the largely-misused Bible texts that were used to condemn homosexuals. These thinkers had spoken at previous Kinship events, and I’m sure seeing those texts in a new way had to be encouraging to members.
But what they were processing wasn’t just theological or biblical. It was existential. Just being who God made you, an LGBTQ person indoctrinated in a fundamentalist belief system, meant a lifelong struggle to redefine yourself. Seventh-day Adventist homosexuals had to deal with being rejected not just by their church, but possibly by their parents, their friends—and, some felt, by God.
Returning
I returned to Kampmeeting this year, about 40 years after Monte Toyon. I have continued to be an LGBTQ ally. I appeared in the documentary Seventh Gay Adventists, as a pastoral supporter of Sheri and Jill Babcock and their daughters. Starting in the 2000s I wrote monthly for the Spectrum website for about 10 years, and for the last 11 have been the Executive Editor of Adventist Today, in both of which support for LGBTQ people has been one of my topics.
This year there are about 75 people here for Kampmeeting at a Roman Catholic retreat center in rural Maryland. Stephen Chavez (a strong LGBTQ ally who has helped Kinship president Floyd Pönitz to organize the event) and I were marveling at how comfortable Roman Catholics (you know—those people many Adventists regard as evil?) are hosting us. What do you suppose the response would be if Kinship had asked to hold a Kampmeeting at one of our church’s big retreat centers, such as Leoni Meadows?
Kampmeeting isn’t quite like it was 40 years ago. In a conversation with one Kinship founder, Bob Bouchard, we agreed that the passage of years has mellowed many. At least in the west, LGBTQ people have a more comfortable place in their world than they did 40 years ago. A young Seventh-day Adventist LGBTQ person can pursue any profession while being open about their sexuality, and they can get married to someone of the same sex.
But not here
Where they still don’t have a place is in their own church. In a group conversation, I heard stories of continuing rejection. A musician who was told she couldn’t play special music because she was lesbian. A gay couple who went to church, and were shunned for months until they finally gave up. Another who tried to join his local church, only to have it erupt into opposition that originated Ted Wilson’s office. A young woman whose Adventist family refuses to let her talk about who she is: “ignore her, and she’ll get over it”.
The main program is by Colby Martin, author of Unclobber, who has twice taught Adventist Today Sabbath Seminar. Other names on the program you might recognize: Chuck Sandefur, Barry Casey and Herb Montgomery. I was pleased to make a new acquaintance: Pastor Matt Segebartt, the chaplain of Kinship. Matt told his story about how coming out cost him not just his marriage, but the ministry career he loved.
I had a chance to make a short statement to the group. Here, more or less, is what I said.
As a pastor, I’m supposed to say to you, “Go to your local church. Join in the worship. Be part of it.” But I can’t say that, because I don’t know how you’ll be treated there. In some congregations, by a few pastors, you will be received wholly, fully, with love. But I am forced to tell you that it is unlikely in most congregations, by most pastors. If you try a church and you are treated disdainfully, then shake the dust off your feet and get out of there: they don’t deserve you.
I concluded with an apology from my heart, on behalf of the church that employed me for 40+ years; on behalf of some of my rigid, unkind, sometimes ignorant ministerial colleagues; especially on behalf of those men (still nearly all men) who know better, but are too frightened of their congregations or their church leaders to live out Jesus’ clear teachings about fully accepting everyone.
People of faith
Some here are lifelong Adventists. A few are entirely new to the Adventist community. Some, mostly spouses, aren’t Adventists. When Stephen did a quick survey, only a handful say that they regularly attend an Adventist congregation. Some have found an online spiritual community, including watching services online from places like Glendale City or La Sierra. Others attend Sunday churches. Most everyone is spiritual, and a plurality religious.
What hasn’t changed is the hold that Adventism has on them. I wish Elder Köhler could be here to hear people say, “I go to an Episcopal church because I was told I wasn’t welcome in the Adventist church. But I love the Sabbath, and I’ve never felt quite at home anywhere else. I wish my church could grasp how much I want to be fully part of it.” When Stephen asked how many would go back to an Adventist church if they found one that fully accepted them, nearly every hand went up.
I doubt I have ever been in a group that is kinder and more fully accepting of one another. The common acronym, LGBTQI+, makes it clear that there are a lot of differences. Add to the gender identities differences in education, religious attitudes, family, ethnicity and income. But that each has been so often judged so harshly makes them intentional in kindness to those with whom they have struggle and rejection in common.
The older Kinshippers, those who have been here from the beginning, are more comfortable than they were 40 years ago. But there are still some for whom it is more than fellowship. They are still coming to terms with a new identity, and they need hand-holding, hugs, prayers and words of reassurance. My greatest admiration goes to Kinship’s long-time president Floyd Pönitz. Floyd is a massage therapist in his day job, but his highest call is as an unfailingly kind pastor to these dear folks that the denomination’s pastors have failed. I pray for him, and I hope you will, too.
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