BETH STROUD '91 REMAINS HOPEFUL AFTER BEING DEFROCKED

Stroud hugs a jury member after the trial

Even though a jury of Methodist clergy has stripped her of her credentials as a minister, Beth Stroud '91 remains "hopeful and positive" about the effects of her ecclesiastical trial. Charged with violating a church rule against the ordination and appointment of "self-avowed, practicing homosexuals," Stroud faced the ordeal hoping that the process would be a "teaching and learning moment" for the United Methodist Church. It has been a heart-wrenching struggle, she says, but she feels that her hope has been fulfilled.

On Dec. 2, after a two-day trial held in Pughtown, Pa., Stroud became the second United Methodist minister in history to be defrocked because of her sexual orientation (the first, the Rev. Rose Mary Denman, lost her clerical credentials in 1987). In March, a jury in Washington state had acquitted the Rev. Karen Dammann of similar charges, stating that homosexuality was not specifically listed as a chargeable offense in the United Methodist Church's Book of Discipline.

The acquittal of Dammann provoked an international controversy among Methodists. In May, the Protestant denomination's top legislative body and its highest court both responded to the verdict by reinforcing the church's ban on openly homosexual ministers with more tightly restrictive language.

The Methodist high court's decree didn't reverse Dammann's acquittal, but it narrowed Stroud's legal options. Just before Stroud's trial opened, the judge, retired Bishop Joseph H. Yeakel, issued a ruling that strictly limited the trial court's scope. That decision effectively deprived defense lawyers of their best argument: that the rule against homosexuality violates the church's constitution.

Two days later, a jury rendered a 12-1 guilty verdict in Stroud's case. The same panel voted 7-6 to defrock her.

The loss of her ordination was a harsh blow, Stroud said, but she was prepared for it. In April 2003, when Stroud announced to her congregation that she wished to serve them as an openly lesbian clergywoman who lived in a "covenant relationship" with another woman, she understood that she was risking her ordination credentials with her public disclosure.

But Stroud had decided, after prayer and consultation with colleagues and mentors including the bishop who would ultimately bring charges against her, that the risk was necessary to her spiritual well-being.

"I felt that it was something I needed to do for the integrity of my ministry," Stroud explained. "I knew that God made me a lesbian and gave me a wonderful partner, and I knew that God loves me as I am. But I wasn't sharing the good news of God's acceptance and love. I realized that my silence was holding me back in my ministry."

Stroud's congregation, the First United Methodist Church of Germantown (FUMCOG), belongs to a network of "reconciling ministries," a United Methodist group that opposes the larger denomination's position that homosexuality is "incompatible with Christian teachings." She expected them to be supportive. But FUMCOG "exceeded my expectations in every way," Stroud says.

"They promised that I could continue to work here as a lay minister if I lost my credentials. They raised a legal-defense fund for me. They allowed me to cut back my hours for six weeks before the trial so that I could prepare for it; my colleagues in the ministry took on extra duties to free my time. Many members of the congregation took time off work or school to support me at the trial. During the period of crisis, church members sent me a whole lot of cards and a whole lot of food.

"The support of the Bryn Mawr community has been amazing, too," Stroud said. She has received a flood of e-mail from alumnae who have read about her in the national media. Most were missives from her classmates, but several generations of Bryn Mawr graduates were represented in her in box.

Stroud continues to work at FUMCOG, where she was an associate pastor, but she will no longer be able to celebrate baptisms, weddings or communion. She hopes that the United Methodist Church's general council will someday reverse its position and restore her credentials.

"Sometimes I wake up and think, 'Oh, my gosh, I'm not a minister anymore!' It's difficult, because I feel my calling so strongly. But I really value the open discussion that the trial engendered.

"I have had conversations with people who, because of their contact with me or the trial process, are beginning to reach a new understanding of homosexuality and its place in the church.

"One of the jurors called me the weekend after the trial and said that he would do everything he could to see that I get my credentials back," she continued. "And immediately after the trial, a spectator approached me in tears, saying that he was deeply confused about God's will in this issue, but that he had learned a lot. When he told me his name, I recognized him as a conservative minister.

"There aren't that many religious leaders who get to go around saying, 'God loves you as you are and blesses all kinds of families,'" Stroud said. "I'm delighted that my congregation and I have had the opportunity to share this message with the world."

Stroud's challenge to church law drew nationwide news coverage, and her story will be explored in some depth in The Congregation, a documentary by Oscar-winning directors Alan and Susan Raymond that is scheduled to air on PBS Dec. 29. For more information about Stroud, see her Web site at http://www.bethstroud.info/ or the United Methodist Church Web site.

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