Speaking to the Silent Audience: Reflections on a Public Exchange about Faith, Gender, and the Power of Contemplation

 

Public debates rarely end with one person convincing the other that they are wrong. Minds seldom change that way. Yet conversations like these can still matter deeply, often for reasons that are not obvious at first. They are rarely only between two people. They unfold in front of an audience.

Nearly fifteen years ago I found myself in a lengthy public exchange with Dr. Michael Brown, a well-known evangelical author and speaker. The discussion took place online in the comment section of a Facebook page connected with his ministry. What began as a direct conversation between two individuals gradually became something larger.

At first it looked like a familiar type of debate: a conservative Christian leader expressing theological objections to transgender identity, and a transgender Christian responding with questions, personal experience, and scripture. But as the exchange continued, people began to gather around the conversation. Some left comments. Others simply watched.

The dialogue was no longer private. It had become public.

You can still see the exchange here:
https://lisainbc.blogspot.com/2011/08/and-then-there-is-dr-michael-brown.html

Discovering the real Audience

Years later, my friend Kathy Baldock reminded me of something important about that exchange.

She had been observing the discussion from the sidelines. Kathy had already interacted with Dr. Brown and knew from experience that he was not inclined to concede arguments. In fact, she herself had previously been blocked from participating in conversations on his page.

For reasons neither of us fully understood, he never blocked me.

As the conversation continued, Kathy began noticing something else. Comments and reactions were accumulating beneath the discussion. People were reading carefully and responding. Some were supportive. Others were critical. Many appeared simply curious.

That was when she pointed out what was really happening.

At some point, she said, the conversation had stopped being primarily between Dr. Brown and me. Whether he realized it or not, I had begun speaking to the people who were gathering around the discussion.

In other words, the real audience had quietly shifted.

Looking back now, that insight explains much about the tone and direction the conversation eventually took.

The Context of the Exchange

At the time, debates about LGBTQ people and Christianity were intensifying throughout the evangelical world. Books were being written, conferences organized, and ministries mobilized to resist what they described as a growing cultural acceptance of homosexuality and transgender identity.

Dr. Brown was deeply involved in those efforts and had written extensively on the subject. He was also organizing an outreach event intended to confront LGBTQ activism with what he called “God’s better way.”

I responded to statements posted on the ministry’s page that addressed transgender people in particular. As a transgender woman who had spent decades wrestling with faith, scripture, and identity, I felt compelled to speak.

What followed was a long and detailed exchange that touched on theology, scripture, medicine, personal history, and the responsibilities of Christian leaders. At times, the conversation remained cordial. At other moments, it revealed disagreements that neither of us could resolve.

Yet something important was happening beyond the immediate dialogue.

Why Writing Made the Conversation Possible

The exchange unfolded entirely online, and that mattered more than one might expect.

By temperament, I am not a rapid-fire debater. When wrestling with a difficult idea or trying to respond thoughtfully, I need time to reflect because I am a self-avowed contemplative ruminant! Like many people, I have often walked away from conversations, later wishing I had said things more clearly.

Written dialogue changes that dynamic. In an online exchange, there is space between responses. That space allows time to read carefully, think deeply, and respond deliberately rather than react impulsively.

Looking back, I doubt the conversation with Dr. Brown could have unfolded the same way in a live debate or a televised setting. In those environments, responses must be immediate. Voices rise. Arguments become sharper. Nuance often disappears.

Writing created a slower rhythm. Each response could be considered before it was posted. Questions could be phrased carefully. Points could be grounded in reflection rather than reaction.

In many ways, the pace of writing made the conversation more thoughtful than it might otherwise have been.

What Emerged Within the Conversation

As the discussion continued, I gradually realized the exchange was being read by people far beyond the two of us. That awareness subtly shaped how I approached the dialogue.

One of the first things I learned was the importance of composure. During the conversation, Dr. Brown repeatedly put quotation marks around my name. For him, it was a theological statement, a way of signalling that he did not accept my gender identity. For me, it was painful and disrespectful.

Yet responding with anger would have served little purpose. Anger would only have confirmed the stereotypes many people already held about transgender individuals. Remaining calm allowed readers to observe the exchange and draw their own conclusions.

Questions also became an important part of the dialogue. Rather than arguing only about abstract doctrine, I asked practical questions about how those beliefs would affect people’s lives.

Would someone like me be welcome in your church?
Could I participate fully in the life of the congregation?
Would I be barred from leadership?
If I were married, would my spouse be accepted?

These questions moved the conversation away from theoretical arguments and toward lived reality. It is one thing to discuss doctrine in the abstract. It is another thing to explain how those doctrines shape the way real human beings are treated.

Because the conversation was rooted in Christianity, I chose to engage directly with scripture rather than avoid it. I cited passages such as Jesus’ discussion of eunuchs in Matthew 19 and the story of the Ethiopian eunuch in Acts, texts often overlooked in modern debates, yet that speak to human diversity within the early Christian story.

My intention was not to win a proof-texting contest but to show that the biblical tradition is often more complex and expansive than the narrow interpretations sometimes presented in public debate.

At times, contradictions emerged naturally as the conversation unfolded. When they did, the most effective response was usually not confrontation but clarity. Simply pointing out an inconsistency allowed readers to recognize it for themselves.

Underlying all of this was something more personal. The discussion was not merely about theology. It touched real lives, real families, and real struggles. Behind the arguments were decades of prayer and inner conflict, a marriage that had endured enormous strain, and the painful realization that living honestly might cost community, reputation, and belonging.

When debates drift too far into abstraction, the human beings involved disappear. Repeatedly returning to lived experience helped keep that reality visible.

The Uganda Question

Another dimension of the exchange involved the global consequences of religious rhetoric.

At the time, Uganda was debating legislation that later became internationally known as the “Kill the Gays” bill, which included extremely severe criminal penalties for homosexuality. Several American evangelical figures had participated in conferences in Uganda where harsh anti-gay rhetoric was promoted.

The connection between religious language and political consequences was difficult to ignore.

During the exchange, I raised concerns about how religious rhetoric can influence public attitudes and policy decisions. Words spoken in pulpits or written in books do not remain abstract. They shape how communities understand moral questions and, in some cases, help shape the laws that govern people’s lives.

History has repeatedly shown how quickly theological language can be misused when fear and moral panic take hold.

The Silent Audience

Perhaps the most important lesson from that experience was the presence of what might be called the silent audience.

In every public debate, there are readers who never comment. They simply watch and listen. Among them may be parents struggling to understand their child, young people wondering whether faith and identity can coexist, believers quietly questioning long-held assumptions, or observers trying to make sense of a complicated subject.

These readers rarely announce themselves. Yet they are often the most affected by what they witness.

When conversations remain thoughtful and respectful, they create space for reflection. When they devolve into hostility, they often reinforce fear and division.

Why These Conversations Matter

Public debates rarely produce instant conversions. People seldom abandon deeply held beliefs in the middle of an argument. But conversations shape perception. They influence how observers understand an issue and how they evaluate the people involved.

Readers notice more than arguments. They notice tone. They notice patience. They notice whether someone listens, responds thoughtfully, and treats their opponent with dignity.

Those qualities can influence observers as much as the arguments themselves.

Looking back on that exchange now, I realize I was not simply defending my own story. In a quiet way, I was speaking to anyone who might one day read the conversation and wonder whether faith and gender identity could coexist in the same life.

For those readers, the debate may have offered more than competing arguments. It may have offered a simple witness that faith can survive questioning, that dignity can endure disagreement, and that love does not require cruelty to defend what one believes.

Sometimes the most meaningful outcome of a difficult conversation is not that one person defeats another, but that someone listening quietly in the background begins to see another human being a little more clearly.

And if that happens even once, the conversation was worth having.