I picked up Still Time to Care for two reasons.

One, I was wanting to learn more about the history of the Church and its treatment of same-sex attracted and LGBT people – and how it ought to affect my ministry today. In my work, I see how different individuals and communities wrestle with faith and sexuality in different ways, and I can't help but wonder, "What help can I offer that will really help, and what might seem helpful in my own eyes but will actually end up harming?" This question both haunts me and propels me into action, strategic vision, and prayer (and I hope it never stops doing so).

Two, I had been following the story of Pastor Greg Johnson and know that he himself is an important figure in how that history is unfolding today. Dr. Johnson's unique place of influence in the traditional Protestant church as someone with his particular story is something that deserves attention even amidst the many ways a person might take issue with him.

While this book was being published, Johnson and his philosophy were under scrutiny from all "sides" of the faith and sexuality conversation. Some would say Johnson's celibacy is suppression of self. Others would prefer he take a "don't ask, don't tell" approach to what he would say is one of the most key elements of Christ's work in His life. Even within the very denomination in which he met Jesus, grew up in the faith, and became ordained, he has patiently endured harsh accusations only to emerge with his integrity intact (see such instance here: https://byfaithonline.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/10/2020-12-Speck-Decision-on-Complaint-10.21.2021-1.pdf). Still others remain inspired by Johnson's humility, honestly, and pursuit of faithfulness toward Jesus both behind closed doors and in the face of public accusation. Amidst opinions across the spectrum, Greg Johnson remains a differentiated person and leader, and I respect him and his voice for it.

As someone who also identifies as a Christian, experiences same-sex attraction, and serves in vocational ministry, I personally relate to much of Greg's personal experience. I, too, desire to honor God in my sexual stewardship, and simultaneously to be honest and fully human in the way I pursue relationship and family. I, too, want to see a path of spiritual formation for same-sex attracted and LGBTQ+ people that is not rife with friendly fire. (The "straight and narrow path" Jesus describes is hard enough as it is, and Lord knows we all need quality support on this journey.) I know that I am far from alone in these dual desires for faithfulness and honesty, and my awareness of the company I'm in grows with every passing year – and with every honest and faith-filled literary work in which we are represented.

Still Time to Care includes Greg's personal story, but it does not center itself on his personal experience. I appreciate this approach because I've seen how "gay testimony" stories are commonly exploited by churches (often unintentionally) to allow churches to feel good about something that happened in spite of a culture of apathy and decided ignorance. The book, to the contrary, has hope to inspire churches to face their ignorance with honesty and hope, moving them toward tangible, embodied care of same-sex attracted and LGBT+ people. The book is both a treatise and meaningful interpretation of historical events and statistical data on Christian people and faith communities and how they sought to either care for or "cure" homosexuals.

I was intrigued when I heard that Greg Johnson would be bringing the lived examples of C.S. Lewis, John Stott, and Francis Schaeffer into his historical inquiry. I grew up reading these men's works, and to hear that their personal lives reflected "care" rather than "cure" toward their homosexual peers (as they were called at the time) pleasantly surprised me.

I was most blown away by Johnson's analysis of Greek art, literature, and mythology to support his conviction toward a traditional sexual ethic. Some arguments state that the apostle Paul could not have been condemning same-sex relationships as we know them today since same-sex relationships in ancient Rome were by definition exploitative and pederastic. Johnson pulls back the curtain on ancient relationships in a way I had never considered before to reveal that it's more complicated than that. Regardless of our personal discernment processes, understanding the nature of cultures in the ancient world, and the intent of the instructions of Paul of Tarsus, are historical foundations we can't ignore if we are exploring the distinct nature of Christianity, the Christian faith, and the pursuit of God in life and belief and conduct.

On this side of the book cover, I have a greater sense of grounding in history, in two ways:

As a Christian, I feel more grounded in history as it pertains to my role as a Christian as history unfolds today. My role is to challenge churches not to settle for the status quo of "cure," but to commit to taking our place in the the necessity of "care" among our SSA and queer neighbors. If we are Christian, to leave a call of Christ unanswered is to reject our God-given identity. And in this time, our God is calling us to care for our LGBTQ and same-sex attracted neighbors, relatives, friends, laypersons, and, yes, our clergy. We need to keep a caring eye and a prayerful hand on LGBTQ+ people who are growing in the faith and stepping up to the call of leadership.

As someone who identifies within the LGBT+ community, I also feel more grounded in history. I see more clearly how my fellow LGBTQ+ peers have been hurt by my faith tradition. I have had a chance to be broken over it in a new way; to own ways I have participated in apathy toward Q/SSA neighbors; to take my place once again in the fight against the enemy of our souls to steal the dignity of image-bearers like me. More than ever, LGBTQ+ people need room to sort out their lives in community without the threat of exile or psychological harm. I now have a greater commitment to providing spaces for LGBTQ+ of all spiritual and religious backgrounds to explore Jesus as they are, and to discover Jesus and the Good News with a sense of wonder and awe and surprising joy.

I recommend this book for anyone wanting to take an honest look at modern Protestant church history and to move forward with a vision for healing and reconciliation in Protestant churches. I left the book disappointed, mainly asking, "Where are the leaders of color in this movement?" I hope that the answer will come from the next steps in history as we hear more diverse voices platformed – and more diverse churches empowered and committed to moving from cure to care.

Church history unfolded in the cultural contexts of ancient Rome and Greece. It unfolded in the cultural contexts of C.S. Lewis, John Stott, and Francis Schaeffer. It unfolded in the cultural contexts of Worthen, Nicolosi, and Chambers. And now, it continues to unfold with Ron Belgau, Nate Collins, Greg Johnson, Wesley Hill, Bill Henson, Mark Yarhouse, and importantly, you and me and the voices around us we respect and value.

Where will we go next? What cultures have yet to care well? What cultures remain under-resourced and under-educated? These are the questions that I hope will continue to keep me on my knees in prayer and on my feet in action in my city.

This book has more in it than I expected. It explores the churches history and response to LGBT+, how the ex-gay movement got started and reasons for it's failure, and how we can move forward. In reading this book I received more than I expected but all that I needed to address how to include and minister to LGBT+ individuals within our church family.