Christmas can be a hard time for people estranged from their families. It can be an even harder time if you’re estranged from your faith. For the growing number of women leaving the church, the season of joy may not feel all that joyful.
For nearly a decade after she left the church, Nashville singer-songwriter Heather Mae couldn’t listen to Christmas carols.
“I’d sing things like, Santa Baby, and stuff like that, but I would always hit ‘next’ on anything else, any of the religious, Christian carols,” Mae said.
Every Christmas, Mae’s church would light candles in the dark and sing “Silent Night” together. Mae would sing “O Holy Night” for her mother.
“I would sing the big part, ‘fall on your knees,’ (and) my mom would cry. She always wanted me to sing that really big part,” Mae said. “I loved the music. That was my favorite part. I mean, that’s what I wanted to do, was potentially go be a worship leader.”
Mae’s plans changed when she realized she was queer. Suddenly, she found herself on the outside of the Christmas celebrations she’d once been a part of.
A United Methodist Church told Mae that she wasn’t welcome. Since then, the UMC has had a split over LGBTQ issues, with some Nashville-area churches leaving, and some staying. This year, UMC made history when the denomination voted to allow queer folks to serve in the clergy.
“If I had grown up in a church that was LGBTQ-affirming … Yeah. Yes, I probably would have stayed, but what’s unfortunate is that I’m also a woman, and so probably I would’ve stayed and then later in life realized all of the other (problems),” Mae said.
Young women — both queer and straight — are choosing to leave the church at “unprecedented rates,” according to the Survey Center on American Life.
One of the hardest parts about leaving, Mae said, is giving up the sense of community.
“You go from having Bible study, which is where your friends hang out on Wednesdays. You have Thursday night 20s and 30s worship service. You have weekend retreats,” Mae said. “I mean, lord, there are so many things that are socially available to you, right?”
Mae has been able to find community in other LGBTQ musicians who call Nashville home — including her partner, Crys Matthews, who takes Christmas very seriously.
“I am definitely the papa bear in the family, and so the stringing of the lights is my thing,” Matthews said. “It’s, like, a whole situation.”
Early on Sunday mornings, their home is filled with the smell of pancakes and bacon cooking. The couple regularly hosts Sunday morning brunches to take the space that church once filled.
“This is the good part of church,” Mae said. “Gathering around, telling people you love each other, looking in their eyes and saying, ‘I love all that you are. I think you are made perfectly.'”
Nowadays, Mae’s Sunday best is a touch more colorful than it used to be. For her Christmas brunch, she wears a gown of large, mother-of-pearl sequins. One guest compares it to the children’s book, “The Rainbow Fish.” Matthews sticks to the more traditional Christmas colors, complete with red-framed glasses.
“I’m a butch lesbian; we put on Chapstick, and that’s the end of our makeup. But my glasses and my bow ties, I’m very, very into,” Matthew said.
Nearly 40 people fill their home, the possibility of rain keeping every huddled inside.
With a house full of people, Mae hardly notices if a Christmas carol comes on in the background.
Correction: A previous version of this story incorrectly reported that the United Methodist Church was the first denomination to allow LGBTQ people to serve in the clergy. The Universal Fellowship of Metropolitan Community Churches has been ordaining LGBTQ clergyman since its inception in 1968, and since then, other denominations, including UMC, have followed suit.
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