Lesbian Firsts: Karen Oliveto Changes the Face of the Methodist Bishopric

Declan and I had the pleasure of meeting Karen Oliveto some years ago at a Reconciling Ministries Network event in Missouri. Since then we've been online friends, fans, and followers of her work: spreading love and encouraging thousands as they pushed the United Methodist Church toward full inclusion of LGBTQI+ people in the denomination. Karen has since retired, kicking off a new phase of growth and service. She joins us today to answer a few questions about her journey.

In 2016, you became the first openly lesbian bishop in the United Methodist Church. Looking back through the lens of the subsequent decade, how has that experience of "firstness" shaped you?

When I finally said "yes" to my name coming forward as a candidate for bishop, I was stunned by the power of the Holy Spirit and the power of community. Both sustained and empowered me as I became a bishop, nurturing my soul and caring for my spirit. I was very aware that onto my personhood, as the first openly LGBTQ+ bishop, people were projecting "the hopes and fears of all the years." That is a lot to hold. It made me want to be open to those who felt fear (and anger) and be the best I could be for those who felt hope. That, too, is not easy.

I knew every room I walked into, everything I wrote, everything I said publicly, was being carefully scrutinized and could and would be used against me, impacting the future for LGBTQ+ United Methodists. Yet, I knew that if I was to open hearts and minds and help the church move towards full inclusion, I would have to live out loud the joy that is intrinsic to my faith, because joy is contagious. I never knew how I would be received in the rooms I walked into. Threats of violence were real, yet so was the love and affirmation. Before every new place I stepped into, I would pray, "Give me an undefended heart, and may I be generous in love." I was merely a vessel of God's grace and it enabled bridges to be built, instead of walls.

But it was hard. And it was lonely. I am so grateful for my wife Robin, who walked it all with me--the good, the bad, and the ugly. I would not have made it without her love and support.

The United Methodist Church voted to remove its 52-year-old ban against LGBTQ+ inclusion during its General Conference in May of 2024. You retired a few months later. Did that joyous, historic event contribute to your decision? Did it give you permission to step away, in order to breathe, to rest, to refocus?

It did not totally influence my decision to retire. The eight years as bishop were exhausting--spiritually, physically, and emotionally. I knew I was beginning to run out of steam and wanted to end my active ministry while still strong. Plus, there was the math: as bishop, I faced mandatory retirement in 2028 when I will be 70 years old. I wanted to retire healthy enough to do some things I didn't have time to do while working full-time.

I continue to be in awe that the UMC became fully inclusive in 2024. I never thought I would see that in my lifetime! All the advocacy work I did was for a future I may or may not have seen. I continue to process what happened at GC 2024! One more reason for retirement is that I have spent 40+ years of ordained ministry navigating a system that didn't want or support someone like me. I knew how to do that well. To stay in active ministry as a bishop after GC 24 would necessitate the unlearning of so much! That is a LOT of spiritual and emotional work to do. I felt that would be unfair to the annual conference I was serving.

Prior to your retirement, you were named the chairperson for the Center for LGBTQ+ United Methodist Heritage, which collects stories and artifacts of queer people who'd been congregants or in ministry within the UMC. Have you continued that work? If so, how's it going? Have there been any surprises in getting it off the ground, or in the stories and objects that have been collected?

I continue to serve as the chair of the board for the Center. I have always been fascinated by the untold stories of LGBTQ+ people in our church, so many hidden in plain view. I am so grateful for the General Secretary of the General Commission on Archives and History for inviting me to take on this leadership position in retirement. We have gathered a diverse board of individuals from around the globe who are working to build the Center from the ground up. From bylaws to acquisition guidelines to programs, we continue to increase the capacity of the Center and live into its mission "The Center for LGBTQ+ Methodist Heritage promotes, preserves, and protects the experiences, ministries, contributions, and sacrifices of LGBTQ+ people so that the UMC tells a more complete story of our heritage to inform our future as an inclusive denomination."

I have been so moved as individuals have stepped out of the closet to finally share their stories of what it was like to remain faithful to their call in a church that denied their very existence. So much resilience and dedication! At the same time, it has been heartbreaking to gather the stories of loss, the pain of the church's rejection, and despair of knowing God's acceptance in the face of the church's condemnation. All of these stories must be gathered and told, so that the church can listen, learn, and do better in the future.

As a bishop, you served churches in Colorado, Montana, Utah, Wyoming, and a small section of Idaho. You're now settled in Nova Scotia, a place you've spent time in throughout your life. I'm imagining the cultures to be very different. Can you tell us a little about what the culture shift has been like? Also, WHAT ABOUT THE WEATHER?

I tell folks, "We are living in the Promised Land." It certainly feels that way, especially in light of the current administration in the US.

We originally hadn't planned on living here full time in retirement. We were going to split our time—half in the US and half in NS. But a devastating fire a year before my retirement in the area where we owned a condo in the US made us quickly reevaluate our decision: how could we ask our long-term tenant to move out when there was no available housing? How could we ethically leave a home unoccupied for 6 months when so many were in need? That was the driving reason for our decision to move up to NS full-time. My mother was from NS (which is how I have dual citizenship) and I have spent every summer of my life up here (Robin and I bought land and a cottage here in 2017). In many ways, moving up here was a homecoming I hadn't realized I was hungry for.

My retirement was in September 2024—we had no idea of the deep shifts US politics would make in November but are grateful every day that we now live in Canada. My academic work is in the field of Sociology of Religion. Moving north, the sociologist in me has been most curious about the differences in the two cultures. I have been writing about it on Substack: a series called "Latitude Adjustment: Dispatches from a Northern Reckoning". I think the biggest difference is the starting point for policy decisions: while the individual is the starting point in the US, the community is the starting point in Canada. Health care is a great example of this difference: in the US, my money pays for MY healthcare and medical insurance, and there is a growing resentment if "my" money pays for someone else's care. In Canada, our taxes pay for universal healthcare. Over and over again I hear people say, "I am so glad I can help someone else who is in need."

Also, this is a country that values multi-culturalism and diversity. I love that being queer is seen as just one more difference in the human family, which enriches the whole. We live in a rural community of 700. When I asked other lesbian couples if they felt safe living here, they looked at me quizzically. They had no frame of reference for such a question! After all the threats we received when I was bishop, living here has been a welcomed and needed healing balm.

The weather is GRAND! We lived in San Francisco for 27 years where it was always foggy and damp--it is wonderful to live in a place with four seasons, each one more glorious than the other. We live on the north shore, on the Northumberland Strait, which has the warmest waters north of the Carolinas, so we are swimming in the ocean almost every day in the summer! And the winters aren't too bad—it is true what they say: There is no bad weather, only bad clothes.

Many people in the queer community have thought (or dreamed) about leaving the country due to current politics. Did this influence your decision to settle in Canada?

I think I answered that above. But I will say this: we both have been amazed at how strongly Canada supports LGBTQ+ people. There are official government webpages on how to become a better ally of the LGBTQ+ community. Even the smallest of villages display Pride flags and hold parades. There is an integration into the larger community that feels so different from the US.

We bought our property in 2017 and when I was a bishop, we would summer here. The first Sunday we attended church, an older man made a beeline for us after worship and asked us, "Do you know the girls in the Blue House? Do you know the girls who are the artists? Do you know the girls who built the hay stack house?" We realized he was outing all the other lesbian couples of the town to us, to let us know there was a place for us!

In a 2017 interview with NPR, you said "...like many pastors do, I came out in seminary. Seminary has a way of making you question everything you've learned before and then rebuilding and reforming." Have later experiences in life resulted in the same kind of deep self evaluation? Has retirement provided similar echoes?

Oh my goodness, has it ever!

I heard my call to ministry when I was 11 years old, began preaching when I was 16. Everything I did throughout my life was to equip myself to be the best pastor I could be. Now, in retirement, I am learning what it means to be ME, not looking at who I am through the lens of my vocation. It has been a rich time of self-discovery, of learning new things, and being lost in wonder at all there is to explore!

In the same 2017 interview, you said: "I'm looking around, especially U.S. culture right now, and we are being invited to 'other' one another - to make some of us in and some of us out, to talk about us versus them. This is a very dangerous time in our country." This feels even more desperately true now. How are you responding to the danger, either personally or publicly?

There is a part of me that feels very guilty living outside the US at this critical moment. I have been an activist throughout my ministry, and it is hard to watch what is being played out from the sidelines. I have been asking myself, "What can I do? What have I to offer?" The Spirit has led me to teaching. I have been serving as adjunct for several seminaries, teaching a course to help pastors find their prophetic voice through deepening their pastoral engagement. I believe that the two are entwined and informs the other. Without a prophetic commitment that rises out of the lived experiences of those around us, pastoring is polite listening. Without the grounding of pastoral engagement that helps us understand the systems that impact the lives around us, the prophetic voice becomes a clanging symbol.

What has been interesting is that the United Church of Canada has noticed my work. They have been watching what is happening south of the border and want their clergy to be prepared and equipped to face the challenges of growing fascism and a rhetoric of violence and othering. I have been invited to lead workshops for clergy and church leaders on this topic.

I love this statement: "Maybe that’s the question: Who makes us uncomfortable? Because my hunch is that those are the very people God wants you to be in relationship with." This feels very true both on an individual basis, and for the Church in general. Are there groups or situations you see in play currently with which the Church is being called to engage? Do you have advice for pushing through the discomfort?

I think we in the church have failed to teach what it means to love God and love our neighbor as ourselves. We saw this clearly playing out during COVID, when church members were angry that church buildings were closed in our communal attempt to stem the spread of the virus and protect the most vulnerable. It makes me wonder, when church members have such a hard time loving their neighbors, have we taught them to love themselves? Love expands the circle of who is "in" and who is "out". Fear contracts it. Love helps us move closer to others, even those who are so different from us, because we recognize our shared humanity as beloved children of God. May the church teach us to love—ourselves, others, the earth, and God—more boldly!

You said "You don’t stop being a Bishop, you just don’t get a salary.” I'm trying to envision how this has translated into reality for you. The role of Bishop requires lots of travel, building and maintaining hundreds of relationships, performing administrative functions, fulfilling pastoral obligations, and a whole lot more. I'm imagining life on the coast of Nova Scotia to be entirely different. What does your ministry look like now, two years into retirement?

I continue to grow into retirement and how to serve at this time in my life. Robin and I are very aware that we have entered into the final act of life—each year suddenly really matters! We are committed to investing our time and talents in our new community--we volunteer to help with town activities and I serve on a couple of committees (including the town's Equity and Anti-Racism Committee Diversity). I am also learning how to sit in a pew and not behind a pulpit!

I have always been an extrovert. COVID helped me discover my inner monastic. After a very public ministry, I am enjoying the solitude our 11-acre property provides. I love sitting on our deck and watching the tide roll in and out. This is allowing the whispers of a new and different engagement of ministry to emerge.

You've authored several books related to inclusion and diversity within the church. If you were to write another book now, what would it be about, and what might it be called?

I do have a book proposal prepared, based on the essays I have been writing for my "Latitude Adjustment" series. There is another topic that has fascinated me for many years and that is how when one is oppressed, the imagination is one of the first things lost. It is hard to dream one's way to a new tomorrow. I have seen this played out over and over in people's lives. How do we move from a poverty of the spirit to an abundance of possibility? How can we unleash communal imagination?

Perhaps, someday, I will write a memoir. The title would be "How Can I Keep From Singing?"

We'll end on that musical note. Thanks so much, Bishop Oliveto! We wish you many happy years in this next phase of life.

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More about Bishop Karen Oliveto

Bishop Oliveto was named by NBC as one of 30 contemporary LGBTQ change-makers as part of their

#Pride50 series. She was also named one of the Faith Leaders to Watch in 2021 by the Center for American Progress.

Oliveto is the co-author of Talking About Homosexuality: A Congregational Resource (Pilgrim Press: 2004), and the author of Our Strangely Warmed Hearts: Coming Out into God's Call (Abingdon, 2018) and Together at the Table: Diversity without Division in The United Methodist Church (Westminster John Knox: 2018).