NORTHFIELD GAY LIBERATION FRONT
I learned about Rick Huskey through The LGBTQ Religious Archives Network (LGBTQ-RAN). Their resourceful website is an innovative venture in preserving history and encouraging scholarly study of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ) religious movements around the world.
Rick Huskey is a mover in LGBTQ activism, particularly within religious spaces. In 1971, after coming out as gay, he co-founded the Northfield, Minnesota, Gay Liberation Front, marking his early involvement in the movement. He also co-founded Affirmation: United Methodists for LGBTQ Concerns, where he helped organize LGBTQ individuals and allies to push for inclusivity and equality within the Methodist Church.
Despite his dedication, Rick faced rejection from the church. After coming out as gay, he was denied ordination and faced harsh opposition from the institution he had hoped to serve. This experience was a turning point that led him to confront the systemic discrimination within the church, and he became a visible figure in the fight for LGBTQ inclusion in religious communities. His activism, alongside groups like Affirmation, inspired many to question the church’s exclusionary stance on LGBTQ issues. His work highlighted the deep contradictions between the church’s mission of inclusivity and its actual practices, motivating the LGBTQ community and allies to demand change.
Later in life, Rick turned to geriatric care, but his dedication to preserving LGBTQ religious history persisted.
— August Bernadicou, Executive Director of The LGBTQ History Project
“We were out and gay at St. Olaf College in Northfield, Minnesota. This was during the Vietnam War. We had a strike where we took over the President’s office. There was a gay presence at St Olaf. Minnesota tends to be very open. People were more accepting, not that we don’t have idiots, but basically it was very open.
All of us in the Gay Liberation Front came together like magnets. Does gaydar exist? I think it does. We just understood each other’s mannerisms. With a flip of the hand or a shake of the hip or a sassy discussion, you just pick up on who is a brother or sister. It is a certain type of spirit—a spirit that comes out and finds other spirits. It was almost atomic. In all honesty, I think it’s necessary to balance humanity. If we aren’t here humanity is not balanced.
The Northfield Gay Liberation Front was primarily students and a few faculty members. There was a bar called the Muni, and we would all go and have meetings there. I don’t drink alcohol now, but on my birthday, we all went there, and we got drunk as a skunk. We had a drink called a boilermaker, where you drop a shot of whiskey into beer. That was the last time I really drank.
In the summertime, we would go to my uncle’s cabin at a big lake in Minnesota. We worked together plotting and planning. It was a wonderful time that could never be recreated. We all had a sense of purpose. We knew inside ourselves that we were okay. You start with yourself. Coming out means you come out, and if you really come out, it means you are really okay with yourself—when you start with that, that’s your rock, your obelisk. There’s nothing that can prevail against it. It’s natural.
As soon as I graduated, I left the Gay Liberation Front and went right into seminary. I was the first one to come out. When I was about to be ordained an elder, I told my bishop I was gay. I told him I wanted to minister to openly gay Christians and non Christian people. He went crazy on me. I wanted to do ministry in bars and talk about spirituality. I tried to approach those who didn’t know they needed help and those who knew they needed help.
Outside of my Gay Liberation Front bubble, many gay folks were scared to death to be who they were and be out. Christianity shook them, and they had fears. I wanted them to realize that they were human beings and that alone could add certitude to their life. It is okay to be gay and a spiritual being. I realized that had I been born a century earlier, I would have been executed.
I think this highlights the strength of a persecuted person—the ability to forgive the institution, to live in spite of it, and to recognize that one's religious sensibilities are separate from any institution. As a child of God, my relationship with God is independent of any institution. It's about how I see myself in relation to God, my world, and other human beings.
Anyway, I was rejected by the church. Suddenly I was out of a job and without money. I was raised lower middle class, and my situation reminded me of my youth. Members of my congregation served as good Samaritans and supported me. I had faith that something would happen and I would be on the good side of history.
There was a large demonstration from the gay and lesbian community of the Twin Cities when I was supposed to be ordained that year. I went forward and knelt at the altar at Gustavus Adolphus Chapel, where the United Conference was holding their ordination. Over 150 gay and lesbian people came from the Twin Cities and St. Cloud to protest my exclusion from ordination. When the service started, they knelt in the aisles and obstructed the path of those being ordained. I sat at the front as a witness to the church's brokenness, which was failing in its mission to be an emissary of Christ to all people. Instead, it was discriminating, and the gay and lesbian community of the Twin Cities recognized and resisted that hurt.”
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