(RNS) The sexual misconduct charges swirling around Bishop Eddie Long, one of the nation’s most powerful and beloved black preachers, has shined a light on what many believe is hidden hypocrisy within the black church and the broader black community.

For some, Long is the poster child of hypocrisy and must be taken down. For others, he is the victim of character assassination by former parishioners and a media that has gleefully set out to tear down the work he labored to create.

I contend, however, that this isn’t solely about Long’s guilt or innocence. This isn’t the first scandal of its kind, and it won’t be the last. Nor is the struggle with homosexuality an exclusively black church problem; the recent rash of suicides of mostly white gay teens makes that frightfully clear.

This scandal is bigger than Eddie Long, it’s bigger than his four accusers, and it’s even bigger than his congregation. What’s at stake for the black church and the black community couldn’t be more important. How we respond will define who we are to each other — and who we are to this country.

We in the black community — especially the black church — have allowed ourselves to be defined as homophobic. As one of the few black clergy who opposed California’s Proposition 8, I’ve resisted the racism directed at the black church by white leaders of the gay community. Homophobia isn’t just a “problem” for the black church, nor are all black churches homophobic.

Truth be told, the real problem for the black church is that we haven’t found ways to talk honestly and lovingly about sexuality and relationships. And that includes all forms of relationships: gay, straight and even brothers on the “down low.”

We may not necessarily agree or disagree, but we must be able to talk without passing judgment.

Embracing a don’t ask, don’t tell mentality in our congregations and in our families not only minimizes the dignity of a person’s humanity, it also conveys a sense of irrelevance for our brothers and sisters. Good, God-loving, same-gender-loving people and their families are bereft of real community. When did we — who have experienced such extensive marginalization — become a people that practiced exclusionary theology?

But the damage is even more extensive. When we are not honest about sexuality we cannot be moral leaders on a host of interconnected issues facing our community: failing public schools, HIV/AIDS, staggering levels of incarceration and unemployment rates of African American men.

Because of the sacred place of the black church within the black community, we need the church to be a leader now more than ever. The church has sustained us through unspeakable brutality, moving people in body and spirit from slavery to freedom. The church is part of our African-American DNA no matter what our beliefs, religious affiliations, or church attendance.

We must elevate our church to the higher purpose of affirming the dignity of all of humanity — and that means including and accepting all of God’s children. We cannot exclude an entire segment of our community because of an unwillingness to acknowledge their sexuality.

As people who have faced racism, discrimination and oppression, we have been extraordinarily generous when people are honest, ask for forgiveness and transform their lives. But we must first be honest with ourselves, receive God’s forgiveness and be transformed ourselves to reflect the loving grace and mercy of God.

It’s time the black church recognized that our character is not defined by our sexuality or gender identity, but by how we care for one another. It’s time to reclaim the black church as the beacon of hope and justice. And that starts by being honest — with ourselves and with each other.

(The Rev. Eric P. Lee is chairman and president of the California Christian Leadership Conference, the parent organization for seven California SCLC Chapters.)