Bullies and Silence

Since I left the news business, I admit that I am usually two, three days behind everyone else on “the latest”. It doesn’t bother me to be out-of-the-loop that way because, honestly, “the latest” often times really isn’t that important in the grander scheme of all things in the universe.

But I do keep up with some news via the internet. And thus I was aware that across the country, many people were taking a vow of silence on Friday to remember a California eighth-grader by the name of Lawrence King. Larry, as he was called, had already self-identified as gay. In February, he asked another boy to be his Valentine. The other boy, a kid named Brandon, didn’t take this invitation well at all. Instead of simply telling Larry “No, thanks,” he made it permanent by shooting him in the head and killing him.

Consider this senseless act of violence, and then juxtapose that information against the debate in the Florida House over the anti-bullying bill, named “The Jeffrey Johnston Stand Up for All Students Act.” Johnston was a 15 year-old Cape Coral boy who killed himself after enduring nearly two years of harassment both in school and in cyberspace. His mother, a teacher, has been trying to get the bill passed for three years…and several LGBT-friendly organizations have been working this “school safety” legislation for much longer than that. The bill would instruct school districts to develop strategies for dealing with bullies and their parents. It spells out different types of bullying…including stalking and destruction of property. It also says it applies to bullying based on “sexual, racial or religious grounds”.

Just those three? An attempt to amend the bill to include “gender-based” bullying reportedly caused a 45-minute debate. The Democrats wanted the change, arguing that it was important to instruct people specifically on bullying because of “gender preference”. But the Republicans successfully argued against that inclusion because the bill was “about the bully, not the victims of bullying.”

The bill passed overwhelmingly. It’s now in the Florida Senate message calendar. And everyone in the Capitol can take comfort in knowing that it doesn’t “offend”.

But it does offend me. Because Lawrence King is not the first kid to get killed…or kill him/herself for being gay. And there is still so much tolerance for gay jokes and gay stereotypes and referring to things UNcool as "that's so gay". People will praise a movie like “Brokeback Mountain” for being groundbreaking and daring to depict two western men in love, and not stop to think, “Hey: it’s another mainstream film about a gay relationship that leaves lives in shambles, with one guy dead and another a drunken bum alone in a trailer.” The tears I shed for that film were not about the storyline, but about the constant presentation to an American audience that “those people are just dysfunctional”.

And the churches are not helping much. To be sure, there are those who are making efforts to include all of God’s children and make everyone sitting in the pews on Sunday feel welcomed to be there and share in hearing the Word of God. But then I read something like Rev. Matt Kennedy’s sermon, and I realize, in my universe of the Episcopal Church, we have miles to go before we can sit back and rest on our more evolved laurels with the requisite cocktail in hand.

“Search for the Lord and his strength;
continually seek his face”
--Psalm 105: 4

Those of us who are seeking God know that it will take patience, courage and strength to change minds and attitudes. May the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, continue to move in this world and guide us toward more compassion for each other…for the Larrys and the Brandons…the legislators and the Matt Kennedys. Amen.

And furthermore....

Rather than me going on and on about Mark Harris' excellent discussion of homosexuality and the Episcopal Church, I encourage you to click on the link and go read his entry for yourself.

PRELUDIUM: We rise to play a greater part

And just a PS: if you have time, take a moment to click on the link within Fr. Mark's posting to read the sermon by Rev. Matt Kennedy in the diocese of Central New York. Just in case you don't believe that the thieves of Christ's message aren't alive and well within the Episcopal Church! Bigotry knows no geographic boundaries.

In Memorium

I'm taking a slight break from the usual contemplation to remember the passing of my father-in-law (well, not legally, but figuratively my "in-law") Arthur Potts. My partner's dad passed away Tuesday morning. He'd been sick with pneumonia, and when he finally got to the hospital, he had a heart attack. I will always remember how friendly and polite Mister Potts was to me, and how he'd always wear a blue fishing hat that he'd keep shifting about on his head as he'd talk. I saw many of Isabelle's physical mannerisms in her dad, particularly the bouncing at the knees as she stands and talks to people.

So, for my Jewish partner, I am including the English translation of the Kaddish, the Hebrew prayer of mourning for her father, Arthur:

Glorified and sanctified be God's great name throughout the world which He has created according to His will. May He establish His kingdom in your lifetime and during your days, and within the life of the entire House of Israel, speedily and soon; and say, Amen.

May His great name be blessed forever and to all eternity.

Blessed and praised, glorified and exalted, extolled and honored, adored and lauded be the name of the Holy One, blessed be He, beyond all the blessings and hymns, praises and consolations that are ever spoken in the world; and say, Amen.

May there be abundant peace from heaven, and life, for us
and for all Israel; and say, Amen.

He who creates peace in His celestial heights, may He create peace for us and for all Israel; and say, Amen.

Contemplating "The Way"

One of my good friends once did a radio commentary in which she discusses how each one of us has “the way” things are to be done. There is “the way” one folds the laundry or puts dollar bills back into a wallet or pumps gas or any myriad of things that merit a system of doing. And, naturally, whatever is your “way” is “the way”. Incidentally, questioning “the way” should be done at your own risk.

So, this past Fifth Sunday of Easter, the gospel reading was the one that I’ve been looking at for years as the one for my own funeral: John 14:1-14. Besides talking about “In my Father’s house there are many rooms…” Thomas poses the question to Jesus, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” (Uh-oh…here comes “the way” again!)

And Jesus answers, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” Great: so now Jesus has “the way”, too!

Often times, this sort of talk in the gospels has been used to club “non-believers” over the head and justify people in their abuse of Christianity to be ugly. Certainly, there were fundamentalists on television and radio…and campus…in Missouri who would have everyone believe that there was only one way into heaven, and it was “the way” of this passage from John’s gospel.

But I have always had a very different take on what Jesus was saying here, a take that (admittedly) has absolutely no endorsement or stamp of approval from any theologian or seminary. It’s just my lay Episcolesbian perspective:

Jesus: My way of being (please see all cites throughout my various works and words that demonstrate my love and compassion) is the way" And this way is the one that is truth and is life (as opposed to deceit and death). And if we all adopt a path of love, truth, life we will come to know God.

Further into this particular gospel passage, another apostle, Phillip, is scratching his head and asking Jesus to show them “the Father, and we will be satisfied.” And I can almost see Jesus’ shoulders drooping and his head shaking as he, again, tries to explain to this group of “very nice…if a bit dense…guys” what he means.

Jesus: “Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’? Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own; the Father who dwells in me does his works. Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; but if you do not, then believe me because of the works themselves.”

As I read that, what I understand is that Jesus is trying to tell this pack of puppies that have been following him around from place to place and witnessing “the way” to now put two-and-two together. I don’t know if Jesus himself has figured it out that, “Hey—I’m God!” But I think he’s trying to get the gang to understand that “the way” he has been and treated people and related to them is “the way”. And Jesus’ “way” is in keeping with other religious traditions, even if the icons of those other paths have their own variation on “the way”.

All of this goes back to my contention that we humans are some kind of silly people when we try to force everyone into believing that “the way” we worship God is “the way”. God is far too agile and smart to be trapped into any one path. Remember: in his house there are many rooms. And each of those rooms has a place for anyone who has followed “the way” to the party. And in one room, they might be greeted by the sounds of choirs and organs….while in another it’s clarinets and ram horns…or sitars and gongs. If you follow “the way” of peace, love and light, you will come into a place of eternal life. And the best part about it is that you can do it now, today, before this stage of your life is over.

Sing Hallelujah, Hallelujah!
And you shoo tha blues away
When cares pursue ya
Hallelujah!
Gets you through tha darkest day!

--Ella Fitzgerald

Coming Out as Christian

So, now that you all know the steps I went through to come out as “queer”, time to talk about the other-half of my identity as a Christian.

My membership in the body of Christ became public on April 16, 1968 at Christ Church in Exeter, New Hampshire, when Rev. Lloyd Foneville baptized me in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. From that point forward, I was marked as Christ’s own forever. God, of course, already had my number before the Episcopal Church got me. The baptism put me on the path that my parents and godparents chose for me to follow. Later, as a teen-ager, I would proclaim my desire to stay with Christ through my confirmation. You can read all about that journey here.

Being Christian is not as risky in society as being gay. Many people in the United States are Christian, or at least were raised in a Christian household. And, despite what I used to hear from the members of the Christian Coalition who insisted they were persecuted, I am not aware of a huge problem with Christians getting beaten or denied jobs or housing or custody rights of their children simply because they worship Christ. Unless they also happen to be queer.

Queer and Christian? Impossible!

No, it is not. And I should know since I am among the members of the flock who wear both labels. My necklace sports not only the inverted triangle of pride, but a crucifix and a mustard seed. My car not only has a rainbow sticker, but also the shield of the Episcopal Church. My heart not only feels love and attraction to women, but it is made softer and fuller when I remember that God is my strength and my redeemer. And as the wolves wag their tongues with invectives and try to encircle me, I know my shepherd will come to my aid, especially if I call out his name. And he doesn’t care that I’m queer. He knew that all along.

My blog has entries already that discuss the clashes I’ve had with fundamentalist Christians who would want to sever my relationship with God. And I have struggled to come to the place that I’m at today where I finally understand that there is no one who can break me from God but me. I am recalling the reading out of John’s gospel from the Fourth Sunday of Easter in which Jesus talks about being the shepherd and the gate, and that his sheep know his voice and will follow him and not a stranger. I realize now that on many occasions I have heeded the sound of the stranger’s voice, the one that would tell me I’m condemned to hell because I’m a lesbian.

Trouble is the strangers’ voices have been amplified for too long. And not only have members of the LGBT-community been swayed by their message, many straight families have as well. And church leaders have also allowed the thieves of Christianity to get the upper-hand by remaining silent instead of picking up their own megaphones and proclaiming that the Good News is that Christ died and was resurrected for everyone: that includes people who go to bed with members of the opposite sex, same sex, or nobody at all.

Sex. Yes, I think that’s where the big break down has occurred. At Rt. Rev. Gene Robinson’s consecration in New Hampshire five years ago, there was a moment given for any one who objected to his election as a bishop to have their say. And did they! An Episcopal priest from Pittsburgh launched into a pornographic description of gay male sex acts using that as fodder for why Robinson was “an abomination”. The idea of people having sex, particularly gay sex, sends some folks into a whacky, wigged-out, whirligig of weirdness! I think some of this is borne out of the writings of the apostle Paul who seems to have a never-ending struggle with keeping his mind off the flesh and focused on the spirit. But, again, I don’t believe that the “who I sleep with" matters as much to God as the “how I treat that who” I am sleeping with. I believe that where there is love and respect without coercion or manipulation, God is there. So I’m not exactly sure what was going on with the Pittsburgh priest except, perhaps, that he needed to spend some time looking into his own heart and wondering why he was so curious about sexual practices that were a little “racier” than the “norm”.

So all of this deals with my perception of the heterosexual community’s reaction to me. But I have to say I have run into many straight people who seem fine with having me join them in worshipping Christ. I’m not so sure about my brothers and sisters in the gay community.

I have encountered several different reactions to my faith. There are those who take the “to each their own” stance. But there are many who, if I say I’m Christian, either go silent, or look away. Or they tell me why they aren’t as if they expect me to start arguing with them. I keep thinking that issue here has to do with whatever trauma has been inflicted on gay individuals by churches or synagogues. There are just too many stories that I’ve heard from people about family members “praying for them” that they might “cure” them of this homosexual affliction. I have heard from lesbians who attended the Episcopal Church in the earlier part of this decade only to be met with a sermon so homophobic and misogynistic that they left in tears, never to return again. Such stories are painful to hear. And I do understand how rotten it can make one feel. To those who have felt that rejection, all I can say is to remember who is rejecting you: people, not God. Even the one with the collar standing in the pulpit is still just another human being in the same soup with the rest of us. And they are more likely to make mistakes than the shepherd who knows you by your name and your true self.

In the Book of Common Prayer of the Episcopal Church, there is a statement that I believe speaks volumes: “Almighty God, to you all hearts are open, all desires known and from you no secrets are hid.” From the very closeted to the most out and proud among us, God knows you more completely than any person or religious institution will ever know you. And He never walks away and his love for you and desire to be in relationship with you is deep and real. And he will continue to call for you, even as you wander away. Listen for him.

Bishop Gene Robinson at Seabury-Western

If you're looking for a promise of "happily everafter" in the Bible, you might want to move along to another site. But if you're looking for a promise of hope, watch this video of Rt. Rev. Gene Robinson celebrating eucharist at Seabury-Western in Evanston, IL on April 16th. I was struck by his message on the Beatitudes, particularly that it should serve as a reminder to all of us who struggle with (fill-in-the-blank-that-is-your-challenge-of-the-moment)...that in our struggle, God will always be there with us. This is worth the 22-minutes!

Coming Out as Queer

Maybe it’s because it’s spring. Maybe it’s my recent experiences with college students and others in Tallahassee. Maybe it’s because gay pride month is only six weeks away. Or maybe it’s the interesting Lazarus posts over at sisterfriends-together.org. But whatever “it” is, I find myself contemplating “coming out”.

My process happened over many, many years. In fact, in putting some pieces together for myself, I realize that my first inclination that I was a lesbian came when I was eight years-old and I wrote a love poem to a pretty blonde-haired blue-eyed girl in my class. It wasn’t very sophisticated, one of those “Roses are red, Violets are blue” things (gimme a break: I was eight!). When I gave it to my true love, she read it, tore it up, threw it in my face and ran away crying. I told my mother what happened, and she assured me that the girl probably “didn’t understand.” Or maybe she did understand, and was horrified. What I understood was that what I had done was obviously upsetting and wrong and I should have just kept it to myself.

I also knew to avoid blonde-haired, blue-eyed girls!

By the time I got to puberty, I realized again that something was amiss. I didn’t have strong attraction to boys or men, but I liked looking at women. I developed a crush on one of my teachers, a crush so intense that I would intentionally walk past her classroom on the second floor to look at her…even if my next class was in the basement of the building. I watched one of the girls in my class slow-dancing with a jock at one of our painful Junior High School dances, and I kept wishing that it was me holding her that close.

Uh-oh! Wanting to slow-dance with another chick could only mean one thing!

I went to the library. And, in a town the size of Exeter, one had to be very careful about the books one checked out. After all, the librarian knew everyone. And so I was very particular about my selections. I’d pick out a book like “Family Matter” by Dr. Charles Silverstein which interviewed some of the founding members of Parents, Families and Friends of Lesbians and Gays. And then I would select maybe some feminist titles….and then lots of other books that I had no intention of reading, but at least they weren’t “suspicious”. The "non-gay" titles lived on my bedside table. The books I was actually reading lived under the bed.

Reading helped. Along with Our Bodies, Our Selves (thanks to my brother, Tom…who thought he was being ‘cute’ when he pointed that one out to me!), I found that there were other people in the world like me. Sadly, they were all in black and white, not in flesh and blood in front of me. Those who were actual real people around me were not so helpful. There were jokes about gay men and AIDS. There were nasty cracks about “lesbos”. And then there was my reality of prep school.

I was not “out” at my school, but my demeanor, my athleticism, and my style of dress all indicated the truth of who I was as a sexual being. And thus I endured having things thrown at me as I walked on campus, classmates trying to trip and push me as I left classes, and a group of boys who followed me around grumbling, “Dyke!” in a low, menacing tone. I was scared. I wanted to fit in, and I did try to find boys attractive. But inside I knew that what my enemies perceived about me was true: I was a dyke. What didn’t help was when I tried to come out to two different adults, I was either admonished and told that it was too early for me to conclude that I was a lesbian, or I was told that my “problem” was that I made boys “feel neutered” and if I would “put on a dress and make-up, the boys would find me attractive.”

Interestingly, I found the paper I wrote as a sophomore for my Religion class in which we were to make a personal statement on four ethical issues. One of my four was a defense of homosexuality in which I concluded, at 16 years old, that “a homosexual deserves the same chance at life that any heterosexual has,” and that I would feel that way in five years, “ten years, twenty years and plenty more after that.” Hahahahahaha!!! Had I but known what was to come!

It took five years later for me to finally accept my own lesbianism. And the day that I did, I felt a freedom and a peace in my spirit that I had been longing to feel for years. I had dated two men up to that point (not counting the one guy I sort-of dated in prep school), and had found those relationships lacking. It wasn’t that the men were bad guys; but I wasn’t really interested in them. And it all came clear when I walked into that auditorium at Stephens College in Columbia and found myself in a sea of women…many of them lesbian. I felt my soul say, “Ahhhhhh!! Finally!!” And it was a real plus that in the time that I was there covering this women’s music festival, two women hit on me. Not only did I feel at home in my spirit, my ego had been given a major boost, too! I went home that night, sat on my bed and told myself it was time to accept that I was gay.

The next time I went to church, I felt a little ill at ease. Mostly, I worried that I had turned purple with pink triangles, and everybody was going to know that I was a queer in their midst. However, nothing about me really had changed…at least not outwardly….so nobody suspected anything. I did find myself more sensitive to things that I hadn’t probably paid attention to before. Like with the rest of society, there were the jokes about gays that went unchallenged. And there was the lawyer who bragged about keeping an AIDS Hospice House out of a neighborhood. And so, rather than share with anyone that I had finally come out and come home, I just kept it to myself, and connected to “my people” once a week by listening to the radio show, “This Way Out”. I didn’t want to start a relationship with anyone because I feared attachment. I knew I was going to leave Columbia, and I didn’t want to have anyone in my life that might make me change my mind.

I was fortunate when I moved to Tallahassee that I had two co-workers who were both lesbian and made a point of “showing me the ropes” of our very closeted capital city. I discovered the lesbian Mecca: the softball field! And that’s where I found an interesting older woman who often donned mismatched socks and had a soccer player’s approach to playing ground balls in the outfield. I say she only started speaking to me after I hit a homerun. She says I only started speaking after I hit the homerun. Regardless, seventeen years later, we are still with each other…though our conversations have now morphed into spiritual comparisons of Judaism and Christianity…a far cry from the merits of trapping the ball with your foot as opposed to fielding it with your glove!

That’s my story. And I’m sticking to it!