I told my brother Brian this weekend that I have some
fear. I told my Dad months ago that I
was having fear. Fear of the cultural
war that comes about as a result of the backlash to the Supreme Court ruling on
Friday. I told Melissa on Friday that we
should celebrate with abandon because I was sure that things would get ugly
soon enough. Shortly after I said that,
Melissa told me that we drove past a church billboard that said, “The Supreme
Court is not God. Pray for the United
States of America.” I didn’t see the billboard because apparently I was
celebrating with abandon by averting my eyes from all things offensive or
scary. And the cool thing is, I have
managed to continue to do it for the most part.
I have been very effective in weeding out contacts from my facebook
newsfeed who say mean and hateful things (thanks to Chik-fil-a and getting married
in Minnesota in 2013 and Ferguson, Missouri) so I haven’t witnessed the hate
and violence that is coming from people who are upset about the Supreme Court
ruling on Friday or from people who have inexplicably been upset about the
removal of the Confederate flag from various places around the South. And I strictly refuse to get news from
anywhere other than NPR so I don’t ever hear anything ridiculous from other “news”
outlets.
And yet, despite my very intentional cocoon of
(irresponsible?) blindness, I am still afraid.
I am afraid that mean-spirited picketers will picket my church, a sacred
space for me, in Fort Worth. I am afraid
that some wicked group will decide to start taking a stand against ministers
and justices of the peace and county clerks who are conducting same sex
weddings and they will start picketing their homes or bombing those churches,
or county offices. I feel simulatenously
silly even writing it. But then my imagination
runs wild and I think of how perhaps people who were at Stonewall that evening didn’t
anticipate that they were going to be in a riot by the end of the night. This stuff bubbles up sometimes when no one
expects it.
My brother says he’s sad that I live with that kind of
fear. He doesn’t have that fear for me
or my father or my church. He says the
people who are upset about gay marriage aren’t the type of people who are going
to show up on Sunday morning with picket signs, much less the type to make
bombs. But I don’t know. I worked at Planned Parenthood for several
years and I’ve seen lots of committed people show up everyday of the year to
picket against abortions. And they
surely bombed those clinics. Is it a lot
different? I don’t know.
Yesterday I called to make a dentist appointment for Norah. And the lady said, “Is she on your husband’s
insurance?” And I ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS say, “No, I don’t have a husband, I have
a wife.” But yesterday, I said, “No she’s on mine.”
What a chickenshit thing to say.
Because yesterday I knew that a lot of people in the world
were struggling with women having wives and men having husbands and I didn’t
want to shove it in her face. But did I
pull a Peter in the garden kind of thing?
And deny the woman who I am committed to, who cares for me when I am
sick and lonely, who’s raising my daughter to be an amazing funny and creative
person? Maybe not specifically. But it was a denial for me. And I am ashamed.
And typing something on facebook isn’t going to change that
denial. Just like even though Peter
started a giant church that is still here 2015 years later, we’re still telling
that story of how he denied Jesus three times before the cock crowed. Can’t a brother catch a break?
No. I am afraid.
Afraid that the dentist will be mean to Norah if he or she learns that
Norah’s moms are married. Afraid that my
church isn’t safe from hate. Afraid that
my dad and all of my lovely friends who are ready to do weddings with same sex
couples will be harassed or harmed in some way.
I had friends yesterday who came to me and said they had
rough weekends. Because they were
fighting all weekend with family members and friends and church members about
their support of the marriage of same sex couples, their support of their
friends, their support of my family. And
I felt bad for them because I was busy basking in the rainbow glow of my
facebook and my loving and accepting family.
I don’t think that changing my facebook habits is going to
change the hatred that is out there, that may visit my church or my family. I don’t think that moving to a friendlier
locale will change that either. Harvey
Milk said you gotta give ‘em hope, but he did say that from San Francisco. And then he died because he was working with
someone who was harboring that hate.
I’m scared. I’m so
grateful for all of you who are brave enough to stand up for me and my family
and all of the others of us who are living our truth in this world. And I apologize for being a chicken
shit. Hopefully I’ll be stronger
today. 
Someone there is - you? Steve? Brian? me? - who imagines like the stoneground neighbor across the wall from Frost's wall-mending narrator that the appropriate response to fear is, "Be not afraid." And whoever that someone is, probably likes thinking of it so much that he or she elevates it and recites it without going behind it to ask when or why or where, without asking "As opposed to what?" or "Whom does it benefit?" Who responds to our own and others' fears with familiar reassurance: Be not afraid.
ReplyDeleteI am afraid. I'm scared. Some of that fear I taught you; some of it you taught me. And, while it is real fear, painful, debilitating, discouraging, and heavy, it is something of a good fear, insofar as there can be such a thing. A good pain?
Here's why: I am - albeit sheepishly - sort of thrilled to be afraid because I have visibly, publicly spoken out and stood up for something I so strongly believe in. I am proud to be scared that the church I share with you could be considered dangerous. And while I am always alert to the possibility of over-valuing the words I say and the things I do, I think that your fears for yourself and our companions and our churches are legitimate. And I mean by that, that what we have done, are doing, will continue to do is dangerous. Imagine that.
It's an exhilarating kind of fear, not the deadly old fear of being irrelevant or invisible or wrong. Not the well-deserved fear that my stale and internal declarations of belief have so little impact as to be dangerous to none. Not the self-protective fear that someone will disapprove of me because I have been too direct.
I'm scared, Lisa. And while there is something about it that I like, something that makes this fear preferable to other fears, it is still threatening. It worries me to think about Norah at the dentist or you at the grocery vulnerable to hate and violence, to know others we love share the same danger. But this is not a timid fear, nor a passive one. Darling Daughter, do not go gentle into this good night. You are not alone. We are not alone. Our fear is not ours alone.
Be scared. Be afraid. And remember: Love wins.