And they'll know we are Christians by our love

"You can safely assume you've created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do." --Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird

I wasn't going to write this entry -- at least, I wasn't going to post it here. I had this idea, I guess, that my public blog should be reserved for fun, light stories about motherhood and anything else that wouldn't make anyone uncomfortable. And I thought that if I gave it a few days, and got it all down on paper somewhere, that I'd be able to take a deep, cleansing breath and let it all go. Usually, that works. But last night I was awake for most of the night, and this morning I scrubbed my kitchen from top to bottom, did three loads of laundry, vacuumed the house, washed the hardwood floors, tried to organize odds and ends in the baby's room, and started dinner in the slow cooker -- and I still couldn't shake it. And then I thought, what am I so afraid of? That people won't like me? I've been disliked before. That my family will stop loving me? I've done worse than voice my Disagreeable Opinions, so possibly this won't get me disowned. That people will stop reading? I know a handful of regular visitors, but there are also a lot of hits here that I don't recognize. For all I know, I could be pissing off a ton of people, and for whatever reason, that makes me pause, even if they're anonymous people. I should probably get over that, because stifling my thoughts really isn't me. And I don't want my daughter to be afraid to speak her mind, especially when she's taking a stand against bigotry and ignorance or voicing her passions or trying to make sense of this often very stupid world, even if it rubs some people the wrong way. Which it will, because it always does. But to me, this is too important to sweep under the rug or pretend I don't have an opinion about it.

So here I go.

Recently, the ELCA voted by a two-thirds majority to allow the ordination of sexually active gay clergy (as opposed to celibate gay clergy) and the blessing of same-sex marriages. I wasn't surprised, because it's hardly a new issue in the church -- it's something we've wrestled with for longer than I've been around. I'm also thrilled. I understood that many of my fellow Lutherans would not be so thrilled, and I truly am sorry that many of them feel disheartened right now. It's a little like the fallout after the presidential election, I guess, but the difference between the political scene and the Lutheran scene has generally been that Lutherans can debate and disagree passionately, vehemently, and at the end of the day, they come together in a spirit of love and respect. Or so I thought.

I shouldn't have been so naive, I suppose, but I've been genuinely shocked -- shocked, horrified, sickened -- by some of the responses I've come across by fellow members of the ELCA. I've loved the ELCA for many reasons, not the least of which is that its members tend to be educated, thoughtful, and respectful. There's plenty of room for doubt, for questioning and discussion. I thought (rather childishly, it seems) that "we" were safe from right-wing nutjobs, surely the only kinds of people who still hurl slurs about fags and homos. We don't have the kinds of people who proclaim that things like the tornado that touched down in Minneapolis that day was a manifestation of God's wrath (I swear, there's nothing I love better than arrogant Christians who know what God is thinking. And also, really? THAT'S the thing that would inspire God's so-called wrath? Out of everything there is to choose from? And also, hello, Pat Robertson?). Of course I knew there would be people unhappy with the vote, and I fully expected to read plenty of that old cliche, WE LOVE THE SINNER BUT HATE THE SIN! (How big of you! Here is some polish for your halo.) But surely -- surely I wouldn't encounter people comparing homosexuality to pedophilia, for crying out loud. Members of my church wouldn't do that. They wouldn't say, "What's next, we let people marry their dogs?"

I was wrong. I read a lot of that. The comments got worse, but I'm not going to quote them; I'd prefer not to spread such things, even to illustrate a point.

I see enough of this in the world; I can't stand it from members of my church. If you honestly think that ridicule, abuse, harassment, and threats against the LGBT community aren't a daily reality, you haven't spent much time in a high school lately -- or, I don't know, in the world? With your eyes open? Although I will also say that while high schools are pretty universally homophobic -- trust me on this -- high school kids also give me a tremendous amount of hope, because the good ones, and that's a lot of them, more than you think, are the ones who will rage passionately against injustice. And they can often debate emotional topics with maturity, compassion, and empathy that puts most adults to shame.

Anyway, I just thank God I didn't hear these comments at the church I attend, and I don't really expect to; I read them online. But I read them in a lot of places -- online forums, discussion groups, Lutheran blogs. I should have stopped reading, because I get really, really worked up about this stuff -- my poor husband had to endure a full day's worth of my sputtering and ranting and raving. But it just sucked me in and gnawed at me. I feel a little like Meg Ryan's character on You've Got Mail -- I rarely know what to say in the moments in which I'm confronted with such horrible, ignorant statements. The responses come to me later, when it's too late to say anything and possibly too late to matter. This frustrates me to no end. Many of my friends articulate their thoughts on such matters so much better than I do, though, and the fact that they do gives me a little hope that someone is saying the things I really want to say but haven't found the words yet. (But if you know me, or if you ever speak to me, and you believe or say these kinds of things, kindly try to hide that from me or I'll do my best to channel Barney Frank. It won't do wonders for our relationship.)

I'm not really interested in debating my position, at least not right now -- that's not really why I'm writing this. If you want to argue that you're a better Christian than me, you may very well be right, okay? I know perfectly well that I fall short in a lot of ways. And normally, I do enjoy a rousing theological discussion -- but I've found very few people on the "other side" who are truly interested in discussion anyway, which I suppose is often true of such emotionally-charged topics where it's so important (on both sides, to be fair) to be right. Here's a little food for thought, though: You might remember that people on both sides of this issue have read and studied the Bible. You're not going to impress me because you can quote a passage from Leviticus, and you're definitely not going to convince me that you're "right" if you act like I'm too stupid to understand the Bible. (Again, to be fair, yes, I know this goes both ways.) I'm never a fan of using scripture in an argument anyway, because scripture has been used to justify an awful lot of horrible things and because people who brandish the Bible that way are often champions of manipulation while their arguments lack weight. And another thing -- when you're having an argument and you resort to shaking your head sadly and saying you'll pray for the other person (to see the light, I presume? For the state of her sorry, sinful soul?) it's neither loving nor Christian; it's condescending and arrogant and you know it. (On a sidenote, sometimes I wonder if the few people who send me forwards warning me that Obama is somehow both a baby-eating Socialist and grandma-killing Nazi are praying for my soul because I voted for him. On another sidenote, by Christmas I fully expect to be receiving e-mail forwards warning me that he's actually a vampire with a taste for NRA members and preschool children.) I recently had a conversation about this very thing with someone I'm growing to consider an important spiritual adviser, and he smiled and said, "How arrogant -- to presume to know what God is thinking, or who's saved or not. Or even worse, to take credit for it."

Okay, sorry, little tangent there.

I freely admit I don't understand the mentality of people threatening to flounce out of the ELCA over this, but I don't understand the mentality of people threatening to move out of the country after every presidential election, either. I am saddened by it, and I'm saddened by the rift this will inevitably create in the church. And frankly, it seems that many of the people who are so deeply upset and focused on ALL THE EVIL SINNERS and what roles they should or should not have in the church have lost sight of what matters so much more -- being the light of Christ. Spreading His love. I remain somewhat encouraged by the way I've seen the Christians I know and love actually treat each other, even since THAT FATEFUL HOUR, and I hope and pray that none of them are the ones posting the comments that leave me quite literally sick to my stomach. (I'm also encouraged by the elderly lady who chuckled and said, "Oh, I remember when people threatened to leave the church because we adopted the green hymnal. That was really out there, you know.") And I'm also infinitely more excited that maybe now, people who have left the church because they've been scorned, humiliated, judged, and rejected (even as I'm sure they're being "loved") will find a new home there.

I'm not going to end with a Bible verse or quote a Biblical scholar, but I do like what NPR reader Emily Kann had to say:

To me, having faith is a constant struggle and full of doubts. It is the journey of growing in faith and facing those struggles with doubt and sin that unites us with God. I am a member of the SE Iowa ELCA, but I don't believe that any religious order, Christian, Jewish, Muslim, etc. gets it 100% right all the time. No single person or group of people will ever be able to get it right or pierce the veil of God's mystery. I believe that a religious community is one of three critical elements to building faith- the other two being prayer and the writings of God. The purpose of a religious community, like the ELCA, is to grow together and support each other. This decision reflects that process. We are a family, trying to figure out the best way to be faithful, to be just, to be compassionate and to serve God, by serving others, together.

I want nothing more than for my daughter to grow up in a world more compassionate, merciful, and loving than the one in which we live now. We have so far to go, but I believe this is one step in creating that world.

Back to your regularly scheduled programming soon, I promise.