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Why Pride? A Worship Service by the Reverend Jonalu Johnstone First Unitarian Church of Oklahoma City Sunday June 19, 2005
Reading “Poem At 39,” by Alice Walker
How I miss my father. I wish he had not been so tired when I was born.
Writing deposit slips and checks I think of him. He taught me how. This is the form, he must have said: the way it is done. I learned to see bits of paper as a way to escape the life he knew and even in high school had a savings account.
He taught me that telling the truth did not always mean a beating; though many of my truths must have grieved him before the end.
How I miss my father! He cooked like a person dancing in a yoga meditation and craved the voluptuous sharing of good food.
Now I look and cook just like him: my brain light; tossing this and that into the pot; seasoning none of my life the same way twice; happy to feed whoever strays my way.
He would have grown to admire the woman I’ve become: cooking, writing, chopping wood, staring into the fire.
Prayer and Meditation As we pause this hour in the spirit of meditation and prayer, let us open hearts and minds to the Spirit that is Love. May we remember and treasure the love that came from our fathers, and from all other men and women who nurtured, taught, praised, and prepared us for life. May we offer thanks for the children in our lives, that we might love them, not only in words, but in daily acts of devotion, helping them grow into their own best selves. May we value the love that exists in families of every type and description, recognizing that variety is a gift of the Loving Spirit some call God. If our lives have missed out on love in any way, let us find a wellspring source within ourselves to compensate. If we ourselves have not loved as we wish we could, may we seek and find forgiveness and learn new ways. Let us finds ways to express love in the ongoing integrity of our lives. Let us learn the lessons of love from wherever they might come. So may it be. AMEN
Why Pride? A Worship Service by the Reverend Jonalu Johnstone First Unitarian Church of Oklahoma City Sunday June 19, 2005 Last week I sat behind a father and daughter on an airplane. She must have been about 3. He was attentive and loving, yet encouraging her independence. As they walked through the gate into the Will Rogers Airport, I overheard him saying to her, “I’m so proud of you. You did so well on the airplane.” And he gave her a big hug. Pride is one of the first lessons we learn in life. I remember those moments when I knew my parents were proud of me – having a good report card, getting along with my brother, playing piano at a recital. But I also remember this. After some slip-up: a rule broken, a chore forgotten or executed sloppily. “Are you proud of yourself?” The words still ring in my ears. They weren’t meant to instill pride. Oklahomans aren’t big on pride. We don’t cotton to people whose heads are swollen, who seem to think more of themselves than others do. We appreciate humility and modesty – probably comes from being too close to arrogant Texans. We know all those warnings about pride: it comes before a fall, it pairs with prejudice, it puffs up haughtily. Heck, it’s one of the seven deadly sins! And if there is something to be proud of, it must be something you have accomplished – produced, created, assembled, made. Yourself? Your being as a person? That’s nothing to be PROUD of. Self-esteem? Sure, that’s fine. Pride may be a step too far. So why pride? Why pride in self? Especially why pride in something that as immodest as sexuality? This “Gay Pride” thing really bugs a lot of people. How many times have you heard at work or from family, or even thought yourself, "I wouldn't mind gay people if only they wouldn't flaunt it?" Or, from gay people themselves, "I'm just not political; my sexuality is private; I have no need for gay pride." I’ve been considering this and wondering. Perhaps we can find something useful by looking at the opposite. Is the opposite of pride humility? Or is it shame? According to Eric Ericson’s developmental stages, toddlers are dealing with the question of “Autonomy vs. Shame and Doubt.” And some of us keep dealing with those questions. Autonomy is that personal identity, that sense of self that allows us to do in the world what we need to do even when others disagree. I think that’s deeply associated with pride. People who find themselves different because of sexual orientation often develop shame instead of pride or autonomy. People who love someone of the same sex have been taught, thoroughly and completely most of us, that the urges, thoughts, and feelings that we have are wrong. That message is still predominant today, despite the presence of gay entertainers like Ellen Degeneres and Nathan Lane, despite TV shows like “Queer Eye,” despite all the Gay Pride parades in the world. Those of us growing up attracted to members of the same sex receive the message that there’s something wrong with that. If anything, that message of wrongness is stronger for people who are transgender or intersex, who have questions about their gender identity, how they fit in with being male or female. I don’t know and have difficulty imagining how weighty the burden of that message must be. Imagine your identity as a man or a woman being a source of shame, putdown, not accepted by the world. Sometimes, the messages that lead to shame are accidental. “When you grow up and get married,” parents say without thinking. The ingrained assumption is that children will follow their heterosexual parents’ path, more or less anyway. It takes conscious effort and conversation to offset such unintended messages of the unworthiness of gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender people. Just ask anyone who has come out to parents who everyone else believed would be 100% supportive. It’s still an incredible chore. You feel like you’re disappointing them somehow, even if the rational mind should know better. It’s because of all that accidental communication of expectations. A friend of mine with two sons told me that the only reason she had always been careful to be open and communicate other possibilities for life was because she had a close gay friend who had always been convinced that her younger son was gay. The idea was a little preposterous, but it made her think – what if he is? How do I make him know that whatever his sexuality, I love him and want the best for him? How to do you communicate such an idea to a child in an age-appropriate way? I love the words of the song Fred Small wrote. Since he wrote the song, incidentally, he’s become a UU minister.
We have cleared off the table, the leftovers saved, Washed the dishes and put them away I have told a story and tucked you in tightAt the end of your knockabout day. As the moon sets its sail to carry you to sleep Over the midnight sea I will sing you a song no one sang to me – May it keep you good company.
You can be anybody that you want to be, you can love whomever you will. You can travel any country where your heart leads, And know I will love you still. You can be by yourself, you can gather friends around, You can choose one special one, But the only measure of your words and your deeds, Will be the love you leave behind when you’re gone.
Some girls grow up strong and bold, some boys are quiet and kind. Some race on ahead; some follow behind; some go in their own way and time. Some women love women and some men love men. Some raise children and some never do. You can dream of the day never reaching the end of everything possible for you.
Don’t be shattered by names, by taunts and games, but seek out spirits true. If you give your friends the best part of yourself, they will give the same back to you.
You can be anybody that you want to be, you can love whomever you will. You can travel any country where your heart leads, And know I will love you still. You can be by yourself, you can gather friends around, You can choose one special one, But the only measure of your words and your deeds, Will be the love you leave behind when you’re gone.
The message that everyone needs to hear to avoid shame and grow pride, is that it is OK to be who they are. Where did Gay Pride come from? Remember the time it started, the late ‘60’s. There was talk about Black Pride; studies about how little black children selected white dolls as the “best” or “prettiest.” People realized they needed a sense of pride in self to overcome societal notions of what “normal,” and “pretty” were. Pride was blooming for various ethnic groups before gay men and lesbians discovered it. Back then, in the ‘60’s, people were readily and frequently fired or lost their homes for their sexual orientation alone. What’s worse, people lost their children, their parents, their friends. And that hasn’t completely stopped. All of us who are lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, or intersex know stories that make us afraid to be open about who we are. Here are snapshots of a few of mine – stories of people I’ve known that I carry in my heart with me all the time. Diane, a friend in West Virginia who was straight but not narrow, often came to country parties with an assortment of women who were mostly lesbian. When she divorced, her ex-husband kidnapped her children, because he didn’t want them around her friends. A horrendous custody battle ensued. Linda, who lost her job as a kindergarten teacher because her appearance was too masculine. Her plan of correction for retaining her job actually specified that she needed to wear dresses at least three days a week. She resigned when the superintendent of schools threatened that if she didn’t, he would fire both her and the woman who she was living with, a fourth grade teacher, who presented a more feminine image. And was somehow, then, more acceptable than Linda was. And Rebecca, shot to death while camping with her girlfriend, because a man spying on them saw them kissing when they thought they were alone. He left both Rebecca and her partner Claudia for dead. Claudia managed to walk out a couple miles, signal a car, and ultimately recovered, though Rebecca didn’t. If Claudia hadn’t miraculously survived, the killer might never have been found. These are stories I didn’t have to research to find. They are a few of the stories that have been part of my life. We carry the stories deep inside us; they remind us every time we come out, that we are taking a risk. We remember the stories, and wonder when someone treats us shoddily: was that because I am gay? Did a co-worker quit being friendly because she heard? We are always wondering. It can reinforce the shame, no matter what our rational minds say. We can't help but carry the stories; we need a healthy dose of pride along with them if we are to survive. Or, we will stop sharing what we know, stop sharing ourselves. And the straight world needs to know us,as we need to be known. The beginning of the gay pride movement is often dated to the Stonewall Rebellion, in 1969. Drag queens and leather dykes fighting the police, refusing to be treated as second-class citizens. They were the most despised part of the community – still are. They are the ones who the respectable part of the community wants to edit out of the Gay Pride film footage. They were the first to be willing to fight back, because they had so little to lose. Others could pass, could get by, and were frightened. The lesson we learn from those flamboyant souls was that none of us are really safe, until we’re all safe. We can only gain acceptance when our sexual orientation and our gender identity is respected as something not to be ashamed of but to be proud of. In rural West Virginia, in the 1980’s, where I was out, a woman I didn't know well came to me, devastated at the loss of a 10-year relationship. No one else in the world besides her lover knew she was a lesbian. She was completely isolated in a time of profound crisis. Without coming out proudly, we are invisible. We listen to the conversation around the coffee machine at work, about Bill's wife and Sally's husband and the woman who Dan is dating. Yet, we cannot talk about the person most important to us, except as a friend, or a roommate. We are denying who we are, and each time it happens, our spirit dies just a little. The single most powerful weapon we have in fighting for our rights is making ourselves visible, refusing to deny who we are. The worst stigma many of us face is in our religious communities. I am proud to be a minister in a faith which openly affirms people of all sexual orientations. We have passed resolutions for gay rights and against sodomy laws, back when those were still on the books. We even are actively supporting marriage equality today. But when I began looking for a church – this was twelve years ago -- I was advised not to come out until I was invited for an interview. I disregarded the advice. As I explained, "I don't want to be minister of a church that would hesitate to call me because I'm a lesbian." The rejection of someone by their religious faith based on an issue of identity devastates people. And it continues to go on. My partner’s gay nephew – a twenty-something – was told just a few years ago by his minister in rural Oklahoma not to come back to church until he could repent. When I was in Madison, a UU therapist called me in to help her work with a lesbian who had developed such paranoia about her sexuality that she could barely leave her home. She had heard the message of her religious community and believed the searing image of God’s condemnation. That must be exposed as a lie. When I was in school at Harvard Divinity School, a university-wide flap started when the conservative newspaper, Peninsula, published an issue devoted to homosexuality – criticizing it and describing how to break away from it. The same day the magazine appeared, so did anti-gay grafitti and vandalism of gay-positive posters in a dormitory. The Bisexual Gay Lesbian Student Alliance responded with a rally, which included as one of its speakers, the Plummer Professor of Christian Morals and minister of the campus church, the Rev. Peter Gomes. You may have heard of Peter Gomes, either from this flap, or from his book, The Good Book, about interpretation of the Bible. You need to imagine The Rev. Gomes, a very distinguished “old school” collar-wearing, Episcopal-appearing African American Baptist. He taught extemporaneous preaching to many of my peers, and the man can preach – with every word carefully considered and enunciated precisely. To the amazement of everyone, even the organizers, the Rev. Gomes announced, "I am a Christian who happens as well to be gay." Later in an interview, he explained his public coming out, "I felt the climate had been so poisoned...that the strongest possible measures were called for. I felt the time had come." The climate is still poisoned. The only tool to resist is pride in the face of hatred and intolerance. After Peter Gomes came out, students and alumni/ae called for his resignation. The school administration refused to dismiss him. As difficult as the encounter was, he admitted months later that knowing everything that had happened, he wished he had done it years before. Not all churches condemn people for the sexual orientation. Most often religious communities give mixed messages. The questions typically revolve around services of union and ordination. But there are other subtle signs. Is it OK to announce a tenth or twentieth anniversary? Do sermon examples and couples' groups speak only of husbands and wives? Does the Sunday School program acknowledge the wide array of families their children may come from? I’m pleased to be part of a church where those issues don’t exist. The problem I sometimes encounter with straight UU’s, though, is that they just don’t get what we deal with. The constant questioning of whether it’s OK in a given situation to be who we are. The stories we carry that make us insecure. Sometimes, straight UU’s don’t know why we need to be so stubbornly proud. Religion shapes our perceptions of the world; it creates the reality in which we live. If we are to stand tall and be who we are in our world, we must do so in our religious communities. Times have changed and yet they haven't. A very few years back, the Rev. Jay Deacon worried when he used The Well of Loneliness by Radcliffe Hall in a service. Was it too overdramatic, as he described it, "that old tear-jerker story about a woman whose mother has intercepted a love-letter to another woman and now confronts her and with icy and condescending contempt destroys any sense of self or pride or humanity her daughter could have had, and disowns her." As he read, he watched a woman sob. Afterwards, she told him that the very same thing had happened to her just two weeks before. So, why pride? We need to be proud to stem the voices outside that tell us, "You are not worthy." We need to be proud to hush the voices inside that tell us, "You are not worthy." We need to be proud of ourselves, and we need to be proud of everyone who stands for our principles; more, for everyone who stands up for love, in all its manifestations –the love between parents – moms and dads of all kinds -- and their children, the love between committed couples – whether same or opposite sex -- the love that seeks justice for all and recognizes our common humanity, despite our particular journeys through life. I want to close with the words of one more song, one popularized by the Flirtations:
The higher you build your barriers The taller I
become May each of your find your strength, your love, your inspiration, and your place in the world.
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