An Old Emergence

I have been dealing with a broken heart this evening. As I continue to encounter more and more hateful speech spewing from pulpits around the country, I've been left wondering where the voices in opposition are. I know many pastors and faith leaders who disagree with the teachings of Ron Baity, Charles Worley, Sean Harris, and many others. But where are their voices? Why can't I find them anywhere in the news. I understand how we sensationalize the macabre, but the LGBT community needs to hear the voices of those who affirm them from pulpits as well.

I debated for the last two hours whether or not to write a response to the tragedy that happened in North Carolina tonight. In fact, it took me more than twenty minutes to even write that first sentence. How do you express outrage and sadness while trying to maintain civility toward an opposing opinion? Something I learned while studying Christian Ethics in college was the idea of generosity. It is important in civil discourse to extend a hand of grace to someone who believes something completely in the face of your own convictions. It is difficult, yes, but utterly necessary in order to foster genuine dialog. But tonight I am having difficulty extending that hand. So, if you will allow me this evening to speak from my own social location without fully considering or giving voice to other opinions, I would appreciate it. In essence, I am asking you to extend a hand of grace and understanding in my direction.

When I first listened to the remarks from Pastor Sean Harris of Berean Baptist Church in Fayetteville, NC, I was appalled. I have had the blessing of walking alongside several pastors over the last few years who have helped me forget that bigotry and hatred does often still flow from Baptist pulpits around the country. I listened to him recommend to fathers that “the second you see your son dropping the limp wrist you go over and you crack that wrist. Man up. Give him a good punch.” This quote (which exists only in the audio version of the sermon and not the transcript) along with the rest of his sermon (a 17-page transcript) left me furious.

I cannot write anymore. I had a good streak there for a couple of years. I blogged fairly regularly about this or that, pretending that my theological opinion was some great gift to the blogosphere. In my mind, so many people read what I was writing. I was making some kind of impact on the lives of someone, surely. Then I stopped writing. The “real world” took over, and my career moved me to a new city. I began working 60-hour weeks, and in the process forgot to post blogs. Forgot to write at all.

“To take a life when a life has been lost is revenge, not justice.” –Desmond Tutu My mind is racing to so many places tonight. I just don’t know where solace can be found. I want so badly to write some great, insightful response to the travesty of justice that was the execution of Troy Davis. But all I have in my heart is sadness.

As summer appears to be stretching fervently into September, I am reminded how much I despise hot weather. After spending eight weeks on the road this summer working for Passport Camps (half of which was spent in the blistering 3-digit degree temperatures of Dallas), I am officially home and have moved on to the next season of my life.

It is fairly disheartening to have a vision but no means to achieve it. Barriers seem to multiply the closer you get to true revelation, but none is so discouraging as age. It seems like everywhere I turn lately I am confronted with the fact that my young age keeps people from taking what I have to say seriously.