Stand for Jesus, Part 2

But then, the LORD provided for me...

A little Baptist church, two weeks before voting day, had posted on their front yard bulletin "This house is against the amendment."  I saw it and planned to attend.

Just like my dad, years before, I liked to preach Jesus to the people who would listen, people in my everyday circles, people who didn't intimidate me, but, in the months leading up to voting day, I was becoming more angry and vocal. I figured if someone was going to use a passing greeting as a window for their parroted politics of hatred, that I would feel free to detain them for a speech about hypocrisy. Usually, I still strive to be the polite boy that my church had trained me to be, but, if someone was going to present to me that they loved Jesus and also felt compelled to support laws which judged others, then I was going to tell them they were out of touch with Jesus, love, people, and common sense. I was getting some strange looks, just like my dad, years before.

So, with an amendment to our state constitution in the balance, mere weeks before the vote that everyone was talking about, my friend and I joined a small Southern Baptist congregation for their morning worship service. We were greeted warmly and took our seats in an orderly fashion, just like everyone else. True to their signage out front, these nice Christian folks seemed to be on board with making sure that no two people of the same gender ever offend their god by entering into a legal contract of marriage. The senior pastor played a video about the threat posed to that holy institution of one man and one woman by anyone who might dare to live differently.  Then he drove his point home with a short speech about the "homosexual agenda."

I was boiling inside, angry, antsy, ready to scream.  Still I sat, perhaps like my dad, in church, years before.
My mind was racing. Should I speak? What would I say? The questions, thoughts, and feelings were flooding my brain, making it hard for me to even think which lead me to familiar feelings of worthlessness. Of course I would just sit there, timid, ashamed, quiet. Would I always feel like a sheep?

While I was wrestling with my own self-doubts and confusion, the senior pastor introduced a guest speaker who took the podium and announced the title of his sermon with a power-point slide, something about the Hebrew meaning of the phrase translated as "Thou shalt not.."

And I was mad again, over my self-consciousness, back to caring about right, wrong, and a whole world full of people who had no interest in following these people or their god, much less in having it forced upon them by the laws of North Carolina.  Away from "should I speak?" I was looking for when I would speak.

And then he handed it to me.
"We can't just sit quietly.  We have to have the courage to stand and speak for Jesus!"

I stood. My hands clapped loudly down on the pew back in front of me, hushing the guest speaker mid-sentence and drawing all eyes to my conspicuous non-conformity.  "I'm sorry for interrupting," I began, "but I have to stand and speak for Jesus."

"Amen!" a parishioner shouted.

I had the floor.

"We've heard, this morning, some discussion of the upcoming vote to amend North Carolina's constitution to limit marriage in this state to one man and one woman. This is an important topic. Tens of thousands of real people will be directly affected, and, obviously, this issue is important to all of you. Your sign out front declares this import.  I feel like the subject warrants our attention and further discussion, and I believe God is directing me to speak today."

Whispered from the other side of the room "I think he's one of them."

"I'd like to tell you a story." I continued.  "There was a man who had two sons. One son believed in following the father's rules and was sorely vexed by his brother who had chosen to live his own life by his own rules. The obedient son, so sure that he knew the father's will for himself and his brother, decided that he would travel to the disobedient son's home and physically force him to obey a particular rule, a rule which the father had not bothered to enforce. Now, when the father finds out what has happened, will he be proud of the obedient son for forcing his unwilling brother? Or, will the willfully disobedient son's forced obedience be of any value to the father? Or, could it be that the father weighs the heart and desires love and mercy over self-righteousness and judgment?"  That's pretty much what I said, and then I sat down.

That little church was very quiet as eyes turned from me toward the senior pastor who was making his way to the stage. He began scolding me for rudely interrupting their service, telling me that if I had had an issue, this was not the time or the place to bring it up. I would have taken it politely, but he was pointing his finger at me and lecturing way too long.  So, I stood up again and began to answer him.  A woman two rows in front of me raised her hand, shouting "I move that the speaker be silenced!" I continued talking but noticed that I was being surrounded by strong men in suits and ties.  None of them were as big as me, and, since I've faced much more menacing foes, I simply continued to argue with the pastor, sometimes ignoring him to speak directly to the congregation.

When I moved into the center aisle and began gesturing and speaking freely, I realized that lots of people were talking, including my friend who was very busy getting in between me and the men in suits, reassuring them that I was not a threat and that physical force was not necessary.  Funny.  I felt more that, if anyone was in danger of receiving physical abuse, it was me.

At this point, I must have completely dissociated.  I have no memory of what happened next. My friend says that I was shouting over the congregation "You're ruining people's lives!!" while the men in suits were crowding me out the door.  I only remember suddenly being on the front steps of the church, looking at the senior pastor as he leered at me with what my father would have called a "shit-eating grin."

"I see you, Mother Fucker.  I see you." Those were my last words to him as he closed the door in my face.

My friend and I went and had a nice lunch and lamented that we may only have cemented that congregations bigotry and blindness to others. I don't know. My dad would have been hugely impressed with me. I felt proud, but, then, the whole experience, combined with a victory at the polls for Hate, just weeks later, left me feeling like there's something really wrong with this world we've inherited and co-created, especially among the people who think they're on the so-called "right track."

May God have mercy on us all. I don't give a shit about God or church anymore, but I'm proud I stood up for Jesus, love, and mercy.  What is mercy anyway? Have homosexuals committed some sin that requires anyone's forgiveness, or should rule-oriented folks just shut up, mind their own business, and spend a little quiet time in front of their mirrors?