On Being Talked About — Mostly “They,” Sometimes “Our,” Rarely “We”
By Beckey Phipps
On September 14 the Massachusetts Legislature rejected a constitutional amendment that would have banned equal marriage rights for same-gender couples. It would have substituted, instead, a “less-than-equal” provision for civil unions. The amendment was easily defeated because, according to reporters, supporters, and pundits, a “pro-equality majority” now exists. And besides—there is another more draconian plan in the works. We were informed there would be no respite, no going-on-about-our-ordinary-lives in Massachusetts, because a large, well-funded, out-of-state movement is gearing up to ensure passage of a ballot initiative in 2008. An initiative to entirely remove the current equal marriage rights—as well as any constitutional provision for civil unions. Nearly simultaneously, the California Legislature passed a marriage equality law and sent it to the governor—who, as promised, vetoed the bill.
A recent article in the New York Times on the recovery efforts related to Hurricane Katrina described how certain minority populations of evacuees, such as lesbians and gay men, had found housing and support from “their own communities” in Houston and other towns. In related news the Salvation Army refused housing assistance to evacuees in openly identified Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender (LGBT) households. But, if those applicants were willing to lie about their relationships (as in “OK, we’re just kissing cousins”) they could receive aid. One Sunday, as I returned home from attending worship with my monthly meeting, I heard the radio audience for A Prairie Home Companion laugh uproariously at a joke about a herd of lesbian deer. The joke seemed humorous, yet I felt a definite chill—what was so very funny to that largely, presumably, heterosexual audience?
Holding all this in my consciousness, I continued sorting through my feelings about the Personnel Policy of Friends United Meeting. The policy prohibits employment of any sexually active person who is not in a heterosexual marriage. New England Yearly Meeting, of which I am a member, labored at length on a minute to address the policy during our sessions in August. While listening to the range of impassioned views that were voiced from the floor of the meeting, I prayed with all my heart that we would be grounded in the Spirit in our discernment. Simultaneously I recalled the apprehension I felt during the witness for marriage equality at the 2005 FGC Summer Gathering in Blacksburg, Virginia. Would bus loads of protestors from local churches arrive to drown our voices in a chorus of hate speech?
Every day the nature of my humanity, the intimacy of my choice in relationships, and the persistence of my queerness is a topic of conversation for advocates and allies, friends and strangers, counselors and assorted wiseguys. In courtrooms, living rooms, committee rooms, legislatures, sanctuaries, meeting houses, talk-shows, clubs, sports bars, op-ed columns, list-serves, and countless websites I am mostly a “they,” sometimes an “our,” but rarely a “we.”
As a “they” I become one of those “others,” one of “those” at some distance beyond the circle of “us” and the supposed safety found there. I, and my brothers and sisters, am beyond the understood and the familiar—a stranger perceived by many, in fact, as a threat to public safety. In order to diminish the perception of threat and to close the distance, I have personally contributed to public dialogue by sharing my experiences. Over the years I have divulged my ordinariness and my wounds, as a way of seeking justice and compassion. As a way of showing how I am just “us.”
Even as I have been willing to take risks by contributing to the public dialogue and have not, so far, fainted from the adversity, I am not immune to the toxic accumulation of being the object of lewd jokes, absurd hyperbole, humiliating condemnation, and lengthy opinions about what is naturally occurring and what is environmentally-induced. Being someone else’s social concern, troubling issue, fundraising ploy, sermon theme, or subterfuge for what is really going on in the White House administration, takes a spiritual toll. There are times when being talked about, over, around, and even for, becomes just plain noise—the sheer volume of which is an assault on sense and soul. Well meant or otherwise, there are times when my spirit is in need of quiet refuge and care.
One of the most noisy, and therefore anguished, experiences I’ve had recently was in being talked about and for during the sessions of FGC’s Central Committee last October. Initially I felt a sense of elation after we approved a minute that affirmed our experience of the gifts of ministry of LGBT Friends (text below). There was such palpable love and joy in our gathered circle. But, later, as we labored over how and where to distribute our minute we stumbled into a wilderness of dis-unity that took us hours, and many, many words, to traverse. The eventual decision to share our experience of the Truth through the distribution of an epistle felt rightly ordered to me, but it was a bittersweet landing. By the time we reached clarity I was limping along on raw faith.
I will always feel gratitude to the Friend who wisely recognized that our labors that weekend had two dimensions in need of attention. The first, of course, was Spirit-led discernment. The second was pastoral care for those bruised during the process. Even when members of the LGBT community are vitally present, being the object of conversation, public discourse, or Friends discernment can feel distancing, diminishing, and piercingly lonesome. I venture, dear readers, that attentiveness to the spiritual cost of being the “they” who are talked about is much needed by LGBT Friends in our meetings. Whoever “we” are, in fact, if we are enjoying the warmth of the circle, we have a responsibility to act in concert with God, to care for anyone perceived as “they” and embrace them as “us.”
_FGC Minute from Central Committee October 2004:
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Our experience has been that spiritual gifts are not distributed with regard to sexual orientation or gender identity. Our experience has been that our Gatherings and Central Committee work have been immeasurably enriched over the years by the full participation and Spirit-guided leadership of gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, and queer Friends. We will never go back to silencing those voices or suppressing those gifts. Our experience confirms that we are all equal before God, as God made us, and we feel blessed to be engaged in the work of FGC together.
Concerns of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender and Queer Friends
- Different ‘Yes,’ Special ‘No’ by by Joshua Mendel
- Facing the Threat of Persecution with Faith by Deborah Fisch
- Honoring Journeys, Honoring Gender by Kody Hersh
- On Being Talked About — Mostly ‘They,’ Sometimes ‘Our,’ Rarely ‘We’ by Beckey Phipps
