I don’t hate you, and I’m not angry
I don’t hate you, and I’m not angry. I love you.
Can I first apologize on behalf of many who have hated you (or made you feel that they do)? Can I say that I understand why the equal rights story leads you to sing freedom songs for your gay friends?
I feel it, deep in my guts.
Over the past few years, I have seen the reality of racial inqeuality and the effects of oppression. Being dislocated and immersed in a context where I am often a racial minority clears the vision. I think I have more black friends than white friends now, and I have glimpsed (a little) of what it means that I have been wildly privileged. I have tasted the sourness of sinful systemic marginalization and its effects on the lives of people I love.
The taste makes me want to rinse my mouth; it pushes me to crave justice and healing and reconciliation. And while I do crave it, I cannot let my cravings enslave me. My desires need roots in reality, and roots I have found. I have no idea what you think about the Bible, but the Bible I read shouts for justice, drips with love and grace, and stories to us a wild and ferocious and good King Jesus.
The Bible has soil where roots for racial justice, medicine for racial healing, and peace for racial reconciliation have grown. It’s washed some of the sour off my tongue.
So when I see the impulse of the gay rights movement, it makes me feel some of what I feel for my black friends. It makes me understand why you would rainbow-tint your profile picture. I feel bubbling up the same craving for justice and wholeness and reconciliation. It makes me want to wash some of the sour off my tongue. So I go to the book.
It would be so much easier if I could find there a place to root what you want for the gay community. I’ve read the arguments and heard the voices from some of you who say the Bible harmonizes with the vision of the gay rights movement. I just don’t see it. I think you’ve uprooted the tree from the soil of the text. But make no mistake, I don’t hate you and I’m not angry.
I hope you won’t hate me either.
From the deep places of myself, I intend not a whiff of sarcasm or passive aggression.
I continue to hope that you will love me despite our differences.
As your position sprouts above mine as a majority, I hope the values of tolerance and love will keep us both away from anger and hate.
I hope that agreement can along with disagreement inhabit our streets, neighborhoods, and nation, especially in what you and I believe are the deepest places of our selves.
I don’t hate you, and I’m not angry.
I hope we can be friends.