"Queer as Faith"
by Nathan Gunter

Queer as Faith is a weekly column by Nathan Gunter.  Unconventional and thought-provoking, Nathan writes as a gay Christian struggling to live authentically in the real world.

Want more Queer as Faith?  Visit our QAF archive.

Week 21:
Mandeville, Filicia, Stroud, Newsom

For those of you who hadn’t noticed, being gay – like war – is hard. There’s the sense of being in the world but not really belonging to it the way your straight brothers and sisters do. There are the questions of how to come out and to whom. There’s dating (or not dating), there’s finding a church, there’s figuring out who you are when a big slice of our culture is trying to tell you that you’re no one. And then, like a cherry on top of a sundae, there’s Bush and Marilyn Musgrove trying to make it that much harder.

No doubt, being gay in America has become harder of late. It used to be that Pat Robertson would say things like we were responsible for 9/11, or that he saw in a vision that God would punish us with fire. And we’d hear that and think that he was just encouraging the rest of America to spiritualize its own hysteria just like he’s done. We’d get a good laugh, maybe even dress up as him for Halloween.

But Pat’s not alone anymore. He’s got some pretty dangerous allies, including the single most powerful man in the world. And it’s hard for me to write a column mentioning Bush and not talk about his beady little eyes or his endless parade of blue ties. But as I’m pretty sure (and sick) that Jesus loves Bush just as much as he loves me and you, I’m going to put a lid on it, except just to say thank God that He has no taste. That’s the only thing that gets me through most days.

It’s been mostly my church that has buoyed me up during the long winter. The days got shorter, it got colder, darkness seemed to have taken hold. Every year when winter comes it seems like it’s holding on for dear life. It never wants to let go, and its claw marks stretch all the way into late March. This winter was especially terrible, starting with the State of the Union, in which we were reminded that the gay marriage and performance-enhancing drugs were threatening our way of life, whatever that may be.

My pastor, Tessie, has some…shall we say….strong feelings about Bush, and she manages to freely voice them from the pulpit while encouraging us to love our enemies, and ourselves. It was her sense of hope and her lack of fear in the face of an overwhelming political maelstrom that kept me going over this long, dark winter. The momentum she started in me began to gather some serious steam, like a cartoon snowball rolling down a mountain, as San Francisco, Massachusetts, even Cambodia began granting gay marriages. The days got longer, the rain turned from ice to a warm harbinger of better times to come.

Then Tessie left.

She and her partner, Lisa, were offered a position in ministry at the Metropolitan Community Church of San Francisco, and since their families are all there, it was too good an opportunity to pass up. In her final sermon, she reminded us that even though things are bleakest where we are, we never stop fighting. She helped us to remember that we fight because who we are as a nation is at stake. And she reminded us that, unlike our opposition, we don’t win by doing whatever it takes. We win by doing what is right.

For all the political upheaval that has been happening in this country, it can be encouraging to watch. The footage of Rosie and Kelli getting married in San Francisco brought – I admit – a tear to my eye. But here in Oklahoma, hopelessness has reigned through the winter. Our own state legislature is writing up an amendment to our Constitution that will ban gay marriages, civil unions, and domestic partner benefits, and we feel very helpless to stop it. The buckle of the Bible Belt seems fastened a little tight these days.

But as the days got warmer and longer, I began to feel a new sense of hope. I began to pray for Bush, and Robertson, and even me, and after awhile I even stopped feeling so sick and reluctant about it. And when I woke up one morning, I felt around for all those resentments and couldn’t find them. Now let’s be clear: loving your enemy doesn’t mean you want to date him, or have him over for dinner, or that you’ll vote for him. But I did let go of some of that anger, and I felt better.

Two things happened to give me a sense of hope such as I hadn’t had before about my country. They helped me believe that I wouldn’t be rounded up for being on Ashcroft’s enemies list, and that someday I might stand on the steps of city hall too.

The first thing that happened was that a coalition was organized in Oklahoma. The Oklahoma Freedom and Equality Coalition was formed at the behest of Soulforce and several other organizations, and our birth took place in the small town of Stroud, Oklahoma. Stroud is halfway between Tulsa and Oklahoma City and was thus chosen not only because of its beautiful Best Western franchise, but because of its convenient location on the turnpike.

My roommate, Gabe, and I went up to the meeting and even stayed overnight in the Best Western. But the thought of a night in Stroud seemed too much to bear, and eventually we went looking for a bar. There was one in town, and we sat down to cold beers to watch the small-town heteros play pool. As I got up to put some slightly more – ahem – “metro” music on the jukebox, a young woman approached me.

“You from the City?”

I said that yes, I was, and she asked me if I ever went out to Angles or the Copa, our gay clubs here. She introduced herself as a proud lesbian. She, her partner, and their gay friend were all there, and her parents owned the bar. I looked up and all around me, there were rainbow decorations all over the place. It was like being transported into a different world. I had come into this establishment with a guarded, defensive feeling, thinking about what I could use as a weapon should it come to that. But as Gabe and I talked with them, I felt my defensiveness and my sense of impossibility melting away.

The next day we went back to the Coalition and helped form a plan of action to fight discrimination in our state, and on the way home I called several people I knew to tell them my great, hilarious story, and that they should send money to the ACLU and the Human Rights Campaign.

This showed me that it’s not just the big cities that are thinking about marriage and equality. We’re everywhere, us gay folks, and we pretty much come in every shape, size, and little Podunk Country Town there is. The world felt a little looser, a little more free. Humanity felt more like family.

Then last week I’m coming home from work, and as I walk in the door Gabe and two of our friends come running out. “Where are you going in such a hurry?”

“We’re going to hang out with Thom from Queer Eye.”

I thought, That’s it. I’m joining the circus.

Turns out my wonderful roomie had run into Thom Filicia’s manager, Michael, at our local club. Thom was in town for a design expo, and Michael and Gabe had hit it off. Thom and Michael showed up at a birthday party we were throwing for a friend of ours at one of the hipper bars in town, and hundreds of people showed up, in awe that someone that famous and fabulous would grace us with his presence. Thom was gracious and nice and a real joy to be around. He took pictures, shook hands, engaged in great conversation with anyone who would approach.

And for a moment, it seemed that the stress and the hopelessness of living in Oklahoma was loosened for all of us. It seemed that we weren’t destined to get shipped off anywhere, because we had powerful allies. We had people like Thom to look up to. We had friends in high places. Or if not, we had a hell of a party and some very cool pictures to show our friends, and families.

We do have hope, after all, even in the darkest winters. We have hope that we are not alone, that we are not freaks who are going to bring the world crashing down on Marilyn Musgrave’s head. We are a threat to no one, and yet we are threatening because we continue to laugh, and party, and get married in the face of adversity. We reach out and claim our dignity because we – especially the we who’ve managed to stumble into a relationship with Jesus through it all – know that we are loved and that we do have a basic dignity and freedom.

We partied with Thom well into the night, and Gabe and I have hung out with our Stroud friends a few times. The Oklahoma Freedom and Equality Coalition is going strong writing letters to legislators and getting organizations, churches, and committees on the ball to fight injustice. Marriages are still going on in San Francisco, Portland, and New Paltz. And the days are still getting longer, the sun is shining more, and the rains are finally warm, and not frozen solid on the ground.

Comments? E-mail Nathan or discuss this column on our message boards.