This past Sunday I marched in my first Pride parade, standing with members of the five Collegiate Churches of New York City and the staff of Believe Out Loud.
As we gathered, my eyes bubbled with excitement as I basked in the diversity and support represented by our congregations. Persons of various color and sexual orientation had all donned the piercing blue T-shirt, identifying our group as a unified collective of Pride supporters. With rainbow flags held high, we embarked down 5th avenue on the iconic four mile journey.
Our caravan was led by the volunteer gospel choir from Middle Collegiate Church, flanked by the dance crew of Ft. Washington Collegiate Church. For miles we danced in the streets as the choir swayed to the words “I believe,” and we greeted the crowds with “Happy Pride” and celebratory bracelets. Many heard the gospel rhythm and saw our signs marked “church” and looked at us in wonder. Often as we walked, I spied individuals in the crowd gathering their hands to their breast, and with tears exclaim “thank you.”
At one point we reached a woman with a microphone, set to announce our group. She saw our logo identifying us as the Collegiate Churches of NYC, and burst into a spirit-filled proclamation: “Thank you for making a place for us in your churches. For god or whatever divine being has made each of us equal! Thank you for representing the love of your God” A gay couple from our group ran up to the lady and informed her they would be getting married this fall in our churches, and her eyes lit up with fervor, “They are getting married this fall!” she bellowed, “In a church! Thank you for marrying us at your altars! Thank you!”
We marched on, nearing the historic Stonewall Inn, the iconic site of the gay rebellion in 1969. Police raids on bars were common in New York, but the situation at Stonewall escalated as people were beaten and arrested for dreaming they could be open about their sexual orientation. It was here outside Stonewall’s steps that the first major gay protests erupted, and here many years later that the annual Pride marches were staged. As we approached, as if on cue, it began to rain.
It seemed as if the dewy ground we walked was holy and the world held its breath with almost reverent anticipation. It was at that moment, with legs tired and hair plastered to my head from the rain, that the sacredness of the space hit me. And I suddenly felt like I didn’t belong there, that I was trespassing on holy ground.
I was struck with the realization, “Who am I to march alongside the oppressed?” For me declaring I was an ally had been easy. Sure I angered certain family and friends with my allegiance, but had I really lost anything? I wasn’t abused. I wasn’t considered disgusting, strange or profane? Coming out of the “ally closet” was nothing compared to the moment of revelation for my LGBT friends. It had cost me nothing to march at Pride that day.
Walking past Stonewall, the site where members of my own religion had terrorized my neighbors, I knew I had a part in the shedding of innocent blood.
Filled with conflicted thoughts, I asked my friend and pastor of West End Collegiate Church, Jes Kast-Keat, why it was so important for her to have straight allies march with her at Pride. This is what she said:
The entire march I couldn’t stop thinking of the Gospel of John when Jesus is recorded as saying “I have come that they may have life and have it abundantly.” Life is like the word love; we use it so frequently in English that we’ve lost some of the robust nuance. In the New Testament there are two words commonly used for life: bios and zoe. Bios has the understanding of living, breathing, the ticker is pumping; think biology. Zoe is about the kind of life we live. Zoe is about the animating force of who we are. In the Gospel of John, Jesus is recorded as saying “I have come that they may have zoe and have it abundantly.”
So much of the Christian story is about life. Liberation from any types of system that suppresses the identity of freedom, love, and belonging. When straight allies march with me, we are claiming a zoe kind of life together. We are marching out the Gospel.
Simply, what does it mean to me? It means celebrating the gorgeous diversity of sexual and gender identity. And that is holy.
Jes’ words reflect the beauty of our group at Pride. Together, representing the wide diversity of sexual and gender identity, we physically entered the Kingdom of God. And that kingdom was beautiful.
But at the same time, I can’t just declare I am an ally so simply by marching in a parade. The church has a long road to walk before we can receive reconciliation; and some, with every right, may never trust us again. But I will try to honor those persons who have been wounded by my religion. With my presence I can declare, “I love you. I will fight against the way you have been treated. My church makes room for you and your story. I’m here to listen.” Pride doesn’t end on July 1st. As a Christian, I am called to Love. Period.
