Pick a Slander, Any Slander

The shootings Orlando a week ago Sunday was a wake-up call to American's GLBT community in more ways than one. It was a direct and unmistakeable message that gun-toting extremists of any and all faiths... or no faith; or a confused, cafeteria-style mishmash of faiths and political ideas... feel comfortable and justified in seeking us out for summary execution.

Then there were the responses that followed, which amounted to a kick in the ribs to those of us who felt that long at last, mainstream America had some vague clue about what it means to be a sexual minority... or any minority... in this country.

Some of what we heard in the hours and days after the shooting was to be expected: GOP lawmakers offered tepid solace, if any at all, to LGBT Americans for whom the massacre had triggered severe emotional responses. It was as if Republicans didn't want to have to acknowledge the plain fact that sexual minorities exist, much less that we're too often selected as targets for harassment, intimidation, and murder. If they did that, after all, they might have to follow up with meaningful acknowledgment of our status as citizens of this nation, contributing and productive workers who shouldn't be fired because we're gay, or lesbian, or transgender, or otherwise don't fit in the neatly-stackable, ever-so-confined boxes of gender and sexuality that have been ready-made for us.

We could even have predicted the Christian responses that we heard: Inclusive churches and faiths stood with us, and offered words of support. I myself participated, as a member of the Boston Gay Man's Chorus, in a "Lamentation" at a Boston church where leaders from half a dozen faith traditions spoke movingly and compassionately about the episode of violence that wiped away 49 of our brothers and sisters and put more than 50 others into hospitals. As the names of the dead were read, those in the church remembered and embraced them with the word "Presente" -- present, here with us, mindfully celebrated and painfully missed. It didn't matter if we'd never met any of them. We understood something about community and solidarity that not everyone does. Christian, Sikh, Jewish, Muslim, people of faith and no faith, we stood and spoke together; rather than dismiss the dead, rather than gloss over the fact that they were sexual minorities (and in most cases, racial minorities, too), we recalled the names of the dead, mourned them, and held them in our hearts. They were present for us in that moment because we invited their memories instead of pushing them away.

Anti-gay faith traditions and their leaders, however, lost no time in reverting to form and dredging up the hateful language of the ages. In Sacramento, California, anti-gay pastor Roger Jimenez pounced on the tragedy as an example of a service done for the betterment of society, calling the victims "pedophiles" and declaring that Orland was now "safer" because nearly 50 LGBTs were dead. The only thing present in that church at that moment was base and burning hatred. It's a black flame that burns as viciously as it ever has, in spite of all we've gained.

Texas Baptist preacher