I thought I was finished with having to criticize this after the furor over the 2006 movie and book The Secret died down, but the so-called “Law of Attraction” has been coming back into conversations lately, probably thanks in part to my association with a […]
We make art, kids, now get off our grass!
Reprinted from RFD: a country journal for queer folk, Fall 1995, #83. ©1995 KHLeFey. (This essay contains coarse language and sexual content.) Before I was political, I was “Political.” In my college days and a while beyond, I was a Religious Right evangelical, I was […]
Buck, our Honda Element, wouldn’t start one day last week so I rolled up my sleeves, grabbed a few tools, and got my hands greasy. A few minutes later he was purring in the drive, so I came in, put things away, washed my hands, and touched up my eye liner.
See what I did there? Blurred those boundaries. I worked on the car, which was a brawny thing to do, and then fixed my face, which is a typically feminal thing to do. Which incidentally, I’ve been doing all my life, but I’m just now getting comfortable with the fact that I am all over the place when it comes to masculinity and femininity.
When I was a little kid playing with my older sister, we played mostly girly things like house and Barbies and made paper dolls, which all suited me just fine. My mom taught me to cook and sew. I enjoyed those things. I also had Hot Wheels and GI Joes and a big sand pile. I had the luxury of access to my dad’s work bench and tools, where I would build and deconstruct things to my heart’s content, and I eventually learned to maintain my own minibike. And I enjoyed those things. (more…)
I came out in 1988, and within two years I was working as a gay-rights and -advocacy professional. I was Christian-identified at the time, and religion was central to why it took me from age 14, when I knew that I knew that I was gay, until age 28 finally to come out. I had been Roman Catholic from age 16 days until 19 years, and then I was Evangelical and Religious Right, to boot.
When I took my job, both my boss and Board members of the agency I worked for made it a priority for me to learn the history of the cause I was serving, so they made sure that I knew that gay rights activism didn’t begin with the Stonewall Riots in 1969. One of the first documentaries I watched on the topic was Before Stonewall, about the ferment that began much earlier in the 20th century than the bubbling over that began on a series of high-profile nights in Greenwich Village.
A few years after my agency-staffer days I met the Radical Faeries, a community of queerfolk who attributed their origins (and their name) to Harry Hay. Hay has been billed as the “the father of the modern gay rights movement,” he having founded the Mattachine Society in 1950.
The founding of the Mattachine Society, likewise, was a hash-mark on the timeline of the history of BGLQT+ (I prefer to put the initials in alphabetical order) activism in the US, but it was not the beginning of it. Like major rivers that have tributaries that begin as trickles in the mountains, many movements have foundations that begin with ground broken long before most people realized that a shovel had gone in or had any idea who had wielded it. Backhoes are more dramatic than garden spades.
The hash-marks that we inscribe on our timelines don’t tell the whole stories. Yet people everywhere confuse the outline with the story.
Despite the fact that I have a theological-school education, I stopped identifying as Christian by the time I was 33 or so, five or six years after I came out. During those years, I continued to identify as Evangelical for a while, and it was terribly important to me, because of grief I was getting from Evangelical relatives and friends, to find support from like-minded–God-honoring–gay people.
I lived in Columbus, Ohio, a town big enough, thanks, especially, to the diversity provided by the presence of The Ohio State University, to have a lot of resources to me as a gay Christian, as it had had for me as a non-gay-identified Christian. There was a Metropolitan Community Church there–an explicitly pro-gay Church founded in 1968 in Los Angeles–and an independent congregation that had splintered from it. I got involved in the splinter-group.
That group got a lot of moral support from a New York organization called Evangelicals Concerned, which had been founded by psychologist Ralph Blair in 1975. Blair is still writing, counseling, and speaking, and he has written a thorough, if wordy, history of the intersection of Evangelicalism and homosexuality: http://ecinc.org/looking-back-evangelicals-and-homosexuality/
Though I am not Christian, my husband is a Theist, and he has been active since long before he came out in an organization now calling itself the Q Network. Q Network was founded by Justin Lee and was for many years known as the Gay Christian Network. Lee is not associated with the Network any more, but he continues writing and promoting dialogue on queerness and Conservative Christian faith.
In an online conversation that I watched live with my husband, a fan of Lee’s said, “You… and a few others are going to be the founding fathers and the birthing of change within the church in regards to LGBTQ.” This comment alarmed me because it leaves out at least 40 years of directly relevant history. As was the case with me when I began my tenure as a professional gay activist, I was not so much ignorant as simply unaware (which is ignorant without the judgment).
Today’s activists and writers and educators are not the Founding [Fathers] of their movement. They are planting seeds in soil that has been tilled for them for a century, albeit soil that began being turned up with a garden spade long before a backhoe came along to dig out a foundation. Nobody knew then that secular activism was going to affect the Church world, but it has. It has all contributed.
Because I am no longer a Theist, I am not directly interested in what the Church thinks about me, but as a religious pluralist, a person with a theological school degree, and an American citizen grateful for the Constitution, I am deeply interested in every BGLQT+ person of faith having access to completely inclusive faith community. That’s why I am grateful not only for the work being done by the Q Network but also for the work that was done in the founding of the Metropolitan Community Church, Evangelicals Concerned, and other religious organizations. All of it is important, and activists owe it to themselves and the populations for whom they advocate to be literate in all the history they can avail themselves of.
I no longer consider such education to be within the realm of my expertise, but at least I can give you some clues, and the abovementioned link to Ralph Blair’s article is a good start.
(Speaking of timelines, Kathy Baldock’s book Walking the Bridgeless Canyon provides a fascinating general overview of the history of Gay oppression in the Church. http://canyonwalkerconnections.com/about-walking-bridgeless-canyon/)
I spent a number of years as a Unitarian Universalist, and during that time I was exposed to the assertion that poet Edwin Markham was a Universalist. I now understand that, regardless of his church affiliation, he resonated deeply with Universalist principles, especially if you […]
The move to California has been a whirlwind and surreal, while at the same time feeling all-consuming, so it seemed it would never actually happen. I sorted and packed and sorted and packed for so long I felt constrained to the penultimate level of hell. And here today, we are in our new home in California for 2 weeks. We spent the cross country trip in Olympia Blue, our minivan, wadded into 4 human-sized cavities among the softest and most precious of our belongings. Pete the Dog learned to wad himself into a dog-sized niche by the door, and traveled more congenially than the rest of us. We didn’t kill each other, and we’re here.
I loved the countryside in Ohio and Pennsylvania, the Allegheny forests and Appalachian mountains where I could lose myself since I was a boy. It was country where I could recede into oblivion from the world and commune with my Great Artist.
So getting used to the stark beauty of the desert is an adjustment. It’s not a trial or challenge, it’s just different. But one of the characteristics of the desert I find so apt at this time in my life: it’s wide open. There is little about the landscape that presents a refuge or a hiding place. The greatest threat in the desert is being unprepared, dehydration. You have to take care of yourself if you are going to survive, and there isn’t much use in dragging along a lot of excess camouflage with which to disguise yourself. Make sure you’re sensibly covered and stay full of wet.
And it’s an attitude I assume as a model in my life. Openness, the awareness to just be. Like the cacti in all their infinite variety, beautiful but unrepentant about their natures. There’s treasure inside and beauty outside, and nothing obscured in florid abundance. Not a thing wrong with who I am, in the palm of the Maker’s hand, here I stand.