When Valley High School recently produced the play, "The Laramie Project", it generated animated public debate. Initial controversy focused on language in the play that many felt was inappropriate for a high school setting with student actors. Surprisingly, the playwrite approved revisions to alleviate these concerns -- which simply made room for other concerns. In the background of the play, of course, is the topic of homosexuality -- the very mention of which seems to render us incapable of having a reasoned discourse. Laramie, Wyoming is the town where Matthew Shepherd, an openly gay college student, was brutally murdered.
Though I was familiar with the Matthew Shepherd story, and though I had heard about the play, I had never seen the play nor read the script. Well publicized was the fact that the script was not a retelling or reinactment of the murder of Matthew Shepherd. Rather, it represented the fruit of interviews made with townspeople in the months following the tragedy. That said, I still didn't know what to expect when I sat down in the audience on opening night of the production. What I experienced surprised me.
Indeed, the subject of homosexuality is "background" at the most. The play is the story of a community struggling to adjust to a terrible experience, and the worldwide attention that tragedy now focused on them. Just as significantly, it is the story of a group of actors, prodded by their director, who agreed somewhat reluctantly to conduct the interviews. The resulting script brings to life those they interviewed, their own inner reflections as they anticipated and conducted the interviews, and the dynamic of community struggle, grief, discomfort, and healing. While the murder of Matthew Shepherd is certainly at the center of the story, the real story is about how a community looks at itself and attempts to heal. Along the way, audience members are "forced" to listen to a full range of perspectives -- neither simply their own, nor those they may abhor. That, it later struck me, is both the power and the discomfort of the play. Almost never are we exposed to such a full range of reactions and reflections, equally portrayed, equally respected. We prefer to have clear "good guys" and "bad guys," and this play simply would not accomodate us. Short of walking out, we had no choice but to listen to everybody -- those who offended us, those who echoed us, those who wanted to talk about something else altogether, and those who didn't know what to think; listen, as well, to the anguish of those who were reluctant to even ask the questions.
In the process, we were given the privilege of reaching inside a portion of each other.
That same weekend our congregation held a conversation about self-describing ourselves as "open and affirming" to gays and lesbians. It was a good conversation -- a caring conversation -- in which people genuinely tried to listen to each other. As we talked, a familiar question was raised: "why single out one group? Will we next be required to post on the sign that truckers, nurses and firemen are welcome, as well?" Later, as I reflected on the honest question, I thought about Arab travellers who are routinely subjected to searches at airports -- simply because of who they are. I thought of African-Americans who are are routinely shadowed in stores and pulled over by police because their "profile" makes them suspicious. Most of us have no idea what it is like to be "judged" or "suspected" or "rejected" simply because of who we are -- a part of our being that we have not ability to change. What I would now like to say to the questioner in our church gathering is that we will never need to reassure truckers, nurses and firefighters that they are welcome in our fellowship because it would not cross their minds that they wouldn't be. That's not their experience. In order to understand this dynamic of inclusion/exclusion, we will need to talk with those who, based on painful experience, have learned to assume they aren't welcome unless differently reassured. We need some capacity to reach inside another's experience and comprehend it -- otherwise we will rejecting, excluding, judging people for the rest of our lives out of ignorance, in the name of moral conviction.
And that, it seems to me, would be a tragic loss for ourselves, and for those whose gifts we haven't found a way to receive.
Though I was familiar with the Matthew Shepherd story, and though I had heard about the play, I had never seen the play nor read the script. Well publicized was the fact that the script was not a retelling or reinactment of the murder of Matthew Shepherd. Rather, it represented the fruit of interviews made with townspeople in the months following the tragedy. That said, I still didn't know what to expect when I sat down in the audience on opening night of the production. What I experienced surprised me.
Indeed, the subject of homosexuality is "background" at the most. The play is the story of a community struggling to adjust to a terrible experience, and the worldwide attention that tragedy now focused on them. Just as significantly, it is the story of a group of actors, prodded by their director, who agreed somewhat reluctantly to conduct the interviews. The resulting script brings to life those they interviewed, their own inner reflections as they anticipated and conducted the interviews, and the dynamic of community struggle, grief, discomfort, and healing. While the murder of Matthew Shepherd is certainly at the center of the story, the real story is about how a community looks at itself and attempts to heal. Along the way, audience members are "forced" to listen to a full range of perspectives -- neither simply their own, nor those they may abhor. That, it later struck me, is both the power and the discomfort of the play. Almost never are we exposed to such a full range of reactions and reflections, equally portrayed, equally respected. We prefer to have clear "good guys" and "bad guys," and this play simply would not accomodate us. Short of walking out, we had no choice but to listen to everybody -- those who offended us, those who echoed us, those who wanted to talk about something else altogether, and those who didn't know what to think; listen, as well, to the anguish of those who were reluctant to even ask the questions.
In the process, we were given the privilege of reaching inside a portion of each other.
That same weekend our congregation held a conversation about self-describing ourselves as "open and affirming" to gays and lesbians. It was a good conversation -- a caring conversation -- in which people genuinely tried to listen to each other. As we talked, a familiar question was raised: "why single out one group? Will we next be required to post on the sign that truckers, nurses and firemen are welcome, as well?" Later, as I reflected on the honest question, I thought about Arab travellers who are routinely subjected to searches at airports -- simply because of who they are. I thought of African-Americans who are are routinely shadowed in stores and pulled over by police because their "profile" makes them suspicious. Most of us have no idea what it is like to be "judged" or "suspected" or "rejected" simply because of who we are -- a part of our being that we have not ability to change. What I would now like to say to the questioner in our church gathering is that we will never need to reassure truckers, nurses and firefighters that they are welcome in our fellowship because it would not cross their minds that they wouldn't be. That's not their experience. In order to understand this dynamic of inclusion/exclusion, we will need to talk with those who, based on painful experience, have learned to assume they aren't welcome unless differently reassured. We need some capacity to reach inside another's experience and comprehend it -- otherwise we will rejecting, excluding, judging people for the rest of our lives out of ignorance, in the name of moral conviction.
And that, it seems to me, would be a tragic loss for ourselves, and for those whose gifts we haven't found a way to receive.
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2 comments:
I'm one who did get to see the aforementioned play production, it was very thought-provoking. I've also been privy to far-too-many church discussions revolving around human sexuality, with a view to who's "in" and who's "out".
I keep coming back to the principle most famously espoused by St. Benedict of Nursia -- to welcome ALL as if they were Christ incarnate coming to us.
Jesus himself communicated the value of such a predisposition when he said that "whatsoever you have done to the least of these, you have done unto Me."
Each generation has its own particular sets of expectations as to who is acceptable; and different denominations and congregations have their unique perceptions as to who is "like us" and who isn't like us (and therefore suspect).
My parents tell of a friend who, decades ago as a young man, dressed in his very best to go to church. His very best was his clean, newest pair of overalls. No one in the well-dressed congregation even acknowledged his presence. He felt so rejected, it was years before he ever returned to church.
It must be human nature to want to flock together with birds of our own feather, since being openly welcoming seems to be such a difficult endeavor.
But when did the way of Christ conform to unredeemed human nature? We are called to something higher. Not a bland "whatever floats your boat" form of secular tolerance. The "world" needs to recognize human diversity and allow people to be who they are.
The Church is called to something beyond this: to WELCOME others, to embrace those who are most different from us, and to see where the Spirit of God is present in those who are most "other".
God is far bigger than any of us will ever comprehend, but we can catch glimpses of the enormity of God's being through how God is revealed in each individual member of God's creation. When we disrespect the creation, we dis the Creator as well.
The challenge of the Gospel is always radical. It never allows us to remain who we have been, but calls us to who we will be. The Good News is first of all to be brought to those most in need of it, the disenfranchised, those who are the "out" and not "in".
Which of us wants to be the one to tell someone that only people like "us" can participate in God's Good News? And who among us would like to be the one to whom the door is shut, simply because we are 'different' than the one operating the door? We may feel free to decide to whom we open the door of our heart or home; we do not possess that prerogative when it comes to the doors of the Church. Christ said "whosoever" and it is not for us to stand in the way, simply to preserve our own comfort, or to protect our particular viewpoint.
Submitted by one humbly attempting to live the Gospel, and never coming close to the life of Christ ... but each day is yet another new beginning. I may "preach" but I am in no position to judge.
Kudos. Put it in a sermon.
Tom Joelle, Jerry and Vivian.
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