AN UNAUTHORIZED POINT OF VIEW:

Tolerance of Intolerance

            “I’m tired of these homosexual demons trying to possess my spirit!  I’m tired of homosexuals hitting on me trying to get me to do terrible things!  I’m tired of everyone saying that I’m homosexual!  I’m not homosexual!  I’m married!  I have a wife!  I have a child!  I’ve got another child on the way!”

            This was the tearful testimony of a young man in his early twenties given recently during a Sunday morning worship service at a church in Southeastern United States.  

The woman pastor came out of her pulpit and stood before the congregation.  She then beaconed for the young man to come forward for prayer.   He obediently walked slowly to the front of the church.  He possessed many characteristics of his African ancestry.  He could have very easily been a Zulu warrior in another place and at another time.  There was a slightly noticeable effeminacy, yet his feminine mannerisms were not effected or prominently overt.  Most people meeting him would assume that he was gay.   However, in a court of law, I would not be able to swear one way or the other as to his sexuality.

            “I don’t know why everybody thinks I’m that way,” he continued his confession through sobs.  “It may have something to do with the things me and my cousin used to do when we were sixteen.  But, I’m not like that, Pastor!  Honest, I’m not!”

            The pastor summoned her associate ministers from the pulpit, and they formed a semi-circle around the repentant soul.  Various saints of the church left their seats and joined in the group.  There were now about fifteen or twenty people surround the young man.

            The woman preacher placed her hand on the young man’s forehead.  Others placed their hand on his back, shoulder, or wherever they could find an open spot.  His wife conspicuously remained in the back of the church holding their young toddler.  Everyone – including the young man – began to pray aloud and loudly.  Soon, the praying was accented by drums, tambourines, guitars, and keyboards.  The young man began to speak in an unknown tongue as did the preacher and some of the congregation.  Dancing of most of the saints followed.  Next, the young man fell to the floor and rolled from one side of the church to the other.

            Other members of the church began to confess their secret homosexual desires and activities.  The miscreants – mostly teenage boys and girls – were begging to be delivered from this terrible demon of homosexuality.  All came to the front of the church and were prayed for. 

According to the pastor, all of them were now members of the heterosexual population.

My first impulse is to grab this young man by the soldiers and try my best to shake him back into reality – into accepting himself for who he is and making the most of it.  But then I realize that if I expect others to accept me for the choices I have made in life, I must be ready and willing to accept the choices made by others.  (When I use the word choices, do not misconstrue this to mean that I chose my sexuality.  The choice that I made was to accept my sexuality and live with as much honesty as I can.)

If the young man in questions chooses to live a life of hypocrisy or even in total denial, I must respect and accept that decision.  He has to deal with his life as best as he can.  I have to live mine as best as I can.

In another southern city, a middle-aged man decided to leave his prominent Baptist church where he had been a member for more than forty years.  This gentleman does not carry a banner saying “I am Gay”, but neither does he hide his sexuality.  He’s open to his family, his closest friends, and to his staff on his job.  He suddenly grew very tired of hearing his minister preach against homosexuality.  He was an integral part of the music department at his church which placed him down front in the choir loft.  He felt that whenever the minister spoke about homosexuality, all eyes in the church were on him.  He decided that he could no longer subject himself to this humiliation.  He moved to another church in another city where he is loved and respected for who he is and for what he is.

Again my impulse is to lash out at the minister for his intolerance.  But I will not allow myself to do so.  I would then be on the same level with him.  I must respect his right to feel as he does and to voice his opinion.

            A locally-popular gospel singing group from the sixties and seventies recently decided to have a reunion concert.  The concert was scheduled to take place at a church where one of the singers is a member.  This writer was asked to be the accompanying musician.  I agreed.  Two nights before the concert, I was told that I could not be the musician.  I would not be welcome to play the piano in this particular church.  No specific reason was given, but everyone knew the reason.  One of the members, who is also a minister, called me and insisted that I go to the musical anyway – not to play but to sit in the back and give my support to the group.  This would, in the words of the minister, “defeat the devil and show love on my part.” 

            I refused to subject myself to that kind of humiliation.

            My tolerance for intolerance has not quite reached that point.