Stops #4 and #5: NC – Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary and Campbell University

The Equality Ride left Alabama and headed north on our zig-zagging route to Raleigh, North Carolina, where two schools awaited.

The first, Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary, is located about thirty minutes outside the city and is famous for its “Bible based teaching,” emphasizing that the Bible is the inerrant Word of God. We were technically allowed onto campus at SEBTS – we rolled up in our big queer bus, got off, were escorted by security guards conspicuously holding handcuffs to chapel, and then escorted back to our bus shortly afterward.

The chapel service itself was a bit of a show, with a preacher that stared at our group while speaking in coded language about sexual sin and the deceitful nature of the tongue (as well as reinforcing that a woman’s role is in the kitchen – and I'm not overstating here). We were able to meet and interact with students for about 20 minutes after the service before being reminded by security that we had to go, and those conversations were earnest, if predictable:

Student: We’re all sinners, but the Bible is very clear about this.
Me: We’re all equal, and people are suffering because the church is doing this wrong. I have prayed a lot about this, and feel at peace knowing I am loved just as I am. What do you think it’s like for LGBTQ students at this school? How will you treat LGBTQ members of your future ministries?
Student: We’re all sinners, and homosexuals are just like alcoholics and prostitutes. Pray harder!

Through a vigil just off campus and a community picnic nearby, we were able to meet with more students and have more of the same conversations. Finally, as we were packing up at the end of the picnic, I spoke with frustration and urgency to one of the students. “Look, everyone today has told me they acknowledge the church has failed, but no one can tell me anything else to do except keep telling the gays about our sin. Forget about our sin for once – why don’t you focus on the church for once? That’s your community, that’s where you have influence, that’s what you can do. What can you do in the church?” He had no answer. I felt defeated.

The second school was Campbell University, about 15 minutes west of Raleigh. We were allowed on for a full day of dialogue and were assured by students and administration alike that we would have a very different experience there than at SEBTS. Indeed we did: through morning presentations, campus tours, a meeting with campus representatives, a catered lunch with real Southern fried chicken, an afternoon panel discussion, and a surprisingly affirming chapel service, our day was chock full of activity.

And yet, something was off. Whereas a campus event discussing homosexuality and the Bible had attracted over 200 students just a few weeks before (which the school had put on in preparation for our visit), our events managed less than 100 each. Although the school paper had several articles in it denouncing our arrival, every person we met greeted us with a smile. Despite being the first day back after spring break, the campus was a ghost town as we walked through it. And large portions of our official “dialogue” involved receiving lectures on the school’s new construction and the history of the mascot. At the end of the day:

Administrator: Did you feel welcomed? Did you enjoy the fried chicken? Isn’t the campus lovely?
Us: Thank you for the meal, but what happens after we leave? What about your LGBTQ students?
Administrator: Oh, I’m so glad you felt comfortable.

So yes, we had different experiences at SEBTS and Campbell. At SEBTS, we were given the school’s honest answers to our questions. The students said hurtful things, but at least they listened and really wanted to talk. Campbell was all smiles and handshakes, evasive answers to direct questions and a schedule of activities that ensured most students couldn’t come.

Which do you think was more authentic? Which do you think actually listened?

As they stand, both schools remain unsafe spaces for LGBTQ students who desperately need affirmation. I can only hope that the sparks of conversation we had at both places will encourage further discussion and community mobilizing in the months and years to come

Evidence of progress already though: a few students are working on creating a GSA (Gay Straight Alliance) at Campbell. Support their efforts by signing and forwarding their petition. You can make a difference!

Next up: Daytona Beach, Florida.

Stop #3: Huntsville, AL - Oakwood University

Don't worry, you didn't miss anything - my synopsis of our second school stop in Houghton, NY can be found at the official Soulforce blog.

As for lucky number 3, the Equality Ride bus arrived in Huntsville, AL on Friday night, our visit to Oakwood University not scheduled until Monday. Although we had not notified the school or the local authorities of the timetable for our arrival (except for confirming Monday’s schedule), we received a phone call within a half hour of stepping into the hotel, welcoming us to town.

Creepy. Silver lining? Goal of visibility reached!

We spent the weekend trying to spread the word about Monday’s events and getting to know the town of Huntsville, including meeting with a several Oakwood students to help us better understand the atmosphere at the school surrounding LGBTQ issues.

We learned that Oakwood, a Seventh Day Adventist school and HBCU (Historically Black College or University), has a culture of enforced silence surrounding LGBTQ issues, in which openly gay students are discriminated against and often expelled by the administration. Therefore, there are few openly LGBQ students (each of them sure they were the only one), and no openly transgender students that we met or heard of.

When asked if she would again choose to go to Oakwood if she had known beforehand the environment in which she would be placing herself, one lesbian student said “absolutely not!” So why did she stay? Her parents wouldn’t pay for any other school and her credits weren’t transferrable to any other school that would have been any better. If she wanted an education, this was it.

On Monday, we boarded the bus and made our way from the hotel to Oakwood, escorted by school police to the only spot where we would be permitted to go: a building on the corner of campus which most of the students we spoke with had never heard of. Not that it would have mattered – our agenda involved one half hour of structured dialogue with selected students and administration, followed by a short catered lunch. With a school population of about 2000 students, we were given access to talk to about 15 of them.

The administration stated that it had not received our communications (first send last October) until two weeks ago, and anything more would have been impossible to arrange. When we asked to allow for a longer period of dialogue or make the event open to more students, we were informed that either we accept the terms or not be allowed onto school at all.

So we went, and we spoke our piece about a need for safe spaces for LGBTQ students, and shared our stories as best we could. And in a funny turn of events, when the riders were ready to move on after 30 minutes, the students and some administrators pleaded that we continue with our stories. Small, subtle shifts in understanding began to ripple throughout the closed door meeting as we continued talking, a sensation of urgency replacing the skepticism and fear that had marked our arrival.

The conversations continued throughout a hurried (and deliciously vegan, rock on SDA!) lunch and then again near the entrance to the school where we set up with signs reading “We are here for you!” Student leaders tweeted and Facebooked their friends to come and meet us, and over the course of the afternoon we spoke with nearly 100 students. Some of them wanted us to know we should try harder to stop being gay, some of them were LGBQ themselves and grateful to meet us (and meet each other!), and many committed to continue this dialogue after we left. No one was sure what would happen next, but the conversation had begun at last.

Later, we continued talking with students as we staked out a corner of a local Chili’s restaurant and communed over greasy appetizers smothered in bacon (this is the South, y’all). When we were finally done, we left the restaurant with our stomachs and hearts full.

I wonder whether anything will change at Oakwood, a school deeply entrenched in the SDA tradition as well as Southern culture. LGBTQ people are welcome so long as they deny the reality of who they are. Painful , harmful silence will continue to be enforced there, most certainly.

Yet those small, subtle shifts we saw in the first closed door meeting grew perceptibly larger throughout the afternoon. I think they will continue to grow. I hope they will. The students of Oakwood deserve to know they are not alone, and that they are loved just as they are. All of them.

We all do.

Stop #1: Phoenixville, PA - Valley Forge Christian College

Our first stop on the 2010 Equality Ride was last week in Phoenixville, PA at Valley Forge Christian College.  Because we were not invited onto campus, we got a permit to gather at a public park adjacent to the college and planned a rally there, to help us be visible to the student community and share stories of faith and justice.

We were met at the park by several community groups who came in solidarity and support, as well as by a group of protesters famous in Pennsylvania for bringing hate speech to any public gathering centered around LGBTQ issues (parades, public forums, family picnics, etc.).

I don't use the term hate speech lightly, by the way, and I probably don't even mean it in the way you think - see, these folks really believed that they needed to tell us about our sins, so that we could repent, be forgiven, and go to heaven when we die.  Cherry picking Bible verses to support their homophobia and transphobia may be misguided, but I can believe that it comes from a place of genuine concern and love.  At least hypothetically.

But shouting profanities at us through a megaphone as we held hands and sang "This Little Light of Mine" didn't feel like love.  And targeting the women in our group by calling them all dykes and claiming they had all been sexually molested didn't feel like love.  Calling African-Americans "negroids" and refusing to be corrected absolutely didn't feel like love.  And telling me that I deserved to be physically assaulted for being gay ("I could understand why a non-Christian would want to attack a homosexual," in response to my telling of a story where I had been physically assaulted for being a little too flamboyant in a straight bar) didn't feel remotely like love.

I don't care what you think your motivations are.  That is hate.

Still, it was nothing you don't expect.  We were prepared, and we engaged them in conversation to help reduce their volume so that our message of love and support cold be better heard, and we were indeed visible to the students on campus.

Visibility may be all we achieved, but this is important.  We had been informed the day of our arrival that students were warned by the school that if they came out to talk to us, they would be expelled.  And so, at the end of the rally at the park, we stood in vigil as close to campus as we could get, and sang songs of hope and love, and just prayed that they knew we were there and that someone loved them.

After awhile, we finished up and began walking to the bus, then saw several students standing behind a glass door far away from us on campus - their hands on the door, pressing out but unable to push through the barrier created by the school's threat of expulsion.  They waved.

They waved!

Later that night and throughout the next couple of days, we were welcomed at several community events throughout the area, including potlucks at the local gay center, meals and communion at several local churches, and a service project on the streets of Philadelphia.  The love was tangible, a welcome change from the hate, fear, and silence encountered earlier.

As we left town, I found myself exhausted by the contrasts - the love and the hate, and hope and the fear, the silence and the visibility, having all been displayed so vividly over the course of just a few days.  I guess I'm not sure what is the most important thing to take away from it all.  The shades of gray are just too big.  I know what we did mattered, though I don't know how much.  I hope that things will change there at Valley Forge.  Those students deserve love and affirmation.  Everyone does.

Onward, then.

PS: During part of our talks with the protesters, I asked the loudest and most virulent of them about sacrificial love.  He told me that a few days ago, his daughter had a serious and tragic medical emergency that was devastating to their family (she is alive, but recovering) - but he came to protest us anyway.  If you are inclined to such things, please love and prayers to this man and his family as they recover during this difficult time.

Lay Down Your Shield

I talked a little bit last time about my fear of the church - how, like the child who learned from his burns not to touch the flame, I will probably always be afraid of it.  The wounds heal, but we remember these things.  Which is supposed to be a good thing.  Fear is what you learn once something has hurt you, and which you remember so that you can prevent it from hurting you again.

Four days ago, the other riders and I arrived in Baltimore to finish our preparations for the imminent journey.  We came together with joy - kissing and hugging one another as long lost friends reunited at last, sharing stories of our (actually brief) time apart.  It was a lovely day as we one by one shuttled into our first hotel, purposeful determination and hope set square in our eyes.

But there were also actual preparations to make, phone calls and emails and hotel reservations and the like, and as part of that, we have been having some Very Important Conversations about things like the Bible, and justice, and racial equality, which have been awfully intense and emotional.

Yet here is where I began to be afraid: In the middle of all of that, we talked about what it really looks like to have "meaningful dialogue" with someone you consider your adversary.  Meaningful dialogue is something a lot of people talk about and few people do, because it sounds great but involves being open to what the other person needs and possibly letting go of something you need.

Or put another way: usually when we engage with our adversaries, we equip ourselves for war.  We bring our swords and shields, to attack them and protect ourselves.  Our words are our weapons, with which we hope to win the day.  Our defense is how we receive and deflect their words.  The sword is fueled by anger and righteousness.  The shield, by fear.

And that's good, right?  Defense is important, after all.  When strangers rolled down their windows and shouted "Faggot!" as they threw beer bottles from their moving vehicles, I needed all the defense I could get.  Not to mention when  the same gesture in so many words came from pastors in their pulpits and in their prayers.

But here's the thing: meaningful dialogue isn't just about putting away the sword.  I mean, you certainly have to do that of course, we've all seen how counterproductive bringing anger and righteousness is to peace negotiations, but there's more.  You have to lay down your shield too.  Because that shield means you're still expecting war, and what kind of a thing is that to expect from someone you love?  So you have to put it down.

You have to let go of your fear.

I don't know how to do this.  I can walk onto a Christian campus and accept their insults, their prooftexts, even their pity for my "struggle," so long as my heart is guarded and my fear is strong.  I need that fear to protect my precious sense of self.  Despite everything, I now know that I am worth protecting.  The entire me.  The real me.  All of me, every last bit, and I will never again let anyone tell me otherwise.

So if I cannot make an offering of myself, I guess that all I have left to put on the table is my hope that things can be better.

Replace fear with hope.

Hmm.  Well, I don't know if I can do that.  I'm pretty sure I won't be very good at it, actually, because like I said that shield is really important to me.  But it's also really heavy, and so I will try, and if I fail then I will try again, and again, and again.

I hope they will keep trying too.