I realize that as an openly-out non-conflicted lesbian who enjoys (with traces of guilt) being one of only 14,000 gay couples afforded legal marriage status in California that I have a responsibility to be a visible presence for queer youth and for those GLBTQ folk yearning to come out of the closet. Believe me, I take this responsibility seriously but please, just don’t make me go to a Gay Pride Parade to prove it. I’d rather climb up on this wobbly chair in the conservative suburban Starbucks where I now write to confess my gay pride shortcomings and scream “Yes, I Am!” while waving a 5 foot rainbow flag over my head than spend another June Sunday elbowing my way through a aimlessly roaming horde of my gay brothers, lesbian sisters and non-gender specific family while snaking past the alarming number of Absolut Vodka, free condom, and corporate-sponsored vendors that have become the bane of San Francisco Gay Pride. I don’t need another eco-friendly, shoddily-made Gay Pride tee-shirt that fades with the first washing and if I should get a craving for a soggy elephant ear dripping with nauseatingly-sweet raspberry jam or deep-fried Oreo cookies then I’ll just go ahead and commit nutritional suicide at any State Fair in one of the 50 states, including the unincorporated territory of Puerto Rico.

Side Note from A SoapBox: While there’s many worthwhile organizations that participate in Gay Pride and much to be celebrated, I’m increasingly disturbed by the inordinate focus placed on alcohol and sex, not at the initiation of the parade goers but by those corporations whose sponsorship of the day seems less motivated by their support for the gay community than to use the opportunity to target GLBTQ consumers with all their high-gloss banners, slick swag and free merchandise.

Second Side Note from the Same Soapbox: How do you suppose it is that the anti-gay conservative groups will strategically select a number of shock-and-awe images every year from the parade to serve as evidence of the immorality of the homosexual lifestyle,  yet they never seem to arrive at the same conclusion regarding the heterosexual lifestyle despite an even larger amount of evidence established in images of women flashing their breasts for a strand of plastic beads, leering men who can’t take their eyes off them (the breasts not the beads) and outrageous drunken behavior that stands as the hallmark to each and every Mardi Gras parade?

And yes, in case you’re wondering, I feel better now, but before you write me off as the party pooper who served as the inspiration to the song, let me offer a counter-balance to the someone jaded portion of this post that’s probably left you with an urge to go back to bed and pull the covers up over your head.

When I was younger, and by younger I mean any and all years prior to turning 50 years old, I had some profoundly moving Gay Pride Parade experiences despite the crowds and chaos. About one year, three months, and forty-five minutes after coming out I marched in the 1995 Chicago Gay Pride Parade and watched as leather-clad bare-bottomed bears cried on the sidelines as we passed by singing “Jesus Loves Me.” In 1999 I was nearly hugged to death in the most tender way by a rubenesque drag queen with the warmest eyes and a hint of a 5:00 o’clock shadow who went from being a stranger to my brother in sister apparel in the span of a fashion-oppositional hug; he dressed in a tight slinky gown with mile-high stilettos and me in an eligibly-faded tee-shirt from a previous parade and Birkenstocks. I learned a valuable lesson that day. Compliment a drag queen on what a stunning beauty she is and prepare yourself to be mauled.

And then in 2001 my girlfriend (now forever bride) and I filled out the required forms to become legal domestic partners at the PFLAG booth where other queers’ moms and dads shook our hands and congratulated us until we melted into a big weepy ball of silly putty. In 2003 and again in 2004 I spend a few hours working the exhibit booth for the CLGS (Center for Lesbian and Gay Studies in Religion and Ministry) talking one on one with every kind of queer imaginable and then some about faith and God and their worth in God’s eyes while D anchored her body to the PVC piping framework of our booth to keep it from going airborne and landing on the neighboring booth. “Annie’s Henna Tattoos and Piercings” or something equally San Francisco.

I don’t know exactly why and when the Gay Pride Parade lost it’s magic for me. Maybe I got too old, too comfortable, too lazy, too vanilla. It just seems that when I wasn’t looking I went from being a 44 year single lesbian filled with anticipation, wonder, and a trace of fear to be marching in her first pride parade to a 53 year old married lesbian and clergywoman living in the suburbs who managed to forget the rainbow tribe was boldly and proudly whooping it up yesterday.

Don’t judge me too harshly. I haven’t forgotten my community or my obligation to be out for others who remain hidden and silenced. I haven’t forgotten the struggle that continues or the lies that continue to be told or the lives that continue to be wounded. How could I ever forget when everyday there’s another reminder of how far we have to go even while celebrating how far we’ve come? I’ll continue to live as an unapologetically out lesbian, a word and identity I wear comfortably and gratefully. I’ll continue to speak up, even if it be inadequately so, for those who can’t speak for themselves and I will continue to counter misinformation with truth-telling in the church and in our world.

I guess I’m just at a place in my life where I’ve settled in to being queer enough to know that I don’t have to do my life in a particular way to make it count or to make a difference. Neither do you. Volunteer. Contribute. Participate. Be involved. But above all else live today authentically as yourself and to who God made you to be. The way you live, the truth you speak, and the integrity you possess will do more to change this world than a thousand parades combined will ever do.

Finally, let me impart one last word of wisdom. If you happened to buy a 10 dollar tee-shirt at Gay Pride this year, I suggest you avoid throwing it in the clothes dryer. I’m just saying.

When we were strolling hand-in-hand last week at a street fair in the hip, slick, cool, and totally queer-friendly neighborhood of Mississippi Street in Portland, Oregon we couldn’t help but notice that we gay folk were in a higher than average percentage of attendees. There weren’t any rainbow flags flying or feathered boas on the boys but it was obvious family was in the house. Lesbian couples. Gay dads with tots in tow. Queer youth. And it felt good.

And then two days later we were walking hand-in-hand in the tourist-centric coastal  town of Cannon Beach and while there were a few women and men that caused us to raise a hopeful eyebrow, by and large, we were fairly convinced we were about the only gay couple with sand between their toes that weekend. And it felt . . . odd.

I puzzle over this phenomenon sometimes; how it is that I can go throughout the day without so much as a single gay thought (i.e., no pondering over when the Indigo Girls will release another album), but when another gay person walks by, I make that instantaneous connection that I’m gay and so are they and I take a certain pleasure in that moment when it happens.

Now, this would be a natural time to ask if the same is true for you but I don’t need to ask. I know the answer.  We of the alphabet soup persuasion (GLBTQI…) are like cyclists pedaling along on a road swarming with walkers, runners, and automobiles. If you don’t ride a bike then let me give you a peek into the world of their secret little ritual of greeting. It goes like this. When two cyclists pass each other they do one of two things; they either flutter up the palm of one hand from their handlebar in a nearly indiscernible wave, or they nod in acknowledgment with the quickest flash of a tip of their helmeted head. And two queers passing in a world full of straight people do the very same thing! Oh come on and admit it! You know you do! In the split second I notice you it’s more than apparent that you notice me and in response we do that lightening-fast upturn of the lips, squint of the eyes, or nod of the head to the other before returning to whatever was holding our attention or thought three seconds earlier.

But why do we do that is the question I’ve been wondering about these past few days and I think the answer, at least part of it anyway, is because even though the gay person walking by is a complete stranger we recognize at the same moment that we share something deeply powerful in common. The queer passing by can be covered in sleeve tattoos, dressed in some weird fashion zone that borders the land between goth and gross, with a three-inch nose ring dangling from their pierced nostril and that doesn’t matter to those of us dressed in pressed jeans, a wrinkle-free over-sized cotton shirt and sporting a socially acceptable lesbian hairstyle (refer to examples of Jodi Foster, Ellen, or the entire field of players in the LPGA). No. Despite our external differences we have that moment of connection because we know the other knows what we know. Contrary to the theory of the one universal gay lifestyle, while our life experiences and the way we live our daily lives are as diverse as our outward appearance, we are both gay and we know that any gay person we pass by stands in the midst of a particular history with us and the stories and people that comprise that history are the same. Harvey Milk. Stonewall. AIDS. Act Up. Gay Pride. Matthew Shepherd. Marriage equality. We share common insider words and community symbols. We know to one extent or another the soul-destructive power of the closet and the empowering liberation of coming out. We know what it is to be rejected or accepted and to be ridiculed or affirmed. We know what it is to love someone amazing and refuse to allow any one or any law to diminish that love. We know the joy of our hard-won victories and our shared frustrations in temporary defeat. We know what it is to suffer at the hand of oppression, hate, and ignorance just as we know what it is to celebrate our lives and our loves, and to stand up for our basic right of human dignity and respect.

I walk by you and in the split second I see you and recognize you as family, I know that wherever it is that I am, whether at a festive street fair in a neighborhood that houses the cities GLBTQ Community Center or on a quaint strolling avenue in a coastal town dominated by the long-standing presence of a conservative Christian conference center, I am not alone. I’m there and you’re there and without exchanging so much as a word we know something about each others lives that others will never fully understand and so we smile or nod to say, “I know because I am too.”

SisterFriends Together.

Kind of the same thing, don’t you think? Just with a whole lot more shared stories and names to our history. Stories like salvation and grace and redemption and faith. Names like Jesus and God and Spirit. I knew there was some reason I liked passing you by and nodding in your direction and even better when we stop and take time to get to know one another. Let’s keep doing that, okay?

…..Straight in body

…..Straight in mind

…..Straight in heart

……....I would not take it.

If taking such a pill would restore all my lost friendships

…..And regain my parents pride

…..And give back my families respect

…..…..I would not take it.

If taking such a pill would return me to my former ministry

…..And the admiration of the congregation

…..And the loving welcome of the church

…..…..I would not take it.

If taking such a pill would replace the love I have for my wife with an equal love for a man

…..And we could legally marry

…..And we would be granted full rights under the law without fighting for them

…..…..I would not take it.

If taking such a pill would mean no one would reject me for being who I am

…..And for saying what I believe

…..And for standing boldly as one who follows Christ

…..…..I would not take it.

If taking such a pill could take the world back in time,

…..Before I came out of the closet,

…..Before I said I was gay

…..Before I knew I was gay

…..Before inequality touched me

…..Before hate revealed its ugliness to me

…..Before anyone rejected me

…..Before anything was lost to me

…..Before I ever questioned God’s love for me

…..…..I would not take it.

If taking that pill would make me straight

…..And famous

…..And wealthy

…..And talented

…..And adored

…..And beautiful

…..And thin

……....I would not take it.

……....I would not take it.

……....I. Would. Not. Take. It.

I would never take a pill that would make me straight because

……....I love being who I am

……....I love being whole and free

……….I love seeing the world from where I stand

……....I love knowing God from this place

……....I love feeling passion burning in me for equality

……....I love being part of a people who are courageous and relentless

……....I love being one in Spirit with every queer youth

…………..With every gay man and woman

……………With every bisexual man and woman

…………..With every transman and transwoman

……………With every ally and friend

……………With everyone who questions, doubts and searches

……….And I love being one in Spirit with you

……………Bound in hope, and faith, and love

……………Bound in God

If there was a pill I could take that would make you straight

………..And taking that pill would end all your confusion and anxiety

……….And remove your fear that God has rejected you

……………I would not take that pill even for you.

You are gay.

…..You are not wrong.

…..…..You are not sinful.

…..…..…..You are not evil or perverted.

…..…....…..…You are not unworthy.

…..…..…..…..…..You are not a mistake.

…..…..…..…..…..…..You are not to be ashamed.

You are gay.

…..God loves you.

…..…..God holds you.

…..…..…..God stands with you.

…..…..…..…..God delights in you.

…..…..…..…..…..God calls you “My own.”

If there was a pill that could make me straight

…..And make you straight

…..And you

…..And you

…..And you

……....I would not take it.

……....I would not take it.

……....I. Would. Not. Take. It.

…..…..…..…..…..

I can’t really tell you the exact content of my gay thoughts. It’s not as though I’ve been sworn to secrecy or anything, it’s just hard to pinpoint gay thoughts specifically since they’re often so jumbled up with regular thoughts they can’t be untangled from all the rest of the clutter housed in my cerebral cortex. At any moment I might be compiling my grocery list, planning the children’s sermon for the following Sunday, reprimanding myself for not emptying the litter box on trash day, pondering a deep thought about my place in the world, giving a quick shout out to God for a stunningly beautiful day, and wondering how it was that the driver in front of me managed to misinterpret the yield to traffic sign on the freeway on ramp with come-to-a-complete-stop-and-then-pause-for-a-ridiculously-long-time-before-accelerating. With all this static humming along there’s this strand of a gay thought weaving in and out.

Gay thoughts aren’t always specific thoughts with feelings attached more than they’re just an awareness of being gay. Unsolicited mail arrives at a lesbian household addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Lesbian. A lesbian goes to buy an Easter card for her wife of 6 years but only after scanning each card to be sure there’s no mention of being the luckiest man alive. The lesbian couple out on their anniversary hesitate momentarily to consider the elderly couple at the table next to them before reaching across the table to hold hands. While out grocery shopping one lesbian says to the other “Honey, would you grab another carton of milk?” and a shopper near them glances up from her grocery list with the familiar Are they? look on her face. Nondescript little encounters in the middle of life that tap you on the shoulder to say “Hey, you’re gay.” When I first came out I felt guilty for thinking gay so much. I wondered if they were right when they accused gay people of being obsessed with being gay. After all, I had seldom thought about my sexuality all those years when I assumed I was straight and now it was nothing but gay gay gay and I worried that my life had gone out of balance.

If you’re of the GLBTQ persuasion you probably know what I’m talking about, but if you’re straight, not so much. That’s because heterosexuality is a place of privilege that affords straight people the privilege of not thinking about their sexual orientation, just as being white in America allows me the privilege to not think all that often about being white, and I say white rather than Caucasian because I went for a walk in shorts the other day and I overheard a nearby child whispering something to her mom while glancing in my direction about the Pillsbury Dough Boy looking like more like a girl. It’s been a long winter.

My point, and I do have one, is that human sexuality, whatever the form it takes, is intrinsically fundamental to our identity. Gay people might understand that better simply by virtue of not standing in a place of privilege but gay or straight makes no difference; rather than being a compartmentalized element contained within us, our sexual identity weaves through every facet of our beings as does our spirituality, intellect, physicality, emotions, gender, ethnicity and race. It simply can’t be separated from who we are in our humanness and given that it’s totally understandable we’d think about ourselves as sexual beings just as we think in terms of all the other bits and pieces of our lives.

This is why Hate the sin, Love the sinner gets such a negative response. Listen, I get what people mean when they say that. Good people, loving people (some more so than others) say those words and I believe they say it with the best of intentions. Homosexuality is a condition, a thing, a sin. The homosexual is a person, a human, a child of God. They view the two as separate, but the thing is, homosexuality is the way our human sexuality leans and it’s not a thing outside of us but it is a thread in the fabric in our lives. From our perspective if someone hates the homosexuality in us, then they hate a part of what is us just as it would be if they said “I hate the way you think, I hate the color of your skin, I hate the shape of your legs.”

And by the way, my legs are just fine. Buttermilk biscuit dough white but fine all the same, thank you very much.