Sunday, March 26, 2006 | by nathan

Freedom!

I struggle with anger. It is the biggest struggle in my entire life.

I am angry a lot. A whole lot. I get angry when someone pushes the buttons of my insecurity, which, as it turns out, is pretty easy to do. I get angry when someone offends my sensibilities. I get angry when George W. Bush leans on the podium when he is talking, which is something he does every time there is a podium in front of him. I get angry when I think about how much Brian’s parents have hurt his feelings since he came out to them. I get angry almost any time I see Pat Robertson’s face, smiling smugly. I get a little angry when people trash me in their blogs, but I found that not reading those blogs is a good way to mitigate that anger. This proves easy most of the time, but the little soupçon of anger is still there.

These are things that piss me off, and I have found that I do not know the way to a middle ground between a friendly, "you hurt my feelings" or "I think you are wrong" conversation and, say - say bashing someone’s head on the brick sidewalk outside my house, in full view of all the neighbors. Left to its own devices, my mind spends a lot of time having conversations with people who are not actually there, especially people who have hurt my feelings, or embarassed me, or broken up with me.

Confessing this, I believe, is a way for me to become more authentic, because I believe that God loves that transparency, and that confessing our darkest, most smelly and unpleasant secrets is the most important step to getting well. So I will confess something else, now. But there’s a story behind it, so maybe now is a good time to get a snack or use the restroom.

Good? Okay.

So the Equality Ride was in Oklahoma this week, where they were told by administrators at Oral Roberts University, "We love ya, but don’t come on our campus. But be sure to spend money in Oklahoma." These administrators then had the Riders, some of whom are friends of mine, arrested for misdemeanor trespassing.

Then, the Ride came to Oklahoma City, where, among other injustices, they were given accomodations at the Habana Inn, which is absolutely the second to last place I would ever spend a night. So Gabe and I organized a "clean sheets drive," wherein we got our friends to give the Riders sheets so they would not have to sleep on the gross Habana sheets.

The Ride’s stop in central Oklahoma was Oklahoma Baptist University in Shawnee, who did not have them arrested, and who actually allowed them on campus, with - granted - a laundry list of stipulations, such as that they were not allowed to hand out literature of any kind, and they were not allowed to leave the lounge area on the first floor of the student union. I covered all of this for the Gazette, but the longer I sat listening to the Riders’ testimonies, the harder it became to maintain any semblance of journalistic objectivity.

I think that few things make me angrier than when gay or lesbian people, especially young gay and lesbian people, believe themselves to be displeasing to God on such a deep level that they do harm to themselves, physically or emotionally. I hate it when I hear a story about a kid who was kicked out of his house at the age of fourteen - fourteen! - because he could not hold this huge secret inside anymore. It makes me crazy angry and sad when parents, family members, and the people who are supposed to be taking tender, loving care of these people believe that God wants them to treat their child, or their grandchild, or nephew, or friend, with horrible, awful aggression and violence simply because they are gay.

I had a good talk with Jon and Tish when they were here in January. I said, "I make a distinction between people who just believe that being gay is wrong, and people who are mean about it." Which I do, in part because I believe that no one was ever argued into a belief, and also because I do sincerely believe in letting people find their own way.

But also, I am beginning to wonder at the ethics of this theology, because of how much harm it does just by its simple existence. I have come to believe more strongly every day over the last six or so years of my life that while we must test theology by its merits as regards to Scripture, we must also test it by its actual human implications, its compassion (not to mention its place in historical context).

Because I did almost irreparable harm to my psyche, to my relationship with my family, and to my own heart by trying to change, trying to live a theology that does not hold together for anyone but straight people. For me salvation looked like … well, I would like to tell that story in depth a little later on, in another post.

My father always says that it is not anger which is wrong; it is what we do with that anger. So I will not be bashing Pat Robertson’s head into the brick outside my house (although not only because he will probably never come to visit).

But I just don’t know what to do with my anger. When I hear stories like the ones the Riders told, I feel so overcome with complete bafflement - "How can we let this go on when it absolutely does not have to?" Then come the bricks.

So I am taking step number one: I am confessing I have a problem. A major one.

Also, I am asking for the forgiveness of everyone with whom I am or have been angry. I could do this all by phone calls, but I am a) far too busy, and b) deeply, deeply afraid. So if we have had difficult, angry-making conversations about these things, or if I have made you feel like you cannot talk to me about these things for fear of my wrath (as if I were to be feared). I would like to apologize, and ask you to pray that I will know what to do with these feelings.

For awhile I was worried that I was being called, somehow, to give up my life and fight religious oppression along side the Riders, but this is exactly why I do not use words like "calling" almost ever.

I spent yesterday driving Jonathan Awtrey around Oklahoma City, showing him our sights, because this city can suck like no other if you are having to spend nights at the Habana Inn. We saw the Memorial, cool arts places, my favorite spots. He came with Brian and me to Home Depot to buy a grill, which we have been needing, and for which we had a gift card. Family Dinner was our duty last night, and we decided to make hot dogs and burgers, and to invite a few of the riders, including Jacob, with whom Jon has been talking, and Richard Lindsay, who, in a weird coincidence, was the closest thing I had to a friend when I was at Yale.

Mom came, John and Crystal, Laurie and Jaye, me and Brian, Jon Awtrey, Jacob, Richard. Lots of beer, burgers, hot dogs, veggie kabobs. They told my family all about the Ride, and we watched Best In Show. 

This morning in church the reading was The First Amendment, which was interesting, and the sermon was about the separation of church and state and why it is the most ethical option we have. Very delicious food for thought.

But there was still this vague sense of panic as I sat there, and I found myself clinging tightly to Brian through it all. Being this angry makes me panic.

I think forgiveness is something about no longer needing to hit back. I want that very, very badly. I want to not hit back. So from now on I’m really going to try. What I’m going to do instead is go for long walks, and try to remember to breathe.

I keep flashing on that time Woody and I were at his farm in Kentucky, and we were wading in the creek and came upon a pool of water that had been cut off from the rest of the stream and become stagnant. So we worked and worked, reintroducing the pool to the rest of the stream, to all that light and fresh air, and eventually the stagnant, dead, smelly pool was rushing and breathing again, coming back to life.

That is how I feel where I am. It is horrible, and it is hopeful. Growing is a bitch.