It’s gay pride month. Lots of parades. A few years ago I attended my first while visiting my twin granddaughters in Albuquerque.
We found ourselves standing next to a group shouting and waving large signs. JESUS HATES FAGS. HOMOS GO TO HELL. REPENT OR PERISH. One of the bellowing men had a gun on his hip.
We moved away but not before the “God squad” spotted us and turned to call us “slime bags” and “horrible parents deserving hellfire.” As they saw it, we were exposing children to a despicable display of immorality.
Other than that, Reverend, how was the parade?
Fantastic.
The parade included the most exuberant people I’d ever seen—in all sizes, shapes, ages, genders, and colors; decked out in hats, dresses, leather vests, balloon pants, and teeny tiny sparkling shorts; moving on foot, roller skates, roller blades, scooters, bikes, motorcycles, unicycles, pogo sticks, and stilts; riding on floats, horses, buses, and double-decker buses; sitting in Model Ts, sleek convertibles and wacky pickup trucks; swinging on rainbows; singing, skipping, dancing, and prancing while tossing kisses, beads, and pounds of candies.
(My granddaughters remember it as the “Candy Parade.”)
The parade rolled on even as that gaggle of self-righteous men kept yelling threats and condemnations in the name of Jesus.
And then something happened.
A colorfully festooned marching band entered the parade route and stepped sprightly down the boulevard. When it came to the site of the frothing protesters, the band stopped and pivoted smartly toward those hate-filled faces.
The director lifted her arms and tapped her baton. The band began to play: Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so.
The crowd cheered and joined in singing. Little ones to him belong they are weak, but he is strong. Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me, the Bible tells me so.
Then the band politely waved at the protesters, blew kisses, pivoted, and marched on down the boulevard.
I felt tears running down my cheeks. (Yes, I have issues with Christianity but not with Jesus!) That’s it, I thought. That’s what the gospel of Jesus is all about—a creative, nonviolent, compassionate response to hatred.
I saw one example that day. And I’m pretty sure it’s not the only way to meet hate with love.
Let us count the ways.
Hatred is, indeed, never appeased by hatred in this world. It is appeased only by compassion. This is the eternal truth (Dhamma). From the Dhammapada. Verse 5
On no day does meeting hatred with love mean responding with violence or cruelty.
Making a joyful noise…anytime, anywhere…& especially in the face of ugliness…brings a surprising release of warmth and wonder. I LOVE this joyful, colorful, exuberant story. What a wonderful gift to your granddaughters – & to us!!! Thanks Randy!
🌈💖🤗 Love this. So important to remind people of love & peace, esp. these days. Great for your granddaughters to witness.
I’ll recycle my comment to your Muse Mint on the same subject: In my world there’s room for everybody!
This resonates! Thank you for reminding us of the impact of peaceful and joyful action.
The power of love and joy and a righteous cause.
We left the country on January 20, chose that date purposefully to leave, and went to visit friends in New Zealand and New South Wales, AUS. In both countries, not on an assigned pride day, week, or month, rainbow flags flew, some streets were painted with rainbow stripes, and buses painted with rainbows that had messages like, You are Loved. It is good to read about those who returned a Jesus love me song to the group that acted so meanly.Fr. Greg Boyle’s book, Cherished Belonging, shows acts of meanness as proof of unhealthy individuals. It promotes having compassion for even the most appalling people. I’m not there yet in my compassion level. I find myself making arguments in the margins of the book I am reading, Cherished Belonging. I read it in small chunks because he aims to show a horizon above the devastating waves and many days since the orange man returned, I am in a trough between waves. If I could move to NZ or AUS, I would, but the only senior citizens who can emigrate there need to be millionaires. Students and young adults who have essential skills are welcome to emigrate. People in fields of math, science, and with building skills, especially stone masons, are courted to come to the country.
I just love this! Thank you!
Now that’s the way to do it! I’m sure the postures, standing tall, and the “Pride” on the faces of those band members was something to see!