Not All Methodists at Baton Rouge Pride

So I went to pride yesterday to staff the table for the Reconciling United Methodists of the Capital Region at Baton Rouge Pride Fest. As I've been writing about, I had misgivings. Could I in good conscience recommend the United Methodist Church to LGBTQ+ folk and their allies? I've been leaning regretfully toward "not really."

Yet here I was, at a table in the noisy, packed convention space at the Baton Rouge River Center, attesting to how not-awful-for-gays we Methodists could be.

"Not All Methodists," in other words.I mean, "Not All Methodists" was literally the motto we promoted on our flyers:

I admit I cringed a little when I first read the title. "Not All Methodists" echoes that classic battle cry of privileged fragility: "Not all _____!" Not all men. Not all white people. Not all USAmerican citizens. Not all cisgenders. Not all native English speakers. Here's how such a phrase usually works:

1. Someone from a marginalized group offers a criticism of the power structures that keep privileged group in power. 
2. Representative of privileged group chimes in instantly with a yeah, but NOT ALL [PRIVILEGED GROUP MEMBERS], often with a tut-tut lecture to the marginalized person that they can't expect to win hearts and minds if they alienate their closest allies, how the criticism lacks civility or nuance, etc. 
3. Conversation becomes about the marginalized person's tone or tactics and how off-putting they are because NOT ALL [PRIVILEGED GROUP]. 
4. Marginalized person's critique gets forgotten, privileged group allies pat themselves on the back and lament that more marginalized people don't engage privileged groups.

Nevertheless, in this case I endorse the "not all Methodists" message. (I was after all involved in the conversations where we came up with that message.)

There's a difference between defensiveness and dissent. If I respond to a feminist attack on patriarchy with a not-all-men monologue about how not-privileged my male life has been, I'm derailing the message by attacking the messenger.

But if I'm a Methodist in Louisiana, post-February 2019, post-Annual Conference, asserting "not all Methodists" at Pride and in rainbow colors becomes a vital dissent from the denomination's predominant messages over the last few months. It's like responding to a sexist joke or racist remark with chilly, pointed silence or a call-out. It establishes distance from and criticism of the majority's stance.

Plus, I really like the written message on the card. We're in progress, not there yet, just like our nation. But know that we at least affirm you as beautiful and worthy of love just as you are.

My shift at the Pride table yesterday taught me the value of that message. I've not been to Baton Rouge Pride previously, not being a huge fan of noisy, crowded spaces. Noisy and crowded it was--but fun. I loved seeing people of all shapes, sizes, colors, and presentations decked out in rainbows (including but not limited to the trans* and bisexual flags). I loved seeing singles, couples, groups, and families (sooo many parents together with children!). I loved seeing racial diversity alongside all the other kinds (I was fearing a sea of whiteness). And everyone seemed happy. Kudos to the organizers for making the event such an open, accessible, and joyful celebration.

We were one of several church-related tables (shout-out to University Presbyterian, Metropolitan Community Church, Unitarian Universalist Church, St. Martin's Episcopal--others I may have missed!). Clergy from more liberal denominations performed a mass blessing of relationships. University Presbyterian showed off a board full of pictures of their LGBTQ+ couples getting married in their sanctuary, by their minister. That hurt a bit, being reminded of where the UMC is not.

But we Methodists had our own special draws. Our biggest attraction, to be honest, were the jolly ranchers, arrayed in a rainbow spectrum of flavors. Pride-goers' lust for jolly ranchers knows no bounds. Running a close second in popularity to the jolly ranchers, though, was the rainbow door display from St. John's UMC:

The doors say, "God's love is open to ALL!"

Displayed on one of our main roads, the installation got tons of comments like, "Oh, yeah! I saw that! It's such a great message! That's you all?" I had nothing to do with the doors' creation, and St. John's isn't my church (shout out to St. John's Love is Love class and to Rev. Lane Cotton Winn!). But it made me proud to be Methodist.

So many people stopped to tell us how much it meant to them that we were there. Several of these were Methodists or former Methodists. A drag queen from Austin touched base with us to see how our Annual Conference fared in electing progressive delegates. An elderly couple shared how they left us for the MCC years ago but were happy to see us there. An ordained deacon from one of the conservative Texas conferences wept as she told us of hiding out for years before moving to Louisiana.

The faith of these people humbles me. It reminds me (thank you, Holy Spirit) that I'm not alone in struggling with how to be (or not be) Methodist.

And finally there was the incredible witness of other Reconciling Methodists who staffed the table with me or dropped by to say hi. I'm blessed to be surrounded by such support in my local church and my local Reconciling group, and I'm glad Pride helped me to see that.

I still go back and forth, high and low, with my moods regarding  the UMC. But this was a good day.