The last 10 days have been rough. First, I held the pain of my brothers and sisters as LGBT Mormons, their families, and allies dealt with the shock and despair surrounding the new policies about LGBT families in the Mormon church. My heart broke hearing one of my heroes declare that she felt like her dream had died, and that we needed to mourn that lost dream.
Every hour has been filled with sorrow, to the point that I could barely stay focused on my work when I was with students, and accomplished little when there were no demands and needs of people right in front of me to attend to.
I’m not so sure that time heals, but eventually, we are able to return to something resembling “normal” life. I was almost to the point of being semi-functional, when the next wave (Paris) knocked me off my feet. I felt the pain of Paris, and that ripped open the newly forming scars of the Mormon policy situation. But this time, I was at least in a physical place where I could find some solace in music.
These two songs kept returning to my mind.
For everyone born, a place at the table
In the midst of pain, I choose love.
This is what I am called to do. This is who I am. I CHOOSE LOVE.
This morning I read a FB post from a friend. He told the story of the good shepherd, leaving the ninety and nine to go after that one. He went on to explain that if we want to find Jesus, he will be up on the mountain with the lambs who have no name. I couldn’t get that image out of my head.
There are children (however few the church claims this will affect) whose names will not be recorded in the records of the church, without regards to how much some same-sex parents may actually want that. That is what my friend was referring to, but I think the idea is so much bigger. When people don’t have faces or names, when they are just a group of people that we have judged in any way, we are shutting them out. When we refuse to hear the truth in their stories because they make us uncomfortable, we are shutting out those lambs. We erase their names and blur their faces. We make them Other.
No more. They are not Other. Every one of them has a name. Every one of them has a face. Every one of them carries a pain or a burden. We are inseparably connected, whether we want to admit it or not.
There are children (however few the church claims this will affect) whose names will not be recorded in the records of the church, without regards to how much some same-sex parents may actually want that. That is what my friend was referring to, but I think the idea is so much bigger. When people don’t have faces or names, when they are just a group of people that we have judged in any way, we are shutting them out. When we refuse to hear the truth in their stories because they make us uncomfortable, we are shutting out those lambs. We erase their names and blur their faces. We make them Other.
No more. They are not Other. Every one of them has a name. Every one of them has a face. Every one of them carries a pain or a burden. We are inseparably connected, whether we want to admit it or not.
We are not Other. Every one of us has a name. Every one of us has a face. Every one of us carries a pain or burden. WE ARE ONE.
When you hear their stories, when you look into their eyes, when you see the child of God standing in front of you, you can’t deny the pain. I can’t deny the pain. I have to be there tending to the lost and broken. I need you there tending to my lostness and brokenness.
When you can feel what I feel,
When you know what I know,
When their pain becomes yours
And your tears begin to flow,
That is the beginning of Love.
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